43. Adriano
Adriano
T here’s something sweet about the stink of burning oil paint.
I’m not sure what it is. Maybe the dyes they use to make the stuff? Whatever it is, I’ve grown fond of the reek after ripping my way through Philadelphia’s stock of priceless artifacts.
Which is why I’m almost regretful that I’m missing all the fun.
The suburban night is quiet again, as always.
I’m alone in a beat-up old truck, daydreaming about my wife wearing a perfume of burning Pollocks and Picassos.
Weirdly, it gets me hard. Which I think says a lot about my psyche.
Lucy in my bed drowning in the ashes of destroyed paintings. Nothing could be better.
My phone buzzes.
Vittorio: You should see this place, man. The shit they call art these days?
Adriano: Focus on the mission.
Vittorio: I’m not kidding though.
Vittorio: You ever heard of some Alec Monopoly guy?
Adriano: Pretty sure he’s got a board game of some sort.
Vittorio: Nah, he’s a pretentious DJ prick who makes paintings of dollar signs and the Monopoly man and shit. All real colorful. Total bullshit.
Adriano: Is it burning yet?
Vittorio: Got my guys gassing it up right now. You should seriously see this shit.
My phone buzzes, and a photo comes through.
It’s the Monopoly man holding an AK-47 in front of what looks like a wall spray-painted with the artist’s name.
If it’s supposed to mean something, I have no clue what.
Probably just a commentary on how shallow rich idiots will pay anything for canvas these days.
Adriano: Ugly as hell.
Vittorio: Right! We’re doing the world a favor here.
Vittorio: This is the downfall of Western civilization, my friend.
Adriano: Just burn it.
Vittorio: Roger that, boss.
Another text. This time, an image of the same painting, very much on fire.
I lean back in my seat, smiling to myself.
I’ve got nothing against Alec Monopoly personally. I think his art sucks, but under other circumstances, I wouldn’t order my Capos to destroy it.
Only I’m happy to destroy this whole city if it means finally getting what I want.
I stare at the house. Nothing moves. We’ve been surveilling the house for the last few days, ever since I put a bullet in Richard’s head, and haven’t seen anything stir. Nobody’s come, and nobody’s gone, which means Demir has to still be inside, holed up in one of those rooms.
But he can’t hide forever. Without Richard, he’s going to have to clean up this mess. Thanks to Lucy and the meetings she’s been taking with some important society folks, there is going to be extra pressure on Demir to show his face this time.
Nothing gets a criminal moving like an angry phone call from a billionaire.
I sit and wait. My gun sits in my lap. But nothing happens. Five minutes, ten minutes, and nothing. Finally, I can’t take this shit anymore. I kick open the truck door and step out into the night, my heart a steady cannon. I shoot a text off to Vittorio.
Adriano: I’m going in. He’s not moving.
Vittorio: That’s not the plan, boss. You need backup.
Adriano: I’m tired of waiting.
Vittorio: I’m sending Luca.
Adriano: Good luck with that.
I reach the house and slip around the side. There aren’t any lights that I can see—except when I reach the back, there’s one glowing, probably in the living room. Just a single lamp near one of the windows.
The fucker’s in there. I know it.
Which leaves me a choice. I can try to slip through nice and quiet, but I don’t think that’ll work. If I’m not perfect, he’s going to catch me before I can get the drop on him, and that’ll probably end with a bullet in my head.
I’ve never been the sneaky type, anyway.
Which means there’s only one other option.
I step up to the back door, shoot the top bolt three times, shoot the bottom handle twice, then kick the thing in.
Lucky for me, the wood splinters, cracks, and buckles. It slams inward, hammering against the hallway wall, as I storm in with my gun raised.
Inside is a nice single-family home. The walls are bare, like nobody lives here, though. Nothing in the first room, nothing in the second. The hall opens into a living area. There’s a couch, a TV, and some empty wine bottles on the floor.
Bastard’s here. No doubt in my mind.
I take a breath and stand very quiet, listening.
But there’s nothing.
“I know you’re in here, Demir,” I call out since he’s got to know I’m here by now. “Let’s make this easy. Lie down on your face and put your hands behind your head.”
No response.
Well, I figured I’d try.
I storm into the kitchen, gun raised, heart racing. It’s empty except for some dirty dishes on the counter and a big pasta pot on the stove. I clear the first floor, try the basement door, find it locked, and slowly creep up the stairs.
“Far enough,” Demir yells when I get to the top landing.
I pause, still on the stairs. “Don’t tell me you’re all alone up there, Demir. I thought you had security.”
“They’re off putting out fires. Fucking literally.” His voice is coming from the room at the far end of the hall. I crouch lower, but I don’t peek my head all the way up just yet. “Don’t tell me you came without backup.”
“Didn’t think I’d need any. Just me and you, Demir.”
“How’s my future wife? Are you keeping her warm for me? Please, Adriano, don’t use her up just yet. Don’t stretch out that pretty little pussy.”
I grind my jaw. He’s trying to get a reaction, and I’m struggling not to give it to him. I want to storm up there and shove the barrel of my gun into his filthy fucking mouth for having the gall to talk about my wife that way.
Instead, I stay where I am, still listening, trying to get a better sense of his position.
“You know, Demir, all this could’ve been avoided. You let your pride get in the way of business.”
“I’m only trying to take what’s rightfully mine.”
“The girl married me. But you just had to let your ego drag you around by the balls.”
He snarls and I realize he’s closer than I thought.
I throw myself forward, slamming onto the floor on my shoulder.
A jolt of pain flares through me, but there he is, sneaking into the closer bedroom.
He turns in shock, raising his gun, but too slow.
I squeeze off two shots and hit him in the leg, knocking him sideways.
Blood splatters the wall. He screams in agony and starts shooting wildly. The bullets slam into the floor next to my head. I aim higher, hit him again in the hip, and again in the chest. He staggers backward, his gun falling from his hand as more blood pumps from the fresh wound.
I’m up and on my feet then. But Demir’s a tough bastard. He screams and charges, and though I put one more in his shoulder, he tackles me to the floor. We slip on his blood and smash to the floor as he tries to wrap his hands around my throat.
“You fucker,” he snarls in my face, spittle dripping from his lips. “You motherfucker?—”
There are shouts downstairs. Oh, fucking shit. His guards are home. Demir’s smile widens, but his victory doesn’t last long.
I twist and throw him off me. His air lets out in a rush as his back hits the wall.
I get to my feet, kick him twice in the ribs, then unload my magazine down the steps.
Bullets thud into surprised guards as the stairwell becomes a killing field, strewn with blood and agony.
Two men tumble down, knocking a third over, but more are coming.
Fuck. I’m trapped up here. I grab Demir by the collar and drag him away from the hall. He groans and curses, but he’s bleeding too much. I kick the door shut and check the windows, but it’s a straight drop down.
“You’re finished now, Marino,” Demir says, showing bloody teeth. He’s trying to put pressure on the wounds in his chest, but blood leaks around his fingers, sticky and red.
“Not yet.” The guards are at the top of the steps now. They’re right outside the door. I reload my gun and wait for them to charge in.
But nothing happens.
Until there’s an explosion loud enough to rock the entire house.
“What the fuck?” Demir says, eyes going wide.
Screams downstairs. More gunfire. Automatic weapons scythe through the night.
I kick open the door and catch the two men who’d been coming to kill me off guard.
I splatter their brains on the wall, painting it with more gore.
Then I’m down the steps, only to find Luca and several of his men fanning out over the wreckage of the living room.
“How the fuck did you get in here so fast?” I ask, adrenaline slamming in my veins.
“Vittorio called. I figured you’d be dead if I didn’t get inside in time.”
“Did you use grenades?”
“Only a few.” He shrugs toward where a fire’s going in the corner of the house. “We’d better get moving. You got your man?”
“He’s upstairs. Help me carry him out.”
Luca follows, and we find Demir trying to crawl away. Despite all the blood loss and the bullets still in his body, he’s alive. I grab his ankles, and Luca takes his arms.
“Fuck you all,” Demir groans, eyelids fluttering.
“Here’s what you don’t realize yet.” We take him down the steps and out into the night toward where Luca parked his black SUVs.
“We’re going to save your life, Demir. Then when you’re healed enough, I’m going to torture you.
I’m going to make you wish I had finished you off tonight.
And as I do it, I’m going to make sure you know you’re suffering because you touched my fucking wife. ”
We throw his body into the trunk. Luca binds his wrists behind his back and makes sure he doesn’t have any weapons.
“Gonna get blood all over,” he mutters, then turns back to me. “Should I call the doctor?”
“Please do. He has an important patient.”
Demir’s nearly unconscious now, but he’s just awake enough to look horrified as I slam the door shut on him.