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“It didn’t have to come to this,” I tell him. “But nobody threatens my son and gets away with it. Remember that.”
Twenty-Two
RAPHAEL
“What the fuck!” I hear Sonny shout from the warehouse floor and my stomach plummets. What’s going on? Are the cops here?
I rush out of the small corner office, and I’m shocked to see Sonny next to a large holdall as well as my nemesis at the bottom of the ladder leading down from the mezzanine. He’s obviously snuck in through the upper door, which I asked Sonny to check was locked, and thrown the holdall containing the ransom money over the side. For fuck’s sake! How much did he hear? Our plan is well and truly screwed unless we deal with him here and now.
“Luciano!” I shout in a strangled voice. I throw mine and Sonny’s gloves and balaclavas onto the floor and reach for his leg but the bastard kicks down onto my head and I slump to the floor.
I lie there, stunned and half conscious, seeing a rotated ninety-degree version of Sonny and Luciano going at it like choreographed stunt men in a fight scene, so fluid are their movements. But to my horror, Sonny is coming off worse, despite whipping out a penknife and having an obvious physical advantage. Luciano is wiry, stealthy, strategic and he manages to avail Sonny of the weapon quickly enough, after brutally kneeing him in the face. He presses the blade to Sonny’s thick throat. The fury is coming off him in waves.
“Luciano,” I say again, hoping to divert his attention and give Sonny time to counter the move. It works and he does, bringing Luciano heavily to the floor. Luciano loses the penknife and Sonny grabs him, lifts him, and throws him into a pallet of boxes with ease. But Luciano rolls and disables Sonny by kicking his knee. Sonny roars in pain and topples backwards. The panic inside me builds; Luciano’s more than holding his own.
I wave my arm to get Sonny’s attention—we need to get out of here—but his sole, blinkered focus is Luciano. He gets up and faces his enemy who is now standing in front of Micah and armed with the penknife again. Sonny charges at him like a wild beast, and I know it’s now or never if I’m going to get out of this alive. Fuck Sonny. If Luciano can fight this adeptly with an ex-military man nearly double my size, I’ve got no chance of defending myself against him. Mercifully, there’s still no sign of any police so I need to cut my losses, take the money and escape alone. Salvage what I can out of this mess, even if it means losing Cecelia.
I get up. Battling blurred vision and an almighty pulsing pain in my head, I stumble over to the holdall and drag it across to the mechanical shutter door, pressing the button for it to rise. Dread dances within me as I prepare for it to make a sound and announce my attempted departure, but it lifts smoothly and virtually silently. I exhale with relief. As soon as it’s risen high enough for me to slip under, I press the button to stop it. I glance back and see Sonny on the floor, blood dripping from his ear as well as his nose and mouth, and Luciano kneeling next to Micah on the pallet, head thrown back in relief or happiness, or both.
My brain bounces bizarre thoughts around and I briefly consider going straight to the DeMarcos, concocting a story about being here before Luciano to intercept the kidnapping, but it’s going to be my word against his. And there’s no way I’m going to come out of this favorably. I’ve extorted Dante’s money and lost my chance of being Micah’s hero, which also means I’ve lost my chance of Cecelia forgiving me. The thought makes me want to vomit. My genius plan: fucked.
I shove the holdall underneath the shutter door with my foot and then slip under it myself. My car is parked in the next compound, and with the gift of foresight—perhaps I always knew this was how things were gonna end up—I left the key on top of the front wheel. All I need to do is get to it and drive. Leave this now empty and tainted life behind.
I stagger along the back of the row of warehouses, keeping close to the buildings. I have to stop every few meters to lean against a wall and blink and breathe away the dizziness before carrying on, but the thought of Luciano appearing from the shadows and chasing me down is enough to keep propelling me onwards. I might not have much to live for anymore, but I’ve just witnessed what he’s capable of and I don’t want to die by his hands. I don’t want his face to be the last one I see, what a cruel irony that would be. And this money will set me up somewhere far away from here while I lick my wounds and figure out how to come back from this. Maybe even find a way to erase Luciano once and for all in the not-too-distant future as well as rehabilitate myself for Cecelia. The chances are slim to none, but never say never.
Finally, I exit the high-walled compound and turn right to head to the next, by now dragging the heavy holdall along behind me, and a jumble of difficult emotions juggle within me at the sight of the blue lights flashing above the warehouses. For a delicious split-second—perhaps even less than that—I think my brain has conjured them as a result of my head injury, like fireworks in my vision, then I realize what they really are. As the cop cars’ headlights sweep over me, a villain in the spotlight, I feel fear, sadness, frustration, and exhaustion, but most of all, surprisingly, relief. I close my eyes and breathe in the cool night air while I still can; it’s all over. No point running now.
I sag to my knees and hold up my hands, voluntarily surrendering, as two cars race past me into the compound and two more halt in front of me, their doors swinging open immediately. Officers stand behind them, guns aimed at me, shouting short instructions.
“Stay where you are! Hands on your head! No sudden movements!”
I stare back at them, amazed: four cop cars just for me! Wow. I do exactly as they say and one of the officers swiftly approaches me, kicks the holdall away, holsters his gun and grabs my arms in a practiced move. He wrenches them behind my back, locks the handcuffs around my wrists and orders me to stand up before reading me my rights. I’m being arrested on suspicion of extortion and kidnapping, and I actively fight the urge to cry, feeling as powerless as I did when my father used to manhandle me upstairs to my room, doling out punishment of a different kind. I sniff and jut out my chin as the officer asks me if I understand the rights he’s read to me. I nod once, clinging to the hope that despite everything, my father will find a way to get me out of this somehow. I know he has a lawyer on retainer.
The officer frog marches me to one of the cars, guiding me into the back seat. He gets into the passenger seat and nods at his colleague to drive. We enter the compound, back to warehouse 11, the other car following behind us, and pull up haphazardly with the other two—now empty—police cars, blue lights still flashing. The officer in the passenger seat of this car exits quickly and runs towards the shutter door, which is fully open, while the driver stays with me. A minute or so later two ambulances arrive and pull up close to the warehouse, paramedics exiting immediately.
I crane my neck to be able to see inside the warehouse but from this angle I can only glimpse a couple of pallets. I imagine Luciano being handcuffed too and can’t help but grin to myself at the thought that he might go down for GBH at least. What he did to Sonny was savage. However, the smile is soon wiped off my face as I see Cecelia emerge from the warehouse, Micah cocooned in her arms like a koala bear. Dante follows close behind and he catches up to them and envelopes them both in a hug, kissing and stroking his grandson’s head. Cecelia is sobbing openly, and I’m overwhelmed with utter remorse.
The officer who handcuffed me approaches them as they break apart and directs Cece and Micah towards one of the ambulances, although there’s no need as I didn’t hurt a hair on that boy’s head. I feel a stab of indignance—Sonny only gave him a sleeping pill; I made sure he didn’t come to any real harm.
As Cece takes Micah to be checked over, Dante stays to speak to the officer, and they both look over at me, the distaste on their faces apparent. I look away, ashamed. Dante has only ever regarded me as his daughters’ best friend, a surrogate son, an honorary member of his family all these years and the hate in his gaze now is as painful as being branded with a searing iron. All I’ll be able to do now is throw myself at his—and Cece and Connie’s—mercy.
When I look back, Dante and the officer are approaching the police car. My head’s a jackhammer exacerbated by my pounding heart. I can’t bear to look him in the eye. The officer swings open the door and yanks me out.
“The paramedics will check on that head injury in a minute, Mr. Lombardi, but first Mr. DeMarco wants a word.” He stands aside. I hang my head.
“Why, Raphael?” Dante asks, frowning. “If you needed money that badly, why didn’t you come to me? This could all have been avoided.” He pauses, giving me time to respond but I remain silent, like a chastised child.
“Or was this just some sick, twisted way of getting Michael out of Cecelia’s life? We know who your accomplice is and how he’s connected to Michael’s past now.”
I shake my aching head, wincing against the pain. Since when did Dante stop referring to that prick as Luciano? Has he actually accepted him into the family now?
He lowers his voice, lacing it with a menacing tone. “Or did you decide to diversify your criminal activities—become a child kidnapper because your attempt at raping my daughter failed?”
I gasp and jerk my head up. The Dante I’m looking at is not a version I have ever seen before. His cold eyes transmit disgust and disappointment into mine and I shiver. What can I say to that?
“You bastard!” I hear a scream from my right, and I see Cecelia sprinting towards us from the ambulance. As she reaches us, Dante swings out his arm to hold her back, but she folds her body over it and reaches forwards, arms flailing, furiously swiping, trying to make contact with any part of me. She looks feral. Boxed in by the door and the statue of an officer, and movement compromised due to the handcuffs, all I can do is turn my face away. Her long nails scratch my cheek deeply before Dante is able to wrestle her back.
“Cece, he’s not worth it,” he says, arms around her, trying to calm her. “He’s been arrested. Trust that justice will be done.”
