Chapter 8 – DARIO #2
“Now.” I can’t contain the smile.
Ivano tosses a shoulder. “Sure thing.” He tucks his rag into his back pocket and comes along.
How can he not sense it?
He’s been with me for a few years now. I know I give very little away, but after all this time, he can’t tell?
It always boggles my mind—how people see what they think is there. In school, I always had my nose in a book. I liked computers. I was a nerd to Lucca and the others. They still see me that way, and there’s always that flash of surprise when I pull out my knife.
I walk beside Ivano to the basement. He makes conversation about the cars. Oblivious.
By the time we change into shorts and tape our hands, Ray has brought Posy down. There’s a mat the size of a regulation boxing ring in the middle of the space, my equipment organized along the walls. Ray fetches a metal folding chair and urges Posy to sit.
She looks like shit. She’s pasty white, and her hair’s uncombed.
She’s thrown on a pale blue hoodie and a matching pair of yoga pants.
That first day, I had the things I’d bought her boxed, but when my temper cooled, I asked the housekeeper to return them to her drawers.
I didn’t like the dresser and closet half empty. It felt like a tilted picture frame.
Posy’s smart enough not to ask me why she’s here. She huddles in the chair, slumped over. The marks on her wrists are red. Are they infected?
Displeasure threatens to overtake my anticipation, but thankfully, Ivano steps onto the mat, slapping his fists together and bouncing on his toes.
“No headgear, boss?” he mumbles through his mouthguard.
I shrug and take my place.
“Here. Ray.” Ivano jerks his chin. “Get this off.” Ray unstraps his head protection.
I stifle a sigh. Machismo. A vague sense of disappointment dampens my mood. This will be over too soon.
Ivano and I tap gloves.
“Ding, ding,” Ray says, taking his place beside Posy. She’s woken up a little. Her spine has straightened. She understands me now.
“Take it easy on me, boss,” Ivano jokes and swings.
I drive a fist into his nose. Blood sprays. He curses.
“What the fuck?”
“How did Renelli know that Posy’s here?” I ask, jabbing.
He ducks. “He called. He asked me what’s going on. He’s the boss, right?”
“You just called me the boss,” I point out. He lands a decent hook. Clears my sinuses.
“You were looking for her, too,” he whines around his mouthguard.
“Because she’s mine.” I force her to meet my eyes. She’s blanched even whiter, huddled as small as she can get on the folding chair. “Renelli wants to kill her. You picked the wrong horse, Ivano.”
I drive my fist into his kidneys, a quick series of sharp blows. He finally realizes what’s happening and throws his whole strength into blocking the blows, but it’s too late. His vision is impaired, he’s missing easy shots, and although he carries more muscle than me, he doesn’t have the instinct.
I slam a left hook into his side, and a rib breaks through the skin. It snaps. He screams. I sweep his leg, and there’s another satisfying crunch. He topples, and I stomp the knee, feel it crack like an egg under my heel.
He’s begging, bawling, trying to crawl away.
I grab his hair, wet with blood, and drag him off the mat, slamming his face into the hardwood floor until it comes up mashed beyond all recognition.
And then I roll him over and kneel on his chest. I tear off my gloves, rip the tape with my teeth, and take my knife from where I tucked it in my sock. I fish for his snitch tongue, and while he moans with fear, I saw it off. His blood is warm and smells like pennies.
The air is red, and my lungs are clear. I can breathe easy for the first time in weeks. I roll my shoulders and pound a fist against my chest. I feel amazing.
The room is ringing.
Screams.
Shrill.
Not Ivano. He’s not making a sound anymore except a quiet gurgle.
I stand and turn, confused.
It’s Posy. She’s standing, the chair collapsed on the floor. Ray’s arms are around her, pinning her in place. She’s struggling, but she’s weak. She sags against him.
I don’t like that.
“Drop her.”
He does, instantly.
She stumbles and catches herself, her screams trailing off as her eyes catch mine. Her pupils are huge. The blue of her irises has almost disappeared.
“Are you going to kill him?” she gasps.
“He’s not dead?” I look down at my feet. His chest is still moving. Very slightly. I’m surprised.
“What did he do?” she mumbles.
“He betrayed me.” I go to her, push the stringy hair out of her face. It’s damp. From tears? There’s a rancid smell. I glance down. She was sick.
“I never betrayed you, Dario, I swear,” she whimpers, swaying. She’s going to pass out. I grab her upper arms.
“I know,” I say.
“I never cheated on you.” Desperation tinges her voice.
“I believe you.”
She moans. If I weren’t holding her up, she’d probably fall to her knees. She’s looking past me now. She can’t tear her eyes from Ivano’s mangled body.
“He’s gonna die, Dario.”
“Probably.”
“Why did you do it?”
“He’s a rat. He told Renelli that I found you.”
“Why am I here?” Her wild gaze flies to my face.
“Because I need you to understand.”
“Understand what?” The hysteria is rising in her voice. I don’t have much longer before she’s useless.
“I killed Giorgio Fusco. Ivano here, barring a miracle, is going to bleed to death on this mat. And this isn’t the end. There’s going to be a trail of bodies before I’m done.”
I grab her chin and force her to look me in the eye. “I do it for you, Posy. You belong to me. You’re a very dangerous woman now.”
“You’re crazy.”
I suppose that’s true after a fashion.
On the mat, Ivano moans. It gurgles.
“You have to do something,” she begs.
“Why?”
Her gaze darts to his twisted, bloody body. I don’t like it. I feel better when her eyes search out mine again.
“I never saw a man killed before.”
It’s a nonsensical explanation, but maybe she’s beginning to understand the game we’re playing now.
I exhale, and my lips curve. I rest my forehead on hers.
“Are you sure? He wouldn’t save you.”
“No one can,” she breathes, so quiet, it’s almost voiceless.
I smile. She’s right.
“You’re not going to try to run again, are you, Posy?”
“No,” she agrees immediately.
“Good girl.” I’d kiss her, but she’s a mess.
“Ray, call the doctor,” I call and then I scoop her up and head for the stairs. She needs a bath, and then she needs to get back in bed. She looks awful. “After he patches up Ivano, send him upstairs. I want him to look at Posy’s head.”
I’d make Ivano wait if I thought he’d last. If he’s still alive by the time Dr. Albano makes his way here from the city, he won’t have much time left.
Posy trembles in my arms.
She’s probably not going to be up for a game anytime soon.
I need to shower anyway. There’s blood splatter all over me.
Maybe after a nap she’ll be ready to play again.