Chapter 11
Lula
“Lula, stay with me.”
There is no Lula. She’s gone, eaten up by ecstasy. I don’t recognize myself. I barely recognize my own name. There are no boundaries between me and the outside world. Nothing left of my defenses. Victor fucked them away.
A small, primitive part of me recognizes that I’m being dried and carried out of the shower. He fucked me there, choked me, and I welcomed it. I welcomed death.
But he didn’t kill me. He shattered me in pieces, and it’s fine because I’m not myself anymore.
“Speak to me, little one.”
I snort. I’m not that little. I have a slender torso but ample breasts and an even bigger backside. Leah’s muffins go straight to my hips. Only hours of rowing keep them off my thighs.
I must say all this out loud because Victor replies, “Noted.” He sounds amused. “But you are little to me.”
He lays me down, and I sink into the soft, cloud-like surface. He leans over me, a shadowy shape. Victor. The victor in our little game. In our fight to the death.
I should’ve known it would end like this. With him standing over me, a bloodied knife. . .
Something prods my lips. A straw. “Drink, beautiful.”
I do, and when I’m done, I say, “I’m not beautiful.”
He sighs from somewhere overhead. “Must you argue?”
“Yes. I was born to argue. I might as well die doing it.”
I’m rolled and wrapped in something fuzzy and warm. A blanket. There are words for so many things, words I already know, but everything’s floating just out of reach.
“Enough, sweetheart.”
Sweetheart?
“Shhh.” Victor tucks the blanket around me. “It’s time to rest. I pushed you too far.”
Wasn’t that the point?
“If you don’t stop talking, I will gag you.”
I didn’t realize I was still talking. My throat is raw. Victor gets me more water and climbs into bed with me. His arms cradle me, pulling me against the solid wall of his body. I close my eyes and let myself drift. . .
And it occurs to me that I’ve never been held this close before, not since I was young. Before my mother died, and my world turned cold.
“It was for my mother,” I say. “That’s why I targeted Stephanos.”
“I know.”
“I knew it! I knew you knew.”
“Yes, little one, you were right.” A kiss on my temple.
“He killed her outside of the pasta makers,” I tell him. Words bubble out of me like I’m a bottle of champagne, newly uncorked. “It was meant to look like the Vesuvis did it. But I dug and figured out. . . I found out. . .”
Victor touches me, and I realize my face is wet.
“It was him,” I say. My eyes are burning, so I keep them closed. “He wanted to kill her. To incite a war.”
“Shhhh.”
There’s a monster in my chest, clawing out of me, but I finish what I have to tell him. “She was on her way to pick me up from school and stopped to get fresh cavatelli. My favorite.” And then it hurts too much. I can’t say any more.
A long time later, Victor says. “It’s not your fault. You know that, right?”
I don’t know anything.
“You’re going to be all right, my Lucrezia. You will heal from this.”
“You can’t tell me what to do.” I mold my fingers into the chopping hand gesture in case he doesn’t get it. No.
His laugh is a gust of wintry wind on my face. “Very well. You will decide for yourself.”
That sounds better.
“Now go to sleep. We can argue more in the morning. As much as you like.”
I yawn, but I’m suddenly more awake. My pain has leaked away, gone like it’s never been. I wiggle my hips, trying to nestle deeper into the bedclothes, only to realize I’m rubbing against Victor. I give up and sigh. “I can’t sleep.”
“Yes, you can.”
“I don’t want to. When I wake up, you’ll hurt me again.”
“Yes. But you like it when I hurt you.”
“You’re not supposed to know that.”
“Is it not obvious?”
I grit my teeth, trying to summon some rage. There’s only exhaustion. “You’re going to win. And I hate it.”
“There is no losing. Not between us.”
“It doesn’t feel that way.” Hovering just overhead is a heavy gray fog. Exhaustion ready to smother me. I hold it back a little longer. “You said you’d break me. And now I’m not me anymore.”
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t exist. I need to fight. If I’m not fighting, I’m not alive.”
“Is that why you hunt your mother’s killer?”
It is, but I’ve never thought of it that way before. The only way I survived that great loss was by committing myself to avenging her death. The goal drove me forward so I would have something to live for.
“You think I’m pathetic.”
“No, my Lucrezia. Not that. Never that.” He pulls me even tighter to him, tying me to reality even as his warmth threatens to pull me into sleep. “Enough of this. Let me tell you something real.”
As I float away, he follows me, telling me the story of a boy who loved knives and lived above a butcher shop and whose mother let the butcher hurt her until the boy grew up and killed him and any other man who would prey upon them. And they lived happily ever after, the end.
* * *
Victor
I wait a long while,dozing on and off with Lula in my arms. After a REM cycle, I slide away, careful not to wake her. There’s no worry of that, though. She’s sleeping soundly. I take her vitals, and she barely stirs. I email an update to my doctor, the one who patched me up the first time I had Lula as a guest, who’s advising me on the sleep/sexual torture protocol I’m cycling her through and helping me keep tabs on her health.
With her dark hair spread over the pillow and black lashes fanned over her tanned cheeks, she looks like an angel fallen to earth. Her lips are plush and pouting, her expression sweeter than she’d allow if she was awake. I trace her brow line, and she frowns as if frustrated by the gentle touch.
I turned up the heat before I climbed into bed with her, but now I lower it and cover her with a weighted blanket so she’ll sleep well.
Before I leave, I turn on the camera in the corner that streams an encrypted feed to a private website. The doctor will monitor her while I’m gone. And I can log in and check on her while she sleeps.
I would stay, but I have business to attend to.
It’s been three months since Lula surprised Stephanos and wounded him; he’s gone to ground where even I cannot find him. Not that I tried too hard. I was more focused on Lula.
But now that I have her secure, it’s time for me to collect what I’m owed.
My contacts have traced the remnants of Stephanos’ gang to a shuttered hole-in-the-wall restaurant called Primo Pizzeria. I cased the joint two nights ago and set up cameras so I could study the henchmen in their natural territory. I haven’t done a complete watch-through of the footage, only a few hours to get a sense of the players and their hierarchy and roles. I will do my homework more thoroughly the next time Lula sleeps, but I have all the information I need for this afternoon’s work.
I first approach the Pizzeria from the front. The windows and door are covered in ancient, sun-browned newspapers. I set a sleek black briefcase right on the stoop, slim enough to sit in the shadows and go unnoticed until the proper time.
Then, I retrace my steps and slip up the fetid alley, avoiding crumpled beer cans and cast-off takeout containers. The back door is cracked, and in one silent motion, I ease my way inside.
Gruff voices echo through the empty kitchen. I don’t try to hide myself but simply walk into the main seating area, right up to the men lounging in a circle of chairs.
“Good morning,” I murmur. Instantly, four of the five men reach to snap their weapons up and train them on me.
The fifth one fumbles his and drops it on the floor. It hits the toe of his tennis shoe and spins across the floor, stopping a few inches from my boot. I raise a brow.
“Who the fuck are you?”
I spread my arms to show I hold no visible weapons. “A friend.”
I wait calmly until the wiry, curly-haired man in the center spits out his cigarette and lowers his gun. “Hey, I know you. You’re that hitman Stephanos hired to bump the suit.”
“Yes. You may call me Victor.”
The wiry man narrows his eyes at me for a moment, then relaxes. “I’m Spiro. That’s Uzi, Kill Zone, Bruiser, and Joe.” He gestures to each of his friends in turn.
“A pleasure.” They’re all scowling at me with varying degrees of distrust. I raise my bare palms to show my intent. “May I?”
When no one says anything, I bend down slowly and pick up the gun. “Kill Zone?” I offer it to the man who dropped it. He blinks slowly and takes it.
Uzi still has his weapon trained on me.
“I remember there being more of you the last time I visited,” I muse. “Where is the gentleman who drove me from the wedding?”
“That was Johnson,” Joe pipes up. He’s a big, ugly man wearing a white tank top under an ill-fitting suit jacket. He’s broad in the shoulder and tall, but not as tall as Uzi. “Got hit by a bullet in the shootout at Cavalli’s. You know, the one with the broad.” He mimes a woman opening her coat. He’s speaking of Lula, and it’s all I can do to keep myself from flicking a knife into his throat.
When I first heard the story of the naked woman who walked into Cavalli’s and started shooting, I was filled with both pride and rage. Rage that she would be so reckless. Pride that she could be so brave. She came so close to snuffing her life out before I could claim her.
Perhaps after another round with the dragon tail, she will have atoned.
“The one who shot Stephanos?” I ask as if I’m not aware of the facts.
“Yeah.”
“Do you know who she was?”
“Some hooker Stephanos did dirty,” Spiro says. “That’s what I heard. Johnson took a bullet and went back to his people in Chicago.”
“And what about Bruno?” I ask after Stephanos’ right-hand man.
“Bruno’s loyal,” Spiro says, and the rest of the gang nods. They’re calmer now, warming up to me. With every passing moment, Uzi lets the gun muzzle bow another inch.
“I need to speak to Stephanos,” I say
Uzi jerks his gun back up.
After a glance around the room, Spiro answers. “We haven’t seen him in ten or twelve weeks.”
“So long? Who’s paying you?”
“We’ve got jobs.”
“I know you are busy,” I say, allowing them to keep their respect. A quick perusal of the video footage showed them waiting around, eating pizza rolls Spiro bought at the dollar store and cooked in the restaurant microwave. There was some talk of moving equipment left unguarded on the docks, but when Spiro looked into it, the equipment was already gone. “I am prepared to pay you for your time. There’s a briefcase there on the front stoop. Locked, but the code is today’s date.”
Spiro jerks his head at Joe, and the big man lumbers off. Clouds of dust billow up when he opens the door. After looking left and right, he brings the briefcase inside.
“Don’t open it,” Uzi says. His voice is higher than you’d expect from a grown man. “Could be a bomb.”
“Then he’d blow himself up too, dumbass,” Spiro says. “Today’s date, you say?”
At my nod, Spiro enters the code. The case opens slowly, and the men freeze. You’d think I had handed them a bomb, not a case full of unmarked bills.
“What the fuck is this?” Spiro snarls.
“This was half the take Stephanos advanced me for the wedding. You can split it among yourselves.”
Joe scratches his chin again. “What’s the catch?”
“I require the rest of the payment. I never received it. I need to contact Stephanos, and to do that, I need your help.”
“No,” Bruiser blurts, but Spiro elbows him in the chest.
“Shut up.” Spiro unpacks a stack of bills and runs his thumb along the edges, counting. “If we connect you with Stephanos, what’s in it for us?”
“Another case of unmarked bills.”
“This is fucking bullshit,” Bruiser mutters, his beady eyes darting to the exits. “Uzi, waste him.”
Uzi’s staring at the money.
“Fuck this,” Bruiser says. “I’ll do it myself.” He raises his weapon and stares in horror at the knife protruding from his hand. He stands there, blinking at it until the pain rushes in.
“Fuck! My hand!” He waves his hand around, spattering everyone with blood.
“Shut up,” Spiro rushes to close the briefcase and protect the money. “Joe?—”
Joe steps forward and cold-cocks Bruiser. Bruiser collapses to the dirty floor. With a gush of blood, the knife slides out of his hand, clattering to Joe’s feet.
Everyone freezes.
Slowly, Joe reaches down and picks up my knife. He shuffles forward and offers it carefully to me. “I never liked him,” he says about poor Bruiser, who is still groaning on the floor.
I accept my knife back with a nod, and the tension in the room goes down a notch.
Spiro hugs the briefcase. “We’ll talk to him,” he says with a nod at Bruiser. “Explain things.”
“There’s a burner phone underneath the money,” I continue as if we hadn’t been interrupted. “I’ll call you in two days.”
“And if we don’t deliver?” Spiro asks, still wary. I can feel the men’s eyes crawling over me, trying to figure out where I hide my knives. Wondering how many I have secured away and how quickly I could draw and throw them.
I shrug. “You can keep the cash. I’ll find another way. But I plan to stick around this town, and I’m generous to my friends.” I give them a big, friendly smile. For some reason, it doesn’t seem to reassure them at all. “And it might be nice to be my friends. Don’t you agree?”