The Man in Shadow

by Taylor O'Connell

  “He can keep his compliments. Next time he fucking threatens me, I take something to remember him by.”

  “You gonna take his maidenhood?” asked Fergus, to the laughter of all but Sal and Danilo.

  “He’s got a point, though, don’t he?” asked Eliso. The Yahdrish sniffed and wiped at his hooked nose with a sleeve. “We been waiting long enough, what’s the job?”

  “Ah, Bruno, is this not what comes of working with the younger generation?” said Alonzo. “They’ve no patience, no subtlety, and worst of all, no respect.”

  Bruno Carbone shrugged, looking somewhat bearlike in his slow lazy movement. “Respect can be taught. Subtlety—what can I say?”

  Alonzo pointed to Bruno with a waggling finger.

  “Subtle?” said Danilo. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Means if you’re a dumb fucking ox, and you’d do best to keep your fucking trap shut,” said Valla.

  “You know what?” Danilo said, slamming the table and kicking back his chair as he burst to his feet.

  Valla didn’t react. Instead, she continued to use her knife to pick at the dirt beneath her nails.

  “Danilo,” Alonzo said calmly. “That will be enough.”

  Danilo sat, a petulant look on his young, bruised face.

  “Ah, but, Lonzo, I’ve yet to learn what—”

  “Enough out of you as well, lass,” said Bruno.

  Valla smirked, but didn’t challenge the old man.

  “Well,” said the Yahdrish “what’s the job?”

  Alonzo cleared his throat and stood. “As most of you know, we have, for some time now, experienced interference due to an interloper within our organization and those we associate with.”

  Sal’s mouth went dry. He glanced at Valla. The look she gave him confirmed his fear.

  “Gentlemen, congratulations,” said Alonzo Amato, “you’ve been selected to join me today upon a fox hunt.”

  “Fox hunt?” said Danilo. “This about that D’Angelo scumbag?”

  “Why yes, Dominik D’Angelo is the very interloper whom shall have the honor of playing the fox.”

  Sal’s heart sank. They were going after Dominik, no doubt about it now. A fox hunt, Sal knew that game. It rarely worked out in favor of the fox. However—if one of the hounds were to run a false trail—he might lead the others off the scent.

  “How we doing this then?” Danilo asked.

  Both Valla and Bruno shot the young bruiser dirty looks, but Danilo seemed oblivious.

  Surprisingly, Alonzo obliged with an answer.

  “We will perform this little number as a four-one-two,” Alonzo said. “My lead four will weave the net. Fergus, Eliso, I want you boys to pair off everything north and west of Town Square. Salvatori, you will accompany me.”

  Again, Sal’s spirits took a plunge. Splitting up would make it difficult for Sal to lead them all on a false trail. Still, he’d have to try—for Dominik’s sake—and his own.

  “Valla, my dear. Tonight you shall don the costume of the cat’s paw. Situate yourself upon the bell tower. Within the keeper’s quarters, you will find a balcony that will offer an overhead of the entire square. We’ll round up any stragglers once we’ve bagged our quarry. Any questions?”

  Sal had a thousand questions, but he kept his mouth shut, fists and jaw clenched. Thinking of a way out was all he could do to keep from panicking.

  The rain came down hard. Summer storms often came in a flash and abated in a turn or two. Only, this particular wash seemed to have made plans to stay. It had been a full hour and counting, while Sal and Alonzo waited beneath the awning of a shop that had long since locked up for the night.

  Sal and Alonzo had crossed the city together, all the while, Sal had considered more than once that he ought to use the locket and slip away, to go and warn Dominik. Yet, if he did, Alonzo might simply call the hounds on him. All he could do was wait, and hope Dominik was as good at lying low as he seemed to think.

  Might be Sal could try and lead Alonzo away from Dominik, to trick the hounds off the trail as he’d planned. Then again, he still didn’t know where Dominik was. Could be, he would lead the hunters right to their quarry.

  “Should we keep moving?” Sal asked.

  “Our scouts had him pinned down between Town Hall and the Singing Bridge,” Alonzo said with a lazy shrug. “So, unless dear Dominik sprouts wings and flies off, he’ll be forced head east, which will take him right past our crew on Daggins Alley, or he can go west, which will take him right through Porter’s Lane, that road there. Or I suppose he could swim the Oliander and hope he doesn’t wash out to sea with the rest of the rats.”

  Sal nodded as his hopes of getting Dominik out of this alive slipped away. What could Sal do, kill Alonzo’s whole crew? Could he even manage it? Maybe if Valla helped, but why would she? What was to stop her from putting a knife in Sal and Dominik herself? Valla had never liked D’Angelo, and of late, she’d not seemed too keen on Sal. Hell, he suspected Valla had been the one to give Dominik’s name over to the Commission to begin with..

  They sat in silence for another hour, Sal hoping that Dominik knew of some secret passageway out of the city, or maybe that he really would spring wings and fly off over the city walls.

  Sal heard the scuff of boots on stone.

  He whipped around, hand shooting to the locket.

  “We’ve got him,” came Bruno’s gravelly voice from the shadows.

  As terrible as those words had been to hear, the horror he’d felt at that moment had been nothing compared to what the next few hours had in store.

  They’d taken two fingers, most of his teeth and an eye, before Sal and Alonzo had even arrived. It wasn’t until Dominik had lost consciousness that they were satisfied he had worked alone in the Scarvini killings.

  Danilo had seemed to enjoy every moment of it, savoring the screams until they ended, and all Dominik managed was a gasping gargle.

  In the end, they took his head.

  Danilo had picked up the bald head by the ear, blood still pouring from the severed neck. He’d held it up like some kind of trophy and roared in his ecstasy.

  Sal turned and left swiftly.

  Once out the door, he ran until he couldn’t run any longer. He staggered, the sickness in his gut overwhelming him. He fell to the cobblestones on his hands and knees and retched.

  27

  A Fitting Punishment

  INTERLUDE, SEVEN YEARS EARLIER

  Sal stepped into the dining hall with a strange feeling of queasiness in his gut. He wasn’t hungry. How could he be, with a belly full of worry?

  Stefano sat in his place, at the head of the table, Tristain seated at his right hand.

  Sal nodded to them both respectfully and took a seat at the opposite head of the table.

  His uncle’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t object to Sal’s presence.

  Tristain let loose a little scoff before he smirked down at Sal.

  It was clear Tristain felt quite comfortable in his superiority. He, Tristain, had been chosen over Sal to join Stefano the night before. The ward, chosen over the man’s own flesh and blood, to accompany him at the Commission meeting. From Tristain’s point of view, Sal could certainly see why he would act and feel the way he did.

  Stefano cleared his throat before he began. “Salvatori, now that you are here, there is a matter I would like to address. I am missing a valuable possession, a ring. I believe you know of this ring. It bears the Lorenzo falcon.”

  Sal stared blankly at his uncle. He had been expecting the question, had run through his answer half a hundred times in his head in preparation for this very moment. “I know of the ring, yes. Are you saying you’ve lost it?”

  Stefano fixed him with a scrutinizing look. He turned to Tristain and back to Sal.

  Tristain leered at Sal. He wore a knowing look, and for a moment, Sal questioned whether he had been found out. The feeling in his gut, churning into a maelstrom of foreboding.

&
nbsp; Stefano exhaled loudly through his nose. “I want to know what has become of my ring.”

  It was not a question, but a statement—no, an accusation, one directed at Sal.

  Sal shrugged. “Have you checked under the chair in your solar, Uncle? Last I knew you were keeping it in the drawer of your little table.”

  Stefano’s lip curled. Though he didn’t show it, Sal could tell his uncle was raging inside. Clearly, the thought of Sal stealing his Commission ring had infuriated him, and Sal’s obvious indifference to the subject had only tilted him farther into anger.

  “Uncle, how exactly are we supposed to break our fast without food?”

  Stefano slammed the table with both fists. “There will be no food until the ring is found.” He glared at Sal. “Tell me what you know of it, boy. Before the truth comes out of its own accord.”

  The door of the dining hall opened, and Greggings scuttled in. He cast a nervous look before he closed the distance to Stefano and whispered in his ear.

  The veins in Stefano’s neck began pulsing as he listened. Slowly his glare turned from Sal to Tristain.

  Suddenly, the leer on the young ward’s face was replaced by a look of confusion.

  When he finished speaking, Greggings placed a small silver ring in Stefano’s open hand.

  It seemed as though all the air had been sucked from the room, and in that moment, the feeling of foreboding in the pit of Sal’s stomach turned to one of victory—a warm sneaky feeling of accomplishment.

  The look Stefano gave his ward sent a chill down Sal’s spine, and the warm feeling turned cold.

  Stefano stood. “Stand up, boy,” he said in a cold, lifeless tone.

  Tristain’s brow wrinkled in confusion, but he stood as he was instructed.

  Stefano grabbed his ward by the arm and led him out. “Come, all of you.”

  Sal scrambled to his feet and followed behind Greggings, as Stefano led them out of the dining hall, through the foyer, and out onto the estate grounds. Stefano practically dragged his ward by the wrist, and he didn’t stop until they reached the woodshed.

  Tristain was shaking. “I—I don’t understand,” the ward said. “What’s happening. I don’t understand.”

  Stefano ignored the boy’s questions, and the sickening feeling in Sal’s stomach grew until he thought he might retch.

  It was then that Sal realized he’d made an error, a miscalculation of the highest order. He wanted to shout at his uncle to stop. But what could he do—tell the truth?

  No, it was too late for that.

  Stefano practically dragged Tristain to the stump where a pile of chopped wood had been stacked beside an axe.

  Stefano held the ring for Tristain to see.

  The ward looked back at him in confusion.

  Well?” Stefano asked.

  Tristain shook his head, mumbling.

  “You want to tell me what it was doing with your possessions?”

  “My possessions?” Tristain stammered, “But—”

  “Lie to me, will you, boy?”

  “I don’t understand,” Tristain wailed. “I swear, I don’t understand.”

  The ward shook his head in confusion, but Sal’s uncle merely made a sound of disgust in his throat.

  “You can try and lie to me, but I’ll not have it. On your knees.”

  The look on Tristain’s face turned from befuddlement to sickening horror.

  Sal’s bowels tightened. He almost couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

  “On your fucking knees!” Stefano shouted.

  The boy did as he was told, sobbing and shaking as he complied.

  Stefano shoved the boy down on the stump with a booted foot.

  Sal could hardly keep from vomiting up the truth, but he clenched his jaw and thought of the smug leer the ward had given him just that morning. The same look of superiority he always wore when he looked at Sal.

  Stefano picked up the wood axe. “Your hand, on the block, boy.”

  Tristain looked at him in horror, his head shaking violently.

  Stefano snarled. “This is the price of theft in my household. Your hand.”

  The ward shook his head again. He was sobbing, mumbling his protest through the tears.

  “Hand,” Stefano said with a voice like ice.

  The boy shook his head.

  “Greggings,” Stefano commanded.

  As the manservant stepped forth, Stefano planted a boot on Tristain’s back and pinned him flat against the dirt ground.

  Greggings reached down and grabbed the ward’s hand. The old serving-man had tears in his eyes as he forced Tristain’s arm across the chopping block.

  Tristain screamed, kicking and writhing, wailing his innocence as Stefano lifted the axe high.

  Sal wanted to scream, but he watched in silence as the blade fell.

  In one swift strike, the hand was chopped free of the arm, blood sprayed.

  The boy screamed as he flopped and flailed on the ground, clutching the bloody stump of his arm close to his chest.

  Stefano looked down on the wailing boy with pitiless eyes. “I’ll give you one last chance to come clean.”

  The ward merely sobbed and moaned, tears streaming from his terror-stricken eyes.

  “Very well,” Stefano said. He lifted the axe once more and brought it down on the boys head.

  Sal dropped to his knees.

  Greggings began to sob, and Stefano let free of the axe, letting it drop to the blood-soaked earth.

  Sal wiped his mouth with a sleeve. His throat burned, his mouth tasted of acid. He shuddered and pulled himself together, standing.

  Stefano sneered, once Sal had regained his feet. Then, without warning, Stefano tossed the ring to Sal and stalked off.

  Sal fumbled the ring for a moment before he clapped it up against his chest. After a moment, he pulled his hand away from his body and looked down at the ring. He stared at it, hating it more than anything in the world—more than anything in the world, apart from himself.

  28

  The Rescue

  Sal had been sick for two days, unable to get himself out of bed. He’d been in a dreamlike haze of sleep and wakefulness that was neither truly one nor the other. Eyes open or closed, he could hear the screams. Over and over again, Dominik’s screams for mercy rang through his head, never allowing him a moment of respite.

  They’d sent the head of Dominik D’Angelo to Don Scarvini, in order to broker a new peace between the black cross and the sickle. From what Sal had heard Odie tell, Giotto Scarvini had accepted the head gratefully. Soon after, he had a spike made, the head, placed upon the spike, and displayed at the door to his solar. According to Odie, the Don had then forgiven all past transgressions committed by the Moretti Family and had accepted Don Moretti’s terms for peace. Scarvini and Moretti were once again allies.

  “That takes us off the hook then?” Vinny asked.

  The room was rather cramped, even with only four of them. Sal Vinny and Aurie had managed to squeeze onto the bed, Sal at the head, Vinny and Aurie rather close together at the foot, while Odie told his tale of delivering the head of Dominik D’Angelo with a group of Moretti enforcers.

  Odie shrugged.

  “How can you be so crass?” Aurie said. “We’ve lost another friend.”

  To Sal, Odie seemed anything but crass about the situation. He put on like he couldn’t much care, but truth be told, Sal had never seen the big man acting so strangely.

  “He wasn’t a friend of mine,” said Vinny.

  Aurie shot him a look.

  Sal shook his head. “Dominik was supposed to be in hiding, wasn’t he? How did Alonzo even find him?”

  “Valla might know something,” suggested Vinny.

  Sal nodded. He suspected Valla knew more than she’d let on.

  “Where is Valla, anyhow?” Aurie asked.

  They all looked around at one another, but no one spoke up.

  “Odie?” Vinny said. “She didn’t—”
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  The big man shook his head. “I don’t know nothing more than you lot.”

  “Well then, I think the best thing we can do now is find Valla and see if we’re in the clear with that backer of hers,” said Vinny.

  “And what of Don Scarvini?” asked Sal.

  “What of him?” said Vinny with a shrug.

  “He’s still out there remember—he saw the big man and me that night in his bloody solar. Who’s to say he didn’t make us?”

  “Mate, if Don Scarvini made you, you’d already be dead,” Vinny said with a smirk. “We should keep our heads low, but as far as I can tell, we’re in the clear now.”

  Sal nodded, unwilling to meet anyone’s eyes.

  It seemed they’d all come to the same conclusion. Dominik D’Angelo had played the perfect scapegoat.

  “Well,” Sal said. “Considering the circumstances, I suppose we had best carry on as usual. At least, until we hear different.”

  “Come on now,” said Vinny, a jocular smile spreading across his face. “I know what we all need. A good sujock. That would hit the spot, clear those storm clouds right out of your skies.”

  “The bloody hell is sujock?” asked the big man.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Aurie said. “How in the Light’s name is food supposed to help?”

  “Trust me,” Vinny said, standing up from the bed and holding a hand out to Aurie. “Once you’ve tried it, you’ll understand.”

  Odie shrugged, the floorboards creaking as he shifted his weight. “Food, eh? Don’t see how it could hurt.”

  Shaking her head, Aurie accepted Vinny’s hand and stood.

  Somehow, it didn’t sound so bad. Might be all Sal needed was some food and the company of his friends.