23. Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Three
Marco
H ell on earth was a New Jersey dockyard in the middle of a firefight. The air was rife with the smell of gunpowder and dank salt water. The convoy of vehicles racing to catch up with us flooded the street with blinding light from behind and cast long shadows on the ground, the undulating rays illuminating the worst nightmare I had yet to have. With my gun in hand, I flung myself from the car before it had completely stopped, intent on retribution and uncaring about the risk to my own life. He wouldn't die. Not on my watch. Not because of me or for me. If it was the last thing I did, I'd die a happy man. Happy for once in my miserable life.
Bullets continued to whizz through the air, the sick whistle of metal heard even above the clamor of men shouting, tires screeching, and the deafening rapport of each shot. My mission was my singular focus, and the awareness it brought had me focused in a way I hadn't experienced in years. Not since I'd had to fight for my life in scuffles and brawls in the prison yard or the back rooms no one dared explore. The flash of light reflecting off metal caught my gaze to the left. Gramps or Grumps or whatever the fuck he called himself lifted his weapon. I aimed at the pinprick circle of the barrel and then three inches higher.
A mirror-image circle appeared in the fucker’s forehead as he went slack and tumbled from the SUV to land in a boneless heap on the ground. Another flash. Another reflection. My hand shifted to the right. Inhale. Exhale. Pull the trigger. The stupid fuck in a stupider poncho joined his partner on the gravel. I advanced, my feet gravitating toward the vehicle despite the gunfire still peppering the air with projectiles. A body appeared beside me as a flash of brown and black raced ahead. The bestial growl and gargle of blood was the only sound that sent a chill down my spine as King launched himself through the air and left the man who had driven the Caddy without an esophagus.
I had backup. I wasn't alone. For that reason and that reason alone, I sprinted forward and fell to my knees, skidding through the loose stone until I came to a stop against the side of the SUV. Fearing the worst, I held my breath as I hunched down to peer beneath it. When a hand reached out, rings and bracelets glittering in the light, nearly sobbed with relief. I tossed the gun aside and grabbed hold of him with both hands. He was in my arms microseconds later, and despite the maelstrom around us, I told him the things he needed to hear before I did anything else:
“You dumb fuck. I hate you.” I grabbed his face between my trembling hands. “I love you.”
He gasped, and before I could respond, his lips crashed against mine with such force, we both went down. The heavy footfalls of my father's men thundered around us, an infantry advancing toward the frontline, but my fight was over. My battle had been won. I was the victor and he was my prize. I clung to him, tears finally falling as I kissed him back with just as much fervor. He was okay. He was okay, so I knew I'd be okay, and in that moment, that was the only thing that mattered.
It was hours later when the adrenaline crash hit. The aftermath of the Jersey Docks disaster was widespread and destructive. My family’s apartment was a hive of pure bedlam as wounded men, my father’s lieutenants and associates from every level of the organization stalked in and out and in and out. Moretti had sealed his fate as a dead man, and the troops were mobilizing. It was only a matter of time before we got the news of his untimely demise at the wrong end of a handgun.
I was barely functional by the time my parents could steal away a few moments to touch base. The trembling was all-consuming and endless. My body was cold, frozen, numb and yet all-together too alive at the same time. True to my word, I hadn't let Bran out of my sight, but I didn't know how much longer I could manage to remain coherent as reality crept back in as the adrenaline left.
“Marc? Marc, honey.” My mother's voice cut through the rush of blood in my ears and had my eyelids fluttering open again. Shit, shit, shit. I'd fallen asleep?
“He's not doing so hot, Mammina.” Bran. My Bran and my mom.
“And neither are you. Go get Selene. She can bandage that arm.” A warm hand cradled my cheek and I leaned into the touch. I was starved for it. “Marco, baby. It's Mom. Are you okay?”
Am I okay? How many times had I been asked that question in my life, only to answer it with lies and deflection. And where had that gotten me? Nowhere. Despite the denials and falsehoods that wanted to spill from my lips, I answered honestly, for perhaps the first time in my life.
“No. M’not okay. Ma, I'm not.” I didn't care how desperate I looked. My hands flung out and I pulled her into my arms. She yelped in surprise before landing on my lap in the chair I'd become one with. I clung even tighter as my eyes grew damp and stung with the threat of my emotions.
“Oh, baby. I know. I've always known.” She shifted just a fraction and I caught the death glare on her face before tracking the gaze toward its target. I was stunned speechless to see it directed at my father.
“Son…” My father, typically stoic and unflappable, choked on his own voice before clearing his throat. “My son… this is my fault. I'm sorry.”
Maybe it was the effects of shock, but his words wouldn't register. I couldn't translate them and as a result, I stared at him like an idiot.
“Damiano, do better.” My mother squeezed my shoulders tighter in her arms and I sighed before melting into her embrace. God, how I missed her. I would miss her. The reality of it sunk in and left me shivering even harder as I tightened my hold around her smaller frame.
“Marco, this is all my fault. I should have never put so much pressure on you. I should not have buckled under my father’s pressure. And I should not have ignored your mother’s warnings. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, and I am going to make it up to you. You and Gianluca and your mother.” His hand landed on my shoulder and squeezed. “We aren't leaving. There is too much work to do here yet. And if you can find it in your heart to give me a chance to do better, I'd like your help. You aren't beholden to the name or the business, but… as my son, I am hoping that we can fix this. All of it.”
I glanced between my parents and let the words sink in. They weren't leaving? He was sorry? My shocked system couldn't handle any more emotions, so I simply bobbed my head while blinking through my hazy thoughts.
“He needs time, Damiano. And he can have as much of it as he needs.” My mother pressed her lips to my forehead and I sighed again. Blindly, I reached a hand to the side and when familiar warm fingers wearing too many gaudy rings wrapped around them and squeezed tight, my trembling finally subsided and I sighed with relief. I was okay. My family was okay. My Bran was okay. Maybe, just maybe… everything would be okay after all.