by Sasha Leone
Security becomes more rigid when Dante’s gone. Guards stay in their lanes and follow straight forward orders. When the cruel prince is around, though, there’s no telling what might happen. Dante has very little control over his temper, and he often flies off the rails at random intervals—and that means calling for his favorite punching bag to rag on. He hardly gets physical, but his words usually hurt more than his dainty grip ever could.
... But if Dante called for me and I was gone?
All hell would break loose. The district would be shut down, and I would be stuck wherever I was, unable to escape. And if I happened to be with Oscar at that moment...
... I don’t even want to think about it.
There’s no leaving when Dante is around, but when he’s gone, there’s hope, and right now, there’s a little sliver of hope on the horizon. Dante may be forcing me to marry him, but he can’t control what I do when he’s gone, at least, not as much as he may like. I have a son, and that boy takes precedence over everything, even the boogie monster. Especially the fucking boogie monster.
The snake slithers from his nest on the new moon. What does the bird do?
Leave, I scratch into the open space underneath my coded message.
I’ve got to get out of here.
4
Angel
The stone hard skin on my knuckles is finally starting to break. My callous hands are cracked and splintered and bruised and battered, but it’s all for a good cause. I’ve spent the past two nights rumbling through the underworld, trying to rip through all there is to know about Dante and where he might be hiding Catalina.
I’ve used my gun and my knife plenty, but my fists are my favorite tool; it helps release the anger and the frustration of this fucking pony show.
So far, I’ve mostly only been able to get my hands on new recruits, street-toughs who don’t know me from a hole in the wall. It’s a shame. I desperately want to come across someone who betrayed me for my brother and finally start my tour of vengeance. But it’s too hairy in the nicer parts of town where most of those assholes will be. For now, I have to continue to tear through the poorer areas and hope I can gather enough intel to make an informed next move.
The faster that time comes, the better. I’m already getting sick of pussy footing around.
I stare down at my stained fists. Most of the blood on them is from others, but I see a cut of my own here and there.
“I’ll talk! I’ll talk!” The panicked voice trembles behind me. I stretch my fingers and turn back towards the gruesome scene.
A middle-aged hitman convulses on the floor beside a younger, tied-up, transporter. The stink of fear wafts from his struggling body as he begs for mercy.
I just might give it to him... in the form of a quick death. These two were bullying some street kids when I came across them. Apparently, the hitman had killed one of their father’s, and this bastard was coming back to gloat in their misery. I would have never hired someone this evil, but I know Dante probably picked the man himself. Well, he won’t be doing any more deeds for my brother. I cracked his skull with a few well-placed punches, and when he stops flopping around on the floor, I’ll stomp the life out of him for good.
“Who do you work for, David?” I start with the same question I always do. I don’t know if David is his real name, but I thought I’d heard the hitman call him that just before I’d attacked.
“Dante Montoya,” David immediately blurts out.
“What do you do for him?”
“I transport drugs and weapons.”
“And beat up school children?”
“That wasn’t me! Wilmar ordered me to do it! Those kids had weapons!” His story changes so quickly he can hardly get his next sentence out before he contradicts his last one.
I raise my palm to the shaking miscreant and he stops blubbering about his innocence. It’s clear I don’t believe a word he has to say, but that doesn’t mean all of his ramblings will be lies.
“Do you know who I am?”
The scared and trembling eyes of the cruel transporter study me intently. For a split-second, I think I might have finally found a street tough who recognizes me, but that hope is quickly extinguished.
“No.”
“Who do you report to?”
“Stefan Mendoza.”
The name doesn’t ring a bell. Just how many new men has Dante brought in since my exile? Maybe I wasn’t betrayed by as many people as I thought, maybe Dante really did just get rid of them all...
“Who does Stefan Mendoza report to?”
“Juan Arias.”
My heart stops in my chest. Juan Arias. There’s a name I haven’t heard in a long time. I would have sworn he was dead, or at least in hiding.
Despite my initial suspicions, I had completely dismissed my former advisor of any wrongdoing once I found at that Dante was behind my downfall. Juan wasn’t at the compound when I attacked, and my best guess was that he had been taken care of by Dante and whoever was pulling Dante’s strings.
But now I’ve discovered the truth. Juan didn’t die fighting for me, and he didn’t even run off when I needed him the most. He betrayed me.
I should have known.
Juan was always too smart to let some bullshit like this happen on his watch. I may have been distracted while my empire crumbled to dust around me, but Juan wasn’t. The only way he was going to let something like that happen was if he had a hand in it.
And so, now I know the truth... and it hurts. It really fucking hurts.
There truly isn’t anyone I can trust.
“Where would I go about finding Juan Arias?” I ask the scared bully tied-up before me. Flames of flurry flicker up in my chest, masking the pain. At least I can start getting my revenge the moment I wrap my fingers around that bastard’s throat...
“You’d have to ask Stefan Mendoza, man. I don’t know. I don’t know anything. I just joined this fucking shit-show!”
I wait until he’s done rambling, then I continue. “And where would I go about finding Stefan Mendoza?”
“He’s got a penthouse downtown. That’s all I know.” He seems to know a whole lot for someone who doesn’t know anything.
“What’s the address?”
The trembling errand boy spits it out so fast I hardly have time to remember, but I don’t forget information that’s so important. It also doesn’t hurt that I recognize the address. I use to have a penthouse of my own nearby; hell, I used to have entire buildings nearby. I wonder what’s become of those skyscrapers?
I guess I’ll find out soon enough.
I wasn’t going to hide out in the slums forever, and now is as good a time as any to get moving. If I want to have my revenge, I’m going to have to go to where the most powerful of my traitors roost. Downtown Cali, my old playpen.
I’ll burn it to the ground if I have to.
The restaurant where I took Catalina out for our first public ‘date’ hits my line of sight like a flash of lightning.
It still stands there, unchanged, like nothing is different, but everything is different. I turn away from the haunting memory of what I’ve lost and keep my head down. I lower the brim on my baseball cap and watch the sidewalk through my dark sunglasses as I turn the nearest corner. Stefan Mendoza’s place should be just up the block.
I haven’t dared pass by any of my old buildings yet. The last I heard, they were on fire. Sure, maybe I could have gotten to my destination quicker if I’d paid them a visit, but I know how mid-level bosses like Mendoza work. I’m in no hurry. They play all night long and then get home in the pre-morning dawn, sleeping all day before finally getting back onto the streets around sundown. That’s about what time it is right now; with any luck, I’ll catch this bastard just before he heads out for the night.
My old buildings can wait.
By the time I’m out front of Mendoza’s place, a strong wind has tunneled down the semi-crowded street. Busy strangers rush by with their heads tucked in
to their chests, just trying to brave the breeze for long enough to come out the other side. It works well in my favor. No one’s looking at me, and I easily slip into a side alleyway without facing a single suspicious stare.
The quickening wind dies down a little in this quiet side street, and I take the opportunity to take off my hat and sunglasses. Sweat drips down my forehead and I can feel the mark left on my face by the sunglasses. I hate having to hide like this, but I know it’s the only way. People would recognize me without this half-assed disguise, and the second news gets out that I’m back, Dante will go into lock-down mode and any chance I have at grabbing Catalina will go up in flames.
I try not to think about my captive bride as I search for a way into the building. Up ahead, I spot a closed door; just behind that there’s a half-drawn fire escape ladder. The closed door would be easiest, but it’s also more likely to have security cameras trained on it. The fire escape, meanwhile, shakes against the growing wind like an unstable branch.
I don’t like either of my options.
I’m seriously considering just going in the front door with my disguise on, when a sudden gust sends me sliding backwards. My arms instinctively cross over my face in a shield to protect against the flying debris. The air smells violent and hot. It’s a recognizable scent. There’s no doubt that a huge storm is coming, but for now, all I can do is brace myself against the pre-gale tremors.
When the rogue gust has calmed, I shake myself free of the litter it threw against me and decide that enough is enough. I’m getting inside of this building, now...
I don’t make it far before something heart-stopping catches my eye. The dying wind flips through the pages of a nearby newspaper, which lays on the ground just a few yards from my feet. A familiar picture is quickly shrouded by ink-filled sheets, but I know what I saw.
I rush forward and grab the windswept rag, violently flipping through the dirty pages until I reach the offending photo.
Fuck.
There, filling up half the page, is a full color picture of me and Catalina, hand in hand, on our first date, two years ago.
My heart constricts as I remember the warmth of her little palm against mine. She looks so meek as she stares down at her feet to avoid the flashing lights of the paparazzi that surround the restaurant.
A new hurricane-forced gust starts blowing down the alley again, ripping back the pages and obscuring my view of my lovely little dove. It’s enough to snap me out of my reverie, and I quickly move to the closed door ahead.
It only takes a few well-placed kicks to bust it open, and when I shut it closed behind me, I’m met with a still silence.
After a quick glance around, no security cameras catch my eye, and my attention is immediately pulled back to the paper in my hands. Before I open it back up to the photo, I check the date on the front page—it came out yesterday. Why the hell is a photo of me and Catalina from two years ago doing in a newspaper that came out yesterday?
I quickly race back to the offending page. There she is. For an eternal moment, I can’t rip my eyes off of Catalina. She’s so beautiful... I wonder if she’s changed?
Slowly, my heart let’s my brain regain control and my eyes wander up to the headline above the photo.
WHERE HAS THE MYSTERIOUS BILLIONAIRE GONE? COULD HE SAVE THIS CITY’S SOUL?
A sharp pain of confusion shoots through my skull as I try to process just what I’m seeing. An uncomfortable silence hugs me as I lean back against the hallway wall and skim through the article.
This journalist has been receiving constant updates on the philanthropic endeavors of one Angel Montoya...
Ever since he flashed into the public eye, and then promptly disappeared, some odd two years ago, this city has experienced an historic descent...
What’s become of him and his fiancée? Did they fall to the same evil that has gripped this city? Did they leave us? Or have they gone underground and started a resistance that could save this city’s soul? This journalist can only speculate...
My head starts to pound almost as hard as my heart as I rip the page out and stuff it into my pocket. It looks like my effort to win over public opinion all that time ago ended up succeeding after all, and my absence has only added to my legend. But why am I still being written about? It’s been two years, has everything really gotten so bad that the only hero some journalist can conjure up is a mysterious rich dude who hasn’t been seen in 24 months? How is Dante allowing this? And if I’m so famous, why don’t any of his new recruits know about me or what I look like?
A thousand different questions whirl around in my head at light speed; the approaching storm outside hardly compares to the storm already raging inside of me. I struggle to grab hold of a single question that could settle me down...
In the distance, a door creaks open and I’m suddenly snapped back to reality. The pistol tucked behind my belt rubs against my back and I whip it out to make sure it’s loaded.
Fully.
Uncertainty fades away and an angry determination takes it over. I may not have any answers right now, but I’m in the right place to get them. This Mendoza fucker is going to sing, I’ll make sure of that.
5
Catalina
I know something is wrong the second I step inside.
Despite Juan’s towering presence, the room just feels empty.
“Where is he?” I whisper, too scared to ask any louder. The answer is already clear. This happens once in a while, and each time it’s so devastating that I risk falling apart.
“It wasn’t safe,” Juan answers, his voice strong and calm. If I looked him in the eyes right now, I’d be able to see the sympathy he holds for me, but I don’t want sympathy, I want Oscar.
“Why not, what’s happening?” My heart races like a heavy stone tumbling down the side of a mountain. Every second plunges me further down into the abyss. I just risked everything... for nothing.
“Don’t worry,” Juan says, placing a reassuring palm on my shoulder. “It has nothing to do with Oscar. There’s just some trouble brewing in the underworld, usual stuff. Someone is picking off Dante’s men. So, he’s increased patrols to enforce curfew, and that made it too dangerous to bring Oscar here tonight.”
“Then why did you bring me?” I ask, desperately sad.
Juan brushes past me and makes a beeline for the liquor cabinet at the far side of the room. The way he sulks over makes me feel bad for snapping—I know he has a good heart; I know he’s just trying to help; I know I shouldn’t be upset at him, but these tears need to be directed somewhere, and we’re the only two people here. “I’m sorry...” I start to apologize, before Juan cuts me off.
“I didn’t know this area would be so tightly watched,” he says, pouring himself a glass of amber liquid. “Which is weird, because usually I’m on top of this stuff... Something big is coming, Catalina... and I have no idea what it is.”
The dread in Juan’s voice nearly pushes me into the floor... before a pinprick of hope explodes through a tiny hole in my heart. “Could it be Angel!?” I ask, hardly daring to wish, but barely able to contain it.
Juan sighs. “I don’t know... I don’t know.”
It’s hard to tell what Juan is thinking. Is he hoping for Angel’s return, too, or does he fear it?
“I feel a storm coming,” the older man says, pounding back his booze like it’s water.
“What does that mean for me and Oscar?” I ask. My voice is just as unsteady as my nerves, but that pinprick of hope hasn’t vanished just yet. It’s the longest something so light has been able to escape from my heart in a very long time.
Juan considers my question carefully.
“... Does it mean we can finally make a run for it?” I ask before he can answer. It’s a question I’ve been holding off on. For the past two years, the answer has always been a hard no, and each no grows more painful than the last. For Juan, it’s always too dangerous, too risky, too impossible... but if things are changing? If ther
e’s a storm coming, could we make a run for it under the cover of the rain?
Before Juan can answer, a harsh buzz cuts through our tense silence. He quickly reaches into his pocket and pulls out a cellphone. I watch intently as he answers.
“What?”
The voice on the other end of the line is muffled, but I can make out bits and pieces of what they’re saying. Usually, I wouldn’t eavesdrop, but right now, I’m looking for anything to distract myself from the absence of my baby.
“Someone got to Mendoza... No security footage... He might have talked... Just thought I’d warn you.” That’s all I can make out before Juan hangs up.
“Who’s Mendoza?” I ask.
To my surprise, Juan doesn’t hesitate to answer. “One of Dante’s top men—he’s not like the street toughs that have been vanishing recently. They found his body downtown, in his swanky penthouse suite...”
He seems to be thinking out loud, but I don’t stop him. The further I can throw myself into his mystery, the less I have to think about my baby boy sleeping alone tonight.
“Does that mean someone’s trying to take down Dante?”
Juan laughs. I can feel my brows furrow in confusion. This doesn’t seem like the time to be laughing.
“There are about a million different factions trying to take down Dante at any given moment, and there have been ever since he blew up that block with the hospital on it... but whoever is killing his men right now is going about it the wrong way. Dante doesn’t give a shit about the people who work for him. Mendoza may have been more important to the organization than the local patrollers who enforce curfew, but he’s no big loss... though, he might have been able to tell his interrogator where some more important people are...”
“People are trying to take Dante down?” My shriveled-up heart pumps up a little at that revelation, before quickly being overcome by a searing fear. “I thought he was too powerful to fall? You said he was too powerful to fall!” I’m suddenly in a panic. What happens to me if another battle breaks out? What happens to Oscar if the city is set on fire? I heard about what Dante did to that hospital... with all those people inside...
