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I watched Mauro Balestra, waiting for a move, but there was nothing. He slowly sat up, breathing hard.
He looked old and worn out. Cap walked toward him, but stopped a few feet away. I gripped my gun hard and aimed it at the bastard’s head, just in case he tried something stupid.
Cap crouched down in front of her father.
“I want to ask why. I want you to explain everything and make sense of it all. Why you hurt me. Why you betrayed Placido. Why you did everything. But I know I won’t like the answers. And really, Dad, I don’t care anymore.”
“My own daughter,” Mauro said, squinting slightly. “You’re with them now, yes? You married that freak?”
“That freak cares about me more than you ever did.” Cap tilted her head. Tears streaked down her cheeks. “Goodbye, Dad. I hope there’s a special place for you in Hell.”
“You’ll do this to your own father? You’ll let them—”
Cap stood up and walked to Mal. He nodded to her, his eyes dark and stormy. Cap hugged herself and continued to cry quietly. I could only imagine what she was going through—watching the death of her torturer, her abuser, her father—and it only made me rage that much harder at the bastard kneeling on the ground.
Mauro’s eyes moved up to meet mine. He snarled and tilted his head. “Well? What are you waiting for? Do you want me to have some grand revelation about why I did what I did?”
“No, I’m not,” I said and knew it was true. “I know why you did it.”
“Then get this over with.”
I shrugged and gestured. “Mal?”
“Gladly.” Mal walked over, the baton held loosely at his side.
Mauro’s eyes went wide. “Not that,” he said quietly. “Please, not that. You don’t have to do it like that. Make it fast. Make it easy. You don’t—”
Mal hit him hard in the shoulder. It knocked the old man sideways to the ground. Mal stood over him, breathing hard.
“This is for Placido.” He hit Balestra in the side. “This is for Blaca.” He hit Balestra in the kidney. The old shit groaned. “This is for Capri.” He hit him again. “This is for me and Carmine and everyone else you hurt.” He hit Balestra again, and again, and again.
Mal was good. He knew where to aim and how to make each strike cause as much pain as possible. Balestra writhed on the ground, coughing up blood, moaning. Mal stood over him, dripping with slaughter, breathing hard, and looked back at me.
I nodded. “Finish him.”
Mal brought the baton down on Balestra’s skull and cracked it to pieces. He did it again, and again, until the old man’s head was pulp, and he was no more.
We stood in the quiet aftermath. Nobody spoke. Cap cried, but said nothing. Mal stared and seemed to deflate.
All I wanted was to go home to Jules.
Iago jogged down the back path. He slowed when he saw the bodies. “That’s him?” he asked, nodding at the ruined corpse at Mal’s feet.
“That’s him. Or what’s left of him.”
“What should we do?”
“Cut off his head. Dump the rest. We’ll give it to Nervosa as a present.” I turned away and began walking back to the house. “Split whatever money and treasure we find inside among the men.”
“Will do,” Iago said quietly.
Mal went to Cap, and the pair of them followed me.
We returned to the vehicles in silence. Mal’s truck was in bad shape, but we got the plow off with some difficulty. He sat behind the wheel with Cap by his side.
“I want a vacation,” he said.
“I told Jules I’d send you and Cap wherever you wanted. Call it a second honeymoon.”
He nodded. “France.”
“Really? France?”
“Cap likes fancy shit. Right, Cap?”
She leaned her head on Mal’s shoulder, despite the blood. “Yeah. France sounds good.”
“France it is then.” I patted the hood. Mal pulled out and drove off.
It was over.
Mauro Balestra was dead, and San Antonio was mine.
There’d be some clean-up still. Some loose ends to tie off.
But it was all mine.
And it was bittersweet. I missed my parents so much it hurt, and I wished they could see me like this, standing astride the city after having overcome long odds.
My enemies dead at my feet.
And yet they couldn’t do anything. They were gone.
I had only one person I needed more than anything else, and she was waiting for me back at the apartment.
I got into an SUV and drove to see the love of my life.
Chapter 27
Jules
Months later, summer
The Lowdown dripped with humidity as I poured a beer and placed it down in front of an old guy in a cowboy hat. He winked at me and tipped, so I’d forgive the faux-cowboy crap.
“How’s my favorite bartender doing?” Cap breezed over behind the bar and poured herself a drink.
“Tired,” I said. “Sweaty. Otherwise, great.”
