19. Enzo #2
Pacing the streets of Manhattan, I relive all the moments that made what we had so special.
Wandering around the markets in Palermo, haggling over the price of a rug we didn’t need because that’s what tourists do.
Riding a gondola in Venice. Climbing to the top of the Eiffel Tower.
Surfing in Hawaii. Finding a hidden speakeasy right here in Manhattan.
Every goddamned special moment bought and paid for with mafia money.
If I could ask Demi the same question, what are the special moments she remembers, I wonder if her list would even remotely resemble mine.
I sit on a bench in Central Park and slap my forehead with the heels of my hands.
I thought I was so fucking grownup, so streetwise and confident and ready to face the world with the woman I love, but I didn’t have a fucking clue.
All I saw was what my brother and Megan had: love that came naturally.
I didn’t for one fucking second consider meeting Demi halfway.
It was my way or nothing.
I sit there in the fading light as the sky bathes in gray and violet and indigo stripes, and replay conversations that didn’t happen on a fucking ski slope or a gondola or a tourist spot on every other fucker’s bucket list.
And it hits me hard when my memory washes over them, dismissing them like revision notes that I know I won’t need to pass a test.
“It was all fucking me!” I yell at the sky as a dogwalker gives me a wide berth, his scruffy dog sticking close to his legs.
I don’t apologize.
Armed with my epiphany, I forget all about the casino and go back to my apartment. I haven’t given up on saving Nyx, but I’m not going to barge in there like a kid in a candy shop and risk my life in the process. I’m going to do it the right way.
Then I’m going to find Demi, and I’m not stopping until she has heard me out.
I’ve had a missed call from Gio, so I call him back outside my apartment building. “Any news?”
“Nothing. DI Goss hasn’t contacted anyone since he spoke to you this morning.”
“Maybe it wasn’t him I spoke to,” I suggest.
“I’ll keep searching.” Gio ends the call.
The sensor lights don’t instantly come on when I step out of the penthouse suite elevator and into my apartment.
It’s my first inkling of danger, and I’m disappointed with myself for blundering straight into it just as I’ve made a silent vow to stay alive long enough to tell Demi how I feel about her.
I smile to myself. Fucking typical; the universe delivers an epiphany and then snatches it away from you with a gigantic middle finger to all the mistakes you made in the past.
I slide my gun out of my pocket, put my finger on the trigger, and listen.
I can hear the subaudible hum of electricity feeding the apartment building, the low whirr of elevators, the sounds you take for granted and dismiss like whistling in the ears of tinnitus sufferers.
Then, too late, a whisper of movement behind me, and something dark and scratchy covers my head.
A gunshot goes off, and I realize that it was me as I inhale chemical fumes, and blackness overtakes my vision, sucking the image of Demi at the forefront of my mind to a tiny pinprick before it vanishes completely.
I regain consciousness in a warehouse. I’m on a high-backed chair strategically placed in the middle of the cavernous space, my wrists tightly bound to the back of the seat, my ankles bound together with rope.
My neck aches from being unconscious and upright, my chin feels damp and sticky with saliva.
Not my finest look.
On the bright side, I’m not blindfolded or gagged, but the chemical smell clings to my nostrils and throat like bonfire smoke, causing my brain cells to lurch when I inhale.
Which is why it takes a few beats for me to realize that I’m not alone.
Facing me, is a guy with ginger hair gradually fading to gray, his round face and watery eyes distorted by the duct tape wrapped so tightly around the lower half of his face that it appears to be half the size of the top half.
His wrists and ankles are bound too. They’re taking no chances with this guy.
When he realizes I’m awake, he jerks in his seat and tries to shuffle forward, body and chair as a single unit, to reach me.
Unsurprisingly, he doesn’t get far. The door behind him opens, and heavy footsteps cross the dusty warehouse floor. His eyes widen and he shakes his head frantically like I need more warning that these are the bad guys.
I keep my expression impassive and face Dmitri Malevsky and his thick-necked thugs. “I’m surprised you needed backup, Mr. Malevsky. Or are you afraid to get your hands dirty?”
He smiles, mouth contorting into a shape that he has to think about before releasing it into the wild. “You have a sense of humor.” The smile fades. “You’re going to need it.”
“Oh, good, I’m glad we’re on the same page. So, why don’t you release our friend here and then we can have a chat?”
Malevsky doesn’t glance at the captive in the other seat. “Do you know this man?”
“Is that a trick question?” I fire back because it will take some time for my epiphany to achieve its full impact.
“Yes or no, Mr. Sabatelli.”
I can make an educated guess: the man sitting across from me is DI Goss, the cop who went missing shortly after arranging to meet me in Central Park.
He has information on Kate Glasgow that the Bratva didn’t want leaked and his time is limited.
I have two choices: play ignorant and pretend I have no idea who he is, or name him and come clean.
I have a feeling it will make no difference either way.
“DI Goss from the NYPD.” I place all my chips on option 2 and pray they have nothing on him. “But of course you already know this.”
Malevsky watches me with dark eyes. He doesn’t even flinch when one of his goons shoots the DI in the back of the head, the man’s blood splattering my face. “Now you’ll never know what information he had for you.”
I hold his gaze. In my peripheral vision, I can see Goss’s head slumped forward, his body finally still as if in slumber.
Did Demi work with him? Is that how I knew his name?
He must’ve made an impact on her as she generally kept quiet about her time with the NYPD; my first thought now is that she’ll be gutted when she finds out what happened to him.
“Shall we cut to the real reason why I’m here?” I ask.
“Why so impatient, Mr. Sabatelli?”
“The customer service isn’t to my liking. I would escalate a complaint to the manager, but I have a feeling customer service isn’t his priority.”
“On the contrary. I have a proposition for you that I think you might like.”
Here we go…
“No deal. Why don’t you kill me now and crawl back into your black hole, so that your friends here can lick your ass clean and suck your dick at the same time?” I pause, pretending to give it some real thought. “Or are they too old and ugly for you? Do you prefer them—”
“You haven’t heard what it is yet.” His eyes are like bullets.
“I don’t need to. I don’t trade in people, but I guess your mommy never taught you the meaning of life.”
Pain flares in my shoulder before I register the gunshot, sending white-hot signals directly to my brain and numbing everywhere else so that it’s super-concentrated for maximum effect. I breathe deeply through it, trying to regulate my pulse. If I panic now, the bastard wins.
Malevsky leans over me, making the snake inked around his neck writhe as he cricks his head from side to side. When he speaks, his voice is a low growl. “You felt a connection with Nyx. Why do you think that is?”
I stare him straight in the eye and say, “Maybe it’s because she fucked you over too.”
His fist connects with my jaw, and momentum carries me backward. I hear a crack as my skull hits the floor, and tiny sparks of gold and silver float before my eyes. The pain in my head beats everything else into submission.
Two goons right the chair and place me back in my original position in front of Dmitri Malevsky. I concentrate on him to stop the rest of the world from swimming in and out of focus.
“Here’s my deal,” he continues. “I will hand over Nyx and enough money to make you one of the wealthiest men in the USA, and in return you will give me your brother Giovanni.”
I think about it for half a second. “Or…?”
“Or the world will believe that JADED and everything it stands for is your brother’s creation.”
In other words, the people who matter will believe my brother is a sick fucker who traffics women and minors.
“What if the answer is still no?”
The smile is real if still the kind of look that would give little kids nightmares. “I will find a way to change your mind.”
I tilt my chin and lock eyes with him. “War it is.”