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“Thank you, Carmina,” I say and make my way to the back of the house.
I find Cecelia in the same spot as I was just yesterday when she looked down on me from her window. In profile, she looks like a beautifully carved figurehead, her long hair streaming out behind her in the gentle breeze, her olive skin glistening in the afternoon sun. I lean against the door jamb, gazing at her, trying to imprint this vision into my head forever.
She senses me looking and twirls around, greeting me with a wide smile which slips off her face as she reads my somber expression.
“What is it?” she asks, moving towards me and placing her hand on my chest.
Her touch is too much for me to bear and I move away, putting necessary distance between us.
“Michael?” Her soft voice cracks with emotion at my sudden rejection of her. “Have I done something wrong? Last night…”
“Gianni’s waiting,” I say, cutting her off before she can say anymore. “He’s going to take you somewhere safe.”
“Safe? What do you mean? I’m safe here.” She attempts a smile and approaches me again, but I put out a hand to stop her.
“No, Cecelia, you’re not safe here, not anymore. Please, go with Gianni.”
It’s clear my words are wounding her. “Michael, why are you being like this?” Her almond-shaped eyes fill with tears, and she hugs her slender arms around herself, seeking the comfort I’m not able to give her. How can I explain that sending her away is both a selfless and selfish act? It takes immense strength not to open my arms to her, to fold her into my body, to take her upstairs to bed and show her again what she means to me. Instead, I harden my eyes and switch off my emotions. It’s the only way I can do this.
“Cecelia, please do as I say. One day you’ll understand my decision.”
Gianni appears in the doorway behind me and Cece’s eyes flick between us. I watch as comprehension dawns that I’m serious, that she really does have to go. The look she gives me is so full of sadness I almost backtrack and shout that it’s a sick joke on my behalf, that I want her to stay here, with me, forever. But there’s no going back now. I turn my back as she allows Gianni to lead her back into the house, I swear I can feel my heart splinter.
Just before sundown we arrive at the southside docks, as planned. Ricci’s pick of location, but one we’re all familiar with. And it’s handy for getting rid of bodies using cement shoes. Storage warehouses, containers and tower cranes make up the bulk of the site, creating blind spots and hiding spots and makeshift alleyways. This has been a settle-the-score zone since before I was even born, and I’ve witnessed my own father doing plenty of deals down here. Ricci could have definitely chosen worse places to challenge us in, but all it takes is one bullet to the head to take a man out for good.
“Ready to win this war, Capo?” asks Franco from the driver’s seat. He glances around the dark site, fidgeting, full of nervous energy. The four of us are in the car but we’ve got armed men stationed on one of the vessels tethered by the water. That may be a strategy Ricci is employing too. We’re not taking anything for granted.
Cecelia’s beautiful face appears in my mind’s eye, and I promise myself that if I make it out of this alive, I’m going to get her back. I’m praying Ricci doesn’t mention her during this meeting, hasn’t already sent his sniffer dogs snooping round town for her, because I might just lose it if he does. She’s already my weak spot. I nod at Franco, my oldest associate, a mix of adrenaline and fear in my gut.
“Ready.”
We all exit the car and make our way to the meeting point in the compound in front of the warehouse, beside the stacks of containers. Ricci’s car is parked in front of the warehouse’s closed double doors, flanked by two large men bearing automatic rifles. As we approach, I spy Ricci sitting in the back seat, window open, tendrils of cigarette smoke escaping from the car. The driver’s door opens as we come to a standstill and another one of his cronies steps out then opens Ricci’s door for him to exit too. Four against four.
“Gentlemen,” I say.
Ricci surveys me with beady eyes, the spotlight above us accentuating his receding hairline and pock marked skin. He might look weathered, but he’s got thirty years on me. Thirty years of dockside meetings going his way.
“Let’s get straight down to business,” Ricci says, flicking his cigarette away. “You infiltrated my base and stole my property. I can’t let that slide.”
I nod, but not in agreement. “I can’t let it slide that you set up my father and ransacked our weapons store. The property we stole was us taking back what was rightfully ours.”
Ricci laughs gently and one of the riflemen shifts his grip on the gun.
“I like your spunk, kid, but here’s what’s gonna happen. As an apology, you’re gonna transfer the control of the port to us, and we’ll be managing the weapons section from now on.”
It’s my turn to laugh as Franco side-eyes me, clearly itching to jump in but respecting my authority as his capo. I’m grateful he’s here, his presence makes me feel like a part of my father is too. “And why would I want to do that, Ricci?”
“Because your father proved he was unfit to run a successful outfit, and from what I’ve seen you’re as incompetent as he was.”
“Don’t you fucking speak ill of the dead, the great Matteo Luciano is worth ten of you, you ugly son-of-a-bitch bastard!” In a fit of rage, Franco pulls out his pistol, cocks it and points it between Ricci’s close-set eyes. Gianni, Gustavo, and I take a step back in shock, all forced to pull our guns too, amazed and disappointed that Franco’s button has been so easy to push.
In the same split second, I hear a gunshot and realize I’m blinking blood spray out of my eyes, then a shower of gunshots sounds as I drop heavily to the ground and roll towards the first container. I lever myself to a crouch, back pressed against the container, gun in hand, wondering what the hell just happened. Fucking Franco and his fucking temper. Breathing heavily, I know I need to assess the situation, but I can’t hear anything or anyone. I quickly scuttle round the side of the container and peer out. To my horror I see Franco’s fat body slumped on the ground, blood spilling from his head. Gustavo’s down too, plus Ricci’s driver and one of the riflemen. Fuck! Where’s Ricci and the other guy? Where’s Gianni? All I know is that If I stay here, I’m a sitting duck but if I get to the back row of containers, I’m a rat in a maze.
I take my chances as a rat and bolt across the narrow corridor between the containers. As I do I feel a searing heat slice my bicep. The pain’s so ferocious I fire back blindly into the darkness, one of the bullets ricocheting off the corner of the container. Clear of the gap, I slump back down, clutching my arm, blood streaming through my fingers. I clench my teeth but grip my gun, relieved that I can still grip. It must have been a skim shot.
Movement to my left catches my eye and I swivel to see Gianni slumped against the warehouse wall. He’s looking at something out of my eyeline, one hand raised defensively. I shift forward to try to signal to him but then I see another figure. Ricci. Pointing a gun at Gianni, like a master about to execute a dog. As Ricci pulls his trigger, I lift my shaking arm and pull mine. My final bullet takes him down.
It’s over.
