Chapter 55
55
Emery
D esi is asleep again. How he can rest on this cold floor, I don’t know, but I guess he’s used to this kind of thing. I hate to think of his blameless life ending in this horrible way.
The steel collars around our necks are fastened to chains of the kind used to tether livestock. They are securely tied to a thick ceiling beam, and after a week of wear, the welts on my skin are sore beneath the metal.
Dante asked me yesterday if I wanted breakfast, and I chose that moment to be sarcastic and ask for pastries. He gave me a backhand that cut my cheekbone and served the usual lumpy cream of corn. I don’t know why I baited him, but I’m not the same Emery he bullied and belittled.
Bernio Reggiani returned earlier with supplies, including croissants. He handed me the paper bag, and Dante’s thunderous expression was almost funny as I shared the food with Desi.
Don Reggiani never misses a chance to undermine his son; pettiness could be his defining characteristic without his sadistic cruelty. Dante and his father despise each other with a bone-chilling level of commitment.
Bernio flat out refuses to explain where he went today, but neither will he return Dante’s car key. The old man sits in his chair, the only pistol nestled in his lap, ruling over his son without saying a word.
Something bad will happen tonight. Dante wants to leave, but his father won’t have it, so the missing element can only be Leon.
We all know it. Don Reggiani has told Leon where we are, and there’s gonna be a reckoning. We will not all survive it.
Desi’s quiet snores break into a hacking cough, and I frown. He has what doctors call rales: a crackling sound in his chest caused by fluid building up. The kid is sick; something in his lungs is screwing with him.
“Dante.”
He glances up at the sound of my voice. “What the fuck do you want?”
“Desi isn’t doing so good,” I say carefully. “That’s why he sleeps so much. He’s no use to you. Why don’t you ask your father to take him to the roadside somewhere and call an ambulance? They’d take him away, get him some care.”
Dante scoffs, but it’s Reggiani who speaks. “Do you think I give a fuck?” He takes a swig from a bottle of the aperitivo he favors. “If he dies, he dies. Not my problem.”
“That’s my Papa all over, Emery,” Dante says. He’s not looking at me; his gaze is fixed on his father, his lip twisted into a sneer. “He is always out for himself, even if he says otherwise. And he still can’t kill a kid.”
Reggiani’s tone is freakishly calm. “What does that mean?”
“You failed to kill Leon when he was a boy. By killing his parents, you turned a rich brat into someone capable of leading the fucking bratva.”
Dante grins. “We could never have run this city. Three decades is enough time to wash away most sins, but not yours.”
There’s a minute of silence. Then Dante speaks up again.
“Papa, give me my fucking keys. I don’t know what you did, but I’m not staying here to find out.”
“You’ll stay, son, and see the consequences of your stupidity play out.” Reggiani meets Dante’s glare with one ten times more venomous, and Dante wilts. “You’re right—I want what I want, and no one will take it from me, especially not a loser like you.”
“Leon Vasiliev will unleash Hell if we?—”
“He won’t. Not while we have his woman.”
Dante buries his head in his hands. “Dammit, Papa. That’s exactly why we’re screwed.”
Don Reggiani is too composed and confident. A vicious panic seizes me, and I lie on my side, trying to breathe steadily as my thoughts lead me to a place I don’t want to go.
My husband would hand over his life for mine in a heartbeat. If he knows where I am?—
A sound outside turns everyone’s head. There’s no mistaking it; a vehicle. A car with a big engine, drawing to a halt right outside.
Reggiani takes a last drink and throws the bottle, smashing it in two. He stands, gun in hand, and Dante follows his lead.
“Right on time.” Reggiani shoves his son toward the door. “What you waiting for? Go greet our guest.”
Dante opens the door and closes it again. “No. I’m not going out there.”
“I need to know if he armed,” Reggiani snaps. “I told him to come without weapons, but he’s a pakhan for a reason. He knows I’ll blow his wife away if he messes me around, so get out there before I kill you myself.”
With a hangdog sigh, Dante heads out, and his father shuts the door behind him. I hear sounds outside, but although I can’t pick out the words, I know Leon is here.
Reggiani picks up the chain and hauls me to my feet, making me cry out in shock. Desi jolts awake and scuttles backward until he hits the wall, fear setting off his rattling cough again.
“Loverboy Leon accepted my invitation,” Reggiani says, his breath foul as he puts his face close to mine. “I finally get to end him, like I should have all those years ago when he was hiding like a little coward.”
Hearing him insult my husband loosens my tongue. How dare he call Leon a coward after all he put him through?
“You don’t know the meaning of bravery,” I hiss. “You’re nothing but a deluded old man, clinging to the ashes of the life you burned down. You wanted your dues?” I spit in his eye. “I hope you get precisely what you deserve.”
Reggiani wipes his face on his sleeve. He yanks me aloft, my feet dangling, and Desi screams.
“You fucking cheeky bitch?—”
The lodge door flies open, splintering as it smashes into the wall. Leon has Dante in a headlock, a pistol jammed against his temple, and he walks him inside, kicking at his heels.
My husband gives me a split-second glance and clenches his jaw in anger before kneeing Dante firmly in the balls.
“Aargh!” Dante drops to his knees, but Leon drags him up again. “Papa, he’s got a gun!”
“I can see that, you fool.”
Reggiani drops me, and I land heavily, pain exploding in my hip. He takes aim but can’t get a clean shot, not with Dante writhing in Leon’s grasp.
Leon seems leaner and somehow older, too, like it’s been a decade rather than a week since I saw him last. His clothes are wrinkled, his hair unruly, and his carefully maintained stubble is overgrown.
He never looked better to me.
My heart swells even as terror chokes my words in my throat.
I want to say something. To tell him I love him. But if I draw his eyes, my pitiful sight may cut through his focus and make him lose his advantage.
Reggiani gives a barking laugh. “Well, this is a fucking shitshow. You’re early to your own death, Leon. And you can’t follow simple instructions.”
Leon’s tone is calm, but I know him. A white-hot wave of pure rage rumbles below the surface, gathering pace.
“Drop the weapon and back away from my wife, Bernio,” he says, “or I’ll make my dreams come true and splatter this worthless bastard’s brain all over the wall. Judging by his street smarts, I don’t expect it’ll make much mess.”
Reggiani’s eyes flicker, indecision marring his face, but only for a moment. Then he turns to one side and braces his stance.
Dante realizes before anyone else. “No Papa, Jesus, don’t?—
The pleas don’t even register. With eyes as dead as a shark’s, Reggiani shoots his son square in the chest.