Chapter 50
Dean
There was no plan.
I wanted revenge, and I would get it no matter what.
I had no issue avenging her mistreatment three years ago, and would happily do it again.
Taking the gun from the glove compartment of my car, I tucked it into the back of my jeans as I stepped onto the street outside Castello di Vetro.
It was afternoon.
All the clubs along this street were closed until night.
There was no one around, and the rain fell heavier.
“You ready?” Vince asked, tugging his hood and bandana up and pulling on gloves.
I did the same without a response and climbed out of the car.
I approached the front door and didn’t hesitate to smash a hole through the black glass with the butt of the gun. Chipping away more glass, I waited for a shout or an alarm. None came, and I reached through, and I unlocked the door.
The foyer was empty. There was no one snorting lines off the front desk this time.
I moved to the next door, gun in hand and my finger hovering over the trigger.
The interior of the club was just as quiet with its lights and music off. There wasn’t a single person in sight upstairs, but I kept moving towards the basement entry, passing the black mirrors on the walls. I avoided looking at the reflection.
I knew how I felt. I didn’t need to see it either.
The next door was easier to open. I kicked at the lock, and the door swung in, revealing the dark stairwell behind it.
I took to the steps quietly, keeping my breathing in check while I locked in. I couldn’t afford to make mistakes.
The apartment’s foyer was empty and smelled of cigarettes and cooking oil.
I led the way up the stained concrete stairs, eyes fixed on the next landing.
And then the next. Each landing had a fluorescent light that either flickered or wasn’t working at all.
Our stop was on the second floor, where the light was out, shrouding us in much-needed darkness as we closed in on the apartment door to our left.
Vince made quick and quiet work of the lock while my heart thundered against my ribcage.
At the bottom of the stairwell, I kept to the wall and crept towards the basement door directly in front of me. It was ajar, allowing enough of a gap for me to see into the middle of the basement. But it was still a limited view. I needed numbers, and to make sure it matched how many bullets I had.
Fuck it.
I threw the door open and walked in with the gun raised and my head on a swivel, eyeballing every dark corner of the room and the mezzanine above. Without the flashing lights, I could make out several windows along the tops of the high walls.
Apart from the large crates tucked under the mezzanine and the giant glass cube in the center of the basement, there was nothing else here.
I went in first, edging through the gap of the door as my eyes scanned the dark living space. The only light came from an old TV, facing a dirty recliner where a man sat slumped with a beer in hand.
His T-shirt and sweats were stained and worn, and his black hair was long and graying. His eye and cheek were already bruised and swollen, meaning I wasn’t the first to speak with him tonight.
Gio Calacoci was too drunk to stand and confront us when he noticed he wasn’t alone anymore. Instead, as his eyes lazily scanned Vince and me, he responded with slurred aggression. “The fuck you think you’re doin’ in my house?”
I ripped the bandana down from my face, tugged my hood back, and then pointed the gun at my father.
Gio lifted his hands, eyes wide on the gun, but he could barely get his vision to focus. “Wait-wait-wait. If you need more money, I can get it. I just need time.”
I stepped forward and jammed the gun under his chin. “I don’t want your fuckin’ money.”
“Please-please! Don’t kill me! W-we could come to an agreement or somethin’.”
I scoffed in realisation. “You have no clue who I am.”
Frustrated, I pulled a hand through my hair as I rotated slowly on the spot. Gun in hand and a lump in my throat, I tried to suppress the rage begging to be let out. I needed to save it for them.
But then I recalled the look on Mom’s face as they put her in the ambulance.
So much blood.
The memory changed to the day I found her, after Gio shot her.
So much blood.
I was always too late.
I gripped my scalp this time, squeezing my eyes shut as I pulled at my hair.
I dragged him to his feet and walked him into the filthy bathroom in the back of his tiny apartment. The whole time, Gio whimpered instead of trying to defend himself — no longer the man capable of raping and beating his defenseless wife or abusing his teenage son.
I shoved him into the bathtub.
Vince blocked the bathroom door as I stepped out to the kitchen to hunt down a knife to do the job. Once I did, everything suddenly felt like I wasn’t in my body anymore. I was moving on autopilot. Angry but equally calm as I made my way back to Gio and gave him the knife.
“Do it,” I said simply, stepping back to lean against the wall.
“Can I write a note? At least for the police to find for my family?”
“You lost your right to a family when you shot your wife and unborn kid.”
Gio blinked, and suddenly it dawned on him as he finally looked at me — really looked at me.
“Dean?” he whispered. “Son?”
“You don’t get to call me that anymore.”
Through rage-filled tears, I raised my gun to the giant cube in front of me and fired bullet after bullet into the glass.
“FUUUUCK!” I roared.
Anger and devastation tore through my insides like fire, hot and sickening. I was blinded by fury.
Someone had to pay.
Someone had to die.
I was always too fucking late.
The shots echoed loudly through the basement until the last bullet struck.
There was a loud crack, and the entire structure splintered with a spider-web-like fracture. Then it shattered, firing a million shards of glass in every direction. It spilled onto the floor like a giant crystal wave and scattered to my boots.
After the last piece bounced to a stop with a soft clink, the basement fell into complete silence.
I stood still, chest heaving.
What have I done?