What happened to it?
"I'm not mad at you," I say. "I'm mad this happened to you, that I have to be paranoid about you going places. I'm mad that I have to be mad, Karissa, but I'm trying to not take my anger out on you, because it's not your fault. It's mine."
It's my fault without a doubt. I got her into this.
It's my job to get her out of it.
I don't know if that matters to her right now, though.
If that even makes a difference.
It sure didn't alleviate any of that sadness or fear.
"Can we get out of here?" she asks. "I'd like to really be anywhere but here."
Can't argue with that.
I hate hospitals more than most people.
I'd like to be anywhere but here, too.
She doesn't say anything as she's discharged and we head out to the car, but she notices right away when I start driving the wrong direction. She tenses, staring out the side mirror. "Brooklyn isn't north of here."
"No, but NYU is."
"So?"
"So you should pay a visit to Melody."
"What?" She turns to me, eyes wide. "Why?"
"Because right now, you could really use a friend."
Tears brim her eyes again.
She's trying not to cry.
I can tell it.
And I don't want to leave her, I don't, but there's something I need to handle. And I can't leave her at home alone, not tonight, so that leaves us with Melody.
She'll be safe there.
Because Lorenzo would never do anything to harm his little brother, not directly, so if he's going to go after Karissa again, it won't be when she's with his brother's girlfriend.
"You're going to do something, aren't you?" she asks. "You're taking me there so you can go after him."
"You'll be okay there," I say, avoiding that question. "I don't want you to worry."
"Don't want me to worry, Naz? What if I don't see you again? What if you never come back?"
I whip the car into the parking garage beside the dorms, and cut the engine before turning to her. "Don't think like that."
"How can I not?"
"I'll always come for you," I tell her. "The fucking devil himself couldn't stop me. It'll just be a few hours, morning at the latest. I promise you, I'll be back."
"But I thought you said I should keep my distance. You made me promise."
"I just wanted to know when you were around Leo, so I could keep an eye on things."
She ponders that for a moment before her eyes narrow, something seeming to strike her. "That's his brother, isn't it? Send my regards to your brother. That's what you said to Leo. That's what the guy said to me today. Send my regards."
"It is."
"That thing is Leo's brother? Seriously? And Melody is dating him?"
"Don't take it out on your friend. Once upon a time, you fell for a monster. These things happen."
"That's different."
"Maybe so," I admit. "And in that case, what you did was worse. Because Leo? He's just lightly treading through a sticky situation. Me? I'm knee-deep in it."
"But you're out," she says. "Aren't you?"
"As out as I can be."
It's what I tell her every time.
I'm not sure if she gets it.
Out only means I can sit on the sidelines, waiting until I get called back into the game. And they've been calling for me, pretty incessantly... both teams.
So I'm out, yeah, which means I'm reluctantly still in.
That's just the way it is.
"Come on," I tell her. "I'll walk you inside."
It's not hard to get into the dorms.
It's not hard to get in anywhere, honestly.
The trick is just to look like you belong.
If you act like you're supposed to be there, nobody questions your presence. It's all a matter of confidence.
We make our way right through the joke of a checkpoint and head right upstairs, to floor number thirteen. Karissa trails behind me.
I can tell she doesn't want to be here.
She doesn't want me to leave.
As soon as I reach room 1313, I raise my fist and pound on the door. It's so loud that Karissa flinches, looking at me with concern.
It does the trick, though.
It only takes a few seconds for the door to fly open.
In front of me stands a startled redheaded girl. Her eyes grow wide as she looks at me, and she retreats a few steps, away from the door, as I waltz right in.
"Sorry," Karissa mumbles, stepping in behind me.
Melody is sitting on her bed and looks up with confusion. "Ignazio?" She glances around me, at her friend. "Jesus, Kissimmee, what happened?"
"I, uh..." She slips around me to point at her cheek. "Just a cut."
That's putting it lightly.
Melody stares at her like she's crazy as she gets to her feet. "Is everything okay? What are you guys doing here?"
Karissa stammers, saying nothing coherent.
"She's had a bit of a rough day," I say. "I'm hoping it's okay if she stays with you for a few hours while I handle a bit of business."
"Oh, absolutely!" Melody smiles, feigning cheerfulness, but her concern hasn't wavered. "Karissa knows she can stay here as long as she wants."
The redhead across the room sighs loudly.
I turn to Karissa as she just stands there, arms wrapped around her chest. Nothing I can say will make her feel better at the moment, so I just press a kiss to her forehead before walking out.
Places to go.
People to see.
Blood to spill.
You know how it is.
* * *
Music thumps from the pink-trimmed house in Bensonhurst.
It's not loud enough to rattle the windows, not loud enough to disturb the neighbors, but I hear it when I approach the house, hear it coming from the front room. Voices carry over the sound, mindless chatter, even a bit of laughter.
The sound grates at me.
I wouldn't call it a party, but people are here.
They're here, and they're hanging out.
It's almost like they're celebrating.
Two cars, including the BMW I'm looking for, now without a license plate. They both can't fit in the driveway, so they're spilling out onto the curb. I swing right into a neighbor's vacant driveway, stealing someone else's spot.
It doesn't matter. I don't plan to be here long.
In. Out. Gone.
I hop over the white railing, not bothering to open the gate, and head right around to the back of the small lot, to the opposite side of the house from where the people are gathered. The back door is unlocked. I'm not surprised. Lorenzo thinks he's invincible. Untouchable. No reason to lock the doors if nobody is stupid enough to try to rob him, right?
Right.
I open the back door and walk right into the kitchen, no hesitation at all in my footsteps.
Like I said, the key is to act like you belong somewhere.
It's dark in here.
In fact, most of the house is dark.
The only light I can see is dim and shining somewhere down the hallway.
The front room.
I give a quick glance around, assessing, contemplating, before stepping over to the kitchen drawers and rifling through them, looking for something. It's pretty bare in here, and I come up short in the way of weapons, but I manage to find an old steak knife tucked in with the silverware.
Fuck it. A knife is a knife.
If it's sharp enough to cut meat, it's good enough for me.
Before I can move, the door to the kitchen swings open and someone waltzes right in. The guy is dressed in black, from head-to-toe, and he's too preoccupied with something on his phone to notice I'm here. I don't know him, but I've seen him before. I saw him get out of the car that day in the alley.
Right now, he's unarmed.
I move right toward him. By the time he senses me it's too late
. He's too late. He looks up, brow furrowing, eyes squinting as he tries to make sense of what he's seeing. But it's dark, and he's slow, and I don't have time to try to negotiate and convince him to keep his mouth shut.
So I shut it for him.
"Hey—"
That's the only word he gets.
Grabbing a hold of him, I pull him around, the blade of the knife going right to his neck. I cut, hard, slicing through the skin, slitting him almost from ear to ear. He gurgles, dropping the phone, and tries to scream, but there's no way anyone can hear his cries over the music in the front room.
He drops to the floor with a thud, struggling.
I move around him, past him, and head for the hallway, my steps quiet. Benefit of not having shoes on… it's easier to sneak. But I'm not trying to go undetected. There's no point to it.
In ten seconds, they'll all know I'm here.
Ten.
Nine.
Eight.
I step into the hallway, and somebody's there.
Somebody's walking right toward me.
Seven.
Six.
Five.
I grip tightly to the knife, now covered in blood.
It drips from the tip, splattering on the floor.
Four.
Three.
Two.
He pauses and looks up.
Suddenly, I know there's a God.
I've doubted it, a time or two. Doubted one could exist. Doubted one would ever create someone like me. But in that one second, when those eyes meet mine, I know it… there's a God… and He just handed me the miracle I need.
Leo freezes right there in the hallway. It's like a deer in headlights. He stops and just stands there and stares. Horror fills his eyes, the rawest kind of fear. His brother might not be afraid of me, but Leo certainly is.
Good.
He should be.
I'm out of time now. I know it then.
My seconds are up.
I've only got one play here, and I have to take it.
Leo's senses kick in just as I reach the boy, snatching ahold of him. I spin him around, facing him away from me, so his back is to my chest. My left hand pins him close as I drag him right to the front room, my grip tight. He struggles, and tries to break loose, but he's not nearly strong enough. I have him subdued the second we step into the doorway.
It's weak.
Pathetic.
Karissa puts up more of a fight when we're fucking.
"Lorenzo!" Leo screeches his brother's name, his voice an octave higher than any guy's voice should be.
That gets their attention.
They react instantly. Three guys, dressed in all black, scramble for weapons. They aim at me. Fingers touch triggers. The only reason they hesitate is because of Leo. I won't think twice about using him as a shield if I have to. Maybe he's an innocent, but he's still a part of this.
A big part of this.
Casualty of war.
I don't want to have to do it, but I will.
Reaching up, I place the blade of the bloody knife against his Adam's apple.
The air is cloudy with marijuana smoke. I can smell it, feel it, as I inhale. It's not as bad as Genova's cigars, but my eyes still burn from the thick haze.
I can make out Lorenzo, though, clear as a bell. He sits across the room on a small black couch.
He's the only one who didn't reach for a gun.
He hasn't moved at all.
Silence befalls the room, except for the music pouring from the speakers.
Ten more seconds pass before Lorenzo reacts.
He sits forward, and I grip Leo tighter. The boy yelps, starting to cry, while the others seem to be struck with panic over that. The men are on their feet and yelling, throwing out threats they can't follow through with unless they plan to also kill Leo. It's chaos, and my heart races in my chest as I take it in. I'm banking on this man truly still loving his brother.
If he doesn't, I'm fucked.
"Relax, relax," Lorenzo says casually, grabbing a small remote from the table right in front of him. Pressing a button, he silences the music. "Why don't we all just take a deep breath?"
The men stay on guard, but they stop yelling. They stop threatening, but I know they'll still make good on those words. They stand there and stare, waiting for permission.
Lorenzo looks around at them before he again rests back against the couch.
Confidence.
It oozes from him.
I wonder how much of it is real.
"Ignazio, what's going on?" he asks. "What are you even doing?"
"Thought I'd pay you a visit."
"By sneaking in? Taking hostages?" He shakes his head. "If you wanted to talk about something, if you wanted to meet up, all you had to do was ask. I always make time for my friends."
"Friends," I repeat. "You keep insisting on using that word."
"Because it's true," he says, "and I always speak the truth."
A sharp, bitter laugh stabs at my chest. "Truth? You speak the truth, Lorenzo?"
"Always."
"That's funny," I say, raising my voice, that anger refusing to stay at bay. "Funny, because I remember you telling me you wouldn't harm my wife!"
His brow furrows. "Is she not all right?"
"Don't," I growl. "Don't even sit there and pretend you weren't involved. Be a man, Lorenzo. Admit it."
"Oh, I'm not denying anything." He raises a hand, a smile on his lips. A fucking smile. Does he think this is a joke? "Guilty. But you're overreacting."
"I'm overreacting?"
"You are," he insists. "You should be thanking me, honestly."
"Thanking you?" I take a step closer, shoving Leo along with me. The boy whimpers, the knife pressing harder against him. Every sound he makes sends the others closer to the brink. I'm damn lucky nobody has popped a shot off accidentally. "We had a deal. You don't hurt her, and I leave your brother alone. But it's obvious you're no longer a man of your word, so I guess our deal's off, Lorenzo."
He's starting to sweat.
I can see it.
It's building along his brow, but he doesn't let his stress otherwise show. His eyes scan us, slowly, like he's considering his options, trying to riddle out what to do here. His gaze settles on my feet eventually, and he lets out a dramatic sigh as he pushes away from the couch, standing up, muttering, "I'm not high enough for this."
He takes a measured step toward me, then another. The third step is too close for my comfort. I yank Leo back, away from his brother, the knife slicing into his neck. It's just a cut, just a small gash. A trickle of blood flows down the center of his throat. It's not much at all.
But they react.
They don't wait for permission anymore.
I guess blood gave them what they needed.
The men lunge, coming right for me, but Lorenzo stops it before anything can happen. "Whoa, whoa, whoa! Down, boys! Did I say attack?"
He physically creates a barrier between us, and I pull Leo away from the doorway, away from his brother, before they can get their hands on him.
"Get out, all of you!" Lorenzo orders. "Leave Ignazio and I alone."
He doesn't have to say it twice. The men vacate the house, heading right out the front door. I stand there, watching as he shakes his head, before he turns to me. "You gonna let my brother go now?"
"Give me a reason why I should."
"Because I asked nicely."
"Not good enough."
"You want me to say please? I'm not really one to beg."
"I want you to tell me why you thought it was smart to attack my wife."
"I didn't attack her."
"Don't deny—"
"Again, not denying anything." Lorenzo runs his hands down his face. "Look, let my brother go, and you and I will talk about this. I'll tell you everything that happened. But it's kind of hard to focus when you've got a knife to his neck."
Slowly, I lower the knife, using my free hand to sho
ve Leo right at his brother.
Lorenzo grabs him by the chin, lifting his face, checking out the boy's neck, making sure the cut isn't too deep. He shoots me a look as he does.
Clapping his brother on the back, he ruffles his hair, treating him like he's still a little kid. "You'll be just fine. No harm done. Look at it this way... you survived an attack by Vitale. Not many people are able to say that."
He laughs about it then. He laughs.
It's not often I'm caught off guard, but he's got me here.
Lorenzo turns my way then, walking right toward me. I tense, preparing to react, but he walks around me.
"Come on," he says, hitting me on the chest with the back of his hand as he passes. "I need a drink."
He heads for the kitchen.
Call it curiosity.
Call it stupidity.
Call it whatever you want.
I follow him.
Lorenzo swings the kitchen door open and hesitates before stepping over the guy I left in here. He's on the floor, in a puddle of blood, although he's still breathing. I tread carefully, slipping into the kitchen behind him, every inch of me still on guard.
I watch Lorenzo as he strolls over to the counter, grabbing a bottle of Cuban rum and unscrewing the lid. He takes a drink right out of the bottle and hisses as swallows.
Leaning back against the counter, he looks at me.
He looks disgruntled.
Disappointed.
"What is this?" I ask, using his earlier words on him. "What are you even doing?"
"Drinking," he says, holding out the bottle. "Do you want some?"
"I'll pass."
"Suit yourself," he says, taking another swig. "For whatever it's worth, and I don't know if it makes a difference, but I told them not to hurt her."
"You told them not to hurt her."
"Yeah."
"They didn't listen."
He ponders that before taking another drink. "I know."
Does that make a difference? No.
"Wrong place, wrong time," he says, shrugging it off. "You know how it is."
"I'm not interested in your excuses, Lorenzo."
"Aren't you?" he asks. "I know you, Ignazio. I know your methods. I know what makes you tick. And if you aren't interested in somebody's excuses, you don't give them the chance to speak. You didn't come here to kill me. You came here to get to the bottom of things."
He says that nonchalantly.
I don't like that he thinks he knows me.