32. Marisol
32
MARISOL
By the time dinner comes, we’re as ready as we’ll ever be. Salvatore sits next to me, holding his phone out so we can watch Aldo drive up to the house.
Dom greets Aldo, Junior, Barbara, and Serafina as they step out of the vehicle. From the video, I can’t tell what Junior or Aldo are planning. Neither make any sudden movements toward their guns. Aldo’s holding a bottle of red wine.
Eight of Salvatore’s men are stationed around the house.
Giordana’s the only member of the kitchen staff that’s still here. She demanded to stay so Junior would see she’s not scared after he threatened her and carved into Camillo’s face yesterday. If Salvatore doesn’t pull the trigger tonight, I’m fairly certain Giordana will fish out a gun and do the job herself.
Maybe I’ll have her shoot Salvatore too.
I should be focused on seeing my would-be murderer again, but I can’t stop thinking about what Salvatore told me. That he thought he could get rid of me. If we get through this, I’m going to carve my name into his chest with a knife.
He reaches over to touch my hand, but I wrench it out of his grasp.
“Marisol—”
“Don’t.”
His arm flexes as he grips his chair arm instead, and his jaw clenches. His visible suffering eases a tiny bit of my anger.
We watch through his phone as the guests enter our house.
I touch the gun strapped to my thigh. I’m wearing a maxi dress with a full skirt and an ugly pair of sneakers that Salvatore demanded I wear. It looks ridiculous, but the shoes are more forgiving to my stitches than any other pair I own. I bound my hair up with three of my lockpicks, stuffing them into a bun. It makes me feel better just to have them on me, and Salvatore nodded approvingly when he saw what I was doing. If we’d had more time, I’m sure he would’ve strapped knives and grenades to my chest.
He slides his phone in his pocket as everyone enters the room. I know he has to be nervous and frustrated, but the expression on his face is neutral—bored, even. It calms me a little.
“Turi, what happened to the place?” Aldo asks jovially. He sweeps in, kisses my cheek, and hugs Salvatore, who stands to greet him. He sits next to Salvatore and pours himself a glass of wine. Serafina and Barbara sit next to me, and Dom floats to stand behind them. Junior seats himself at the other head of the table, throwing me a smile. My heart pounds, but I meet his gaze.
“Training exercise gone wrong,” Salvatore says evenly. Most of Junior’s mess is still visible throughout the house, but it’s not a problem. Everything’s getting put on the table tonight.
Junior hides a smirk but says nothing. I note the red scratches from the glass I slung into his face with immense pleasure, though I’m disappointed it didn’t seem to hit his good eye. He’s wearing an eyepatch and an all-black suit like a cartoon villain. He licks his lips when his glance returns to me.
Under the table, Salvatore and I reach for each other’s hand at the same time and squeeze. I’ll make him pay for what he said later, but tonight, we’re a united front.
Giordana brings in everyone’s plates as Aldo talks. When she sets Junior’s food down, the food’s all been charred beyond recognition. Junior throws a malicious look at her. Aldo doesn’t seem to notice.
Salvatore rubs his thumb over the back of my hand. I offer him a small smile and bite back a laugh at the way his mouth goes slack with relief.
“ Great job with our little problem, Turi. I’ll be honest—and don’t take this the wrong way—I half-expected you not to go through with it. I gotta say, though, I never should’ve doubted. You always get the job done.” Aldo digs into his plate, and after a beat, looks up. “Everyone, eat! Don’t let this food go to waste.”
Aldo seems determined to pretend everything is fine, but there’s no way he doesn’t notice Junior and Salvatore staring daggers at each other across the table.
Serafina pushes her food around, periodically bringing the tiniest possible bite to her mouth while her dad Barbara works through his plate methodically. She’s wearing all-black, and she looks… different somehow. She dabs at the corner of one teary eye with a napkin.
What’s going on there?
Once Aldo’s done, he slides his plate away and sighs contentedly. “Delicious as usual. I gotta admit, your chef knows how to cook the old-fashioned way.”
“I’ll pass along the compliment,” Salvatore says dryly.
“Let’s go check out your bar in the kitchen. I want to talk shop. Let the ladies catch up.”
Salvatore and Junior stand simultaneously, eyeing each other without blinking. Salvatore traces his hand along my arm.
“I’ll be back soon,” he says, in a voice just for my ears.
They follow Aldo and Barbara out of the room. Through some unspoken command, Dom stays behind with Serafina and me.
Serafina’s shoulders slump forward, and she chokes out a sob. Dom watches her with a pained expression.
I’m itching to see what’s going on outside the room.
“I… uh, need to go to the bathroom,” I say.
“No,” Dom says, without even looking at me. “Stay here.”
Serafina spins around to face him. “Dom.”
I glance between the two of them.
“It’s okay,” he says to her in a soft voice. Then to me in a dickish voice, “You need to stay here until Turi says otherwise.”
I hesitate. “I need… to check my phone,” I say lamely.
Dom nods. “You want to watch the cams? Go ahead.”
I glance at Serafina pointedly, who’s taking in everything with wide eyes. Dom looks down at her. “She’s good. She can see too.”
I don’t know if I completely trust her, but I don’t have time to stall. “Fine.” I whip out my phone and cycle through the cameras while Dom brings Serafina to stand behind me and watch.
There . The kitchen. Aldo’s drinking another glass of wine and gesturing between Salvatore and Junior who are glaring at each other from either end of the kitchen bar. Barbara slumps forward on a stool, looking half-asleep. I turn the volume up just enough so we can hear what they’re saying.
“…the Commission’s going to be pretty fucking pissed once our phones come back online and they hear word of this,” Aldo says, “and I have a couple of thoughts on that. Don’t think I don’t know about what’s going on between the two of you.”
“Do you?” Salvatore asks evenly.
“You two couldn’t have made dinner more awkward. I don’t like to see my boys fighting. You were never this bad before that girl of yours came into the picture, you know that? So, I got a proposition. Salvatore, Junior’s agreed to step down as underboss. Says he doesn’t want it, right, Junior?”
“That’s right, Papà.” Why the fuck is Junior smiling at this news?
“Right. So, Turi, I want you as the new underboss. And together, I got big plans. While the cell phones are offline, we’re going to take down your old man.”
Behind me, Serafina whispers to Dom, “He’s talking about killing Ottavio?”
Dom mutters something in Italian and drags his hand over his jaw.
“…talked to a few of the heads, and they’re not too happy with your dad. They don’t like the way he thinks of himself as the capo di tutti capi, and they’re willing to look the other way if it means Ottavio’s taken care of. So here’s my offer, Turi. Get rid of that girl. She’s done some good work, but she’s nothing but trouble for the family. She’s tearing you and Junior apart. Junior’s gonna take care of her, bring her to a nice farm to spend her days, capice? I’m gonna make you underboss and then, to really sweeten the deal, we’re gonna kill that dad of yours.”
There’s no way Salvatore would say yes to this. He loves me.
“How will you kill Ottavio?” Salvatore asks. Why is he stalling? Just shoot Junior already.
“I got a man on the inside. But I need a little help from all your cameras to see when the best time would be. I planned to do this later, but with the cell phones out, this is gonna be our best chance. We can finally make good on your oath to your mom. Give the bastard what he’s got coming to him. And we get ourselves a seat at the table. I’m not gonna be boss forever, Turi. I want to retire in the next five years. Take Serafina somewhere sunny”—Serafina makes a choked noise behind me—“and spend the rest of my days relaxing on a beach. You have what it takes to lead this family. Make Junior your right hand. He’s a good boy, Turi, just like Matteo was. He just don’t got the head for business like you do. But he can do the stuff no one else wants to do, isn’t that right, Junior?”
Junior’s nasty grin widens. “Yes, Papà.”
“You agree to this, Turi, and Ottavio’s dead tomorrow.”
I wait for Salvatore to pull out his gun and shoot both of them in the face. But he doesn’t. He’s considering this. I clench my jaw. Is he serious? Was this whole relationship a lie? Or is he just willing to trade me in as a pawn if it means he gets to kill his awful dad and be the next don? Why did I throw my fucking wedding ring at him?
I steady my breathing. No, I’m freaking out. He’s lulling them into a false sense of security, and then he’s going to shoot Junior.
“What do you think, Turi?” Aldo asks.
Salvatore measures Aldo, and I see his hand rise to his waist, mostly hidden by the kitchen counter. Junior echoes the same movement on the other side. Salvatore stops and so does Junior.
“I think we have ourselves a deal.”
My heart plummets. What’s the plan here? There’s no way he gives me up like this. You got him the position. You were always a pawn. Something disposable.
I’m trying to trust Salvatore here, but it’s flying in the face of logic. Junior’s words float back to me. “He’s been using you from the start so he can take my position as underboss and work his way up to don.”
Aldo grins and claps Salvatore on the shoulder. “I knew you’d make the right call.” He jerks his head toward the kitchen doors. “Junior, you wanna go grab her?”
Junior launches up from his stool.
“Hold on,” Salvatore says calmly. “There’re a few more things I want to discuss.”
“So she can go run out the back door?” Junior sneers.
“Barbara, can you escort Marisol to the basement?” Salvatore says. “She’ll be safe there until we’re finished.”
Barbara eases up from his stool with a grunt and shambles out of the room.
I turn the camera app off. I have to get out of here.
I start to lift from my chair, but Dom’s hand lands heavily on my shoulder.
“Dom!” Serafina says. “Don’t!”
She wraps her thin hands around his forearm and pulls to no effect. A sense of panic rises in me. Dom’s the rat.
“Trust Turi. He has a plan,” Dom says. He holds Serafina at arm’s length with his other hand.
“His plan is to sacrifice Marisol,” she hisses. “Let her go!”
When Barbara comes around the corner, he doesn’t show even a flicker of surprise at the scene playing out in front of him.
“Dom,” Barbara says sharply. “Take Serafina home. Now.”
Without hesitation, Dom hauls Serafina up and carries her out of the room while she screams at the two of them.
For a long moment, Barbara watches me with a bored expression. He doesn’t give a shit if I live or die. “You gonna be smart about this?”
I touch the gun under my dress. Barbara has his own gun and will probably shoot me before I’ve even gotten the safety off. I ease myself up, and he nods. When I wince at the pressure on my feet, he meets me in the center of the room and takes my arm in his like a man taking his granddaughter out on a stroll.
We pass Camillo on the way. He’s got a new set of stitches on his face. He gives me a wide-eyed look but says nothing. He doesn’t stop Barbara.
My face prickles with shame. I’m such a fucking idiot.
“So that’s all it takes then? A chance at his dad?” I mutter.
Barbara guides me to the basement door.
“Keypad, huh?” he says, half to himself. Then to me, “Like I said Marisol, be fucking smart about this.”
He gives me a long look and understanding clicks. He hasn’t taken my phone or my gun. He mentioned the keypad. He… wants me to escape?
“We’re gonna be in the kitchen for a long time,” he says and ushers me into the basement. “So get comfortable.”
The heavy door shuts with a soft click.
I’m left in total darkness. The silence and the absence of light swallow me whole as though I’ve been dropped into the center of a freezing lake. I fumble for my phone, sucking in a deep breath once the light from the screen flickers on.
What the fuck was Barbara trying to tell me? If he wanted me to escape, he could’ve given me a better hint of how to do it. Junior will see the basement door from the kitchen the moment I open it, and that’s not to mention the rest of the guards around the house.
Camillo’s just outside. Will he let me escape or follow his boss’s implicit orders? If I try to leave through the tunnels, who does Salvatore have stationed there? Will they be a rat too?
I have to tell Salvatore about Dom.
I chew on my lip as I open the camera app back open.
Barbara’s already back in the kitchen, accepting a top-off of wine from Aldo.
“—he’s not gonna bite!” Junior’s saying. He’s making erratic movements with his hands, but he’s still rooted to the same spot on the kitchen floor.
God, I wish there was a second exit from the basement.
“Why don’t you tell Papà why I’m not biting?” Salvatore says. Even now, his voice is calm and low. My husband’s got a plan. He’s in control. I have to trust him. Junior glares daggers at him across the kitchen bar.
“What’s he talking about?” Aldo asks. He glances at Barbara who shrugs and sips his wine.
“I’m talking about you coming to my house?—”
“ Don’t ,” Junior utters.
“And assaulting my staff and my wife. Except you failed, didn’t you? She won that little encounter.”
A flush of heat rushes through me. Yeah, I fucking did. I grin in the darkness.
“What the fuck is he talking about?” Aldo shouts.
“Not for long, Turi,” Junior grits out. “Cause she’s mine now, yeah? And I’m gonna finish what I started.”
Salvatore whips his gun out at the same time Junior does.
“ BOYS! ” Aldo screams. “Put the fucking guns down now ! That’s a direct fucking order!”
Do I go?
Junior will still see me, but maybe it’ll distract him and allow Salvatore a clean shot.
Except he has a clean shot now, so why isn’t he taking it?
“I’m not going to do that,” Salvatore says. “It’s time to put him down, Aldo. Your son’s a fucking menace. I’ve been loyal to you. I’ve made you money. I don’t run around like a rabid dog all day. We’re family, Uncle.”
“Kill him, Papà!” Junior screams.
Aldo looks between them, his hand pulled back on his waistband. Understanding dawns. Salvatore’s giving Aldo the chance to side with him. To kill his own son or to let him be killed.
Aldo takes a deep breath, lifts his gun from its holster… and levels it at Salvatore. “Put the gun down, Turi. Last chance.”
Now.
I flip to the app for the basement door and key in my code with trembling fingers. The door clicks open, and I shove through in time to hear Junior’s wild laughter.
The noise sends a shiver down my spine. I glance at the kitchen as I hurry in the opposite direction—Junior turns toward me with a look of shock in his good eye.
BANG.
I run past Camillo, feeling a stitch pop open in my foot as I lunge for the next door only a few feet away. Camillo’s arm shoots out and grabs me. We meet each other’s eyes. My old guard. Without a word, he squeezes my arm, nods, and then draws out his gun and dashes to the kitchen.
I wrench the door to the tunnel wide open and fly down the ladder, screaming through gritted teeth when I land hard on my feet.
The tunnel’s short. I just need to get to the end, start the car on the other side, and pray I can reach the road.
BANG. BANG.
The concrete around me swallows up some of the sound, but not enough. Please be okay, Sal. I jerk my dress up and pull out the gun. It’s warm and clunky in my hand.
I scurry down the path, jumping at every sound I hear outside. Adrenaline’s shooting through my veins, smothering the pain in my feet. Move past the bend, and you’re home free. I’m going to get to the car and call Worm, and he’ll know who to contact.
A man appears before me.
I scream and stop short.
“Davide!” My heart’s pounding so fast it could explode at any moment. “Davide, they’re shooting upstairs. Dom’s a rat. Please, you have to go help Sal!”
Light flickers behind me, and a door slams distantly.
A look of concern on his face, Davide lays a hand on my shoulder and pulls me behind him. “Sal’s got men with him upstairs. He’ll be fine,” he says.
Junior emerges from around the bend, gripping a bloody shoulder.
“Turi’s dead.”
I raise my gun, flick the safety off, and shoot.
Pain explodes in my hand, and my ears burst into ringing. Davide throws me to the ground, and I land hard on my hip. Fuck … I think he broke my hip. My thumb stings, and it’s bloody for some reason.
Did I shoot myself? I wonder wildly.
No, I was holding the gun wrong, and the metal clipped my hand.
Shoes enter my line of vision. I look up. Junior looms over me, laughing as if he’s completely lost his fucking mind. His voice is barely audible, drowned out by the ringing in my ears.
I scramble back, gasping at the pain in my hip, but he stomps on my ankle, grinding bone into the concrete floor.
“—dumb bitch,” I catch him saying. “Did you think... really work? You missed. Why he would waste so much time on an outsider defies reason. I was going to really draw this out for Turi’s sake, just to teach him a lesson. Maybe send him a new body part every few days. But now I think I’m just going to burn you alive and dump you on the Boughan brothers’ doorstep as a little lesson for fucking up. Davide, grab her.”
Gun! Where’s my gun?
Davide— Davide’s the rat —lowers and goes to grab my arm with a gentle touch, but I roll away from him.
With a sneer, Junior shoves Davide aside and drops down on top of me. He digs rough fingers under my skirt as I scream and flail against him. Another laugh bubbles out of him while I fling my useless arms against him.
“Don’t worry—you’re not so lucky. Just making sure there’s no more surprises down here. We’ll have more time back at my place for the rest. And you know what, since I’m so fucking nice, I’ll still let you pick on the way there. Which am I taking first, Mari, a finger or an eye?”
I’m gasping for air with the weight of him on my chest.
“Sir,” Davide says nervously. “We have to go.”
My lockpicks. If I can pull one out of my hair, maybe I can stab his good eye.
He’ll take that gun and shoot you.
He’ll strangle you.
He’ll burn you alive.
A crafty look crosses Junior’s face. “You think you’re gonna be brave, passerotta? That’s what he calls you, doesn’t he? You got another gun under here?”
I can’t cry— I can’t cry —I won’t be able to see if I cry.
Time slows as Junior digs his hand through my skirts, and I reach my hand up to my hair where my lockpicks are. I’ll have one chance to get this right.
“Junior!” Aldo screams.
Boom.
Junior freezes, his eye darting to the side. Cold dread squeezes my heart—did Salvatore get shot? Junior must be thinking along the same lines because his face crumples in. I wrap my fingers around a pick.
“Papà?”
I wrench forward and stab Junior in his good eye. Resistance—then pop like a grape bursting.
Junior reels back, screaming as he clutches his face, and I’m bucking, thrashing underneath him to try to throw him off. Junior wrenches the pick out with a choked groan. His face is a horrible nightmare of blood. I gag. He swings his hand at me blindly but Davide launches his body off of me with a sharp kick.
I don’t hesitate to roll to the side and scramble to my knees.
Davide wrestles with the gun in Junior’s hands.
“Run, Mari!” Davide grunts.
Before I turn, two more figures appear in the tunnel.
Salvatore and Camillo both have blood on their shirts and faces. Salvatore’s gaze crashes into mine.
My beautiful, calm husband is furious .
“Camillo, get her out of here, NOW !” Salvatore roars, and it makes every cell in my body freeze cold.
Salvatore kicks the gun out of Davide and Juniors’ joined hands. They scream out. Camillo rushes forward, clutching his thigh.
“Don’t look back,” he says once he’s within earshot. He ushers me to the exit and up the ladder.
I barely feel the pain as I push my body up. On the last rung, I glance back and see Salvatore with a mask of savage rage, choking the life out of Junior.
Once the cool evening air touches my face, I choke out a sob.
No, I can’t. I can’t lose it yet. I step to the side for Camillo and scan the trees for a car.
There.
It’s a little, beat-up tin can nearly buried in the overgrowth of the forest, but I’ve never seen anything so perfect.
“Junior’s reinforcements are at the door. We gotta go right now,” Camillo says and guides me forward. Like he’s summoned them, gunfire crackles from the front of the house.
Camillo limps to the driver’s side and shoves branches out of the way before wrenching the door open. I’m not far behind and once inside, another wave of emotion crashes through me. I heave in a deep breath before bursting into tears.
After two attempts, the car starts.
Camillo doesn’t exhale a sigh of relief until we’ve reached the city outskirts.