Chapter 47 Enzo
ENZO
I lock myself in my office, careful to avoid any prying eyes or ears.
"What do you mean they know?"
"They somehow found my picture and put two and two together," Jimenez grunts, and I can tell he's not pleased at this turn of events.
Soon after we'd taken a good chunk of Martin's fortune, Jimenez had decided that it was time to dispatch him. He'd chosen none other than my house to do it—the very office I'm standing in.
Now, Jimenez, for all his willingness to share information, hadn't told me one tiny detail. The person who killed Martin was someone Theodore Hastings knew from his time as Adrian Barnett.
In the spirit of cordial cooperation, I'd sent Hastings and his wife the footage from that night, sure they wouldn't find anything suspicious that might link the killer to Jimenez.
Well, they had.
And so a witch hunt had begun for Jimenez. Only we didn't think it would get this far.
Years ago, in his attempt to get close to his eldest son, Jimenez had borrowed the identity of Matthew's deceased brother—Andrew Gallagher. And so for years he'd coached his own son in underground, to-the-death fighting, trying to create the perfect killing machine.
Only he'd failed.
Hastings is one of those good guys who think they can carry the weight of the entire world on their shoulders. Well, given his wife's penchant for remorseless killing, I'd say he has his plate full.
Of course Hastings would recognize his long-lost mentor. And now he can link him to the Gallaghers and… me.
Fuck!
"Do you realize what this means?" I grit my teeth, my plans threatening to fall apart. Everything I'd worked for throughout these years will be for nothing.
"Yes. I need to recalculate everything," Jimenez replies, and I stifle the urge to throw my phone across the room.
Fucking hell!
No, I can't let this happen. I need to regroup and figure something out fast. At this rate, Rocco is bound to find out that the Gallaghers have been working for the enemy the entire time.
And while that has been the plan all along, it's too soon!
We still have to do a complete merger with the Gallaghers in order to leave everything in Jimenez's hands.
No, something needs to be done.
"Indeed," I say, and I hang up. I can't find it in me to care about Jimenez's sensibilities now that I'm in danger of being discovered, and my revenge will be worthless should that happen.
Massaging my temples, I start thinking. Fast.
This little stunt is precipitating my plans, and I have to skip months of perfect planning…
"What in the fucking hell am I going to do?" I mutter to myself, aimlessly looking around my office, hoping an idea will form.
At this point, it's not about getting the perfect revenge. It's about ensuring Father's death—in an appropriate and satisfying manner—but also self-preservation. It has to be done in a way that will not be suspicious to anyone in the famiglia. The last thing I need is a target on my back.
My eyes drift to my calendar, and I see the date for the inaugural match of one of the arenas. It's only a few days away, and as I hone in on that, a plan starts forming in my mind.
I just need a precise moment and a perfect audience. The wheels are turning in my head, and soon I have a comprehensive plan of action. One that might not be as satisfying as watching Father's expression in the face of his crumbling empire, but that will at least ensure his demise.
I make a few phone calls to ensure I have eyes on Hastings and his wife at all times.
A few days later, luck is on my side, as I hear from my men that the Hastings have left their apartment.
It seems I don't have to coax them out of hiding.
This plan hinges on their presence for several reasons. They will act as witnesses and as aids when the moment comes. And knowing the truth, they will immediately suspect Jimenez is acting out of fear that he'd been discovered.
I look down at the body at my feet, annoyed I have to get rid of it fast. I'd come here to get Matthew to agree to my plan, but instead, he'd been adamantly against it, saying it would ruin the business.
"Do I look like I care about the business?" I'd answered, and my finger had quickly squeezed the trigger, hitting Matthew straight in the chest. He'd taken a few more labored breaths before succumbing to his wounds.
"Pity," I say, stooping down to assess the mess I made. Taking out my cell, I dial Nero, asking him to dispose of the body.
"Chop him up, remove his teeth and burn the prints, then dump him in the river," I tell him before I go to Matthew's bathroom to clean up. It's best if his identity is never confirmed. I don't need more enemies at the moment.
While Nero deals with Matthew's body, I make a quick trip to my car to change my shirt.
Maman is already waiting for me, a svelte blonde dressed in an evening gown standing next to her.
"This is Angelique," maman makes the introductions, after which we both start toward Hastings' location.
To drive home the importance of the event, I'd hired a limo to take us there.
"Nothing will happen to you, but the moment you hear shots, I want you to run. Understand?" I tell Angelique as we park in front of a restaurant.
Holding my arm out for her, we go inside. I spot Hastings and his wife immediately, so we approach them to engage in friendly conversation before slowly enticing them to follow us to the arena.
"It's Quinn's first match, after all," I give them my most charming smile as we get inside the limo, the next destination the arena.
I'm tense as we take our places in the VIP section.
My father is already there with his latest mistress, and he seems to be in a jolly mood, his hand lodged between her legs.
Shaking my head in disgust, I move next to him, Angelique by my side and Hastings and his wife behind us.
I don't want them close to my father in case one of them decides to be magnanimous and spill the truth about Jimenez.
The match soon starts, and so does my timer. Quinn is putting on a good show for the audience, and everyone is riveted by the violence on stage.
Looking at my watch, I keep track of the time. When I see there are a few more minutes until the attack, I lean in and whisper to my father.
"I know what you've done." He freezes, his face still forward.
"What are you talking about?"
"Chiara," I say the one word, and his face blanches.
"Don't worry, though. I've gotten used to it," I continue, wanting to give him a false sense of security. His face seems to relax.
"I knew you'd see reason, son. That bitch, Allegra, was in contact with a fed. You know what we do to traitors."
"Indeed," I clench my fist by my side, biding my time. I can't let my anger cloud my judgment, even though the mere fact that he called Allegra a bitch is making me see red.
"Besides, it's not as if you cared about her," he scoffs, "you think I don't know how much time you spend at that goddamn brothel," he continues.
He doesn't seem to realize that the brothel in question belongs to maman Margot.
"She was replaceable, and luckily Chiara was kind enough to help us save face. "
"Save face, Father? Have you seen her? She's fucked half of New York by now." It's ludicrous how hypocritical Rocco can be. It's only right when it serves his purposes. Chiara's his puppet, so she can do no wrong.
"Come on, Enzo. You know she only fucks important people," Rocco continues, and I don't know whether to groan at his mercenary mindset or laugh at his stupidity. So he's practically been pimping her out?
"I didn't know the gardener was that important.
Or her bodyguards. Or even the fucking priest at Martin's funeral.
Did you know about that?" I'd thought that maybe she'd had some feelings for Martin, because she'd certainly displayed theatrics worthy of an Oscar at his grave.
But after the funeral, I'd left her to rest only to find her boning the priest.
Father stutters a little, caught in his own delusion.
I know exactly what happened. He'd thought he could control Chiara and even use her as his personal cum dumpster.
But then he hadn't anticipated Chiara's fickle nature or the fact that she could blackmail his fat ass into submission.
I mean, her behavior these past years has been nothing short of indecent, yet Rocco still finds ways to defend her when, if it had been anyone else, he would have thrown a fit about besmirching the family's honor.
"She's just lonely. You don't give her any attention." I almost laugh in his face.
"I'm sorry if I don't want your second-hand pussy, father," I roll my eyes at him. "But I'm curious," I continue, wanting to probe just a little more, the watch on my hand telling me I have more time, "what exactly did the Marchesis gain?"
His eyes widen at my question, and he takes a second to reply.
"Control over our Italian businesses," his voice is shaky as he admits this, because by and large, control over Italy is control over Europe.
"Really? You valued your freedom so much that you'd relinquish half your power?
" I'd gone through all the documents, but none of them had suggested a merger or even a transfer of power, which means he's been using different sets of proxies to make sure the arrangement stays hidden.
Smart, but also stupid. Suddenly it makes sense why our European side has been losing money.
Fucking Marchesi.
"It was necessary," he huffs, his face going red from the exertion.
Two more minutes.
"Thank you for enlightening me, Father. Now, why don't I tell you some interesting facts too?" My hand grabs his pudgy arm, my fingers digging into his fat. "The Gallaghers were never our allies."
Quinn scores a punch on his opponent, and the entire crowd rejoices.
"Do you know who they were working with?" I continue, watching as his eyes widen with realization. "Yes, indeed. Jimenez and… me."
"What…" he stammers, looking as if he'd seen a ghost.
"Ah, I guess you didn't see that coming," I continue, and for once, he seems truly lost. "You were wrong to mess with Allegra, Father, but even worse to think I wouldn't be able to tell."
"But… why…"
"Do you know what I promised Jimenez for his help to destroy you?" I ask sarcastically, and he can see where this is going. "Everything you own."
He suddenly tenses, turning to face me, his face full of anger.
"You won't get away with it," he grinds his teeth as he looks at me, a vein popping in his forehead.
This… this is what I wanted to see.
"What if I already did?" The hands of the clock move into alignment, and right at that moment, shots start raining down on the crowd. Or, rather, they are focused on our section.
Rocco, in his feeble attempt to escape his death, shoves his mistress in front of a bullet. But he doesn't succeed, as the next ones burrow through him, blood spilling everywhere.
Eyes forward, I feel a bullet enter my side, somewhere in my lower abdomen. I blink away the pain, but another bullet hits me in the chest, the force propelling me backward and making me fall.
It wasn't supposed to be two bullets…
I can barely move as the blood keeps flowing out of me freely, and a slow haze envelops my brain. I feel Bianca at my side, putting pressure on the wound, and Hastings barking orders in the background, calling 911—the reason I'd made sure he was here in the first place.
But no matter how much I fight to stay awake, I can't.
Just before I lose consciousness, I utter the only thing that matters.
"Tell… Allegra… love," I can't muster any more strength to finish the sentence, but I hope Bianca understands.
Because if I truly die here today, I want Allegra to know I did love her, and I'll continue to love her.
But then it all fades away.
"You were lucky," the doctor tells me as he looks over my chart. "The bullets didn't hit any vital organs. It could have been much worse."
Maman is one of my first visitors, and she keeps lamenting how bad I look and how she thought I wouldn't make it. I'd been told Chiara had come to visit, but she hadn't stayed long.
Did she come to make sure I was dead?
"Qu'est-ce que tu as fait, mon fils?" Maman cries out, and I wince.
"I'm fine, maman," I'm quick to assure her, but as I see her so worried, I suddenly get another idea.
Since my plans have all been sabotaged, I'll need an alternative to make the Marchesi pay.
I'd gathered from my sources that both Jimenez and his son, Carlos, are dead.
His entire organization is dying, and I can already foresee different cartels fighting for supremacy.
It won't affect me much, since I've somehow ended up with Martin's money and Jimenez's investments.
The only drawback is that I'm stuck with a now-thriving empire.
As for Marchesi… now that Jimenez can't help me anymore, I'll have to think of something else. And I might have just the thing…
"Maman, I need to make everyone believe I'm worse off than I actually am," I tell her, explaining my reasoning.
If the Marchesi think I'm on the verge of death, they'll be quick to come to New York and assert themselves as the de facto rulers of the Agosti family. They'll probably say they are doing so until Luca comes of age, scheming to kill him before that happens.
The thought only fuels my hate even more, and I ask maman to move into the house with Luca to make sure no one touches him.
Three more to go. Three more to fall. Three more to suffer.
The game has just begun.