36. Chapter 36
Chapter thirty-six
Emilio
A s I left for work, I noticed Luciana’s still form in bed, her chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. She thought she was fooling me with her act of sleep, but I could always tell when she was pretending. The air was heavy with unspoken tension from last night’s argument. I longed to apologize and make things right, but I could sense that she didn’t want to talk to me just yet. Right now, I would just have to give her space and let the matter rest.
It was an exceedingly slow day at work. No one needed to be tortured, nothing needed to investigated. I needed something to do to keep my mind off the situation, and there was nothing for me today. I ended up getting lost in my own thoughts pondering the “what ifs” and “should haves.”
“This is so stupid,” I mumbled to myself, but it caught the ears of Felix, who was sitting nearby.
“What is?”
“Nothing,” I said a little too quickly. “I need to go home. Text me if something important comes up.”
“Don’t forget to log your vacation time,” he said facetiously.
Normally I would jab back at a remark like that, but I had something far more important to do. I needed to go home and beg forgiveness to Luciana, tell her I did not feel that way about our marriage.
And I did not beg.
As I sped through traffic, weaving in and out of cars, I couldn’t help but feel my heart rate quicken. Not from the thrill of the chase, but from the anticipation of what awaited me at home. The fear of an impending empty house, void of Luciana’s presence, plagued my thoughts; a gnawing fear that clouded my judgment more than any interrogation ever could.
Reaching our apartment quicker than expected, I parked haphazardly, not caring about the consequences. I ran to the parking structure’s elevator, only to see it was out of service. Fucking great. Gripping firmly on to my determination, I made my way up the stairs two at a time. It alarmed me how much I suddenly cared. How I desperately needed Luciana to understand that she meant more to me than my shitty words could ever portray.
Turning the knob with more force than required, I stepped inside. The house was eerily quiet, save for the subtle hum of the refrigerator from the kitchen. It was clear no one was home. Dino had said Luciana showed no interest in going anywhere, but I guess she changed her mind. I slammed my fist against the wall, pissed that I missed my chance. Now I’d just have to wait here, lost in my thoughts, until they arrived home.
I walked into our shared bedroom to change into something more comfortable during the agonizing wait. The stuffed octopus I won Luciana and Bait, the doll I had bought her on one of our first dates, sat on the bed. They gave me an accusatory stare, as if telling me I shouldn’t have left in the first place.
“Shut up,” I muttered, and then instantly felt like an idiot for talking to toys.
Along with her toys, Luciana had left her laptop and a pile of papers on the bed. The screen hadn’t gone dark yet and whatever she had been browsing was still on display for the world to see. I couldn’t help myself; my curiosity got the better of me. When I looked at the screen, I felt like I was going to vomit. The warehouse where we had our shootout with the Mexicans appeared on the screen. A quick cross reference with the pile of papers she had on the bed confirmed that she was definitely heading there to explore.
I leaped off the bed and sprinted towards the car, desperate to reach Luciana as soon as possible. My friends and I had already taken care of the men in the warehouse, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that some of them might still be lurking around. Enemies were like cockroaches - you can contain them, but they would never really be gone.
The route to the warehouse was etched into my mind like a scar, a reminder of a day flooded with gunshots and screams. The twisted knot in my stomach tightened as I saw Dino’s car parked in front of the building. I parked mine next to it and got out of the vehicle.
I circled the building first to look for cars. If there was no one here, Dino and Luciana were safe inside. My heart raced as I stumbled upon an Audi, hidden away behind a loading dock. It was obvious that it had just been parked there, untouched by the usual layer of fine dust that coated everything in this desolate place. My instincts were on high alert, scanning for any signs of danger.
With a steady hand, I unholstered my gun and moved towards the side entrance. Each step was calculated, my feet landing silently on the concrete floor as I approached the door. With a gentle push, the door swung open, revealing a dimly lit hallway. As I peered inside, my senses heightened, searching for any signs of movement or sound. The silence was deafening, but I remained vigilant, listening for even the slightest hint of life around me.
The muffled sound of voices drifted down the left corridor, beckoning me forward. My footsteps were light and cautious as I made my way towards them, my eyes darting behind crates and boxes to ensure I was alone in the corridor. Every creak and groan of the old building seemed amplified as I crept closer to the source of the voices.
What I saw was one of the last things I had been expecting. I had assumed it would be the Mexicans kidnapping my wife for ransom or killing her to set a precedent. What I didn’t expect was to see Luciana’s father and brother staring at her as though they wanted to kill her. And when Rolando raised the gun, I realized they would.
I barged into the room and fired at Rolando’s hand, and he immediately dropped the gun. Then, I shot him in the knee, so the fucker would never walk right again. I fucking wanted to kill him. But I knew Luciana would never forgive me if I did.
Gennaro’s eyes burned with rage as he glared at me for interrupting. Rolando lay sprawled on the floor, blood pooling from his wounds as he desperately tried to stem the bleeding with shaking hands. Luciana stood nearby, tears streaming down her face. Though she remained silent, I could see the wave of relief washing over her through the shimmering tears in her eyes. The room was heavy with tension and the faint scent of coppery blood. In that moment, it felt like time had stopped and all that existed were these three figures - one angry and vengeful, one broken and wounded, and one overwhelmed with emotion.
“What the fuck!” Rolando’s voice broke the silence. “What in the actual fuck!”
“You’re lucky it wasn’t your head,” I said, not bothering to hide my disdain for Luciana’s brother.
“Fuck you, Emilio,” he responded.
Gennaro interrupted us before we could continue our argument.
“Very good, Emilio.” Although the way he said it was more patronizing than praising. “How did you know where she was? Did you put a tracker on her?”
“No,” I said, not wanting Luciana to think I didn’t trust her. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Fine. What is a man without his secrets?”
“And what is a father without his lies?” I retorted, my gaze never leaving Gennaro’s face. “Why are you here, Gennaro?”
Gennaro’s voice boomed and echoed through the room as he launched into an obnoxiously long monologue. He boasted of his partnership with the Mexicans, revealing that he had been working with them all along. As the words spilled from his lips, it became clear that he was responsible for the lost twenty million dollars of equipment and the charred remains of the warehouse.
The room remained silent at his confession, except for the low whimpers of Rolando nursing his wound. He looked pitiful laying on the ground, blood staining the concrete floor beneath him. His face twisted in pain as he clutched his knee.
“Well?” Gennaro asked, the smug look still plastered across his face. “So impressed you can’t speak?”
Impressed was not the word I was looking for. He purposely fucked with our assets on his “quest” to become the most powerful Mafia family. And we had assumed it was Leone Alto working with the Mexicans. We had wasted endless resources trying to find something to connect him to a crime he was not a part of. My gut twisted in anger as I stared at the mess in front of me.
Before I could respond, a series of shots pierced through the air, and it didn’t come from my gun. In an instant, Gennaro’s body stiffened and then collapsed to the ground in a lifeless heap. My mind reeled in confusion as I frantically scanned our surroundings. The source wasn’t my own weapon, but rather came from elsewhere. To my shock, Luciana still sat against the wall, her hand gripping the gun that Rolando had dropped. The barrel was still smoking, its aim fixed on her own father.
Rolando began cursing at his sister in hurried Italian.
“If you don’t shut up, I’ll do the same to you,” I said, walking over to where Luciana was and helping her up. “Do you want me to take care of him?”
I was more than happy to give him the same fate his father had met. My fingers itched to pull the trigger on my gun, to end his miserable existence.
“No,” she mumbled, leaning against me. Then she directed her attention to her brother. “I don’t care what you tell mom and Martina, as long as it’s not the truth.”
Rolando narrowed his eyes at her, a silent “we’ll talk about this later.” He was far too injured to be having this conversation.
Luciana’s eyes widened, and her shoulders sagged with relief as she looked at me. Her face was a kaleidoscope of emotions – gratitude, fear, happiness – all struggling for dominance. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out, so she simply hugged me tightly instead.