21. The Jekyll
21
THE JEKYLL
N adia falls into a coma. It’s probably a good thing; the trauma she’s suffered at the hands of Coyin Castillo and his men is the type of trauma that not many people can recover from. Her only hope for survival is her willpower and the coma that will keep her brain intact as it heals itself.
“I can’t fucking believe this!” I mutter, as we leave the clinic. She’ll be out for hours, perhaps days, and there’s nothing more we can do but wait. And I refuse to stand idly by while Coyin Castillo gets further and further away. There’s nothing more we can do for Nadia, but there’s a whole lot that needs to be done for us to find Luna and take out Castillo. For once and for all.
We head to a local motel and check in, then take turns to shower, change, and finally regroup.
“Dante Accardi is sending soldiers,” Attila says a short while later, looking up from his phone. “We need to meet them at a private airstrip in a couple of hours.”
“Can they be trusted?” I ask him.
He looks up at me like I’ve grown two heads and reminds me that no one questions Dante Accardi’s resources. Dante Accardi, I’m told, is one of those rare species that has everything. He’s that man that didn’t ask for anything but got it all. And he took that and turned it into an empire. Then he married another empire, and now he lives in a kingdom. Literally.
The only remaining son of Don Durian Accardi, he ascended his throne after the death of his older brother and his father’s ailing health. Apparently, dragged away from the priesthood. The saint became a sinner, and the moniker always stuck. Somewhere in the midst of his taking over Seattle, he met and married the only heir to the Murray dynasty, which made the Accardis unstoppable. If they had been a force to be reckoned with before, now they were a powerful, untouchable powerhouse.
He rules Seattle with a fair but iron fist, and he’s taken his business to such heights that he has every organization worth its weight under his thumb. By the time Attila stops talking, I’m in awe of the enigmatic man who seems more legend than human.
And this is entirely why I am floored when the plane touches down and the man himself walks off the plane. I know without being told that it’s him by the way he carries himself and the way the air shifts around him. Almost like it’s parting to make way for him. It’s easy to understand why so many have joined the Dante Accardi fan club. The man breathes power. Then he exhales it like a dragon does fire. He’s larger than life as he steps off the plane and walks easily down the stairs, his suit jacket flapping in the breeze. He’s flanked by several men, who stay an arm’s length distance away from him. There’s a casual yet reserved air about him as he walks toward us and shakes Attila’s hand then takes mine as we are introduced.
“You’re the man who saved my brother’s life,” he says, smiling, but his smile doesn’t reach his eyes. I hear that’s reserved only for his significant other.
“By default,” I correct.
“Yes, I heard that, too. But you saved his life nonetheless, and I’m grateful.”
Dante and Caleph grew up together. And when Caleph’s parents were murdered, by Castillo, no less, Durian Accardi took Caleph under his wing and made him the best version of himself before he allowed him to go out into the big wide world on his own. This is how Dante and Caleph came to refer to each other as brothers.
I nod in acknowledgement, but I’m humbled. That a great man such as himself should be thanking me. A former construction manager who found himself on the wrong side of the law after his wife was murdered.
It’s Attila who breaks the moment, stepping forward as he directs his words toward Dante.
“I wasn’t expecting you,” he says, and he’s almost defensive about Dante’s presence. Almost as though he feels like Dante was sent to babysit him so he doesn’t get into any more trouble.
“Whatever it is you’re thinking, don’t,” Dante warns. “Caleph doesn’t know I’m here, and you know I’d rather not leave Kingsley’s side. But it would break Caleph if anything happened to you. That’s why I’m here.”
Attila relents, sighing slowly then looking up at the sky as dark clouds start rolling in.
“We’d better go if we’re to make any headway,” Dante says, turning back toward the plane. “Come on, I’ll introduce you to everyone.”
* * *
Dante owns an army. And I mean that in every sense of the word. Every man on that plane has been meticulously selected and looks like he belongs with the Navy Seals or the military. They are all built like tanks, their hair shaved low and their bodies tense yet ready for attack.
When he takes off his jacket and drapes it over the back of his seat, I see the holster he’s strapped over his shirt. It’s a double holster that criss crosses his chest and then against his back, allowing him four handguns at any given time; two across his chest and one on either hip. The back of his pants bulges at the waistband and I know he’s got a fifth gun there. I won’t even hazard a guess as to how many he has tucked against his legs. As I hear it, he’s been shot several times, but he’s like a cat with nine lives. Every time he gets slayed, he gets right back up again. I don’t doubt that the amount of lead he’s carrying around has saved him on more than one occasion. The man grins when he sees me looking at his armor.
“Gifts from my wife,” he explains. “Because she’s threatened if I get myself killed, she’ll drag me out of hell to kill me again.”