Chapter 33 #3
The setting sun bathes the barren landscape in a blazing glow of crimson and gold as I park my car.
The blinding rays reflect off the shards of glass remaining in a few scattered pieces of discarded machinery.
And off the few puddles remaining after this morning’s rain.
A decade ago, this abandoned gravel pit was owned by la Famiglia, but, without thinking it through, Batista Leone sold it to a developer who was looking to turn it into a golf course.
Considering the number of bodies buried in these hills, I made an offer and reacquired it as soon as I found out.
Paid nearly triple the original selling price, but I considered it a worthwhile investment to save the unnecessary headache.
Especially since the bulk of the corpses were my doing.
Exiting the car, I face the lone, derelict trailer that was the site office at one time.
It lies in the west quadrant of the property, at its very edge and beneath the shade of nearby trees, mere feet from the exact spot I came across Bartholomew all those years ago.
The door to the building stands ajar, with a beam of light spilling from inside like some kind of lighthouse beacon.
The bastard is holding my Little Iris in there.
Loose gravel scrapes and crunches under the soles of my shoes as I head toward the portable, my Beretta loaded and ready in my hand.
I’d rather have a knife. Or maybe a big, heavy fucking mallet—something I could use to pulverize bone into dust. A bullet is too clean.
Too fast. Not adequate for the retribution I have in mind.
I’ve never experienced betrayal. Purely because I’ve never trusted another human being. But I let my guard down with Bartholomew. Told him things I’ve never admitted to another living soul. And the son of a bitch dared to take my wife!
The whole hour-long drive here, I’ve imagined how I could kill this fucking asshole.
Cut his throat just above his Adam’s apple and watch him bleed out.
Break his bones, one by one, starting with his feet and moving upward.
Strangle him with my bare hands until the light fades from his eyes.
None seemed satisfying. None painful enough.
Envisioning Barty’s death was the only thing that kept me from losing my shit.
Kept me from drowning in the surge of crushing fear and rising panic that threatened to sweep me away.
I felt like every last atom in my body had been flooded with overwhelming despair, making me want to roar in rage.
I’m falling to pieces. Splitting and breaking apart from the inside.
Never in my life have I felt something like this.
I stop as I reach the doorway and force myself to take a deep breath. That composure and coolness I’m known for? Fucking gone. Evaporated. I can barely hold myself together, and if I’m managing to at all, it’s through sheer force of will.
Pressing my palm to the metal surface, I push the door open and step inside.
As always happens when I enter a room, my eyes instantly find her. Like one of those creatures that has been living in the dark too long, I gravitate toward her as if she were the sun. Only recently have I become aware that I’m doing this, but I realized it has been happening for quite a while.
A thick, white blanket is wrapped tightly around her small frame, making her look even smaller. More fragile. I shudder when I see her scared, red-rimmed eyes.
She’s been crying.
“You’re here! We’ve been waiting.”
I ignore the motherfucker, only looking at my wife. The urge to put a bullet in Bartholomew’s head is immense, but I can’t risk it. Not with him standing right behind her. Not with that small revolver hanging loosely in his hand.
“Are you hurt?” I rasp.
Iris shakes her head, a muffled cry escaping around the gag in her mouth. God, she must be so terrified. I ball my free hand into a fist so hard my knuckles crack.
“Don’t worry. He’ll be dead shortly,” I growl, then finally raise my eyes to my nemesis. “Release my wife.”
“Straight to the point, as always. Tsk. Tsk,” he snickers. “I believe an explanation is in order before we move forward with our agenda for tonight.”
“You’re the rhyming fuckhead who threatened my wife.
Yeah, I got that. I don’t know how you managed to pull off the other shit, or why, and I don’t give a fuck at the moment.
Let Iris go. Then, the two of us will deal with whatever the hell it is you want from me, because it’s damn obvious this is personal. ”
“Of course it’s personal! I owe you a life debt, Adriano. You of all people should know the significance of that. You saved my life, and in exchange, I’m going to save yours.”
Incredulous, I stare at the man I considered a friend.
Barty has always been a little whacky, but I figured most shrinks had to be to voluntarily spend their lives listening to other people’s shit.
Yet, as untrusting as I am, I never could have predicted that he would be behind all the crap that happened with my businesses.
Or that he would ever threaten a woman’s life. My woman.
“I was seconds away from blowing out my brains back then, Adriano.” He points under his chin with his free hand.
“I had already said my goodbyes and was ready to end my existence. Such as it was. No great accomplishments. No legacy. No one to miss or even remember me once I was gone. Nothing. But when you stripped me of my shotgun, you gave me another chance at life. And I decided to use that chance to drag you out of the land of the dead. I was destined to be your savior, as you were mine.”
He’s completely bonkers.
“Why don’t you let Iris go,” I say again, calmly. With nutcases, it’s imperative to tread carefully. “Then we can discuss this…preordained purpose of yours. Yes?”
“Ah. Still keeping up your glacially stoic front, I see?” He tsks again.
“I tried, Adriano. I tried so hard, but you are so stubborn. It’s like, like there’s an immovable wrench in your gears that won’t allow you to accept that caring for another person isn’t the worst thing in the world.
That loving someone isn’t a flaw, that admitting it doesn’t make you weak.
And that even you are capable of making the ultimate sacrifice.
So, I shall have to make you understand.
Make you make that choice.” He smiles a joyful smile and presses the gun to the back of Iris’s head. “Your life, or hers?”
My eyes find my wife’s. Shock and fear are reflected in her terrified gaze, like she doesn’t know what my choice will be. My darling Little Iris. As if I would ever allow her to be harmed.
“Set Iris free, Bartholomew,” I say. “Once she leaves, you can do whatever you want with me.”
His words hit me like a sledgehammer to the chest. He’s giving up his life for mine. Tears slide down my cheeks as I stare at my husband.
“There!” the crazy man cheers. “An easy choice, was it not? You could have simply confessed long ago that you’re in love with your wife, and none of this would have happened. Do you want to tell her now?”
Adriano’s unwavering gaze steals my breath. So many emotions swirl within it. So many things left unsaid.
“It was me at the Annex.” He sounds so haunted.
“The man you call your silent guest. The guy you believe to be good, who does nice things for other people, he doesn’t exist. It was only me.
The merciless bastard who couldn’t care less if they starve or hurt or simply drop dead.
Everything I’ve done, I did for you. For your smile.
Your happiness. Other people never mattered, and never will. Not to me.”
His icy-blue eyes peer into mine, narrowing a little.
Creases deepen at the corners, as if he smiled at me.
There isn’t a hint of frost in those clear depths.
Just warmth. And sadness. “I could never be the man you deserve, the man you’d want me to be, my Little Iris.
So I pretended. I wanted to know what it would be like if I were the kind of man you could love.
Even if it was the tiniest fraction of how much I love you. ”
A muffled cry escapes me. I’m trying to shout his name, but the only sound getting past the gag is my indistinct mumble.
A slow, loud clap fills the room. “At long last,” Bartholomew exclaims. “That was a beautiful, heartfelt confession. Such a pity it came too late.”
The clapping stops. Bartholomew’s gun-wielding hand comes into my field of vision as he aims over my shoulder at Adriano.
No!
The legs of the chair scrape on the linoleum floor as I thrash side to side, trying to get free.
All my life, I’ve believed I could never kill anyone, not even in self-defense.
But in this moment, if I had a gun, I’d point it at Bartholomew Shaw’s head and empty the magazine without a second thought. For my husband.
Adriano! I try to yell again, but the gag makes it completely indiscernible.
Why is he just standing there? He has a gun, too! Why isn’t he shooting the bastard?
Somehow, I manage to push out, “Kiwl hiwm!”
“I’m sorry, baby,” Adriano says, but his words land in my stomach like a boulder. “Can’t risk hitting you.”
“Ah, I love this,” Bartholomew sighs, lowering the gun until the barrel comes to rest against my stomach.
“Alas, I can’t make this simple for you, my dear Adriano.
The stakes in this game must be higher. I can understand how you would rationalize giving up your life for the woman you love.
” The joy has left Bartholomew’s voice. “But what if the choice before you is between your life and the life of another man’s child? ”
I jerk, as a violent tremor racks my entire body.
No!
Adriano’s gaze snaps to my stomach.