45. Pen, Flesh & Smiles
Pen, Flesh & Smiles
Bianca
Did this man call me his niece?
“Don’t fight,” his low pitch commands in Italian, the head of his gun pressed against my temple.
“Benny!” I scream. My husband shouts something and explodes into a full sprint.
The man behind me chuckles. “He’ll never make it in time.”
I wince at his fingernails digging deeper into my scalp. My feet scramble to keep up with his pace as he drags me down a windowless hall across the living room.
“Let me go!” I yell, my stomach twisting into knots from fear and rage. Why motherfuckers are insistent on putting hands on me today is beyond my comprehension.
“Stop fighting,” he growls, shaking his fist in my hair.
“The house is surrounded. My people will find us.”
“We’re not leaving yet.” His fingers fly across a keypad to open a metal door that shuts behind us.
Dim lights under wooden steps come to life, leading to a wide bookcase. The man reaches around me to pull a red book. It clicks, and he pushes it open to reveal a concrete room.
The older man who had the cleaver is inside, tied to a wooden chair. Blood drips from a gash on the side of his bald head down his linen shirt. He squints, the strips of his dark brows narrowing in the low light.
“Bianca?” he rasps.
How does he know my name?
“Say hi to your grandfather.” Rough concrete digs into my hands and knees from the force of my kidnapper’s hard shove.
Dickhead.
“I’m adopted.” I cough, trying to catch my breath from being ragdolled and the news that an Italian man is my grandfather. I crawl away from the approaching footsteps and get a good look at the guy who took me.
Gray eyes.
Cleft chin.
American Psycho hair.
“I remember you from Eden,” I whisper.
His thin lips press into a tight smile. “You look like her,” he says, eyes roving my face.
“Who?”
“Your mother.”
I rear back. My throat closes around a lump, tightening at the sting of tears. “H-how did you know my mother?”
He grins. “I killed her.”
The bound man erupts into screams that turn to wails. Blood rushes in my ears. My heart lodges in my ribs, shackling my breath.
Did I fall asleep with the TV on again? This has to be a nightmare. How did I go from being kidnapped—in mafia mess that never directly involved me—to an impromptu family reunion in a safe room? Henry Louis Gates Jr. better march his ass in here. I don’t want to believe any of it!
My head shakes slowly from the haze of confusion and questions pounding into my temples. My uncle killed my mother. Did Mama Vee know? Vince?
I tear my eyes from the man proudly declaring he’d taken the life of the woman who gave me mine to my grandfather. He’s sobbing, face red, veins streaking across his throat.
I don’t understand any of this.
“Why, Michele?” My grandfather’s voice cracks. “Chiara posed no threat to the organization. She was never involved and never would be.”
“Her existence threatened my position, Zio Elio,” Michele sneers.
“I passed the reins to you when I retired! You didn’t need to kill anyone, least of all your family.”
“I did what I had to do. Your father handed you the Fratellanza on a silver platter, skipping mine. I would never rule with any of your heirs in front of me! I killed them all. Your sons and your bastard daughter.”
“Not too much on my mama,” I say, not giving one damn about him, his feelings, or the gun in his hand. Great-uncle or not, the disrespect will not go unanswered.
Venom darkens his eyes. “My father had Marie killed, hoping it would push you away for good. You’ve been trying to arrange a marriage with Salvatore for years to unite the families. With your granddaughter as his wife, she needs to go. Permanently.”
Fear skitters across my skin as Michele takes the safety off his gun. I scream at the sharp pain of his fingers pulling me to my feet by my hair.
“I didn’t ask to be in this shit!” I would say this sounds like some white mess, but I’m trying to make it home alive. They can have this fucked up family for all I care.
“You inserted yourself, Binks Caselli,” he chides. “No one Black or female has ever held a position in the Romano family. You’re a stain, a dirty secret of no value.”
I lift my chin. “Says the grown adult having full tantrums over threats to your power. Did you fuck up my family because your daddy didn’t love you enough?”
“Bitch!”
I wince from his hand tightening in my hair.
Is it dumb to goad an unstable killer when I might be next? On a normal day, yes, but I am past the point of being tired. I’m at my wit’s end with these crybaby men running amok. They are truly a threat to society. I won’t be too many bitches before he and I duke it out in eternity.
“Please don’t take her from me,” my grandfather pleads.
“I won’t kill her. I’m selling her to eliminate a weakness.”
Weakness.
The word flips a switch. My nostrils flare and my fists clench at the familiar taunt. Déjà fucking vu.
No man, great-uncle or otherwise, will address me with disrespect without consequence. Mr. Hamilton never got his ass beat, but withholding these hands ends today.
I reach for the pen I’d grabbed from the bedroom and tucked into my waistband.
Michele aims the gun over my shoulder. “Say goodbye to your precious granddaughter, Uncle.”
Slish.
“Argh!”
Michele’s gun falls at the first slice of my pen into his forearm. I tighten my grip around the ballpoint and slam it into his groin. He covers the wound, knees buckling to the hard concrete as I turn his chest to Swiss cheese with puncture wounds. Dark stains form across his black shirt.
“Who’s the bitch now?” I twist the pen into his flesh and smile at his scream. “You took my family and call me weak?”
I stab him for my mother.
For the sins of his father taking my grandmother.
For coming after my man.
For his fucking audacity!
“I’m not weak!”
“No, you’re not,” Benny whispers into my ear, catching my hand before I drive the pen into Michele’s eye. “You’re the strongest person I know, baby.”
Tears fracture my voice. Benny spins me toward him, pressing me into his center. He holds me to him by the back of my head and rubs small circles into my scalp as he kisses the top of my head. My tears are next, then my lips.
My scream rings in my ears. His grip tightens as I cry in his arms for the family I’ll never know. “You are my family” is a whispered chant through every sharp breath.
Pow.
Benny and I jump at Michele’s howl.
“Ahhh! My leg!“ he squeals in Italian.
I peek over Benny’s shoulder. Stephanie has a gun raised at Michele. She assumes a wide stance with her eyes trained on her target. She’d look terrifying if her baby hairs weren’t curling under her wig cap.
“B, I’mma need you to move two steps to the right in case my aim is off,” she says. “This motherfucker is about to catch all these bullets. Matter of fact, where’s that assault rifle you had, Tonio?”
“I got a few. You want the one with the grenade launcher?” he answers. A slap connects to the back of his head.
“Fuhgeddaboudthat, you idiot.”
“Vince!” I can’t reach him fast enough and throw my arms around his neck. “What are you doing here?”
He hugs me tightly. “No one messes with my baby girl. You alright? He touch you?”
“He grabbed me by the hair and pushed me,” I admit and cover my ears when Vince pulls out a gun.
Two shots go off.
“My legs!” Michele cries.
“I’ll feed you your fucking eyes for laying a hand on my wife,” Benny says, inches from Michele’s face. He twists his gun into the wound.
Vince kisses my forehead and moves me behind him. “Take her home, Salvatore. I’ll finish him.”
“Vince—“
“Bianca, I’m not arguing with you. Go.”
“No.”
Every eye in the room is on me. Except for Michele, who’s curled into a ball on the ground in his own blood.
I cup Vince’s face. “I’m not the little girl you have to protect anymore. You taught me how to handle myself. I got me.”
His eyes shine. He stares a beat before wrapping his arms around me. “Thank God you’re okay.”
Benny holsters his weapon. “Do you want him in the basement or the kill container, my love?”
“Basement,” I say, pulling away from Vince.
Michele flinches when I squat in front of him.
“I’m not killing you today, tomorrow, or next week.
I’ll take my time with you. When your body gives out, I’ll revive you.
Suffering is only the beginning. I’m a spiteful bitch who will make you wish I was weak. ”
Andrea whistles. “Damn, cuz,” he says, helping my grandfather from the chair. “I knew we were related.”
My eyes bug. “You’re on my family tree too?”
He nods with a goofy grin. “First cousin once removed. Michele’s dad was mine, unfortunately.”
I’ll be damned.
“Bianca.” Elio motions for me. Tears glitter my eyes at his wrinkled smile. He lifts a hand to caress my cheek. “Sei la mia gioia.”
You are my joy.
I kiss his hand and hug him hard.
“I’ve waited for this moment,” he says into my ear in Italian. “If it’s not too late, I’d love to get to know you.”
I sniffle. “I’d like that, Nonnino.”