Chapter 54
54
Leon
G od help me. I recognize him now. His jowls are saggier, his eyes duller, but it’s him.
Don Bernio Reggiani. When I last saw him, he was flat on his back, a neat hole puncturing his sternum.
They told me he was dead. Everyone said so. How could I have never heard otherwise in over thirty years?
“Don’t look so shocked,” Reggiani says. “Faking a death is easy, and the cops are professionals at it. Witness protection does it all the time.”
He shakes his head as I reflexively reach into my jacket. “I wouldn’t, piccolo stronzo . I have a proposition for you, and it’s in your wife’s interests for you to hear it.”
Piccolo stronzo. After everything went wrong, I asked a friendly Italian-American officer what it meant when I was waiting in the precinct.
He wouldn’t tell me, but I found out later that it meant, ‘little fucker.’ I remember Reggiani calling it in a sing-song voice as he crept through my house, looking for me.
Josef is crying quietly. I want to comfort him, but I can’t take my eyes off this apparition before me.
Is he real? Why?
For years, my only consolation came from knowing that Reggiani was dead, shot by me when I finally found my stones.
Now I discover I didn’t even get that right.
I want to square my shoulders like the man I am, but I find myself retreating, taking small steps backward.
When I was six years old, this man terrorized me and ruined my life. I can’t let him do it again.
“You mentioned my wife.” I fix him with a cold glare and stand my ground. “Explain yourself, you fucking worthless asshole, or I’ll waste you right here and toss you into the nearest open grave.”
Reggiani wags a finger at me. “No need to be rude. Emery is in very real danger. Surely you understand that this is a time for diplomacy?”
He laughs in my face. “I’m fucking with you. You’re the big man now, right? Pakhan of the most powerful bratva in New York, no less! Your father would be disgusted.”
“Don’t talk about him,” I say. “What have you done with my wife?”
“I’ll get to it,” Reggiani sighs. “I had no choice but to leave New York after I killed your parents. I got married in Italy and spent years grooming my son for the mafia, preparing to return to the East Coast and guide his ascension to his rightful place— my rightful place. At the top.”
Ah, I get it. Reggiani kept his life and freedom in exchange for singing like a bird about mafia operations in New York and beyond.
No wonder he had to leave; he’d have been cut down in the street once that little doozy got out.
“You fucking traitor,” I say. “You sold out your own? Everyone blamed everyone else for how mafia society crumbled, and the law went for the throat, too.”
My voice rises in fury. “You killed my parents, good people who wouldn’t be dragged down by the likes of you.”
“Wrong,” Reggiani snaps. “It was the consequence of your sainted Mommy and Daddy refusing to take their place in the natural order.”
He waves a hand dismissively. “Anyway, Dante hid me out here and spent his time in the city, doing whatever he did. He sold me a good story about his trafficking business and some heiress he was fixing to marry. It all looked good—until you showed up.”
Dante Firenze is really Dante Reggiani.
The truth slams into me like a wrecking ball.
He must have known the whole damn time. If I’d have known this was even a possibility, I’d never have dragged Emery into my life.
I brought this madness upon her.
“So you’re the reason Dante was so hell-bent on getting to me,” I say. “You wanted him to finish what you couldn’t.”
“Bingo.” Reggiani’s smile twists into a sneer. “My son is done and wants to take Emery and that kid out of your reach so he can start again with his nasty flesh-for-cash endeavor. I want you dead.”
I have to keep it together. Dante already told me he has no demands, but Don Reggiani does want something , and if it’ll save my wife, I’m willing to consider it.
“Why not kill me now?” I ask.
“Because I haven’t stacked the deck in my favor,” Reggiani replies. “Anyone could be watching, you’d fight back, all that shit. I can’t let you kill me again.”
“So what are your terms?”
“I will send you a message tonight with the address where we’re holding Emery and the boy.” Reggiani dusts imaginary dust from his lapel. “It’ll be a simple trade-off; your life for hers. Show up alone and unarmed, and we’ll spare her, but you won’t leave alive.”
I don’t care if I die. She will be okay without me; she still has her father, and Roman will make sure the bratva watches over her.
“And Desi,” I say. “Let him go, too.”
“Take him,” Reggiani says, struggling. “He’s worthless to me.”
“Why should I trust you?” I ask.
“Because I’m an old-school mafia man. Blood pledges are a thing with my generation; if you promise your life as payment for another, I’m honor bound to see it through. And I don’t give a shit what happens to your wife. As far as I’m concerned, I’m buying you for cheap.”
He turns away, and I can’t help myself. I draw my gun and level it at the back of his head.
“You should be rotting in Hell. My grip tightens on the trigger. “Tell me why I shouldn’t send you there for real.”
Reggiani doesn’t bother to look back; he knows he’s won. I already know the answer even as I wait for him to speak.
“Because if you don’t take my deal, your wife will die. And it will be your fault.”
I need to be at the place by ten p.m. I checked the timings, and it’s an hour’s drive by my reckoning, but I can’t risk being late.
Texting from Emery’s phone was a sickening touch. My heart leaped at the sight of my wife’s name before I had a chance to remember—she’s a captive.
There’s no way it would be her, and of course, it wasn’t.
Reggiani’s message was brief and to the point: the address, the time, and nothing more. I received it at about five in the afternoon; the fucker left me stewing all day, knowing I’d be going crazy with fear that he would simply disappear for good, taking his knowledge of Emery’s whereabouts with him.
God knows I didn’t want to leave Josef, but I had no choice. I’m gonna die, and he’s the only person who knows it. I couldn’t look at my dyadya’s beseeching eyes as I left, but I said I was sorry.
I’m ready to go and have been for hours. I haven’t eaten, and for the first time in days, I’m stone-cold sober at eight-thirty in the evening.
I wrote a note for Roman and read it back for the third time to ensure I didn’t leave anything out.
Roman,
I know you’re pissed at me right now, but I chose this.
Bernio Reggiani made a deal with me—my life for Emery’s. You know as well as I do that I didn’t think twice. It was a good trade and, in a way, inevitable.
I promised my wife I’d donate enough money to completely rebuild the children’s ward at her hospital. See it done and more; buy that shithole orphanage and turn it around. Vulnerable people need help. And put Emery in charge; she’s more than capable. Protect her and her father, in my name.
Tell her she’s not to blame. If I had discovered the truth sooner, this wouldn’t have happened, and that’s on me. I’m sorry I had to break her heart, but I know you’ll look after her.
I loved her. She knew.
You and Viktor were family to me. Spasibo, brat'ya moi, do novykh vstrech.
Thank you, my brothers, until we meet again.
Best,
It seems all too brief. There are so many things I could say, but none seem important. Roman will understand.
The letter to Emery is a different matter. I wrote and re-wrote it, agonizing over every line. How could meager words convey the weight of my feelings? Could anything I say ease Emery’s grief-stricken heart when she learns what I did and why?
Perhaps I’ll get to speak to her before it’s all over. Reggiani and Dante must let my wife go, or I’ll—what?
I’m supposed to show up unarmed, prepared to surrender without a fight. But what if those two fuckers break their promise? I can’t let them kill me until I know Emery and Desi are far away.
I have to take a gun. It’s a tremendous risk, but they are probably expecting me to do something to secure Emery’s escape, and I have a simple but efficient plan to ensure my enemies hold up their side of the bargain.
Roman and Viktor are way out in New Jersey, following a wild-goose lead I invented explicitly to keep them out of the picture, and Roman made me swear I’d stay home and not get into trouble.
I swore on my life. He didn’t get the irony, but it made me feel less guilty for lying to my closest friend.
I want to tell Roman what’s happening, but he wouldn’t let me lay down my life like this; he loves me too much. I’ve chosen to keep him in the dark for his sake and Emery’s.
I can stall no longer. It’s eight forty-five, and my time is up.
My note for Emery is in the envelope on the table. I pick it up and seal it before turning it over in my hands.
She may run away and never return. If I leave the letter here, my carefully chosen words will be for nothing.
I pocket the envelope and head for the door, but something shiny catches the light, stopping me in my tracks.
My wedding ring is on the table. I planned to leave it behind for Emery, but the thought of going to my death without it on my finger seems wrong.
Without breaking my stride, I pick up the ring and slide it into place, the gold warming with my body heat.
We should have had our whole lives together.
It’s okay. I’ll die, but she will live.
It’s enough.