Chapter 39
It smells.
Disturbed by how quiet the night atmosphere is, I walk up to the hospital construction grounds, my eyes taking in my surroundings apprehensively. Normally, I would be here to oversee the progress of how everything is proceeding, but tonight it’s different.
I’m here for Marino.
One of my oldest acquaintances who was taken too soon from a life that he loved.
And it’s my fault, undoubtedly.
Had I not asked him to dig up any and everything he could on Echo, he would probably still be alive right now. I should have known that something was wrong when he didn’t check in with me, but that was nothing new to me. Often, when Marino is on an assignment, he could go a month without contact before he resurfaced to give a simple detail, then would go underground again.
This time had been no different.
But it feels different.
The scene in front of me doesn’t persuade me to feel any less responsible.
“Gio.”
I walk up to my best friend, and he turns to meet me.
“Hey.”
Gio walks to meet me halfway. His usual light air is gone and has been replaced with an underlying rage that I’ve only seen in him once. “It’s a message.”
No shit.
Even a blind person would see that it’s a message. Albeit a shitty one that will only tip the scales in the balance on our side for war and protection – It’s still a disrespectful one.
War is inevitably happening now.
It’s been on the brink for years but came to a height that had to be brought down when the Yakuza family tried to kidnap and traffic Anya in retaliation against Ilya.
I stop in front of Marino’s body– Or what is supposed to be.
The stench I smelled earlier is coming from the multiple black garbage bags in front of me. The familiar scent of decaying flesh that has sat for more than a few weeks is prominent. Yet the lack of blood beneath the bags is proof that someone allowed him to decay before moving him here. That someone had the ill intentions of taking his life and bringing it to my knowledge without making too much of a mess.
Like Gio said, it’s a message. One that incites war, retribution, and retaliation. One that tells me I have amends to make for Marino’s children. They aren’t young anymore, but he’s always done what he needed to ensure they didn’t need anything in college.
Or he did.
On instinct, my hands run over my face in an attempt to obliterate my rising emotions. ”What happened?”
“We’re going to find out.”
Gio looks around the open space. “There are no cameras on site, so whoever dropped him off knew that.”
Clearly.
I look around, too. My eyes take in everything as I try to figure out exactly how they made the drop without anything damning left behind. Granted, with this being a construction zone, it’s difficult to tell if there’s anything worth looking into, but there should have been something that we could see. Something that we could find.
“Other cameras?” I ask.
The look that I’m given tells me precisely what I need to know, but still, Gio sighs. “There are cameras around the area, but I doubt they caught much.”
He shakes his head. “Whoever did this knew what they were doing? It’s a huge construction zone.”
I look at the bags, a sickening feeling of dread comes over me. “When was the last time that you got any word from Marino?”
“Maybe two months ago.”
Gio shrugs. “He called when you were in Italy. I missed it, then I reached back out to him, and nothing.”
“He never confirmed what it might be about with you?”
“No.”
Of course, he didn’t.
I groan, though I don’t know exactly what it’s from. It could be because I’m running on very little sleep, my life is upending itself, my family is on the verge of war, my uncle is dying, and my wife is miserably pregnant. She doesn’t know I’m the cause or that my investigator has turned up dead at a hospital that I’m building with the mayor of the city.
The truth is that it’s because I feel like this is just the beginning of a storm no family is prepared for.
I sigh, resigned to the reality of what is actually in front of me. “Get it cleaned up.”
Gio nods but stops when I call him. “Find out what happened to Marino.”
What the fuck is happening?
I take another look around, irritated that my night is ending this way.
I want to feel a certain way that Marino is just another casualty in this civil war, and maybe it’s worse that I only wish I knew what he was looking into before his demise. I want to glower in the knowledge that I know the loss Marino’s children will feel from his death, but I can’t entirely, and that is making me feel worse.
Am I so disillusioned that the death of someone I employed means nothing? Or is it because I knew that this may have been the most confusing investigation I’d ever asked him to look into, and he ended up dead? Marino had never been one to step down from a challenge, and that alone had been why he’d worked for me for so long.
Once Gio hangs up his phone, he turns to me. The rage in his face says the things I can’t– Won’t. Things I’m not experiencing….Plus, Marino was Gio's friend more than mine. They hung out on purpose more than once and bowled together frequently.
So, it makes sense that he’s aching from the loss more than I am.
“Who found him?”
Gio sighs, pushing his phone into his pocket. He makes eye contact with me as his jaw ticks. “Me. His phone came on, and his location pinged. Sims called me, and I followed it here.”
I feel the frown on my face deepen. With this taking place in my area, it is grounds for The Council to permit us to take action, but because it’s me, I’m sure they will find some reason to try and fight it. The main reason is probably going to be that Marino, while someone I knew, isn’t family. His death may take a toll on us, but not the way that The Council sees it.
My feet carry me to Gio, and I place my hands on his shoulders, forcing him to look up at me, even though the height difference isn’t by much. “We will find out who did this and why.”
Gio is older than me, and since we met in Italy, he has always been a figure of consolation, guidance, and direction. Now it feels like I have to be that for him. This life is hard, and we know what comes with it.
It doesn’t make it any easier to accept when you lose someone close that was only guilty by association.
“Are you su–”
My words are cut off when my phone rings. I look down at a restricted number, then forward the call to my voicemail. “Are you sure that he didn’t leave any clue as to what he was doing?”
I look around again as if that will give me the answer, but I’m greeted with the eerie night air and silence that encompasses it.
For such a bad area, gentrification sure has made a more significant impact than expected. Or it’s because I bought it.
For Echo. You bought it for Echo. A voice inside says matter-of-factly to me.
After a moment, I realize that Gio hasn’t responded. I turn and look at my best friend. The distant expression on his face is far more disturbing than I expected from him. We’ve both lost friends and family, but he’s never shown this amount of emotion– Not since Italy when both our mothers were murdered. It makes me question if there was something more between him and Marino. Or I would question it further if I didn’t recall that Marino had a wife that he was absolutely in love with.
The man was also a raging homophobe behind closed doors. In his early fifties, he had clung dearly to his old don’t ask, don’t tell policy that had undoubtedly been instilled in him in his childhood. So, it still behooves me why Gio would be so distraught about his death.
I stop– Breathe. I force myself to inhale then exhale deeply. My eyes stay focused on my best friend, and I almost don’t want to believe what I figured out. Everything makes sense suddenly, and I mask the disappointment that takes over me.
“I want them found.”
Gio demands of me. Every bit of his true Bianchi is showing through. We’ve never voiced how much Gio resembles my father. Of course, we’ve all seen it with every year that passes, and we’re all too aware of how many affairs Maximo Bianchi had that he didn’t bother hiding. What we never investigated further is how many illegitimate children he has, whether they are alive or dead.
None have come forward. Or my father hasn’t allowed any of them to live this long aside from Gio. It’s a possibility that my father left him in Italy with his mother for selfish reasons, or Gio’s mother, while not his legal wife, was the one woman that he had emotions for.
Love would be too strong a word for him. I only think that because her devotion to him got her and my mother killed in a fire, and half of our compound in Italy burned down.
Until I fixed it.
“Damiano.”
Gio steps closer. Even though he's shorter, Gio easily has twenty pounds of bulk on me. He’s not my second for no reason, but I pray that I won’t have to exercise any brute force against him. “Tommaso has to be responsible for this.”
I sigh. Tommaso is responsible for the entire debacle that I’m eternally invested in. “Rene?”
Gio looks at me in confusion before he stops. “Rene? What about Rene?”
I resist the urge to shake my head. “Is this about her? Your anger? Are you fucking her?”
Gio’s face blanches, and for a long time, he’s quiet. “She’s not guilty. She couldn’t do this.”
His words are all that I need. I would never do anything to harm Marino’s family, but the meaning behind his response insinuates I would allow Rene to take the fall for Marino’s death. “Why would you think she would?”
Another silence greets me, and I can’t resist the urge to run my hand roughly over my forehead. When my hand drops, I stare at Gio. “Tell me you weren’t fucking seen together?”
“I can’t.”
He shrugs. “We had dinner. I took her out of town when you came back from Italy.”
I groan. I’m not angry that Gio sought comfort with Rene. I could never be angry with him for that. He’s a man, and though it helps us none, in our lives, we tend to find it where it’s not always best. I found mine in Echo. His is with Rene.
The fact that he was so careless about it makes it worse for us. “So, you took the wife of the one man that we contract the most jobs out of–”
I step closer to Gio, lowering my voice as if someone else can hear. “-You took her out of town for a romantic getaway, fucked her, and now her husband is dead, in bags, in my hospital, and your only FUCKING concern is that she doesn’t go to jail?”
Hit him.
My fists clench and unclench, the ache in them that demands a release breathing through my veins. I would be right to hit him, and Gio wouldn’t fight me back. He would take the ass-kicking he knows he deserves for being a fucking besotted jackass. It wouldn’t make me feel any better or make this night any closer to being over, but it would fucking serve him right.
“She would never hurt Marino.”
Bullshit.
I scoff. “Don’t be so fucking naive. Everyone is capable of hurting someone.”
A part of me is astounded that Gio is so enamored he would ignore that. “Now, did Rene do this? I don’t know, but it doesn’t look good that you’re having an affair, and now Marino is here.”
I point towards the bags that fucking wreak of death.
My phone starts to ring, and the same restricted number appears. Dismissively, I turn the ringer off again. “Get this fucking cleaned up.”
My finger angles at Marino’s remains again. “Get Sims to my house right fuckin’ now, and get Rene somewhere until I can fucking talk to her.”
Gio nods, stepping away when my phone rings a third time. Frustrated, I look down at the restricted number and sigh. I answer it, putting the phone to my ear, angry and ready to tear a hole into the unknowing person when I hear. “Get to Echo now. Something’s wrong.”
I frown at the abrupt greeting. “Who the fuck is this?”
“Did you hear me?”
The person on the other line yells impatiently. “Something is wrong. Your car has been stopped for fifteen minutes, and she’s in it.”
“If this is a fuckin jo–”
I’m cut off. “Chesapeake and Fairinghale. Get there now.”
The call ends.
I freeze, and a cold sense of trepidation courses through me when I recognize the street as one not far from my house. Without waiting, I dial Echo’s cell and wait for it to ring. Not far from me on the phone, Gio turns to look at me. He says something to the other person on the phone, then hangs up.
His brow furrows in question. “What is it?” he asks.
No, no, no. This isn’t happening.
I hold up a finger, waiting in anticipation until Echo’s phone goes to voicemail. I immediately try her again. “Come with me. Get someone here to clean this up.”
I walk away without any hesitation. My goal is to get to the house, to make sure that Echo is okay, that nothing has happened. The intense fear that I feel is more foreign than anything.
“What’s going on?”
Behind me, Gio rushes to catch up.
My pounding heart takes over the blood that seems to be rushing through my ears. I stop at my door, fumbling with my keys. “I got a call saying that the car never made it home.”
“Echo’s?” He asks.
I nod. Before I can say anymore, Gio is running to his car that he drove here, and I’m in mine. In a dazed autopilot, I turn the car on and peel out of the open parking lot without a care. Nobody should be here right now.
Not even us.
My phone, now connected to the car’s bluetooth, tries to reach Echo a third time. The unwelcoming sound of her automated voicemail irritates me. My grip on the steering wheel tightens, and the sensation of the leather being stressed beneath my hands offers a small amount of comfort to me that doesn’t last.
“Call Vladimir,”
I order my car, and it does immediately.
Briefly, I pray he will answer and tell me the alarming call I received was nothing. I almost pray that this is all just a game and that the instant I realize it, everything will be okay. I allow myself to relish the thought this is a cruel prank configured by someone who hates me, and they wouldn’t stoop to hurting Echo to get to me. I pray they would reserve their torture for me alone.
Then I recall she has her own enemies, and I’ve done a shit job protecting her from them so far. I remember I haven’t kept my promise to her about taking care of them. I was waiting until I had all of the evidence to use against them or the chance to annihilate them for overstepping their bounds. But here we are with neither, and my heart racing at the thought of losing her.
All I know is that I can’t lose her– I won’t lose her.
My mind is flooded with thoughts, telling me that something couldn’t have happened to her and I wouldn’t find out. I have far too many eyes, ears, and resources at my disposal for them to all be this useless.
A ringing phone blares through my car, and I jolt back to reality. I withhold the sigh I feel when I see Gio’s name show up. “Si?”
“They’re not home.”
He confirms. “I told Marco to send men to find them and gave them her phone coordinates.”
Though he can’t see me, I nod, gripping the steering wheel tighter. With each second that brings me closer to her, I’m consumed by another feeling I’m unfamiliar with. This all feels too scripted and thought out.
“Who called you?”
I growl at the question. “Restricted.”
I know that we’re going to have someone look into the call and pray that they find something that I can use.
“Do you think that they stopped?”
“No.”
I near my neighborhood. “Echo doesn’t stop. And she wouldn’t after being around people.”
I know this because I know my wife. “I’m five minutes away.”
Three minutes.
My foot presses the accelerator, flooring the pedal until I hear the roar of the engine relax. By now, with no response from phone calls or text messages, the consuming palpitation I had earlier seems to calm a bit at the hope I’m overreacting.
I imagine that I’ll make it to Chesapeake and Fairinghale before Gio or Marco and will find Echo and my men tending to a flat tire. Or maybe an old tree that has fallen after years of weather breaking it down. The winds have picked up lately as we near colder months, and if someone doesn’t own the land surrounding the roads, there isn’t a demand to take care of them. That’s the solace I give myself– The prayer I say in my mind every passing second.
I pray my wife is okay. That our baby is fine. I will find her in high spirits, ready to argue with me as always. I pray I’ll be able to bait her into a verbal altercation, and after I watch her storm up to our room, I’ll find her undressing, then take her against the closest surface as a reminder that she’s mine.
Automatically responding, my foot eases off the pedal at the sight of flashing red and blue lights that blur into an oblivion of anxiety. I stop behind a Toyota Tacoma, putting my car in park. I take in everything. The bright flares that surround the area are alarming me with what I was trying to ignore versus the fact that they are a reality.
“Gio?”
I have nothing else to say. Words fail me at my emotions that burden me with scary realities. Realities that I was praying wouldn’t come to pass.
They are, though.
“Get here,”
I say, barely over a whisper.
Everything seems to slow down. The thumping of my heart grows louder, becoming the only thing I hear. My eyes follow a few paramedics, tracking their rushed movements. I see cops barking orders and forcing people to stay behind the yellow caution tape while others are trying to redirect traffic safely. Through the people that scramble around, I scantily look around for a familiar face that will settle my nerves.
Still, I don’t see her.
I don’t take the time to cut off the car before I get out. My keys are still inside when I rush past some people standing around. They manage a grunt, but I ignore them. The first thing my eyes notice is the tire marks that careen off the road and into a ditch. If not for today, I would have never noticed the road even had that steep of a slope to it.
My breath hitches, my conscience telling me that I already know what is down there.
My brain urges my body to move, but my feet won’t. They’re stuck where I’m standing, frozen in – Fear? Is it fear that I’m feeling? And why? Fear that my wife isn’t down there? Or that she isn’t alive?
She can’t die.
I will myself to believe it. A spirit as stubborn as hers won’t leave this plane without wrecking the type of havoc that it deserves. She wouldn’t leave me without telling me how much she despises me, right?
I inch forward cautiously. Uncertain, my feet shuffle closer when a hand lands on my shoulder. I turn and see Gio. The expression on his face is one I refuse to recognize or acknowledge. If I do, I’m not sure what buried emotion I will give birth to.
Movement from the scattered brush gives us a view, and I rush towards it without thinking. A cop reaches his arm out to stop me, then halts his actions instantly upon recognizing who I am. With that, I move on but stop again.
The shuffling down the ditch reveals three EMTs emerging with a stretcher being carried by them. My heart skips a beat, and I run instantly. My eyes fall on her before my hands reach out, stopping short of touching her.
“Echo?”
I say her name. “Bellissima?”
Her eyelids flutter but don’t open. A groan escapes her lips, and my gaze lowers to the metal piece that juts from her side, blood surrounding it. When I touch her head, staying in step with the EMTs, I pull back my hand at the amount of blood that coats it.
Her hair covers the bleeding from her head.
I slow and almost lose my balance from the engulfing remorse and despair that envelop me. “Will she be okay?” I ask.
“We’re going to do our best.”
One of the EMTs responds.
“A- And the baby?”
Even I note the tremor in my voice
“She’s pregnant?”
I nod. “Yes.”
In a flash, things seem to move faster, and the EMTs say something that I don’t hear into their walkies.
Movement around me seems to blur, and I stay with the EMTs who rush Echo to the back of an ambulance.
My brain registers me telling them that I’m her husband, but it’s a blur. The bright lights of the ambulance fade out around me when I’m allowed to climb in with her, and we start to drive.
The workers hustle around me, saying words that make no sense, rushing to tend to her, but the only sound resonating is the beep from a machine as she flatlines.
To Be Continued……