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I don’t reply. I’m thinking of what are lies and what’s true. Is the Don telling me the truth? He sounds honest but the things he’s saying are too awful to be real, aren’t they?
The car turns through the gates of an old cemetery, the headstones covered in weeds, the main track up the middle half-hidden by moss. The rain that’s been threatening the whole way starts falling. The car bumps its way along for a quarter of a mile, wipers going double speed, before coming to a halt. “Out,” Umberto says, pointing his gun at me.
I climb out of the car, immediately soaked and battered by the growing wind. We’re near a chain-link fence that separates the cemetery from the scrubland behind. It looks like there was a factory that was demolished years ago. Piles of rubble are dotted about covered in ivy. This side of the fence is little better. The headstones are barely visible.
“Over here,” the Don says, calling me toward him as he blinks away the driving rain from his eyes. “Got something you’ve been waiting to see for a long time. Someone waiting to see you too. Got to clear up a few loose ends and I’m reckoning you can help with that.”
He points ahead of him. Two headstones have been cleared of weeds. The names are readable. David Bennett. Fiona Bennett. Between the two graves, a deep hole has been dug. My heart sinks into the pit of my stomach as I realize the Don lied to me. He’s not going to let me live. He’s going to bury me here, right between my parents.
Standing between the two headstones, in front of the open grave, there’s a man I recognize from his TV advertisements. It’s not Enzo smiling at me with a disgustingly lascivious look on his face, mashing his hands together in lewd excitement.
It’s Tom Blizzard, dressed in a long black raincoat like he’s the Grim Reaper, come to collect my soul at last.
37
ENZO
* * *
It takes more time than I would like but it’s done. They’re all dead. Being pinned down on the roof overlooking the Don’s secret hideaway isn’t the most fun I’ve ever had but it sure does get my heart pumping.
It’s not often I’m in a situation where I could die. Most of the time it’s a couple of assholes with guns and it’s close up where I can get my hands on them.
Up here, it’s a different kind of game. One wrong move on my part and one of those bullets will catch me between the eyes.
I heard the car drive off a couple of minutes after I started firing. I was glad Chloe had taken it upon herself to shift the vehicle out of harm’s way.
I know I’d told her to stay put but this is one command I’m glad she disobeyed. There’s something not right about this situation. Those two guards posted on the warehouse roof, too obvious, too easy a target for a man like me.
That’s when all hell broke loose. Shots firing at me from multiple points. I flattened myself, crawling up to the wall I’d been using as a shooting break.
I rolled to my right behind the low wall, bringing the gun with me. One deep breath, hold it, and then bring up the scope to check out the flashes of light as more bullets fly. Nothing I haven’t done a dozen times before.
I counted at least twelve of them. How is the Don so well guarded? I thought to myself as I moved again ready to take my first shot.
For the next hour, it was touch and go but it’s finally done. The last of them are down. I know that because I’m standing up and there’s not a single shot being fired anymore. I’ve taken them all out. The bolt action sniper rifle sits there, not needed any longer.
My suit’s filthy from changing position without exposing myself. I can deal with that later. I need to get to the Don before he can escape. That means keeping the warehouse in sight.
I lift the gun off its tripod, carrying it down the fire escape as fast as I can. The Don could emerge at any point and I want to be ready to take him out.
I doubt he’s any guards left. This had the vibe of a last stand. I get across the open quickly, punching in the code from Marco’s pocket, and stepping over the bodies of two of my attackers on my way in.
They ran back inside when they were hit, pulled the door shut, then succumbed anyway. Little Tony and Pierro. Both good men but as they say, you have to obey the Don. Guns still in hand, ready to ambush me when I came in.
Inside, the warehouse is nothing like I expected, at least in this section. It’s like a house. In fact, it is a house. The Don’s had a whole portion of it converted.
From the outside, it’s all brick and corrugated metal but inside, I’m in an entrance hall filled with original Roman statues. There’s a Van Gogh on the wall, the one he had stolen twenty years ago. The one the Louvre is still looking for. I always wondered where he put it.
The floor’s burgundy carpet with lines of white, the Don’s seal woven into the fabric.
It’s silent in here. Not a single sound except for someone groaning up ahead of me. I make my way in that direction. I know a death rattle when I hear it.
“Help me,” a voice calls out. I push open a door and find a figure slumped against a window. In the middle of the room, there’s a pile of papers that are supposed to be on fire but they’re only smoldering. The huge safe in the corner is open, with more papers in a pile in front of it.
“Nicky,” I say as the figure slides down the wall, landing on his ass, leaving a smear of blood on the paint sill above him. “You don’t look so good.”
“You fucking shot me,” he says, holding his gut. “Why’d you shoot me, Enzo?”
