27. Diavolo
DIAVOLO
The sirens wail behind us, multiplying with every block, a shrill melody that follows us wherever we go.
The limo tears through the downtown streets, racing past traffic lights and cutting between clusters of yellow-cab taxis.
Tires screech as other drivers swerve out of the way and slam on their brakes to avoid a collision.
We run a red light, then hang a sharp left, narrowly dodging a delivery truck. My limo driver swears out loud, sweat on his brow. Portia’s sliding from one end of the limo to the other with every wild turn, every abrupt maneuver we pull.
I grab her by the arm, hoping to anchor us as we make another insane turn in effort to ditch the cops and the entire limo veers off to one side.
But there’s no ditching the police. Not once an active chase is underway.
Captain Poveri has already called in his reinforcements, more squad cars popping up on every street trying to cut us off.
Which means now it’s time for me to call in mine.
“Four blocks out,” I bark into my phone, adrenaline pounding in my veins. “There’s a building on Franklin in construction. It has a huge underground parking garage and tunnel that leads to the highway. We need to create a fake out. Get your asses over immediately.”
My men, ever loyal and dutiful, vow to be ready in a matter of minutes. All we have to do is stall for a couple more blocks, then make it onto the construction site.
The building is a huge new tower for an investment firm owned by Archibald Warner, a business partner of mine. It cost a cool twenty million to construct and will be yet another statement piece added to the skyline of Newport.
But I don’t give a fuck about any of that in the moment—all that matters right now is the fact it’s the perfect spot near enough to my penthouse for my men to make it there quick, huge enough to make myself disappear in with its large grounds and fifty-four floors, and provides a viable distraction thanks to the underground tunnel.
I’ve still got to be realistic about how this could end. Most gangsters faced with this kind of situation, trying to go toe-to-toe with the police, don’t make it out alive. If they do, they wind up in an orange jumpsuit behind bars serving twenty to life.
There’s a good chance that could be my fate tonight. I could be going down on a night that was supposed to be one of the better ones.
…I was supposed to enjoy my time with Portia. I’d been hoping she’d enjoy her time with me.
It was a good night until this happened—we’d finally been on the same page, finally able to let down the walls and be a little more open.
I’d finally accepted the fact that… he and I did have one thing in common, and that was Portia James.
Before I thought I wanted the woman to crush her, destroy her, then off her as discussed with Don Vito. That’s gradually changed, and I’ve found myself as infatuated with her as he is.
I want Portia for myself because I want to keep her. Because I’ve fallen in love with the girl.
More sirens wail into the dark night as we make our turn onto Hamilton and the limo driver shouts at me about the construction site coming up.
“Keep going!” I yell back. “At the last second, you pull into the garage. I’ve got the code from Warner to bypass the security gates.”
I pop open the slide on my pistol and check the rounds I’ve got in the chamber. Enough to probably get us from the limo inside the building if I need to open fire on anybody.
I don’t plan on using it, but better safe than sorry. I hadn’t planned on pulling my gun at the park and holding Portia hostage either, but it’d been a necessary distraction at the moment.
We finally arrive at the construction site.
My limo driver pulls off a miracle, all the more impressive considering the long vehicle he’s driving isn’t exactly a Formula One racecar.
The tires shriek as we lurch down the ramp into Warner’s underground lot. The reinforced frame of the limo rattles like a coffin on wheels as we take the turn too fast.
Overhead, the skeletal steel bones of the unfinished business tower look more ominous than usual.
This might be the place I die. The place where the police take me out in a hail of bullets, because I’d rather go down fighting than ever be put in handcuffs in the back of a squad car.
I’ll die like Clyde Barrow in a fucking standoff against the cops before I ever let them lock me behind bars.
But Portia’s no Bonnie Parker—she’s going to make it out of this alive. I’ll make sure of it.
The gate closes behind us, sealing us into the parking garage.
“Let’s go!”
I drag Portia out of the limo, her arm gripped in one hand while the other clutches my pistol. The limo driver lumbers after us.
The sound of police sirens have gone nowhere. They wail louder than ever as we pile into the elevator and I jam a finger on the up button.
It’s the only working elevator in the entire building. It takes us up to one of the top floors, my men already on the scene like I’ve instructed.
The moment the doors open, I pull Portia with me. The floor space is empty, nothing but unfinished corridors thick with dust from the drywall.
Maurizio steps toward me as soon as he sees me. He’s ready to execute the plan I discussed over the phone, personal animosity aside. His loyalty is to la cosa nostra and our family first and foremost.
“They’ve blocked off the tunnel,” he says. “We can’t do the diversion without it.”
“Already?” I snap. “How the fuck did they make it to the other end before us? You motherfuckers weren’t quick enough!”
I grit my teeth as it sinks in there’s probably only one option left. One way for this situation to end…
Outside, floodlights flash to life, bright enough to blind. The voice that follows is sharp and amplified, ringing out from the megaphone like it’s God’s voice speaking to the entire city.
“ This is the Newport Police Department. You are surrounded. Release the hostage and exit with your hands above your head!”
Unfortunately, the downside of using an unfinished building like this is that there’re lots of weak points where a helicopter or drone can see right inside. Even the floor we’re standing on is half unfinished with a gaping hole where a window should be placed.
I turn my body, angling Portia in front of me to block out any view of her from the outside.
NPPD has already closed off the street, snipers perching on the rooftops across from the building, and SWAT trucks boxing us in on all sides.
“Listen to me,” I tell Portia. “You’re going to get out of this, dolcezza. My men are going to escort you out of the building and away from the confrontation.”
She blinks out of the dazed state she’s been in, having fallen into shock once we took off from the park. It’s like it hits her what could be coming next as we’re surrounded from all directions. A choked sob leaves her, tears slowly trickling down her cheeks.
“You have to surrender, Diavolo. You have to do it right now. Then we have to get you help.”
“I’m not surrendering, dolcezza. But you will survive. No matter what happens to me. That’s a promise.”
“Don’t do this,” she whispers. Then she tries again. “Don’t you get it? I’m in love with you! With him ! I can’t watch him die like this—I can’t ? — ”
Her sobs cut her off as her whole body quakes through it.
I’d normally tell her to stop crying. The tears would annoy me. Her mention of him would enrage me.
But watching how my world has once again brought anguish to this woman wakes me up like nothing ever has before. It makes me realize this can’t go on anymore.
She’s crying, not for the monster she’s been held captive by, but for him —and I’ve done nothing but act selfishly every step along the way.
I stand there, my pulse thudding in my ears as I take a deep inhale and let the finality of the moment sink in.
Then I reach for her, palms sliding over her cheeks to draw her toward me. I hold her face in my hands, looking her in the eye through the devil’s mask, yet it doesn’t mean I’m hiding who I am.
It’s the opposite. For the first time, I’m showing her who I really am, letting her see the flawed, fractured man I am as she peers up at me and her jaw quivers.
I silence the next cry to come by pressing my mouth to hers. Portia instantly softens against me, like deep down she knows this might be the last time we ever have a moment like this. Her fingers twine in the fabric of my suit jacket, and I know she feels it too—that this is goodbye.
When I pull back, she releases a sharp little breath like she’s fully accepting the truth.
I strip off my suit jacket and place it around her shoulders, nodding over her head at my men. They understand they’re to get her out of the building.
Stepping toward the ledge where the window should be, I’m graced with the spectacular view of what must be dozens of NPPD officers camped outside. They’ve got squad cars, SWAT trucks, snipers across the building, choppers whirring overhead, spotlights flooding the area.
My phone buzzes in my hand. It’s an unknown number but I answer without hesitation.
“Mr. Calderone,” says the voice on the other end. It’s the negotiator calling to defuse the situation. “This is Lieutenant Abrams with Newport PD. You are surrounded. We both know you’re not walking out of here alive unless you put the gun down and come peacefully.”
“I won’t be surrendering,” I answer simply. “If that’s what you’re waiting on, be prepared to wait forever. You’re going to have to come and take me by force.”
“I repeat, you are surrounded. You will not make it out alive.”
“That’s no concern of mine. You won’t be taking me in handcuffs. That’s what you’re not about to do, officer.” I glance over my shoulder to where Portia’s standing swallowed up by my suit jacket, her eyes set on the floor as she cries. “But I’ll tell you what I will do. I’ll release her.”
There’s a pause, rustling noises in the background. He’s conferring with some of the others.
“The hostage?” he asks several seconds later.
“She’s not a hostage. And I’m not Rafael Calderone. That’s what you pricks still don’t understand. But I want her safe and unharmed.”
“We’ll take her. She’ll be protected. But I need you to show good faith—no stunts or tricks.”
I almost laugh at that. A police officer talking about not pulling any stunts when their captain was peacocking about the fact he’d get to arrest me.
The biggest mob boss to ever rule Newport.
“She walks away untouched. Completely safe and unharmed,” I repeat. “No guns drawn on her. No cuffs. And no trouble for her after this ordeal is through. Or I’m going to blow your brains out myself.”
The negotiator begrudgingly answers, “Understood. Send the hostage out.”
I hang up on him and turn to the rest of my men.
“We’re going to hand her over.”
The elevator groans as we ride it down to the ground floor where the lobby’s located. We’ve agreed to do the handoff outside the main entrance to the building.
My men have their weapons drawn, and I’m by Portia’s side with mine in hand. Everybody’s silent as we realize what could be coming next.
There is no plan B. No more exit strategy.
Just winging the situation ’til we likely go out in a blaze of blood and violence.
Portia remains stiff and silent too, like she can no longer bring herself to speak.
The elevator doors open and we step out into the lobby.
The negotiator is waiting on the other side of the glass doors, backed by his team of law enforcement. He’s clutching a radio in hand and dawning a bulletproof vest.
I step forward alongside Portia, gripping my gun. The rest of my men fan out around us, ready to retaliate should something go down.
Maurizio props the door open for the exchange.
I nudge Portia toward the negotiator, senses on high alert. I’m watching each and every detail of the scene, picking up on the slightest change in sight and sound.
That’s when I notice the rookie cop with a trembling grip on his gun, pointed right at us. His finger’s hovering over the trigger, and the fucker looks like he’s about to jump at the sight of his own shadow on the sidewalk.
As Portia takes a step forward and a car happens to backfire half a block down, the rookie cop panics. I watch as time slows and his finger presses down on the trigger.
He’s opening fire on us— with Portia right in the crosshairs.
I act on natural instinct, hardly giving it any thought. I wrench her back and step in the way, taking the bullet in her place.