Chapter 29 Roman
ROMAN
In the car, it was clear that Marco and I didn’t know where to go.
“Check the notebook,” Marco suggests as we drive toward the warehouse because it was the only place we could think he might take Isabella.
Using the light from my phone, I leaf through page after page.
And then there it is. An address used by Ernie near JFK airport. I’m glad Marco is driving and yet, he’s not going fast enough.
“Run the fucking light,” I bellow at him.
“Don’t want to die before we save Isabella,” he says through gritted teeth.
Faster, faster, faster is all I can think.
The notebook laid it all out, Salvatore and Ernie's plot, their manipulation of Isabella's mother, their attempt to fracture La Corona from within.
Mrs. Ferraza discovered their scheme and paid with her life.
Now Isabella might pay with hers.
My mind flashes to Isabella.
Her smile when she sews with Angelica, the way she looks at me when she’s not mad or scared. Like I’ve hung the fucking moon.
“Faster, Marco.”
The area is residential and Marco has to slow down. I’m damn near ready to jump out of the car and run.
He whips into a spot half a block away, and we hoof it the rest of the way.
"Two guards outside," Marco whispers as we approach, staying in the shadows. "Your call on how we handle this."
I draw my gun, screwing on the silencer. "Quick and quiet. We don't know how many more are inside."
We split up, approaching from different angles. The first guard never sees me coming. I put him down with a single shot to the head. Across the yard, Marco takes care of the second with equal efficiency.
We drag the bodies into the shadows and move to the back entrance. I test the door. Locked. Marco produces a set of picks from his pocket.
"Like old times," he murmurs, working the lock.
As teenagers, we broke into places for fun. Now we're breaking in to save my wife.
The lock clicks. Marco pulls the door open, and we slip inside, guns ready.
We move silently through the house’s dark hallway. We stop, listen for movement. Nothing.
Marco nods toward a door and mouths, “Basement.” If Salvador is hiding Isabella in a home, the basement is the best place to make sure nosy neighbors don’t know.
He opens the door, and I precede him down the stairs, our footsteps barely audible.
A voice echoes from ahead, Salvatore's distinctive rasp. My blood boils when I hear it.
I signal to Marco, pointing toward a door with light spilling from beneath it.
We position ourselves on either side. I count down with my fingers, three, two, one, and kick the door open, my gun raised.
Salvatore stands talking to a man. Isabella is slumped unconscious on a cot across from him.
Her face is bruised, a trickle of blood running from a split lip.
The men reach for their weapons. “Don’t even think about it,” Marco warns.
"Roman," Salvatore says, recovering quickly from his surprise. "And the great Don Calabresi himself. What an honor." He raises his hands, smiling. "You're making a mistake. She's the traitor, not me."
"We know everything, Sal," Marco says. "Mrs. Ferraza's notebook. Your little scheme with Ernie."
Salvatore's smile falters but returns quickly. "So what? La Corona has gone soft. Don Ferraza killed my brother and you did nothing."
"Leo didn't kill your brother," I say. "You probably did to cover your tracks."
“You know nothing about my brother,” he spits. “All of you are weak. La Corona is a joke and everyone knows it. Too much talking, not enough action. The old ways are dying."
I glance at Isabella, checking for signs of life. Her chest rises and falls. She's breathing.
"What did you give her?" I demand.
"Just something to keep her quiet. She'll live. I wasn't going to kill her. That would be wasteful. There are buyers overseas who'd pay handsomely for a woman like her. We could expand the business, make real money."
My finger tightens on the trigger. "You were going to traffic my wife?"
"Your wife?" He laughs. "She's a means to an end, Roman. Just like her mother was. Just like you are to Marco."
“All your plans are ruined now, Sal,” Marco says.
“What? You going to petition La Corona to kill me?” He scoffs.
Marco shakes his head. “I don’t need La Corona’s permission to kill one of my own. Lucky for me, I have my enforcer here.”
Sal’s bravado falters. His eyes flick to another door in the room.
In the same instant, the other man makes his move, throwing himself forward in a desperate lunge.
Marco curses and dives after him, disappearing through the doorway in pursuit.
"Just you and me now, Roman," Salvatore says, his hand inching toward his gun.
"That's all I need," I reply, watching his every movement.
I need to play this carefully. Last thing I need is a stray bullet to hit Isabella.
His hand grabs his gun. I fire, catching him in the shoulder. He screams, tumbling backward, but still manages to raise his gun.
I kick the table hard, slamming it into his gut. The gun fires, the bullet whizzing past my ear. I vault over the table, knocking the weapon from his grip. His fist connects with my jaw, sending pain shooting through my skull.
We grapple, crashing into the table.
From somewhere, Salvatore grabs a knife, stabbing wildly. I catch his wrist, but the tip slices my forearm.
"You're going to watch me bleed out your wife," he hisses, spittle flying from his lips. "Then I'll take care of your precious daughter."
A red mist fills my head. I headbutt him, feeling and hearing his nose break under the impact.
As he staggers, I drive my knee into his groin. He doubles over, and I grab a fistful of his hair, slamming his face into the concrete floor.
Once. Twice. Three times.
Blood pools beneath him, but he's still conscious, still fighting. I flip him over, wrapping my hands around his throat.
"This is for Isabella's mother," I growl, squeezing.
His fingers claw at my hands, his legs thrashing.
"For my wife," I continue, pressing harder, using my thumbs against his windpipe.
His face turns purple, eyes bulging.
"And this," I whisper, leaning close to his ear, "is for threatening my daughter."
I grip his head, giving it a savage twist. The crack of his neck breaking echoes through the room, and his body goes limp beneath me.
I release him, breathing hard, blood dripping from my arm onto his lifeless face.
I rush to Isabella's side. Her face is pale, bruised. The sight of her unconscious sends a terror through me. Not again. I can't lose another wife.
"Isabella," I whisper, gathering her limp body into my arms. Her head lolls against my shoulder. "Isabella, wake up."
No response. Her skin feels clammy under my touch.
I press my fingers to her neck, finding a pulse, weak but steady.
She's alive, but whatever Salvatore gave her has knocked her out cold.
"Isabella, please," I murmur, brushing hair from her face. "Come back to me."
Marco appears in the doorway, gun still in hand. His eyes take in the scene, Salvatore's broken body on the floor, me cradling Isabella.
“We should go. We’re clear, but who knows who could be coming?” he says. "I'll call our doctor to meet us at your place on the way.”
I nod, unable to speak past the lump in my throat. I stand, lifting Isabella. She weighs almost nothing.
"The others?" I ask, finding my voice.
"Taken care of," Marco replies simply. "Let's go."
Outside, the night air is cold against my face. Marco opens the car door, and I slide into the backseat with Isabella still in my arms. I won't let her go. Can't let her go.
As Marco drives, I hold her close, whispering words I should have told her already. I press my lips to her forehead.
"You're going to be okay," I tell her, hoping it's not a lie. "You have to be okay."
Marco's eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror.
"I can't lose another wife."
"You won't." Marco has never failed me, but I know this is one promise he might not be able to keep.
I look down at Isabella's face, remembering how she stood up to me, how she fought for the truth about her mother, how she protected Angelica.
I lean down close and speak as if my words can will her to wake up. "I can't lose you. I won’t survive it.”