Chapter 14 Giovanni #2
I watch him closely. He is still struggling against the ropes forcing him to listen to me, but with less vigor than he had when I first boarded the aircraft.
The bratva has already discovered just who and what Mario D’Angelo is, which means that he will be harder to track down. Harder, but not impossible.
“Is Yevgeny Kuzmin the pakhan?”
No response. I’ll take that as a yes.
“Was it his idea to take my sister?”
His eyes sink deeper beneath his heavy brows.
“Perhaps it was your idea?” I sip my champagne, pretend to study the bubbles hurrying to the surface. “You seem to enjoy inflicting your unwanted attention upon women. Have you used my sister?” My voice is cold and jagged as ice.
The briefest shake of his head follows.
The difference between me and my brother-in-law is that I keep my promises, and when I am angry, the people responsible understand that it is time to fight back. Or run.
“But you know who has, don’t you?”
Nothing.
“My sister is Bianca Sabatelli. Her son is heir to the D’Angelo family business, which will fall into his hands much sooner than anticipated after my brother-in-law’s recent transgressions.
When your pakhan placed his filthy hands on my sister, he thought he would find a chink in my armor, a crack that he could exploit until my empire began to crumble.
He told himself that if he poked the bear enough times, it would get up and run away. ”
The jet vibrates around us as the engines roar to life, and the prisoner’s eyes dart around the aircraft searching in vain for an escape route. The fall will hurt a lot more from 45,000 feet.
I lean across the table and grip his throat, squeezing until his eyes bulge. “Did the pakhan abuse my sister while her husband watched?”
A blood vessel bursts in his left eye. His Adam’s apple constricts against the palm of my hand. His face is turning a sickly shade of red.
“I’ll try again. Did Yevgeny Kuzmin abuse my sister while her husband watched?”
His body twitches with the lack of oxygen reaching his brain and heart. A few more moments and he’ll lose consciousness; I need him to answer before that happens.
A nod. So brief that I’d have missed it had I blinked at the wrong moment.
I release him and resume my seat.
I have what I wanted. The prisoner doesn’t know it yet, but his work here isn’t done; I need him to rest while the jet carries us to Nevada.
Ric’s absence sneaks up on me during the flight to Nevada.
My bratva companion isn’t the most talkative person I’ve ever traveled with, and it drives home the loss of my wingman with the force of a steamroller.
It takes years to nurture the kind of relationship we had.
It’s potentially something that I’ll never experience again, and I realize that at some point, when this war is over, and I can take Meggie and Amber home to New York, I will need to begin the grieving process.
Until then, I direct my energy and concentration into freeing my sister from the bratva’s clutches.
I’d have been less disappointed and perhaps even had a small modicum of respect for Mario if he’d connected with the big boys, the Russian families with generations of mafia connections attached to their names.
But that isn’t how my brother-in-law rolls.
He’s a bully, and bullies stand on the shoulders of those who are weaker than them to reach the branches that they believe they deserve.
Yevgeny Kuzmin may have money and a certain level of power, but he doesn’t have the status of the Ivanovs in New York City.
From what I’ve learned since I started doing some digging, he doesn’t have the backing of a police commissioner or mayor or any other person who’ll keep him out of prison when shit goes down.
And shit is going down.
I have the plans for the fortress on my tablet thanks to my IT guy in the city, and getting in is going to be the easy part. Locating Bianca and getting her the fuck out of there will be a tad trickier, but it’s doable. Anything is doable with the right leverage.
And finding the right leverage was the easiest part of all once I knew where to look.
A team of men are waiting to greet us at an empty warehouse near Reno-Tahoe International Airport.
Many I recognize; the older men I remember meeting in the olive groves and on the back porch of Don Calderone’s house in Sicily.
They watched me and Elisabetta grow up, gave our wedding their blessing because they knew what it would mean to the continuing peace amongst the families.
The younger men are their sons, nephews, grandsons; they all greet me with respect.
They all know who I am and where I come from.
A fleet of sleek black vehicles are lined up like toy soldiers ready to take us to the Kuzmin property near the Nevada-California border.
The warehouse contains practically an arsenal of weapons.
And a close friend of Don Calderone approaches me with the tiny gift that will, hopefully, gain us access to the building where my sister is being held.
I will drive the lead vehicle. The rest will follow.
The bratva prisoner is bundled into the passenger seat of the car, still bound and gagged. For now. He doesn’t even try to resist; he knows when the odds are stacked against him.
The gift is in my jacket pocket along with a switchblade and a roll of duct tape.
After being static for so long in Vermont, it feels good to be actively taking back control. By the end of today, war will be declared, sides will be chosen, and I will be free to move on with my life with Meggie and Amber. Because I feel it in my gut how close they are to finding her.
I tune the car radio to a classical channel and crank up the volume. It usually helps to clear my mind and give me clarity, but today, my thoughts are filled with Meggie and Amber.
I don’t know the kind of music Meggie likes to listen to, I don’t know the title of her favorite song, or which artists she has seen live in concert.
But I do know without any shadow of a doubt that I want to spend the rest of my life with her, that I will survive this war because I have Meggie to come home to, that someday, I want to be there when she gives birth to our babies.
When this is over, I will be proud to introduce them to Emiliano and Caterina Calderone, the parents of my childhood sweetheart. I already have their blessing to move on, but I want them to fall in love with Meggie too and perhaps even grow to look at her as their adopted daughter in the future.
I want to take them home to Sicily. I want to show them how easy life can and should be. It’s the least they deserve after what they’ve been through.
Flashing lights from the vehicle behind me, jerk my mind back to the moment and I pull the car over onto the grassy verge. The cold metal in my bratva passenger’s eyes has been replaced by fear. He thinks this is the end of the road for him.
I unfasten my safety belt, remove my jacket, and activate the locking mechanism for the car. “This is where your journey begins, my friend. You owe me a debt; it’s time to pay up.”
For the first time since our conversation on board the private jet, he struggles to escape.
When he sees the blade in my hand, he raises his knees and tries to kick me above the center console, using the passenger door for support.
But I have the advantage of not being bound, and he crumples forward, his jaw colliding with the glovebox when my fist connects with his diaphragm.
“Now that I have your attention, here’s what’s going to happen.” I remove a tiny vial from my jacket pocket—the gift from the don’s friend. “This contains cyanide.”
His eyes widen as the color drains from his face. He shakes his head, guttural sounds issuing from the back of his throat, drool bubbling in the corners of his mouth.
“It’s perfectly safe provided you follow my instructions.”
The grunts grow louder as he shakes his head more vigorously. I slap his face, shocking him into paying attention.
“You know why we’re here.” At my raised brows, he nods three times in rapid succession. “Your pakhan has my sister. I want her back. And you’re going to help me achieve this.”
His eyes dart back and forth between me and the vial of cyanide. Then, as if suddenly realizing that we’re not alone, he tries to climb over the seat to seek help from the vehicles in the convoy behind us. Until he feels the pressure of my gun against the back of his skull.
He slides back into the seat and eyes me warily.
“Now, I’m going to remove the gag from your mouth shortly and insert this vial.” I speak calmly; I need his cooperation for this to work. “You understand what will happen if you swallow it.”
He nods again. Finally, we’re getting somewhere on the communication front, and all it took was a healthy dose of lethal poison.
“I don’t want you to swallow it. I want you to get me into Mr. Kuzmin’s property so that I can find my sister. That’s it. That’s all you have to do.”
He shakes his head. He knows I’ve omitted the crucial part of the plan, the part that will potentially bring about his untimely demise.
I smile. “We both know that your pakhan won’t appreciate unexpected visitors. We both know that he and his men will be armed. But I’m no use to my sister if I’m dead, so it will be your job to keep me alive.”
He wriggles his shoulders, a desperate reminder that his unwanted bodyguard role will be impossible in his current predicament.
“I’ll release you when the time is right.”
I use the blade to slice through the gag. Before he can protest, I slip the vial of cyanide onto his tongue and cover his mouth with duct tape, wrapping it around his head several times.
“Breathe,” I keep my voice steady. “That’s it, breathe through your nose, and try not to swallow.” His eyes follow me as I sit back in the driver’s seat. “Anyone would think that you’ve never bound and gagged a prisoner before. Well, now you know how it feels.”