Chapter 46 – Ilya
The office door swung open. The three men stopped short, wisely refraining from reaching for their weapons.
“What is the meaning of this?” Don Paolo Scorso frowned at me.
The mild irritation on his face should have been impressive. It was rare that men showed a lack of fear around me, especially when I aimed something as destructive as the semi-automatic rifle at them.
But I wasn’t in a good mood.
“Some thanks you Italians show,” I growled. “I warned you, gave you enough time to mount a defense, and ultimately helped save your women and children.”
“It’s him, signore,” one of the other men breathed. “The ghost!”
“Is this true?” Don Paolo intoned. “Are you the mysterious savior to whom I owe my thanks?”
“Some thanks,” I spat again. “You kidnapped two Rinaldi boys last night. And I will need them back—whole and well—which I hope for your sakes is still the case.”
“We took no one,” the third man protested. “We shot at the Rinaldi scum, but they retreated when they realized they’d lost the element of surprise. We took no one—we killed no one. ”
I clenched my jaw. The trouble was, those were just the words of a frightened man. I needed hard proof, and I needed it now.
“Who are these boys to you?” the Scorso boss demanded, stepping right to business.
The damn keys. These boys were everything. Without them, Isabella would…. If anything happened to them….
No, I wouldn’t let it.
“Alonzo Bruno and Giovani Rinaldi.” I lifted the rifle, pressing my cheek to the edge and taking aim. We were done with games. “Where are they?”
Terror shivered over the two men flanking the boss, but the don threw back his head and laughed.
“You think—” he pointed a finger at me “—that I would be stupid enough to capture those two?”
“Possibly. I don’t know you,” I growled.
The don, barrel frame still quaking with laughter, shook his head. “With all the bloodshed, I just want peace. The best way to achieve that is to marry my daughter to either of those boys.”
It sounded like a copout, but I still listened. “You’re saying they aren’t here?”
“I’m saying we didn’t take them, and if any of my men know of their whereabouts, I’ll personally deliver the message.” The don looked me up and down. “Haven’t we seen you before, signore?”
I lowered the rifle. “Pray that you don’t see me again.”
The don nodded. “How shall I reach you?”
It was highly unlikely he would find the boys before I did. Still, the more ears to the ground, the better. I tossed a black business card on the table. The direct line went to the same burner phone that I’d used to contact Isabella. It was only the second time I gave that number away, but for this, it was too important not to distribute the contact information.
Thinking of my siren sent a stab of anguish through me. My precious, sweet, and wonderful woman was no doubt going out of her mind with worry. But I couldn’t go to her. Not until the young men she adored were safe and sound.
And the don who kept her prisoner, who allowed his man to beat her, walked.
The beater? I planned to haul him in the trunk back to Chicago, where I would have the Mad Doctor help me make his final days—no, weeks—a living hell. No one laid a finger on my siren, let alone hurt her, bruising her face, and lived.
I paused, considering what I knew of the inner dynamics of the Rinaldi Mafia. “Don Paolo,” I mused, rubbing my chin on the back of my hand.
The don grunted. “Yes?”
“If one of your men planned a coup—”
Outraged cries burst from the lackeys, but the don lifted his hand to silence them.
“If one of your men planned a coup,” I repeated, “would they be followed?”
“Are you asking if they would succeed in holding the position?” he inferred, restating my query better than I had.
My chin dipped in a nod.
“They would be hunted down and irradicated. Loyal men won’t follow a traitor.”
Traitors would constantly be seeking to slaughter any threat because every good man would be a threat.
And suddenly I knew where the boys were.
With hurried steps, I walked out of the Scorso compound without another word. The guards let me pass, not that they could do much handcuffed to their posts.
***
The sound of a blunt object impaling flesh was a distinct squelch-squelch. Anger at the source mixed with the fear that I was too late. From how much liquid accompanied the steadily pounding stabs, the victim was bleeding out.
I’ll make the shit stain pay!
That resolve was the only thing that kept my finger from squeezing the trigger as I burst into the unfinished basement of the foreclosed house.
The scene before me was straight out of a grotesque film. But this was no horror film. Stained water pooled in places on the floor where it wasn’t high enough to continue draining into the hole in the cement. An exam table with restraints stood empty in the center of the room. The overhead bulbs buzzed and fizzed with barely enough power to banish the shadows lurking around the edges and between the larger pieces of torture equipment.
Because that was what this was: a madman’s sanctuary.
Except…the vile soul would never hurt another being.
Alonzo crouched over the corpse, bloody rail spike suspended in the air. Drops of Cosimo’s blood fell in a steady patter over the body.
“Elijah?” the lad croaked.
“It’s me,” I breathed. He survived. “I think you got him, bud.”
Slowly Alonzo looked down. A heartbeat passed before Alonzo sank the piece of metal into Cosimo’s chest, burying it to the hilt. The lad rose, wiping his hands. He made to take a step forward but stumbled.
I darted forward, sliding my pistol into the waistband of my pants, and caught the kid just in time. “Easy now.”
“I’m fine,” he rasped, shoving me away.
I grunted. “I can’t let anything happen to you.”
“Why?” he scoffed. “What did my father promise you?”
A rough laugh barked from my chest. “Nothing. I don’t work for him.” And I’m going to kill him, the first chance I get.
“Don’t you?” Whatever burst of adrenaline Alonzo had was fast ebbing away. He struggled to move. I shifted the way I held him, taking more of his slight weight.
“No,” I growled.
“Well, you worked for Fabrizi,” the lad countered.
“Let’s get one thing straight.” I pushed him to sit on the wood step—gently pushed. “I came to the East Coast for Izzy. Everything I’ve done, including tolerating Fabrizi’s sponsorship and rescuing you, has been for her.”
The kid blinked up at me. The way his eyes widened made him look impossibly young. Yet there were shadows growing there, like wrinkles, but these would tell a far more terrible tale than the lines of age.
“So it’s true,” he breathed. “You and her.”
“She’s mine.”
Alonzo nodded once. “You killed Fabrizi senior.”
“And you robbed me of the delight to kill his son.”
“Sorry,” Alonzo snorted. “But I got a little fed up with being his human pincushion. When the opportunity came to strike back, I didn’t stop.”
Making it impossible for me to think badly of you. “You did well. He’s a mess.”
“He deserved worse.” Alonzo scrubbed his hands over his face. “Did you know Fabrizi senior was going to marry my aunt?”
It didn’t surprise me. The Italian Mafias loved their arranged marriages.
But Alonzo wasn’t done with his story.
He went on to say how the aunt planned to end her brother and me, putting Fabrizi in the position to be the don, while Isabella was to be Cosimo’s prize. “You know she was here, my aunt? Told me the whole plot,” Alonzo laughed bitterly. “She came to take pictures of Gio’s body—annoyed that he died so easily. She cautioned Cosimo not to nick any arteries with me. My own aunt. She wanted me to stay a prisoner here in case they needed me as a bargaining piece. But she didn’t say Cosimo couldn’t play with me.”
My insides twisted into a tight knot. One that only violence could release.
Gio was dead.
I’d failed. I’d taken too long.
When I finally discovered Cosimo’s lair after five days of searching, I was prepared to find both lads dead. Upon entering the basement, and only seeing Alonzo, I hadn’t allowed myself to wonder where Gio was. Although if I was being honest, I knew. But Alonzo’s words were a bitter confirmation.
“The worst thing? My father found out about their plot—weeks ago!” Alonzo slapped his palm into the brick. “He’s been bargaining for his life ever since. Not mine. No, not the son who embarrasses him.”
“I’m going to kill him.”
“No!” Alonzo’s gaze cut to mine. “No, Elijah. He’s mine.”
Arguments bubbled inside me.
But Alonzo pushed to his feet. Standing on the second step, he was actually eye level with me. “You get Isabella. Let me have this.”
And just like that, anything I could say lost any merit.
“Alright,” I agreed. “But you’re never to touch her—ever.”
Alonzo raised his hands. “Done. We’ll part ways after this, but Elijah?”
“It’s Ilya.” The admission absently fell from my lips as my mind reeled with the knowledge that I failed my siren.
“Okay…Ilya,” Alonzo cleared his throat.
This one lived. Was it wrong to wish it was the other way? I wished it was the other way. Hell, the look in Alonzo’s eye told me he wished it was too. He was bitter and angry. Who wouldn’t be in his situation? Yes…I would let him kill his father. That would sate him. But as I stared into his eyes and saw the fierce determination, a sharp realization hit me: Izzy would be just as broken by Alonzo’s death as her brothers.
One lived. That was good.
The skin on his palms was crisscrossed with lacerations. Fuck, he’s a mess. “Yeah, kid?”
“You’d better take care of her,” he warned.
There wasn’t a fiber of my being that could mock him at this moment. “You know I will.”
“I know you will.” With that, he turned and limped up the stairs. “We’ll have to torch this place.”
“I have a better idea.” As we left the dilapidated property, we made plans for how to leave the city and how another power player could scavenge the ruins of the Rinaldi Famiglia.