Chapter 26
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Valentina
Pain thrums through my head to its own beat.
Nausea follows right behind, a one-two punch I could do without.
Someone’s groaning. It takes a couple more groans for me to realize I’m the one bleating like a wounded goat.
My eyelids feel like they have little weights attached to them where eyelashes should be.
“Valentina,” a voice whispers. Then it gets louder. “Baby, please open your eyes.”
Deuce.
I’m so happy to hear his voice I lift my head and instantly let out a little yelp at the stab of pain that shoots up my neck and through my skull.
My eyes are having a hard time opening. One feels like it has thick glue covering it, which is weird.
I definitely have not been playing with glue recently.
Have I?
“Valentina.”
I manage to open one eye this time and I can see Deuce on the floor. Well, the shape of him, anyway. He’s sitting kind of far away, which is weird, but I’m so glad to see him, I crack a smile.
“Ciuccio,” I croak, startled by my own broken voice. I clear my throat and try again. “Why…my head.” I try to reach for my aching temple but my arms aren’t working. Hell, I can’t even feel my arms. Do I still have arms?
Alarm has me shifting urgently, which really sets off the pounding in my head, but I can’t help it.
I really need to know I still have arms. It takes longer than I’d like, but I manage to take inventory in this dark room.
Turns out, I do have arms, thank the Lord, but they’re currently tied behind my back and so numb I can’t contract my fingers.
“You’re okay, V. Fazio has us all in some cabin in the woods.”
I lift my head again and stare at Deuce with one good eye.
The events of the day come back to me in fits and starts.
Oh, shit. It was just me. Now we’ve multiplied.
There’s someone a few feet away from Deuce, in a chair.
Marcel. A cry tumbles from my lips. Not Marcel.
That sweet man shouldn’t be here. He’s asleep or passed out or…
No. I refuse to believe Marcel is doing anything but taking an evening nap.
“Does anyone know where we are?” I manage to bite out, walling off the feelings pressing hard against my rib cage and focusing instead on what needs to happen to survive. I’ve been trained for this kind of thig. Extensively.
Deuce’s voice drops to a whisper. “A few friends.”
That buoys my spirits. Not by much, but some.
I look around, wishing my other eye would open.
There’s a few tools stacked in the corner.
I start scooting that direction. It’s slow going considering my hands are useless behind me and almost my entire ass is bare to the dirty wood floor beneath me.
I swear to God, if I come out of this mess with slivers in my ass, I will not be happy.
“What are you doing?” Deuce hisses.
“Being useful. You should try it.”
“Jesus. Same ol’ Valentina,” he grumbles. “There’s a rusty nail behind me that I’m currently using to try to cut through the twine around my hands. Can’t remember if I got a tetanus shot recently.”
Developing tetanus is the least of our worries. I finally make it to the stack of tools, turning my back on the pickax and settling in. “Good. I’m doing the same over here. Without weapons we’ll have to jump him at the same time to overpower him. How many outside?”
“There were two we already took out. Maybe more behind the place, which is where Rhett went.”
We both freeze as we hear Fazio’s angry voice from outside the door.
I tell my aching shoulders to man the fuck up and begin to frantically saw my hands up and down the pointy end of the pickax.
Fazio’s voice carries as he gets closer to the door.
He’s clearly talking to one of his men. Then it goes silent and I have to slow down the sawing of the zip ties around my wrists to keep quiet.
Fazio flings open the door and bright light floods the room. I turn my head away and squeeze my good eye shut. Fazio smiles as he takes in the room of hostages.
“Oh good. You’re all here.” He laughs at his own fucked-up joke, then messes with his phone. “Time to call dear ol’ Bettina.”
He gets her on a video call, panning the room to show her what he’s done. While she stays stoically quiet, Fazio pulls his gun out of his waistband and holds it to Marcel’s sleeping head.
I let out an involuntary yelp, forgetting all about the pickax. “Stop!”
Fazio smiles. Before I leave here, I plan to knock out each and every tooth. “Maybe you’d prefer this option?” He swings the gun to point it right at Deuce’s head.
I kick my feet but can’t do a damn thing with my hands tied behind my back. We both know it. “You have me, you sick pig! Why do you need them?”
Fazio turns, his anger directed at me like I hoped it would. “Because this bitch didn’t give a shit that I’d kidnapped you! Your own mother!” He crouches down in front of me, witness to my humiliation.
She’s not my mother.
I don’t say it out loud, but I admit it to myself for the first time.
I’ve spent my entire life trying to win her favor.
To be the daughter she always wanted. To be perfect so she wouldn’t disown me.
Walking on eggshells just to keep a woman in my life who can’t be bothered when it comes down to it.
Except she can’t disown what she’s never actually owned.
She’s never loved me.
She’s never actually seen me as her daughter.
Sure, she’s cared for me in her own way.
She’s appreciated the work I’ve done for the Barzettis.
She’s even felt a hit of pride at my accomplishments, I imagine.
But she’s never loved me. I doubt she even knows what love means.
What it feels like. How it changes your priorities and perspectives.
The strength it awakens when it’s threatened.
Fazio stands up and walks back to the men on the other side of the room. “So, choose, my darling Valentina. My dear future wife. Choose which one you want me to kill.”
“Don’t you lay a hand on my son!” Bettina yells through the phone.
Panic has every cell in my body on notice.
My hands have been rubbing on that blade up and down, small minute movements, until I feel it.
There. A silent pop. The pressure around my wrists eases a fraction.
I want to whip my arms to the front and massage blood back in them, but I don’t.
I won’t give an inch until the time is right.
Marcel lifts his head and I’m both relieved he’s alive and horrified he has to witness anything that might happen in this room before it’s all said and done. He takes in the scene, then gives his son a smile. To my surprise, he then looks over at me, giving me that same easy grin and a wink.
“Choose me, honey. I’m just a sick old man who’s lived a good life. I’ve raised a son I’m proud of and seen him fall in love with the daughter I always wanted. I’m sorry I won’t get to walk you down the aisle, but I’ll be there with you both just the same. I’m ready to go.”
“Papa,” Deuce whispers, voice breaking.
Tears blur my one good eye. There it is. The unconditional love I was always working so damn hard to get from Bettina. Before I can formulate a response, Deuce scrambles to his feet. Fazio swings his gun that way, which is not what I want either.
“Fazio,” Bettina snaps from the phone screen.
“I have a better plan,” Deuce says confidently. He’s tied up and sporting a bloody nose, but even in his dusty suit, he looks handsome. He looks calm. Way more calm than I feel.
“Oh, yeah?”
“You let Valentina and my father go.”
Fazio snorts. “Absolutely not.”
Deuce continues calmly. “You let them go and take me instead.”
“Deuce, no!” Bettina wails.
Deuce nods at the phone. “She’ll let them both burn, but she won’t let you kill me. I can get you what you want.”
He’s completely right, but damn him for spelling it out so clearly. Fazio is thinking it over. I scoot closer to the middle of the wall, still in reaching distance of the pickax. It might be my only weapon.
Emotions bleed through the militaristic mindset I’ve worked from my whole life.
I see Marcel bravely facing his end, giving up his life if only it will save his son’s.
I see Deuce putting himself in Fazio’s crosshairs just to save me and his father.
And I hear Bettina, unwilling to give up her power, her heritage, her reputation, no matter what.
They say life-and-death situations put things in perspective, and for once, “they” are right.
All those beliefs I told Deuce about on top of the jungle gym at the park fall away.
I see them for what they are: a system of control.
A belief system a broken woman instilled in me.
Did those beliefs save my life? Yes, most definitely.
But in trying to save my life, I missed out on living.
And I refuse to miss out on any of that ever again.
I refuse to let a sweet old man die because of mafia business that has no place here. I won’t let Deuce lose the one good parent who has tried to shield him from this life. I won’t let Bettina’s bullshit affect anyone any further here in Heaven, this small town that holds people I care about.
Everything happens at once, an explosion of sound and violence and mayhem.
Fazio hangs up the phone, swings the butt of his gun at Deuce’s head, and Deuce ducks, cat quick.
I spring to my feet and grab the pickax, already winding up my swing, Fazio’s head my only focus.
The door behind me bursts open and the loudest gunshot I’ve ever experienced echoes through the room.
I swing, unable to stop the momentum, and wind up connecting with Fazio’s face as he falls to the ground.
Teeth fly, but it’s the gaping gunshot wound in his torso that ultimately takes him down.
The clack of Fazio’s gun hitting the floor punctuates the moment.
All heads turn to the doorway in the sudden silence. Rhett stands there like a cowboy out on the range, feet planted, shotgun in hand. Silas has a phone pressed to his ear, eyes wide as he takes in the scene. A lone siren wails in the night air somewhere outside the cabin.
My neck swivels painfully in Deuce’s direction. I feel relief flood through me that he’s relatively unharmed. He’s already leaping for me, hands unbound and bloody.
“Valentina!” he shouts from down a long tunnel.
I reach for him, but everything goes fuzzy and dark before I can shout from the top of my lungs. Not a shout of pain or fear. It’s a feeling that’s bursting out of me that I must give voice to.
I love you.
Thank you for choosing me.