12. Niko
CHAPTER 12
She kisses me. Plants one right on my lips and even opens her mouth when I slip her some tongue.
“What are you up to?” I ask, not sure I want the answer. Leaving her alone all that time may have been a bad choice. I’m pretty sure I’m smarter than Domalachego, but I’m certain she’s smarter than me. I’m never taking off that collar.
“Making lemonade out of all these lemons you keep giving me. Now, get out of here before it’s too late and you can’t make any excuses. Do not weaken our hand.” I listen to her just like I said I would, thrilled by her calling it our hand, but I worry about the sudden frenzied light in her eyes. My fiancée looks a little bloodthirsty.
She walks me to the door, and before I leave, she tells me, “You will find out what happened to my parents, and you will give them a proper burial. Promise me, right now, Niko.”
“I promise.” But I leave before she can make me agree to anything else I’m not sure I can follow through on.
I head to my father’s funeral, finding the spring day unseasonably warm. It’s hot, actually, like hell has opened up to finally welcome him home. They’re already outside when I walk up. He’s up on a stage as was directed in his final requests, and there’s a line of priests paying their last respects to one of the greatest sinners. The nuns stand in a row behind them. How precious.
I climb the steps and stand between the priests I’ve known for years, my brother, and my father’s open casket. This was part of the plan, but I wish it wasn’t quite so fucking disgusting.
The mortician begged us not to make him piece our father’s shattered skull back together and fill it in with putty until he looked almost human again. Sew up his guts until they stayed inside and wouldn’t stain the white shirt we planned to bury him in. That part of the plan never took, so we dressed him in a black suit that wouldn’t show the stain so easily.
His blond hair is the only part of him that looks like it did in life. I scrunch my brow when I see the corpse has a red pocket silk instead of a white one. A glance to my left reveals the culprit. My brother matches our father’s corpse. The same suit. The same red square.
I use all of my energy to control my reaction. I want to laugh, shout at him, and hyperventilate some more. I’m not sure, but he’s not paying any attention to me. He and one of the nuns are caught in a stare off. They exchange some words, and she scurries away, but they’re still watching one another.
The sight of my father like this unsettles me. I hated the man, but I’m not like Pax. I can’t choose my version of reality and kill until everything fits. But it’s doing the job. The line of higher-ups who have been chomping at the bit to challenge me stand in the front row, but their hunger is cowed by disgust. You have to be a sick fuck to do this to your own father. I smile slow and deliberate so they’ll believe I’m just that.
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
“May God guide him to the kingdom of heaven.”
Each condolence sounds more hollow than the last. The women fear me, and the men are snakes waiting to strike, but they too are under control for now. There isn’t a single person here other than my brother who wouldn’t want to see me dead. This monastery has been our territory for a long time now. It was one of Dad’s favorite places to come play. A few of those nuns aren’t so virtuous, but that doesn’t earn me any loyalty.
Everything moves too slowly and there’s nearly nothing left of me by the time we lower him into the ground.
“It looks like we’ve made a pretty good show of this,” he comments, puffed up like a bird in all his glory.
“Yeah, we did.”
“Do you think it will be enough?” he asks, revealing that maybe he’s not so sure. Perhaps he does care about something other than himself.
“I hope so. If not, this next part should do it.”
We’re quiet for a moment before I say, “You know, Pax. I’m really glad it was him and not you.”
We smile at each other as we say goodbye to the man who ruined our lives and drop handfuls of dirt atop his coffin.
He gives me a sly wink before the next part of our plan commences. Rather than Pax allowing the gravedigger to complete his work, he begins burying our father himself. A collective gasp goes through the crowd when he grabs the shovel.
The heavens open, raining hard, and it does seem like what he touches is cursed. The murmurs spread through the crowd. That same nun leaves her shelter just to stare at him. Father DiMarco, who runs the place, watches her interest but talks in my ear the whole time about his plans for the property and the clergy. The ways he intends to bring Catholicism more strongly to the area. He’s a zealot and a fool, but I know he and my father got along well. Maybe that was the shit Alexandre liked to hear.
The funeral finally draws to a close. I don’t stay and mourn like people often do, but I stay long enough not to weaken our hand, just like Gianna said. I have conversations with men who were much more rebellious toward my leadership last week but are now willing to get along. It’s a shame I can’t trust my brother. He really can be very useful.
I leave the monastery observing my surroundings carefully as always. At first there are so many people going their respective way it’s impossible to tell if I’m being followed. I refuse to make things worse once again, so keeping my eye on the rearview, I take the long way back to my father’s for the second time this week.
I’m going over a hill when I catch the tail about a mile back. I debate who I’m going to find behind me, assuming it’s one of my father’s most vocal supporters. Possibly thinking he can catch me unaware or find something to use against me. If Domalachego came to my father’s funeral, didn’t pay his respects, and then followed me, I’d be forced to make a statement.
I’m not worried about revealing Gianna. So rather than wasting any more of my time, I pull over on the side of the road and wait. My gun rests on my knee, my tinted window raised and much more visible for me than someone looking in.
The car rolls to a stop beside me, and I’m once again caught unaware as Carlo drops the window only an inch, waiting for me to return the gesture. Eventually, I do.
“I need to talk to you but not here. Exit 54 off the I10, Ruthie’s.”
He speeds off without any further explanation, and I follow tight on his ass. He drives faster as we go, trying to make a point about leaving distance between us, but I find I'd rather he play my game than the other way around. If he’s leading me into a trap, then I’m not sure who would be setting it, but I still consider it a strong possibility, so I want him on edge.
It turns out it’s not a trap, at least not one with a spring waiting to take you out, but perhaps a more insidious kind. The kind intended to gain intel. Carlo sits at a table waiting for me, seeming grief-stricken and suspicious about Gianna’s location. It’s the first time since she was five he’s gone more than a few days without seeing her.
“Why aren’t you more worried about her?” he asks like he has any right to question me. “You know something.”
The server comes back to our table and tops off his coffee. I haven’t touched the sludgy shit. When she steps away, I finally answer him.
“Watch yourself, Carlo. Unlike Gemelli, I have no use for you.”
He sits back, considering that I may not be the twenty-year-old he told to stop fucking around with Gianna. He looks back and forth, making sure no one is paying any attention.
Dark brown eyes do their best to intimidate me. “You met with him.” But I don't give a shit about this old man.
"I haven't spoken to Stefan directly since his son's passing."
"I don't mean Stefan."
That. Is. Something.
"I didn’t know he had made himself a public entity."
“He hasn’t, but he doesn’t need to. You think Stefan wouldn’t tell me where they went if that were the case? At least that they were going at all?”
“Maybe he doubted your loyalty.” Like I do right now.
He smiles briefly. "I'm plenty loyal, but someone needs to be alive to be able to pay your wages, and I’m starting to have my doubts."
"You think Stefan is dead? He didn’t when I spoke to him."
"He has no reason to trust us, but I know Stefan was decided on giving Gianna to him. He had no plans to run. Something is terribly wrong."
"Do you have a point to all this, Carlo? A reason you’re wasting my fucking time?" I grit my teeth, anxious as hell to get back to Gianna and see if she still intends on marrying me.
“What do you think happened to the Gemellis, Mr. Bouchard?” He looks me up and down, and I'm disconcerted by the weight of knowledge in his eyes.
“Your guess is as good as mine.”
“No, I don’t think it is.” And he’s so certain, I’m actually nervous that he has concrete proof I don’t know about.
“Why do you say that? Are you slipping in your old age?” But he doesn’t take the bait.
“Simple. Gianna is missing, and you’re not upset. The only way that would be true is if you knew where she was.”
“Oh, I’m devastated that my ex-girlfriend from fifteen years ago is missing.” I roll my eyes, but my sarcasm is a lie.
“You know something, and I want to know what it is.”
"For your new boss?"
His coffee shakes, the first true sign this interaction is affecting him.
"I need to find Gianna.” Maybe Carlo does care, or perhaps he’s entirely full of shit.
“If she’s dead, I’ll send flowers, alright? How about you let me know when you find out.”
“I’ve been in charge of keeping that girl safe since she was five years old, Mr. Bouchard. I'd have to be an idiot not to have noticed your attention over the years. If she were gone, missing, or hurt, you would notice, and you would care.”
“That’s assuming an awful lot of a man like me.”
"You’re assuming what kind of a man you are, and you've never known."
I'm not sure if he's calling me weak or stupid. Maybe both.
“What did the great Stefan suppose would happen to his daughter once he sold her to the butcher?”
The lines in his face seem even deeper as he says, "I don't think he cared so long as he kept what was his."
I leave him shortly after that and head back toward the vineyard, but instead of going there first, I stop at the store and grab some flowers for Gi.