Chapter Thirteen
LUCA
As I slide the Enzino killer out of my jacket again, and I see the blood covering the blade, my mind goes back to a few minutes before.
When I entered the wedding venue from the east side with Marco, Jeff, Carlo, Jo, and Vince behind me.
River and Aki and a few other Yakuza men were doing the same from the kitchen entrance.
Five Bratva with Seb and his crew from the chapel.
I didn’t know how my boss convinced the Japanese and Russian Mafia to back us up, but I was just glad we had help.
It was strange. I’d been waiting for this day for so fucking long, and now that I was so close to get my revenge, Art was all I could think about.
We found ourselves in the waiting area with a large foyer, three separate sitting rooms, and a bar.
We made our way through the corridor, checking right and left, guns at the ready.
When I looked in the second room, I saw Coretti’s dead body slumped over a round table with four of his men, two by the door, two near their boss.
There were some documents on top of the table.
I moved closer and saw the fresh blood splatter all over the pages and two more bodies, Enzino’s men, on the floor on the other side.
“What the fuck happened here? Some kind of Mexican standoff?” Marco sniffed while Carlo and Santo were going around checking pulses.
I heard wheezing from the left side of the room and circled the table, pointing my Beretta at two more men lying on the ground, before I saw him. Jack Enzino. He was sitting on the floor, back to the wall, his shirt had blood on his belly. He was still breathing, unfortunately.
“And look what the cat dragged in and left to die,” I growled, gripping my Enzino killer blade until my knuckles turned white.
“I’ll be damned.” Marco chuckled, bending down to check if the fucker had any weapons on him. “The snake is here. Are you bleeding or just shedding?”
“Fuck you, Moretti!” Enzino spat on the ground. There was blood in it. Good.
“You’re in luck, fucking up pieces of shit is Luca’s specialty.” Marco gave me a light tap on the back and backed off.
I crouched down and stared at him. He didn’t look so tough and evil up close, fighting for his pathetic life. I grabbed the top of Enzino’s greasy hair to yank his face back.
“You don’t know who I am, do you?” I hissed in his face, pushing my blade on his cheek without breaking the skin.
He glared at me, but his trembling lip said all I needed to know. I tightened my grip, shoving his head against the wall.
“Nero, Leone’s lap dog,” he gritted.
I hummed. Of course he knew my name, I’d worked hard to be as renowned as I was. “That’s my mother’s surname. My father’s was Carulli. Vinny Carulli, ring a bell, old man?”
His eyes widened, but he kept his mouth shut, the wheels in his head spinning.
“See the scars on my face? Remember that night, motherfucker? Your son gave them to me after you ordered him to kill my mother,” I seethed.
“That bitch blackmailed me,” he retorts.
“Bullshit! My father went to jail for something you did! You promised him you’d help us out, instead you had him killed and then came for us, you son of a bitch!” The ire, the hate came deep from within my soul, from the beast he created.
“This is for my mother and father.” I sliced his cheek from the corner of his lip up to his temple.
I went deep, digging the blade until I saw the white of his bones.
I was savoring every cry and scream he let out, every drop of blood, finally able to use this knife after thirty years of waiting.
His hands came at me, but Jeff and Vince were there to keep him still.
“And this is for Art.” I moved the blade to the other side and started cutting again, but this time, I included his eye as well. Taking away half of his sight seemed fitting since he must have known what Mario had been doing to Art but had decided to avert his eyes.
When I was done, he was a bloody mess; pieces of flesh were hanging off his face. He was almost unrecognizable. Panting, crying, shivering.
“Fuck! That is going to leave a nasty scar,” Marco commented, studying Enzino’s face.
“No, it won’t. His mangled face won’t have time to turn into a scar,” I declared grimly, before lifting the knife to finally avenge that little boy who lost everything.
But before I could stick it into his chest, shots resounded behind me.
I rolled to the left, moving fast behind a dresser.
More bullets flew as I took my Beretta out and started responding.
I glanced back, but Enzino wasn’t there anymore. Fuuuuuck! That slithering prick!
I could see Marco and Jeff; they had flipped the stone table and used it as a shield, firing from behind it. Jo was behind the armchair, holding his arm, blood covering his sleeve.
I unsheathed two knives, and after a quick peek, I tossed them, one after the other, getting one shitbag in the head and another in the chest. They were Enzinos, I recognized one of them. There were three more standing.
“We’ll take care of this,” Marco yelled at me, signaling to Santo and Carlo on the other side. “Go get Art. We’ll cover you.” He pointed at the door a few feet to my left.
As soon as they started discharging their weapons again, I jumped up, firing at the Enzinos until I ran into the adjoining room.
Seb had shown us the blueprint of the wedding venue, so I knew where I was going.
Art was supposed to be in the groom’s dressing room, two doors down, waiting to be called to the chapel.
Was he okay? Was he really going to go through with this marriage nonsense?
The thought enraged me. What the fuck was he thinking?
The Enzino killer was back in my jacket, I was holding my gun and another knife.
I moved to the room’s threshold to slowly sneak a peek outside.
The groom’s dressing room had two men guarding it.
Because of the shooting, they looked alert, guns in hand.
I flipped my knife and held it from the tip, calculating the distance before throwing it at the thug closer to me.
It got him in the neck. He started sliding down the wall, distracting the other one and giving me the perfect moment to kill him as well with a bullet straight to the head.
I rapidly reached the door and entered. Finally.
Art was in my sight again—the restless beast inside of me quieted for a moment.
He looked like a fucking ray of sun, my sun.
Sole mio. He was so stunning in a white suit, shirt, and pants.
His sandy hair was messily framing his face as if he’d been running his hand through it.
His eyes were red—did he cry? As I looked at him more closely, he was pale, tense and wary—toward me.
He kept glancing down at my gun. I clenched my jaw, so fucking angry at this whole situation.
All I wanted to do was hoist his ass out of here, but I didn’t want to scare him, especially after discovering what Mario had done to him once again.
I felt like my insides were torn apart. My avenging beast was awakened again, ready to rip and kill.
Mario was going to feel my wrath upon him.
But I didn’t have to go find him to do that. He came to me.
And now we are face-to-face. There’s no resemblance to Art whatsoever. Mario has dark hair, a heavy figure, and strong features, more like Jack Enzino. Sole mio is nothing like them.
I could just shoot him, I still have two bullets in my gun, but I want him to suffer, to scream in agonizing pain.
“Luca ‘Scarface’ Nero.” He smirks excitedly at me.
“It’s Luca ‘The Blade’ Nero, asshole,” Art corrects him, almost making me huff.
“No.” His lips curl into an evil smile. “I gave him those scars soon after I stabbed his mother, three, four times?”
I hear Art gasping even though his hands move to cover his mouth.
I tighten my grip on the knife and grit my teeth until my jaw hurts.
I’m trying to calm myself, but the inner beast isn’t listening.
Pushing for retaliation, for blood and death.
Mario is attempting to rile me up, to make me attack him rashly, blinded by my rage.
And I almost let the beast win when I hear Art’s furious hiss.
“You will burn in hell today, you depraved fucker! Luca will see to it.”
His support, the faith he has in me, I can clearly see it in his light blue eyes. The same shade as Mario’s, but they couldn’t feel more different. Art’s pools shine with radiance, grit, and kinkiness, while his brother’s are simply dead. There’s nothing but ugliness there.
“You know I created that nickname and forced people to say it.” He sneers.
“I wanted you to remember that night. You were supposed to be dead after the beating I gave you. It was irksome when I realized who you were. But I learned from my mistake. I practice a lot. Did you enjoy my present in the park?”
My eyes fall on the tacky bracelet that escaped Mario’s shirt cuff confinement. Little gold horns dangle down. I bet there are crosses engraved on each charm.
I remain silent, waiting for a way in to attack him. I have to be careful, I don’t want Art to get hurt. The urge to kill his brother is becoming unbearable though, and the low growl in my throat is the only outward sign of my inner turmoil.
“Leaving the body on your turf was a stroke of genius. You were supposed to get on the police’s radar, though. That boy died in vain…such a screamer.” He sounds completely detached. “My dearest never screams when I play with him.” He sends an unsettling look Art’s way.
“Go die in a ditch!” my feisty little imp exclaims.
“I’m going to tear you apart and crush your bones.” I infuse my growl with blazing wrath before swinging my knife.
He jumps back, chuckling like a fucking lunatic. “Stabbing you to death is going to be such a pleasure. Everybody’ll see what happens when someone tries to take what belongs to me.”