Page 17 of Revenge on the Mafia

“Tosco,” my voice thundered, and my father’s bodyguard stopped, mid-chase.

He pointed to the closing doors, urgency in his voice and movements. “She’s done something. I know it.”

I knew it too.

“Stay here,” I commanded, my feet striding to stop events from unfolding.

“You check on the Don. I’ll—”

I was on him by the next step. Grabbing him by the collar, my eyes bored into his. “Forget the girl. Stay. Here.”

He wasn’t convinced. Agitation and violence rioted on his face. My grip tightened. His expression blended into fear. His throat bobbed painfully.

“Capisti?” I growled.

“Sì, signore.”

I took him by the neck and dragged him over to the door. Pinning him to the wall, I ordered, “Stay. Here.” Then I walked inside and shut the door quietly behind me.

I found him in the bathroom. Boris Martello, the Don, my father, was on his knees, and for once it wasn’t because he was fucking the rear end of a whore. EpiPen in hand, and wheezing like ill-tuned bagpipes, he looked like fate had finally delivered on its promise. His face filled with relief when he spotted me.

“Nico, she fu—in—” A coughing fit slammed into him, and he bent over, clutching at his stomach. The pen slipped out of his sweaty hands, and he grabbed at it blindly. Flipping his wrist, he threw the EpiPen weakly, and it fell at my feet. Blue, orange, and white in between. A piece of plastic was going to save his life.

I rubbed my chin and calculated the distance from him to the pen. Twelve feet. Easily achievable if he crawled to me. Sweat ran down his forehead as he struggled to breathe. It took him some time to comprehend that I hadn’t moved. “What te fuk?” His face turned red as he made himself crawl. I toyed with the plastic with the tip of my shoe. When he was within reach of it, I gave it a gentle kick. It shifted innocently away to the edge of the bed.

He clutched his throat, face red and blotchy. He dropped flat on the floor and dragged his thick, treacherous body to his saving grace.

My shoe accidentally hit it, and it rolled to the other side of the room. “Can’t breathe,” he wheezed.

Isn’t that the point of it?

But he was too confused. Too weak. Too stupid. Only when I kicked it another few feet away, when he was within reach again, did it finally dawn on him. Desperation pooled on his face as he stared at the pen lying near the bar cabinet. He made a halfhearted attempt to crawl to the other end of the room. Where his suitcase was, with no doubt his second EpiPen in it, but he was too weak.

“Tosco,” he yelled. It came out as a squeak. His body shook with effort and panic as he pulled himself along the floor. Sweat dripped off him. “Why?”

That just annoyed me. That he thought so highly of himself that he still hadn’t figured it out. I knelt next to him. Looked him in the eye. Told him the truth he’d refused to see. “Because you killed the one man who was like a father to me.”

His thick, sweaty hand clutched my knee. “He— not.”

“He should have been.” I picked up the marble ice bucket and weighed it in my hand. Quality stuff. Perfection in my hand.

“Nico…he nothin’.”

I pressed the bucket to his saving grace lightly, testing it.

“No.” He made a valiant effort to crawl to it, but it was like watching someone failing while drowning in a storm-filled ocean.

There was no joy or relief as I put force behind it and crushed it. The pop snagged the air. The plastic flattened, and the glass vial shattered. Nothing would ever bring Juan Vales back. The colorless liquid pooled out but it was inferior to the tears his family had shed. Leaving them without a husband. Without a father.

I glanced away from the mess. He’d peed himself. His wheezing had changed. It was a tire hissing its way to death. His face had fallen flat on the floor, and his eyes were trained on me. Rage and betrayal filled them. What I wanted to see was regret. He didn’t show it to me. Leaning close to him, I whispered, “No somos cobardes.”

When his final breath choked out a second later, I walked toward the window and called New York.

Enzo picked up on the first ring.

“Congratulations.”

“Why?”