by Alan Lee
Manny couldn’t get both. He fired from the hip and leapt blindly down the staircase. More gunfire, missing him. He tumbled and slid to the next landing, hidden by the heaving throng. Security charged upwards in the direction of the gunfire bursts. The guards ran past him without a second glance.
Tenderly massaging his ribs, he rendezvoused with Veronica below. Several minutes later they watched Mackenzie electrocute himself and the Executioner.
“What. The. Hell,” said Veronica. “Is he doing.”
Medical staff for both champions hurried into the cage.
“Tryna save the Yakuza’s life. Mack’s heart bigger than his brain.”
Finally Veronica found her voice. “The man I fell in love with,” she said. “Is an absolute mystery to me.”
“Look on the bright side, mamí. I just made a hundred grand.”
“Good. I need it.”
“Por qué?”
“I’m bidding on the champions,” said Veronica. “Both of them.”
38
“Those men over there. Crimson jackets, by the door.”
Veronica and Manny stood at the round bar, their drinks untouched. The betting hub was buzzing with energy from the night’s drama. Gamblers were screaming at officials, declaring because the Japanese champion still lived they shouldn’t lose their money. The American hadn’t won. But, explained the cashiers, safely ensconced behind steel bars, Signore Ferrari had declared the Yankee the victor. All bets were final.
Manny said, “I see them. So?”
“They’re looking for me. Rossi wants me to attend his after-party.”
“Ah. You going?”
“I am not,” she said, punching numbers into her phone. “I’m bidding fifty grand on both champions, a record amount. I have to win one, don’t you think?”
“I think maybe you need to find sex in healthier places.”
She and Manny waited impatiently as the clock ticked down. The numbers hit zero and phones all over the room buzzed, followed by women groaning and laughing.
Veronica inspected her screen.
“I didn’t win Mackenzie,” she said in a whisper. “Someone bid over fifty thousand dollars for him. Unbelievable. I will kill that bitch.”
“Who?”
“I wish I knew. On the other hand…”
She held up her phone for Manny to see.
>> THANK YOU FOR BIDDING. CONGRATULATIONS, YOUR BID WAS HIGHEST FOR O PRINCIPE, CAMORRA CHAMPION.
>> YOUR FUNDS HAVE BEEN SUCCESSFULLY PROCESSED.
>> PROCEED TO THE CONCIERGE DESK ON THE SECOND FLOOR TO MEET YOUR ESCORT. A REMINDER, YOU ARE ALOTED SIXTY MINUTES ONLY.
“Veronica, no intiendo,” said Manny. “Why’re you doing this?”
“I’ll explain when I get back.” She placed her hand on Manny’s shoulder. “Wish me luck.”
“Buena suerte, mija.”
Veronica ducked her head and strode from the room before she could be spotted by Rossi’s henchmen.
Manny raised his glass. Caught the eye of a group of dejected Yakuza across the bar. Winked. Saluted them with the glass, and drained the scotch.
39
Her escort was a hulking man, head and shoulders taller than her, as strongly built as Mackenzie but fat, bald, with a prominent chin. Gold necklace and watch. He looked at her once, nodded, and then kept his eyes to himself.
“O Principe will not be chained,” he said in an Italian accent as they walked. “You assume risk associated with the activity. Your safety is not guaranteed, and you may be injured if we subdue him. The metal bracelet he wears is for your protection and we won’t remove it.”
“I cannot imagine the Prince hurting any woman walking into his chambers for the purpose of sexual recreation,” said Veronica.
The man made a grunt noise. “Rules are rules.”
The guard led her past a door on the second floor marked with an American flag and her heart skipped a beat. Was some bitch inside? The Teatro di Montagna took Mackenzie’s escape attempt seriously, it appeared—two armed guards stood outside his door, but none of the others.
Around three more corners, they found the Prince’s suite.
The antechamber’s walls were white, the carpet wine colored. Four attendants looked up at her arrival and she detected their approval.
She held her head high—I bid fifty thousand dollars for your champion. But it is he who is the lucky one.
Her escort opened the door to the inner bedroom and stuck his head in. Nodded to himself and stepped aside.
“You have sixty minutes,” he pronounced.
Veronica entered the bedroom and said, “Close the door, please.”
“For your safety—”
“I waive my right to your protection for the next hour. Thank you.” She took the handle and closed it herself.
“Veronica, cazzo santo, sei qui!” cried the Prince, and he flew to her. He kissed her mouth, her forehead, her mouth again, and said, “Sei qui, non posso crederci, sei venuto!”
Veronica, it’s you! I can’t believe you’re here!
She smiled as he wrapped his arms around her and lifted. “Ciao, Principe. È bello vederti.”
It is nice to see you, Prince.
He spoke into her neck, rotating them in a circle. “Non mi hai detto che stavi arrivando.”
You didn’t tell me you were coming.
She replied in Italian, “It was a last minute emergency. I didn’t know you’d be here. You are fighting very well.”
He set her down and kissed the top of her head.
“Veronica, it breathes life in me to see you again. I cannot begin to tell you.”
“Did the Camorra force you into Gabbia Cremisi?”
“No,” he said. He took her by the hand and led her to the bed. “I voluntarily entered.”
“But why? This is a horrible thing.”
“So is all of life.”
She stepped away from him to inspect his body. He’d showered and wore only shorts. He was a tall, hard man with muscles and ridges, and an open, mischievous face. Thick black hair and eyebrows, two days of scruff.
She said, “I don’t see any wounds.”
“I do not lose, Veronica. Except to you.”
She laid her purse on the bed and moved to the window. Did Mackenzie have the same view?
Was he with the woman right now? The woman who bid over fifty thousand?
“Why are you here?” he asked.
“It’s complicated.”
“Say you will marry me,” said the Prince. “I will win this tournament and we’ll run away.”
She turned back to him. Leaned against the window, rested the heels of her hands on the glass. He came to her. Started kissing her neck.
“My answer has not changed, Prince,” she said.
“I will leave this life. For you? I swear I will.”
“You entered a tournament expressly to kill other men,” she said. “You are incapable of leaving the life. We cannot be together. You know this.”
“But I am in love with you.”
“I was a prostitute hired to please you.” She placed her hands on his bare shoulders and pushed him away. “You fell in love with that woman. Not me.”
“With you.”
“You don’t know the real me.”
“I know we are meant to be together.”
She refused to look him in his eyes, such a deep rich brown, so full of hope and pain.
“Prince,” she said.
“We’ll get on a plane.”
“I’ve given you my answer twice. We cannot be.”
“I’ll be rich on Sunday. We’ll fly to—”
“I am married, Prince,” she said.
He flinched back, as if she’d struck him. But then he stood entirely still. Not even breathing for a long time. Not entirely unlike the statue of David.
Finally, “To who?”
“A man I love. From America.”
“A client? Like I once was?”
he asked.
“No.”
“He cannot make you as happy as I can. As I did.”
“What we had was special, Prince,” she said.
“Yes.”
“But it was brief. And an illusion.”
“Not for me.”
“It was for money.” She took his face in her hands as tears leaked out of his eyes. “You’re a king among men. But you are destined for another woman.”
“Then why did you come? To torment me.”
“I came to beg you.”
He took her hand and kissed it. Closed his eyes. “I am a man you never have to beg, Veronica. All that I have and am is yours.”
“Then please…”
“Yes?”
“Help me free the American.”
He laughed. “The Yankee? You are joking.”
“I am not.”
“Why?”
“Because he is my husband.”
His shoulders fell. He released her hand and stepped backwards. Slumped onto the bed and slid off. Sat on the floor.
“No.”
“He was brought here because of me,” said Veronica, and she began to cry too. “It is me who should be killed, not him.”
“I do not understand.”
“I left Darren Robbins. I told you I would, someday. And I did. With Mackenzie’s help. And now he is suffering, because Darren hired a hitman.”
“This Mackenzie. We’ve spoken. He does not deserve you.”
“But he does. He’s the most remarkable man I’ve ever met. You would like him, in different circumstances.” She knelt beside him and picked up his limp hand, hard and tough, and kissed it. “I’m so in love with him that some days I cannot function.”
“I despise him.”
“I know I am asking much of you.”
“You are asking everything.”
“I’m going to try,” she said. “But without your help, I will probably be killed.”
“I cannot help you. Rossi brought me to his room. Guaranteed me fortunes untold if I beat the American, and I promised. If I betray him? He’ll kill everyone I’ve ever loved.”
“Then you’re still a slave.”
“Always.”
“You deserve better,” said Veronica.
“That is the first lie you have told me tonight.”
“Mackenzie deserves better too. Please.”
“It cannot be done. We are surrounded by professional assassins. Watched by thousands of eyes. Much of our planet’s corruption is concentrated in this city, and the men here are not to be trifled with. Shooting your way out would be impossible.”
“During the fight, you can lose to him. He won’t kill you. He’s not that kind of man,” she said.
“You insult me.”
“No! I beg you.”
“I do not lose.”
“Prince—”
“And he is not worthy of you.” He was pinching absently at the carpet on which he sat, near a heavy plate bolted into the floor. In Mackenzie’s room, her husband would be chained to it. With the woman.
“He would spare you, if I asked him. That’s the kind of man I want to be with.”
“I am destroyed, Veronica,” he said. “You ask too much.”
“I know.”
“If I lose, I throw away fortunes.”
She shrugged, which always looked good on her. “Bet on the American.”
“What do you mean?”
“Bet on the American and then lose. You’ll be alive and rich. Mackenzie won’t let you be killed. He spared the sumo wrestler.”
“Mackenzie, I loathe this man. He makes a mockery of us. And now you say… Augh, never have I wanted to kill someone this much.”
She squeezed his hand.
He said, “I cannot believe you are here. It fills me with life and despair. You are here, but not for me.”
“I would spare you the pain if I could.”
He said, “I will test him.”
“What do you mean?”
“I will kill him in round one. If I cannot, I will kill him in round two. This will prove he is not worthy of you.”
“What if you cannot?”
“I can. But should the miraculous happen, if he survives until round three…”
“Yes?” said Veronica.
“Then…because I love you, I will let him live. On a condition.”
“Thank you, Prince.”
“He will still die. The security will catch him. And there is a rumor of an assassin,” he said.
“I heard the rumor. What is your condition?”
“If I kill Mackenzie during the first two rounds, you must marry me.”
“Marry the man who killed my husband?”
“Marry the man who exposed him as unworthy,” said the Prince. “I would kill a thousand men for us.”
“I wouldn’t love you.”
“With enough time, I will win you over.”
“Very well,” said Veronica. “He will not lose to you. But if he does, you and I will marry. If not, you help me.”
“The bargain is made. The best chance he’ll have is to escape during the fight.”
“That cannot be true. He’s in a cage.”
“Think about it, my love. Security will be busy with problems. The crowd will be rowdy and overflowing. You must create a diversion in round three. I will open the cage, and he can disappear into the bodies. All armed personnel will be in that arena. Once he is out? No one will catch him.”
“How will you open the cage?”
“I know a way.”
“What kind of diversion?”
He said, “A big one. A power outage. Find a way. But only in the third round. At the beginning.”
“Prince, thank you.”
“Do not thank me yet, my love. He will die. Because you are a woman worth killing for.”
40
Bright and early the next day, they sat around a wrought iron table in a nearby palazzo drinking caffè. Marcus was replaying a video on his phone, footage captured by Veronica’s purse. On screen, Rossi was bragging about his invincibility and the helpless plight of the opposing Camorra clans.
Veronica asked, “You think it’s enough?”
“Should be.”
“I show them this,” said Carlos. “They storm city and kill the jefe.”
“But they can’t get in. Rossi has all roads blocked until after the tournament.”
“We find a way, Señora Summers.”
“I got an idea about that,” said Manny, mixing collagen into his coffee. “Carlos, you work up an army to attack the gate, I’ll open it from the inside.”
“How?”
“Pure Hispanic machismo. Just tell me when and where.”
Veronica said, “Let’s assume we can break down the gates so the disgruntled local soldiers can get in. I think the Prince is correct—a power outage would work wonders.”
“Got that covered too.” He dug into his pocket and retrieved a phone. “This morning, while you fat lazy mafia crime lords slept, I went exploring.” He punched up a few photographs and slid the phone across. “The power lines are underground. But this place, behind the hotel, near the loading dock…”
Marcus said, “What am I looking at?”
“Electrical boxes. Transformers. Power supply. All that.”
“Ain’t guarded?”
“Very guarded. Behind a sturdy fence. But still, Imma blow it up.”
“That so,” said Marcus.
“That so. Should knock out power, until generators kick in.”
“You believe you can?”
“You offend me, mamita. I blow up what I wanna. You know how?”
Veronica said, “Pure Hispanic whatsits.”
“Machismo.”
Marcus held up five fingers. “First, raise the army. Second, bring’em in tomorrow night, cause a ruckus. Third, knock out power during the third round. Fourth, find Mack after he escapes during third round. Fifth, get the h
ell out of here. I’ll have the car ready, and private jet waiting.”
“Drumming up a mob is no easy thing,” said Veronica.
“I won a small fortune off Mackenzie’s victory last night,” said Marcus. He rubbed his thumb across the tips of his first two fingers, a universal signal for money. “Gonna reinvest it into the cocaine shop down the street. Mob needs convincing? We’ll coke’em up.”
“That’s a lot of cocaine.”
“I bet a lot of money.”
“What about the assassin?” asked Veronica. “Everyone knows the Kings hired one.”
“Jump off that bridge later. I’ve asked a lot of my contacts. No one knows who it is. We get home and ace Robbins? Contract goes away.”
A small white van braked to a stop on the cobblestone street and a gray-hired man in a vest leapt out.
“Look who I find sucking nectar in my palazzo!” cried the tailor. “It’s you, the gods and goddess of my dreams. Aphrodite and her harem.”
Veronica tried to rise and greet the tailor, but he pushed her back into the chair and knelt before her. “I cannot stay. I only stopped to worship. Because of you, fair-haired maiden nymph, my store is almost empty. The blushing billionaires came with open wallets and they purchased everything. They want to look like the blonde girl in the evening gown, the blonde girl with perfect breasts at the pool, the blonde girl in heels with legs that never end, and you send them all my way. Because of you, I am wealthy.”
Veronica laughed. “Reaping what you sow, haberdasher. You gave us a fortune in fashion.”
“I cannot stay. If I could, I would throw myself at all of you, such a gorgeous nubile table.” He took her hand and kissed it twice. “But alas, I’m off to dress the champions.”
She sat up straighter. “Both?”
“Both. I am the very best.”
“You’ll talk with the American?”
He said, “Of course. The man is so beautiful that I might linger.”
“I need a favor, good tailor.”
“Anything. I would slay a dragon for you. I would sacrifice my child, if I had one.”
“Pass him a secret message, from me.”
The man gasped and clutched her hand tighter. “Yes! Intrigue! Drama! Conspiracies and secrets, yes, absolutely.”
