12. Elio
12
ELIO
N ot a single sound came from Georgia’s bedroom, if you could call it that. It was smaller than the walk-in closet at my penthouse in Atlantic City.
I paced the living room-cum-kitchen, which took me about five strides. A fucking rustle from somewhere near the fridge had my senses snapping to attention. I pulled a knife from my pocket, and when something moved, I threw it with deadly precision. It hit the rat squarely in the side, and the clueless thing wriggled against the wall for a few seconds before dying. Shit. It bothered me that the kitchen was rat-infested. It bothered me that the fucking door wasn’t great, and I could hear the neighbors talking upstairs. It all bothered me.
Most of all, it bothered me that this place smelled like her.
I needed air.
I needed to find out what the situation was with the Ravellis. That guy had recognized me on sight alone. Usually, my eyes were my most distinctive feature, and I was used to wearing brown contacts to conceal them when it suited me, but that hadn’t helped today.
Georgia had fucking recognized me. Because you called her little mouse. Right, I’d fucked up first. Being around her, I was slipping up like I hadn’t in years. For the past decade I’d formed a hard shell of ice to stay behind, but an hour in Georgia Bellisario’s company, and there were visible cracks.
The contacts had thrown her. She was doubting herself. Three months together followed by fourteen years of separation. Her logical mind was telling her that it was impossible. I didn’t look like the lanky twenty-year-old who had been all knobby knees, easy smiles, and clean-shaven cheeks. If I hadn’t slipped with the nickname, she’d never have voiced her suspicions. I had to be more careful.
If I were smart, I would get her to New Jersey and married to Jimmy as quickly as possible. That was what had to happen. Those were Renato’s orders, and the capo’s orders were to be followed. That was my forte.
I pulled out my cell and called across the country.
“What’s up? Kidnapped any snitches’ daughters yet?”
“Hello to you, too, Giada.”
“Hello. How’s it going? Did you find her?” Giada was the little sister who’d been taken away by the state when I’d been too young and poor to do anything about it. It had taken me years to get Renato to step in and get her moved to the De Sanctis estate.
“Hmm, I found her. Now, I need to find a way to get her home without getting us both killed. The Ravellis are already here. I need you to check if it’s just the one or more.”
“On it. So, how is she? The traitor’s daughter?” The sound of keys clacking in the background floated to me.
“She’s — what you’d expect.” It was a lie. She wasn’t what I’d expected. Humbled, living in poverty, defiant even in the face of death.
“So, she ran kicking and screaming from coming with you?” Giada teased.
“She tried.”
“Let me guess, she didn’t get far.”
“They never do,” I muttered, though this was my first time kidnapping a woman, and I planned for it to be my last. My usual remit was protecting my capo with my life, working on strategy, and keeping the made men in line.
Giada hummed while she worked. “Shit. You feel like driving cross-country?”
“Pass. Too many opportunities for her to run away.”
“Hmm, and you’re sure there’s no other way to make sure Prosecutor Bellisario keeps his mouth shut about us and blabs about the Ravellis instead? I’m not a fan of the ol’ kidnapped bride scenario, especially not when it involves Jimmy De Luca. The man’s breath can clear a room in less than five seconds,” Giada complained.
“It’s not our problem.” I sighed. The very thought of Jimmy De Luca and his thieving fingers touching Georgia pissed me off.
“Maybe it should be… You do remember that you are also single. You could do worse than a nice Italian woman?—”
“I’d rather die than be the one to marry Georgia.”
“But if memory serves, isn’t this the woman you once asked me to look up, years ago and nothing came of it.”
“ Basta .” Enough.
Giada was quiet, silenced by my fatal tone, and then whistled.
“Okay, calm down. Don’t get your panties in a twist, brother dearest. You just go on being the most reclusive monk in all the land and die alone one day.”
“I’m not the marrying kind, sorellina . But don’t worry about me. I don’t intend on living that long.”
“Hey! Stop it. You’re being a major downer, and I’m telling Bran. Now, back to the business at hand. As we both know, the Ravellis are cockroaches, and where there’s one, there’s a hundred more, just out of sight. I can see an infestation all around LA, including the airport.”
“They know I’m here.”
“I’m sure they do! Renato De Sanctis’ right hand… bagging and toe-tagging you would be quite the score for them.”
“Unfortunately for them, I’m not so easy to kill. Charter me something private, leaving as soon as possible.”
“On it. I’ll send you the details.”
Giada hesitated a second, before hanging up. “Try not to get killed, okay?”
“Got it.”
I headed out after midnight. I needed a gun to protect myself and Georgia and had a few contacts who could get me one. If not, the plan was simple. Go to a bad part of town, wait for someone who was carrying, and make them an offer they couldn’t refuse.
An hour later, I was on my way back, this time suitably armed.
I hadn’t even had to go far from Georgia’s neighborhood to find trouble. She lived in a truly shitty part of the city. It was dangerous as hell for a woman living alone here. What the fuck was Tommaso Conti thinking to leave his widow in this desperate situation? If he hadn’t been dead and buried already, I’d kill him myself.
He’d died of some disease, as far as I knew, but that didn’t excuse not planning for Georgia’s future. She lived in a rat box; her fucking door didn’t even work. Anger lashed at the walls of my composure as I made my way into her building. It smelled like a urinal on the ground floor, and that only made me more furious. Why was she living here? How had her life become this? This was what she had chosen, over me. It would be ironic if it weren’t so fucking infuriating.
I headed up the stairs and felt the change in energy as soon as I neared the top floor. Something was wrong. I’d barely been gone, and I’d made sure my sister had removed all traces of Georgia’s address from any online system. Nothing tied her to this place. I’d made sure of it.
I raced up the last few stairs and found her shitty door standing open, mocking me.
Holy hell. I’d made nothing but mistakes since I’d gotten here. Being around Georgia was already fucking with my head and making me sloppy and undisciplined.
I drew my gun and stilled just outside. I had to be ready for whatever was inside. I needed to get control back, or both of us could end up dead.
She could die.
I fought the panic that threatened to devour my focus and stepped into the apartment. There was the low droning sound of a man talking up the hall, near the bedroom. I walked silently along the hallway.
“You were just here — you said you’d see me next month.” Georgia’s voice was hard, but there was a hitch in it that betrayed her. She was scared.
Something dark writhed in the pit of my belly.
“Well, you know, I gave it some thought and realized that I could help you out with getting ahead. Like I said, you need to get the interest down on your loans… or you’ll never be free of your late husband’s debts.”
Her husband’s debts? So, this had nothing to do with the Ravellis.
“I don’t need your help with a payment plan, thanks. Just leave,” Georgia’s voice rang out, courageous as always.
A chuckle floated to me in the hall.
“No, I don’t think I will. I think you’ll have to make me.”
Then Georgia gasped, and the sound of a struggle filled the air. I took the safety off my gun and stepped into the room, taking in the scene on the bed.
Georgia was fighting back with all she had, while the guy attacking her was trying to pin her down. I crossed to the bed in two long strides and pressed the gun to his temple.
“How about I make you, motherfucker,” I growled.
The struggle stopped, and Georgia’s huge, dark eyes stared up at me.
“Move. Now.” My tone held no room for refusal.
Georgia jerked into action, wriggling out from underneath the man.
“Listen, buddy, we can talk about this… we can make a deal,” the man was saying, his rank sweat stinking up the room.
“Pass.” I pulled the trigger.
The sound was loud in the small, close room. Georgia screamed as the side of her attacker’s head blew outward, his brains spattering against the wall beside the bed.
She fell to the floor and crab-walked backward until she hit the wall. Her eyes were fixed on the bed.
A red haze had descended over my eyes, a veil, and it was taking its sweet time to clear. What the fuck had I just done? There were a hundred ways to kill a man silently, and I’d acted like a hothead and shot him. A countdown started in my head for how long it would probably take the LAPD to show up. I had time. I needed to get a fucking grip.
“What did you do?” she panted, looking faintly horrified.
“Took care of your problem. You’re welcome.” I wiped the muzzle of my gun on the bedsheets.
“You’re welcome? You want me to thank you for shooting someone in the head right in front of me?”
“You can thank me for getting you to move. If not, you’d be bathed in the dead man’s blood right now.”
“Right… I didn’t get dirty, so I guess I’m fine,” she murmured faintly.
I shoved the gun in my waistband and grabbed a bag off the floor.
“Pack your things. We’re leaving. You have three minutes.”
“Three minutes. When are we coming back?”
“Never. Take anything you absolutely need, leave everything else. And it has to fit in the bag.”
“Wait! I can’t just leave.” She reached out and grabbed me as I went to leave the room.
“You can and you are. You now have two minutes.”
“Shit!” She scrambled to her feet, bursting into action.
“Georgia, let’s go.” I banged into her room two minutes later.
She spun around, in the process of trying to shove a box into her bag. I grabbed it and tossed it on the bed.
“Leave it, it doesn’t fit.”
“No! I have to take it,” she insisted and grabbed the box.
“I said leave it,” I growled at her, aware of time ticking away.
“No! No, I won’t leave it!” Her suddenly agonized shout grabbed my attention.
I focused on her properly. She was about a second away from a panic attack, it looked like. That would slow us down more than anything.
I slowly lifted my hand and pointed the gun at her.
“Leave. It. We’re going right now.”
I leveled the gun at her head, hoping the shock of it would bring her back to her senses.
She shook her head and shocked me by stepping forward and pressing her forehead against the butt of the gun. The sight of it on her skin was unsettling. I wanted to move it. It was wrong on a bone-deep level. I wasn’t here to kill her, after all, but she didn’t seem about to back down and do what she was fucking told.
“If that box doesn’t come with me, I’m not going anywhere either. You can shoot me in the head, too, and just get it over with.” Her teary eyes met mine. They shone like glassy jewels in the moonlight flooding in the window.
“Don’t tempt me,” I ground out, stepping forward and dropping the gun. Instead, I took her chin in a hard pinch. “I told you not to play games with me.”
She trembled in my grip. “I’m not. I’m serious. I’ll die before I leave without that box.”
“What the fuck is in it?”
“None of your business.”
An incredulous laugh left me at her prim tone. The sound shocked me. I rarely laughed, and starting when I was on the run from the police, surrounded by evidence that I’d just killed a man and had a woman to kidnap, seemed like a bad time to start. I glanced at the box. What could be so important to her to push like this? Mementos of her dearly departed husband? A wedding photo album?
“Are you the bravest person I’ve ever met or the dumbest?”
She pulled out of my hold and raised her chin at me, like a queen. Regal just like she’d been as a teenager in Castel Amaro, when the world had been at her feet. Ah, there she was. My Georgia, still as imperious as ever.
“I don’t care what you think about me. I’m not leaving without it.”
I could see the resolution in her gaze. Of course, I could just drag her kicking and screaming without it. I could knock her out, but then I’d have to carry her, and that would slow me down. Why was she so attached? Could it be the collateral I was sure her father had sent her?
I backed up and reached for the box. I took her open bag and shoved the bulky shape inside, forcing the zipper shut.
“Now, if there isn’t anything else, we’re leaving.”
I turned and grabbed her arm, slinging her bag onto my back, and pushed her toward the hallway.
“Thank you.”
The words were so quiet, I might have imagined them.
Then a loud banging at the door echoed through the apartment, and I froze.
“LAPD — open up!”
Shit . Their reaction times were better than the NYPD’s, I’d give them that. Or more likely, they had a strong presence in this shitty neighborhood.
I turned toward the window running along the living room and checked where it would come out. It opened up to a fire escape in a dark part of the alley. Best of all, there was a point halfway down where it passed close enough to the neighboring building’s fire escape to move across it.
I surveyed Georgia’s sneaker-and-jeans outfit and nodded, my mind made up.
I shoved open the window and turned for Georgia, only to see her standing across the room. She had moved quickly and quietly while I was still deciding assessing the situation.
My eyes met hers, and I knew what she was going to do.
“Don’t… They can’t save you from me, and you’ll only piss me off,” I warned her in a low tone.
Her hand reached out for the lock on the door. I considered my options in a flash. I could try and get to her before she opened the door. The apartment was small, but not that small. I’d fail. The only other option was to withdraw and bide my time.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you… I’ll see you again, soon.” With that, I stepped out of the window onto the fire escape and ran down as fast as I could, jumping stairs wherever I had the chance. Upstairs, the sound of the LAPD entering the apartment filtered down, shouting at Georgia to put her hands behind her back. I jumped to the fire escape on the building beside hers and climbed again, keeping to the shadows. There were two cop cars in the street outside her apartment. I climbed to the top and onto the roof just in time to see Georgia being led from the building in handcuffs and put in the back of a squad car.
They wouldn’t hold her for too long. She had a good story, and besides, there was no weapon there or anything to tie her to the shooting. I didn’t trust cops as far as I could throw them, but Georgia wasn’t the kind of person they were looking to go hard on.
They’d release her soon enough… and I’d be waiting.