Chapter 59
CHRISTIAN
T hey take me to a warehouse on the edge of the Chicago River, tucked behind a rusty chain-link fence. The red bricks are old, with weeds clinging to any cracks.
A former meat factory.
The choice of venue feels appropriate given what’s about to go down.
I’ve also never been here before.
This is not Ettore’s place.
Sunlight shines through the grubby windows, showcasing graffiti, old paint tins, bits of twisted metal, and yet more weeds poking through the cracked concrete floor. A sturdy chain and hook dangle from a pulley system connected to the rafters.
The ambience is pure magic.
I’m manhandled into a formerly glass-fronted office that’s now missing most of the glass. It’s empty except for a table and single metal chair bolted to the floor. Duct tape and a worn leather tool bag rest on the table beside a commercial pack of bottled water—gotta stay hydrated.
They sit me in the chair and use the duct tape to bind me to it.
It’s not the first time Ettore’s men have worked me over. But, you know, it’s been a while, and the memory has dimmed over time.
This is business, even if I’m one of their own, and Peter and Bo are efficient.
Roman has a score to settle, and he’s not.
He’s alright, and I like him, so I understand he’s feeling betrayed—I’m still hoping his wife goes into labor so I can get a fucking break.
Jero stands on the sidelines watching. Not a flicker of emotion in his face. He was right, I fucked up. I should have made Dante put a tracker on Carmela—I mean, I got one, just never got around to mentioning it.
I make sounds I’ve never heard myself make before.
I think about death, about the lead up to it, and the surprising amount of pain a body can take before it passes out.
“Sometimes you don’t get to pick a side, ya know?” Jero once told me. “I’ve covered for you. That makes me complicit. That makes me a man who has picked a side.”
Lying piece of shit.
They stop for a rest break. I’m dripping blood from numerous locations, and I’m throbbing everywhere—my right eye has swollen completely shut.
They have a smoke and a chat… break open the pack of water and hand out bottles.
Even wearing gloves it can hurt beating on someone for this long.
I’m surprised they haven’t gone to their tool bag of implements yet.
I guess they’re pacing themselves. Plenty of time to get to the good stuff of pulling nails and teeth and cutting off non-essential body parts.
I’m so fucked.
I’m also really thirsty and watching them swig down the water pisses me off.
Deep down, I know I’m not leaving this warehouse alive, and everything between now and then will only feel incrementally worse.
I’m nineteen; I haven’t reached my peek yet so it’s pretty fucking depressing.
Carmela is going to be upset.
Dante won’t be the same.
I’ll be another notch in Leon’s vendetta post.
Make the motherfucker bleed for me, Dante.
Beyond the broken office windows, a big-assed Cadillac Escalade with blacked-out windows and two Dodge Durangos pull into the warehouse.
The work-over-Christian crew stub out their cigarettes and look alert as the vehicles unload soldiers.
Finally, the back door of the Cadillac is opened by a soldier, and Ettore steps out: sharp dark suit, and polished Italian leather shoes reflecting back the shitty fluorescent lights.
He enters through the busted door, his shoes crunching over the littering of broken glass. He looks me over.
“I’ve asked them to give me Carmela for you.”
I laugh—it hurts my ribs and makes my head feel like it might explode. “As if, motherfucker.”
Someone hits me. Jero, I think. He has big fists, and I regret opening my mouth.
Ettore smiles. “They did well with the business, I will give them that. But they should have stuck to following orders, not started thinking for themselves. But you disappoint me, Christian. And you picked the wrong side.”
I’d put a bullet to my own head before I’d pick you over my family.
“As for handing Carmela over,” Ettore continues. “You’re right. Dante will use it as an opportunity to try and take me out. I will be ready for that, which is why I have asked for Leon and Dante to be with her for the exchange.”
“Here? This isn’t your usual interview room. Downgrading, Mr. Gallo?”
He lets that slip. “This facility is on loan from my associates. It will go smoother if your brother and his party-loving cousin think this is neutral ground.”
This warehouse belongs to the Russians. Their soldiers, his soldiers, that is a lot of fucking soldiers.
He smiles like he can see my understanding bloom.
It’s going to be a slaughter.
“Did my slut wife spread her legs for him to save herself?”
The fuck?
I blink blood from my eyes. Does he think Carmela has been our prisoner… Not that it fucking helps. She’s damaged goods now and Ettore will make her pay along with anyone involved.
“Not that I know of.”
A tic thumps in his jaw. My eyes want to go to Roman to get a read, but I don’t dare. Did he tell Ettore about how he’d seen her clinging to me? Twice in the coffee shop she loves so much, and once after Cosmo tried to rape her.
Maybe he dismissed it until he learned I was the enemy.
Maybe he still didn’t tell Ettore because that would get him right next to me in the grinder given he should have reported me.
“It was you who took her from outside her father’s home,” Ettore says.
No point in lying now. “Yes.”
“After your attempted coup has been disbanded, and my soldiers have enjoyed my whore wife, I will kill you. Leon will be next. Then, when I have taken everything from Dante Barone, when he’s had time to wallow in the misery of how he failed and all the people he loved are gone, when his plans and life are in ruins, I will kill him too. ”
“You must think he’s stupid.”
Don’t do it, Dante. See through this. You’re smarter than this.
Ettore’s smile is enigmatic.
I know my brother. I know Leon. They are going to come for me. If they even have a chance of getting close, they’re going to need to bring Carmela.
Ettore knows it too.