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So this is why he didn’t come in person. Hiding away with my sister? Using her to try and loosen my tongue, warn me what happens if I try and double-cross him.
If I knew which of the safe houses he was at, I’d be there in a heartbeat. Only Marco is privy to that information and by the time I’ve beaten it out of him, Imelda will be dead.
“Thought I might need some insurance,” the Don says as the hands holding Imelda keep her in view while she fights to get free.
“Imelda and Sarah are here with me. Got the feeling you might get sweet on the girl. Way Walter tells it, you’ve fallen for her hook, line, and sinker. So I got the feeling you might need an extra push to do the right thing.”
He strokes Imelda’s face as she yanks her head away from him. I’ll make it simple. You fuck her all you want tonight. Then you bring me her pretty little head by tomorrow night or I take off your lovely sister’s. Fail me and I’ll send someone else to do the job and they’ll bring me back her head with your balls stuffed in her mouth. I’ll use it as a Christmas decoration every single year. Get it?”
The screen goes blank. I swallow my feelings down, getting to my feet without giving anything away. Tommy pulls open the door for me. “Got to obey the Don,” he says, almost apologetically. “Whoever he is. Sorry, Enzo.”
I say nothing. In the Bistro, Marco is standing by the front door, looking at me with fury in his eyes. I trip as I walk toward him, landing on his chest with my hands slipping into his jacket. He grunts as he pushes me back onto my feet. “Watch where you’re going,” he snarls.
“Don’t get in my way,” I say and he scrambles back from me, shaking his head.
I shove the door open, march through the Bistro out to the street, and get to the nearest alleyway before letting out a roar of rage. I start punching the nearest wall, not stopping until the bricks run with blood and my knuckles are shredded. Then I walk out to the street, spot Marco’s car, and climb into it.
I open my bleeding fist. Marco’s keys are there in my palm. I shove them into the ignition and set off with one goal in mind.
If the Don’s got Imelda and Sarah, that means he knows where their cabin is. This means I’ve set Chloe up to walk straight into a fucking trap. I need to get there before it’s too late.
He could send anyone to finish the job if I don’t get to her first.
For the first time in my life, I find myself praying. Not for me but her. God, please keep her alive until I get there. I weave through the traffic, ignoring the blare of indignant horns following in my wake.
I try calling the cabin but I get the machine. I leave a threatening message but who knows if anyone is there to listen to it. Maybe it’s already too late.
If my prayer doesn’t work, and Chloe’s dead, there’s only one option left. Burn down the entire fucking world and everyone in it.
24
CHLOE
* * *
Enzo’s sister lives at the end of a dirt track that reminds me of my trip to Chippewa Falls. The road’s lined with second-growth spruce, some of it brushing the side of the cab as we whip by. The engine strains as the incline gets steeper.
The cab driver curses under his breath each time we bottom out through the potholes but it never seems to occur to him to slow down.
He races along, talking nonstop about his upcoming vacation to Mexico. “Going to get so wasted,” he says, glancing at me and grinning from behind a thick mustache. It’s the third time he’s said it in the last half hour and I’m running out of enthusiastic responses.
I go with a grunt this time but he doesn’t seem to care. “The thing about working the drug runs is that you get to party while you’re down there, you know what I mean? Get so wasted and the trip’s all paid for by the Felici famiglia so I don’t even need to take anything but a little extra spending cash. Come back with a couple of keys of the good stuff and everything’s golden brown like the Stranglers used to sing.”
I don’t bother asking him why he’s telling me all this. I can guess. He thinks that if I know Enzo, I must be part of the famiglia. Thinks I want to know about his cocaine-running trips back and forth across the border.
“I don’t take the cab, you see,” he continues while I look out the window and start to tune him out. The trees are flashing by and through them, I can see a hint of a river though the light’s already fading.
It’ll be dark soon. I’m hoping we get there before it does. I don’t like the idea of being this far into the middle of nowhere in the dark without Enzo to look after me.
“I got another car and I don’t even need to service it. The famiglia does that for me. Got their own garages. Even bring me the car from Chicago for each run. The last thing you want is your vehicle breaking down while you’ve got a trunk full of the good shit, am I right?”
He sniggers to himself, cursing again as we crash through yet another pothole in the track. “Treat the family right and they treat you right. Am I right or am I right? Or am I right?”
The light continues to fade as he drives and talks nonstop.
“The thing about working for the Don is you got to obey him. He tells me I’m picking up coke, I go get coke. He tells me not to touch the hookers while I’m there so I don’t. No one tries any shit with him or they end up with concrete boots, you know what I’m saying? Yessir, you don’t fuck with the big boys unless you want Enzo bringing that ax of his down into your skull. Heard he split one guy pretty much in half like he was a hotdog a couple of years back. In half. You imagine that because I sure can’t.”
I give him another grunt. It’s hard to believe all these stories about Enzo. That’s not the man I know. I find myself wondering if he started these rumors to build up his reputation.
