7. Delancy
Delancy
S he’s lying to me.
She didn’t get those cuts and bruises from her job bartending or from a self-defense class.
Who is this woman?
Two months ago, when she moved in next door, I asked my hacker contact to run a background check on her.
I do it with every tenant of every building I use as a safe house.
Noah McAllister has basic social media pages (she likes to party and travel), no outstanding debts.
Her mother, Sasha, died in a car accident when she was eleven and her father, Barry, is—huh.
I don’t remember what her father does. A mechanic maybe? In fact, I’d glanced over her background check and found it so vapid, with nothing standing out, that I didn’t even care to look into her father’s history.
Now I’m wondering if it’s all fake. Someone who doesn’t want to be found will either make sure any evidence of their true existence has been erased or they’ll create a false life to hide the real one. Even my friend didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary to require further digging.
What if she’s in danger?
Her injuries… needing to learn how to shoot a gun… the goons who escorted her…
Is she running away from an abusive relationship?
I could protect her.
The thought surprises me enough that I nearly crash into a box truck on the highway.
I’ve zoned out for the last fifteen minutes, speeding through morning rush hour traffic. Muscle memory takes me to the only place in the world where I’m at peace. Where I can clear my head from this woman who quickly became an obsession.
Grapevines snake up the brick entrance to St. Orion’s Cemetery in Fresh Meadows, Queens.
Weeds tower around the base of the arch and along the black iron fence.
The cemetery has been neglected due to lack of funding or some bullshit.
Most of the headstones are covered in filth: dirt, bird shit, moss, and mildew.
The few families that still pay their respects here manage to upkeep their loved one’s plot.
My mother was one of the last people buried here before the land was declared at capacity. Her final resting place sits near the back of the cemetery where I keep the grass cut down and the gray marble tombstone clean of grime. I smooth my hand over the engraved letters.
Imogen Carter
A Loving Mother & Wife
She was more than a wife and a mother. She was my best friend.
She supported me in all my dreams, even if they seemed unattainable.
When my older brother decided he was too cool to hang out with me, my mom was there to build forts in the living room or be the princess the knight in shining armor saved.
“I don’t have flowers to give you this time, Ma.”
I pick up the dead arrangement from the last time I visited and set it aside, reminding myself to toss it in the trash when I leave. I reach into my pants pocket and take out the photo of Noah I stole after breaking into her apartment the other day.
I still don’t know why I find her so fascinating. I typically only stalk the people I intend to kill. With Noah, being near her puts me at ease in a way I can’t explain. Far too many times, when my nightmares kept me awake, I’d sneak into her apartment and watch her sleep.
Maybe it’s because she has nightmares too. I watch her toss and turn and call out for help.
Or maybe it’s because she’s chaotic while I’m more laid back. She keeps me guessing.
There’s something else about her that she’s hiding from me.
I’ll figure it out.
She draws out my possessive side anytime she brings home a lover.
.. and I’ve learned Noah is attracted to all genders.
I've been tempted to kill whoever she fucks, jealous that they get to touch her, kiss her, taste her.
Then I realize she might be blamed and thrown in jail.
Instead, I rifle through their wallet or purse, get their info, and hand it over to Jed.
I encourage him to dig up all their dirty secrets—if they have any—and reveal them to the world.
Cruel, sure, but I kill people for a living, so I feel it’s rather nice of me.
“So, there’s this woman...” I stare at the photo of Noe attempting to hold up the leaning Tower of Pisa.
Cliché, but I’d expect nothing less from her.
A smile spreads across my face, unwillingly.
She looks happy here. Beautiful. Her dark black hair is styled in curls around her round face.
She’s wearing a black leather jacket and a body-hugging purple dress.
Her soft stomach, wide hips, and thick thighs are outlined in the most delicious ways.
A twig snaps behind me and within seconds I tuck the photo away and stand, pointing a gun at whoever dared sneak up on me.
I stare down the barrel of a Beretta.
“How did I know I’d find you here, little brother?” Elias says and cocks the gun, pressing it into my forehead.
“I come here once a week. Sometimes more. Doesn’t exactly take a genius to figure that out.”
“Yet you’re still alive. Certainly, if your enemies knew where to find you, you’d be dead by now.”
“Then why haven’t you pulled the trigger, Elly?”
He grinds the cold end of the barrel into my forehead. He hates the nickname I gave him as a kid.
I no longer recognize my brother, and it has nothing to do with his appearance. He’s still as handsome as ever. His hair is dark like mine. His light blue eyes are weighed down with fury. Even after twenty years, he’s never forgiven me.
He pulls the trigger but nothing happens.
It wasn’t loaded.
He did that to let me know he’s in control. Or maybe it was to scare me, but he should know it takes a lot to garner a reaction from me. At least when it comes to him. I’ve become numb to my brother’s antics.
He’s never said he blames me for our mother’s death, but I know he does. Yet he won't do anything about it. He won’t kill me. He won’t even kick my ass. He just stays angry. It’s almost as if his hatred for me is the only thing he lives for.
He needs me, though. I’m the only close family he has left besides our insignificant uncles, aunts, and cousins.
Elias drops his arm and secures his gun in the holster hidden in the jacket of his designer suit.
“Give me an update,” he demands and runs a hand over his stubbled chin, then through his black wavy hair.
We may have similar features, including hair and eye color, and we’re both tall, but Elias is a hefty man. Big with equal parts muscle and fat, like the wrestlers we used to watch on TV as kids. Elias could have gone into the WWE and crushed every competitor.
I light a joint before sitting down on top of mom’s grave, leaning against the headstone.
Elias turns his head at the sound of the spark wheel and glares at me.
I give him the cockiest grin because he hates when I do this, saying I'm disrespecting Mom. I know she’d be right next to me, asking me to pass the joint.
She was a cool mom like that.
“I have to go back to the gun range. I wasn’t able to stay long.”
“Why? What happened?”
I shrug. “I got distracted.”
He clenches and unclenches his fists at his sides.
“Stop fucking around, Lance.”
I scoff. “Me? What about you? What are you doing to help? I’ve done everything. I killed and tortured those men. I’m crossing into enemy territory, digging for information. I’m the one doing the dirty work.”
“I’m running the QBM. That’s what I’m doing. I’m cleaning up your mistakes and keeping your ass out of prison,” he growls, his hands on his hips. “Honestly, Delancy, you’re getting sloppy. A strand of your hair was found inside Howard Marks’s apartment.”
“Don’t know him.”
“And don’t get me started on the cock found in that woman’s hand.”
I shrug. “My client wanted a trophy.”
“Well, investigators wanted to run tests to make sure it was a match. You're lucky I know the district attorney and stopped that from happening.”
“Lucky,” I snort. “Maybe I should go buy a lottery ticket.”
“Fuck off, would you? Listen, little brother. I covered for you like I always do, but what happens if I can’t get a hold of my contacts in time to destroy evidence? I’ll tell you: we’d both be fucked. Stop. Making. Mistakes.”
I don’t respond to that because he’s right. And I fucking hate that he’s right.
Elias was sixteen when I was forced to kill our mother. He returned home that night after hanging out with his friends and found her lying in a pool of her blood. He took her into his arms, begging her to wake up. He sat there for half an hour crying, helpless and scared.
Elias eventually called our father, who rushed home from his office at QBM headquarters and found me nearly dead in the snow on our front lawn.
He didn’t take me to the hospital or call the cops. Instead, he took me to the doctor on his payroll who had medical supplies in his home. I was stitched up in a makeshift hospital room where I stayed, recovering, until waking up a week later.
Elias was there by my side the moment I opened my eyes.
“They made me do it,” I whisper.
Elias’s head jerks up at the scratchy sound of my voice.
“Do what, Lance-a-lot?”
“The men. They made me kill her.”
My brother’s face pales, his nostrils flare, and pure anger and disgust washes over his face.
“I didn’t want to—”
“I know.”
“I’m sorry–”
“So am I.”
I thought he’d understand. I thought he’d comfort me and tell me everything was okay. Instead, he could barely look at me.
He told me not to tell our father. He said Percy Carter would have killed me for what I’d done.
I believed him because when I refused to speak, Percy was furious. He demanded I tell him everything. What the men looked like, sounded like, names, anything to help find them.
It was too late. My humanity was gone.
When Percy died shortly after my eighteenth birthday, Elias took over the Queensboro Mafia.
He was only twenty-two, but he had no choice.
Our father didn’t include me in the will and was very clear that Elias was the one to lead the organization.
My brother is fucking smart too. He shadowed my father and learned the business. He was more than ready to lead.
I’m glad because I wanted nothing to do with the QBM.
.. until Elias suggested I be their hitman and allowed me to have an outlet for the rage festering inside me.
I was nineteen when he gave me my first assignment.
I was twenty when I branched out to take other hit jobs.
I was twenty-five when people began calling me the Marionette.
Now I’m almost thirty-two and considered one of the best in the country, maybe even the world, despite rarely traveling for my hits.
Unlike Colpa Sicario, who thrives on international assignments.
Elias spent his life hating me for what I did, but he still kept me close. Together, we uncovered our father’s secrets. Secrets Percy kept from us, and even his underboss, Martin, our uncle.
Elias and I spent hours in his office, sorting through our father’s paperwork.
He had files on the men who barged into our home and kept them hidden in his safe.
He had their names, addresses, and pictures.
Seeing their faces as an adult when I no longer feared them instilled rage throughout my body.
We can only assume he never took action because the files didn’t include information that linked these men to our rivals.
He didn’t want to accuse the other Dons of murder and start a mafia war.
The city was different twenty years ago.
The QBM was newer and not as powerful as the other two crime organizations that run the city.
Or maybe it took him years to gather the information in the files, and he died before he could seek his revenge.
So, Elias and I decided to do it for him. For us . One by one, I tracked down the men. They lied about being affiliated with either rival mob. They refused to give me information about their boss.
Until the last man who broke after weeks of torture. He gave me a name.
After taking a deep inhale of the joint, I stamp it out on my shoe and stand.
“I have to go.”
Elias grabs my arm when I attempt to pass him.
“Stop taking extra hits and focus on this.” He waits for a response, but I don’t know what to say. I need to kill to stay sane. Killing corrupt and evil assholes keeps my demons away. “Please, Lance.”
My brother’s pleading voice manages to pierce through this emotionless wall I’ve erected. It's the first time since we were kids that he’s looked at me with something other than animosity. Perhaps our relationship isn’t a lost cause after all.
“Okay, Elly. I’ll stop.” At least, I’ll stop after I complete my next kill—which I accepted long before big bro spurred this request of me.
Elias gives me a single nod and lets go of my arm. I don’t look back as I leave the cemetery.
If I’m going to put a pause on taking jobs, I’ll need another outlet. Something to take my mind off the memories that never seem to fade. Something to tame the resentment for the rich and powerful and the life I was born into.
I take the highway back to the Morrisania section of the Bronx. Back to the gun range owned by Gio Lenetti: the leader of the Empire Mafia and the man responsible for placing a hit on my mother.
He’s the most powerful man in the city. He has high-ranking city officials on his payroll. Killing him won’t be easy, which is why I’m taking my time. It’s why I need to worm my way into his organization.
Once he’s gone, the QBM can take claim as the most powerful mob in New York City.
We’re prepared to fight for the spot.
Even though my rainbow bright distracted me while at the gun range, I did notice how secure the place is. Huge guards wearing suits and earpieces, packing heat, stationed at doors.
Time to let my charm do the work. I rarely use it because I have no need to make friends. But now I do. I need to get access.
It might take a few weeks, but this is how I get close to Lenetti.
It’s going to take patience… which is why I need that new outlet more than ever.