Chapter 16
C ALLUM
I reach the area with my men within minutes, and I quickly realize something’s wrong.
No man is waiting for me here.
Actually, a burly man sits at a table on a cobblestone street, and he fits the kid’s description, yet he denies he knows anything about a meeting with us, and he has no idea who I am.
As my men pick him up, he also claims he hasn't talked to a kid this evening and that he doesn't have the slightest clue who Stefano Varela is.
“The house,” I say, signaling to the driver to head back.
It’s a fucking trap.
It looked like one, and it is one, for sure.
“Hurry,” I bark at the driver who lurches the car forward.
One of my men’s phones lights up, and we both look down.
“They’re at the house.”
“How many?” I ask, cold.
“Twelve men.”
“Prepare twelve body bags. No one gets out alive.”
We arrive on time to contain the shooting inside the second house. Two men lie on the ground in the courtyard, and many others are fighting my men inside.
A couple of them make a run for the house she’s in.
“I’ll take care of those,” I say, unbuttoning my suit jacket as I pick up an automatic weapon from inside the floor of the car.
Within moments, the air smells like gunpowder, and gunshots ring in the otherwise quiet town.
Some are muffled, while others pierce the air with their sharp noise.
Fifteen minutes later, we’re looking at a pile of dead bodies.
Unfortunately, we lost a man, and three others have wounds they need medical care for.
Cosimo makes arrangements for them to be seen by a private doctor, someone who knows what he’s dealing with and won’t make it a public matter.
It takes about an hour to clean the two houses, have the bodies tucked into bags, and make a phone call.
Waiting for the other end of the line to ring, I pour myself two shots of bourbon.
I lift the glass to my lips for a first sip before turning around and sliding into a chair in the main room on the first floor.
Finally, someone picks up.
“No. I need to speak with him,” I say, just as Varela’s right-hand man inquires about my call in an innocent voice.
He’s giving me the runaround.
“I don’t care who he’s with. I didn’t think he’d be such a coward, so prove me wrong and put him on the phone.”
I wait for a few long moments before another man picks up the phone.
A creepy, monotonous voice speaks to me.
“What do you want, O’Hara?”
Varela has never been capable of showing anything but disdain to anyone he’s dealt with.
It’s his brand, the way he rattles everyone, especially when he has no reason to be dismissive.
“The better question is, what do you want, Varela?”
A shrill comes from the other end of the line in the form of a fake chuckle.
It ends just as abruptly as it begins.
“You have something that belongs to me.”
“You have to go through the steps, don’t you? Isn’t it customary to ask for someone’s hand in marriage and have her family deliver her to you?”
“And that’s your idea of having her delivered to me?”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“I don’t buy used merchandise. I only want top quality. Unopened packaging.”
He laughs again at how clever he thinks he is.
“Do you know anything about Leilani Gallo?”
“I know enough that I don’t want you to touch her.”
“This is not about me touching her. I’m bringing her to you.”
Now I wonder if it was dark enough outside when Leilani and I shared that kiss.
The place was empty as his men must’ve been positioned to attack my place.
The fisherman’s son was far from us, and probably didn’t know what he was looking at, anyway.
I doubt Varela had tasked him with gathering information about us.
Could he have people follow us around today as we were out shopping? Sure, he could have.
But there was nothing unusual about what we did. We browsed shops, had lunch, and took a stroll.
“Do you have any idea how the Gallos have raised their granddaughter?” I ask.
“I don’t care.”
Of course he doesn’t.
“Why her?” I ask, unable to stifle my irritation.
“Why not her?”
“This is not about getting a new wife,” I toss back at him before taking a sip of hard liquor and welcoming the warmth in my throat.
“You don’t know that,” he says. “Someone young like her might get me going again. You can never underestimate these women.”
Imagining him with her creeps me out.
“I know what this is all about,” I say. “And since we’re here, talking about it, I might just reiterate what you might know from Giorgio Gallo already.
I’ll trade Leilani Gallo for my freedom.
I know you want Gallo’s empire. He’s too dumb to see it, or maybe he knows what you’re after and he has no choice but to say yes to you, hoping that you’ll spare his life.
You’re not getting married for the sake of getting married.
It’s a bold move with a huge payoff. With that being said, I won’t be the sacrificed king.
You and he better settle things between yourselves and keep me out of this. ”
Silence comes from him.
“Got that, Varela?”
He hangs up on me.
Good.
That’s exactly what I wanted to hear.
I swipe my phone again and call Giorgio.
“Your call to him didn’t render the expected results,” I say before he has the chance to greet me.
“She’s still with me, and I just talked to him.
Let’s keep it civil for the next two weeks, shall we?
I talked to Leilani, and she agreed to my terms. She’ll say yes to his marriage proposal.
She wants a quick wedding, too. You’ll fulfill your end of the deal sooner than expected.
I just need both of you to back off before I finish my job and depart. That’s it.”
A pause ensues.
“If I were you, I’d figure out a way to keep him in check before someone other than his men gets killed,” I drop in the middle of the awkward silence.
He’s still not talking, so I just hang up.
In one move, I empty my glass and rise.
I shed my suit jacket and set the glass down before I walk outside and enter the second house, stepping over dead bodies.
“Send them back with compliments from me and a written note that they’re my wedding gift to him. Drop them off in the middle of the night. The fucker is in Taormina already.”
Cosimo nods as I turn around and take a few steps outside.
Looking up at the sky, I get lost in the maze of flickering stars, when a thought crosses my mind.
I might not have as much time as I thought I had with her.
LEILANI
My hands are still shaking as I turn off the faucet, and then I turn it back on to run my fingers through the cold stream of water.
I can’t stop shaking.
For the hundredth time, I’m asking myself the same question:
What if something bad happened to Callum?
I don’t even want to think about it.
The past hour has been a blur.
I heard noises in the house, and then footsteps rushing up the stairs.
My first instinct was to hide. I know enough about this life to understand what this is usually about.
And I did.
After running from one room to another, I found a locked door, located the key, opened it, and stepped inside, where I found a dark space with shelves stocked with linens, sheets, and towels. A supply room.
The men ran past my hiding space, and when I heard Cosimo’s voice and how worried he was that he couldn’t find me, I stepped out to their relief.
He checked the room and suggested I stay there.
There was an incident in the house involving the enemy, andI gathered it had to do with me.
They wanted me.
It was probably Varela’s men, and I knew right there and then that nothing would take me away from Callum.
Cosimo handed me a gun just in case I needed to protect myself.
I’m still trying to get that smell off my skin.
Things have settled down, and I know Callum is in the house and everything is under control.
I also know that these things never go away. They just happen in phases. These motherfuckers never give up.
I wouldn’t care at all if it were only about me.
I know that no one will get their hands on me against my will. I’d rather die than have someone force something like that on me.
Desperately, I glance in the mirror.
I hate the way I look.
My hair is in disarray.
My eyes have turned into two dark pools of fear. I resent fear. I despise it, yet it’s here with me.
And I no longer like the dress I’m wearing.
It reminds me of the beautiful day we’ve spent outside, his hands on me, his lips on mine.
The first time he cupped a breast, I felt the need to have him slide himself between my legs.
I pick up a hairbrush and try to tame my mane before running my fingers under my eyes, putting mascara on my eyelashes, and smearing a nude shade of lipstick on my lips.
Eventually, I walk back to the room and go straight to the old armoire.
A few dresses hang on the hangers.
I inspect them, one by one, before I find something to replace my long dress.
It’s a skintight, halter-style, hourglass-shaped dress with a long zipper down the back and built-in cups for my chest.
I keep my panties after removing my flowing dress.
The new one looks good on me.
It’s white with a vibrant cherry pattern, and it makes me look like a young American actress from the fifties shooting a movie on the streets of Syracuse, Italy.
The occasion is dire, but the dress brightens things up for me.I won’t wear black at my funeral if that’s what’s next for me.
I hate these people.
More confident this time, I slip on a pair of heels and return to the dining table.
If it weren’t for the noise and persistent smell of gunpowder an hour ago, you’d think nothing bad happened this evening.
The food is still on the table. The wine in the glasses. The desserts spread artistically on a large porcelain plate with a dainty, lace-like border.
The flowers are still fresh, untainted, untouched by blood.
I know this scene could’ve looked quite different with blood on the snow-like linens, broken plates all over the floor, food tossed around the room.
The idea that I’d see this man wounded at some point or worse gives me shivers.