Chapter 30 – Isabella
T he only way we were allowed to have access to weapons was by inviting Alonzo to come shooting with us, which my fiancé was more than happy to do. Gio and I stacked the pumpkins in a row at the end of the warehouse, and I kept checking over my shoulder. Standing next to the plastic folding table with our guns, Alonzo seemed delicate. Fragile. Breakable.
I should warn him .
The force that stopped me was wondering what Alonzo could actually do to protect himself from the underboss’s spawn. Denouncing Cosimo would only sow discord. There hadn’t been any witnesses to his rough treatment of me at mass. In a struggle between his word and mine, I didn’t stand a chance. But privately, Alonzo might believe me. Still, my fiancé probably wouldn’t take action. Any internal hostility could be very bad for business. Based on past history, the don would sooner hush Alonzo, not wanting to deal with his suspicions, especially with the fight raging with the Scorso family.
It was terrible to think of a father disposing of his only child, but the don was not himself. I wasn’t supposed to know anything, but the infrastructure of the mob was rapidly falling apart. The war with the other family should have been a skirmish, blood for blood. Instead, we seemed to be falling like dominos, and not just our soldiers. Various projects and deals were disintegrating. Gas leaks covered treachery. Job sites were compromised. Every day, a fresh hell descended on us. I only caught whispers, not being privy to the business dealings. But from the wan countenances and hollow, sleeplessness that marked the soldiers, it seemed a common enough theme.
The last thing the don would want was his son making an enemy of his underboss. Alonzo would have to be extremely careful going forward.
“Let’s say we make this interesting,” Alonzo suggested, coming behind us with a target stencil and can of spray paint. “A grand to the most accurate shot.”
That was easy money, but I couldn’t help hustling him a little. “That will take all my savings,” I whined.
Alonzo paused, looking up at me from under his thick, albeit straight lashes. “Really?”
I shuffled. “Well, yeah. My allowance isn’t big, since papa’s estate was swallowed into the famiglia.”
Pushing to his feet, Alonzo stepped toward me. His hand trembled as he reached to cup my cheek. It was a soft, gentle touch.
I had to brace myself so as not to recoil.
“We’ll fix that soon, Isabella,” my fiancé murmured.
This wasn’t a bad man…this just wasn’t the right man. I hated myself, knowing that what I craved most was a dominating hold that I couldn’t have. It would take a lot of convincing to be content with this man. Even more, because I knew what I really wanted was ever present, leaving me gifts of food and other items that made me feel spoilt and cherished. My stalker knew my likes and dislikes better than anyone breathing. It might be a red flag that he watched me so closely, but he cared about finding out the little things about me, more than the man touching me.
“Thank you,” I breathed, because I needed to say something. I didn’t want the money promised to my birth. I wanted the freedom, limited though it was, that my parents allowed me. The life I had before was almost perfect. Alonzo could never give that to me.
But if he died….
I shuddered. Alonzo might not know me as deeply as some crazed Russian cage fighter, but he was better than the alternative.
I have to warn him!
Alonzo continued to gaze at me with adoring eyes. I should tell him about Cosimo. It didn’t have to be detailed, just a vague warning. He should know. If for no other reason, this sweet man needed to be able to defend himself.
I opened my mouth.
“Will you two lovebirds knock it off so we can get this started?” Gio complained.
I swallowed hard, mouth suddenly dry.
“What is it?” Alonzo tipped his head to the side. Kindness warmed his eyes. “Are you getting cold feet, Isabella?”
I barked a laugh. “If only that were it.”
“Well then, what is it?” he pressed.
“Izzy!” Gio protested. “You wanted to shoot some pumpkins, so let’s shoot some fucking pumpkins.”
“Language,” Alonzo and I snapped at the same time.
It was easy to laugh with this man. Pleasant to be around him.
But I knew in a heartbeat that if someone darker called my name, I would go running.
“You need to watch your back,” I murmured.
Alonzo narrowed his eyes.
“The Scorso Famiglia is taking out our men, left and right,” I added quickly, taking the coward’s way out at the last second. I couldn’t tell him about the conversation with Cosimo during mass. Alonzo was too noble. The more I thought about it, the more worried I was becoming that he would rush in, playing the hero, and stir up trouble.
No, dealing with Cosimo would take discretion. I would take care of him myself.
Alonzo dropped his touch, and we moved back to the folding table where Gio was assembling a rifle. He slid the firing pin into the bolt before pushing it gently into the barrel.
He knows about guns. My heart fell to my stomach. How did my little brother know the mechanics of a semiautomatic?
“I’d be careful with your bets, Lonzo.” I nodded toward my brother. “Seems someone might hustle you out of that grand.”
Gio shrugged. “This is nothing.”
You assembling an assault rifle like it’s Legos? Yeah, right. Gio had been practicing. Which meant he’d been out doing things he shouldn’t be doing. He slid the spring and then placed the top on, snapping it in place.
My fiancé boasted something, but his words were muffled and far away sounding. I struggled to swim back to reality from the void of emotions clogging my chest. My little brother hadn’t just been wanting to play gangster, the little shit had been out playing the role of a man already.
This target practice exercise was futile.
I’m losing him .
Touching the cornicello that hung around my neck, the good luck amulet I only took off to shower, I asked him, “What model is that?”
Gio looked up at me suspiciously. “An Arsenal SAM7SF.”
“I see it shoots 7.62 by 39 millimeters, which means it’s basically an AK-47,” I said quietly, reaching out to stroke the barrel. “Impressive. Where have you been hiding it?”
“How the hell do you know so much about weapons?” Gio countered and looked at me with scrunched brows.
I shrugged. “Mama used to take me out shooting. While I was in college, I was part of the trap team.”
“Mama took you shooting?” Gio’s voice dripped with incredulity. “And papa let you shoot trap?”
A small smile played on my lips. “Our parents, especially mama, believed a woman’s best friend was a gun. She used to say a handgun made us more equal to the menfolk than the entire feminist movement.”
Gio snorted. “That doesn’t sound like her.”
The mental box where I kept the memories of my parents creaked open. A terrible ache spread through me. Gio was already forgetting our parents. He hadn’t spent enough time around them, and it was probable that he was actively trying to forget them in the change of circumstances.
“She did, Gio. She was more fierce, more protective of us than anyone else,” I insisted.
My little brother puffed his shoulders. He seemed almost the same height as me. It was a pity he didn’t grow more during his last spurt. He needed height and breadth, and likely wouldn’t have much of either.
“I don’t believe you,” he stated with certainty. “Mama knew that it was the man’s job to protect his house. She was meek and submissive, just like Cecilia. You could learn something from that.”
Those words stung.
“And who protects her man?” I countered, pulling the .308 SOCOM -M-1 off the table.
The crack of Alonzo’s .556 rifle sounded through the warehouse. The echo was higher in pitch. Each pop was slow and methodical. He stood too close to his targets. That wasn’t how he’d hone his marksmanship.
Rolling his eyes, Gio walked to the firing line. “If a man needs a woman’s protection, he’s not a man.”
I resisted the urge to hug myself. The stone on my finger had never felt so heavy.
Spastic fire reigned as my brother obliterated his pumpkins. He wasn’t aiming for the bullseye, merely content with destruction. I shook my head silently. I could tell him to stop, offer him some pointers, but what was the point? I was his sister, fun to hang out with but not worth listening to.
Biting back the bitter disappointment, I stepped to the line we’d drawn in the sand. My choice of rifle had far more power, and the bullets were heavily packed. The .308 was originally meant for long-range, but this model had a shorter barrel. It made close range less accurate, unless the shooter was skilled.
Which I was, thanks to a certain woman.
Allowing myself to remember all the good times with my mother, I braced the gunstock to my shoulder, drew a deep breath, and pulled the trigger in rapid succession.
Gourds exploded across the shooting lane.
In a handful of seconds, there was nothing left but seeds, sinew, and chunks of orange.
“Damn, sis, you hit the bullseye every time,” Gio breathed.
“Language,” Alonzo snapped. To me, he added, “You hustled us.”
The admiration in his tone coupled with the adoring gaze in his eyes was too much. I looked away quickly.
Everything I did was so those I loved wouldn’t be hurt. But it was killing me.
I just want to breathe again .
As we packed up the weapons, I worked to push the painful memories back into their box. They were safe there, the good times untouchable by the horror of the present. I wouldn’t allow my parents’, especially my mother’s, open-mindedness to be tainted by the shallow ideas of the present.
“Are you going to tell her or am I?” Gio beamed, wiping the oil carelessly over his weapon.
I looked between the lads. “Tell me what?”
“We have a surprise for you.” My fiancé grinned. “Tomorrow night, we’re going down to the docks to the haunted ship. Giulietta Conti was allowed to come with some cousins. I’ve already booked our allotted time.”
I stilled. After the attack at the country club, the Conti family had been distant. They hadn’t sent wine, they hadn’t come for Sunday dinner. I assumed the idea about marrying my kid brother to their princess was squashed.
“You’re still coming, right?” Alonzo cut me a side look when I didn’t immediately respond.
Go to a Halloween amusement venue, act like a young person, all while knowing that my brother was being offered as the sacrificial lamb? And after another dress fitting in the afternoon? Gee, that sounded like fun.
At least I’ll be near Gio.
“I wouldn’t miss it,” I wheezed, knowing my voice sounded funny. The shooting lesson might have been a complete and utter failure, but I couldn’t give up. I had to make sure Gio was as prepared as possible for surviving the underworld.
While my fiancé slung the box of his supplies over his shoulder and sauntered to the exit, where the bodyguards stood motionless, I caught my brother’s wrist. “You don’t have to marry the Conti girl. A lot can happen before you’re eighteen.”
“She’s cute, and it’s for the good of the famiglia.” He gave me a strange look.
I could have smacked myself upside the head. Not only was Gio moonstruck, but I was talking crazy. Insane. Traitorous!
Ah! How could I be so stupid?
Advantageous marriages were what built organizations like ours. Other mobs might not take arrangements quite as seriously, for which I envied them, but there was a proud tradition of us marrying tightly.
“What if a better offer comes along?” I countered. “You know, someone who looks like a porn star, not a nun.”
“Says the pious sister who veils her head and never misses a church service—even during the week,” Gio teased, pulling out of my reach and following my fiancé to the door.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupido ragazzo!
Clutching my cornicello, I let the tangle of thoughts in my head run their course, knowing they were bound to knot rather than clear. The only thing I could resolve was not giving up.