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"You should have stayed on the plane. Now you're going to pay for your actions," Moretti added while taking a step toward her too.
She took a deep breath and forced herself not to panic. She had to stay calm no matter what happened. She looked around, searching for a way to escape or for someone who could help her
"Don't bother yelling. He's not going to save you this time," Vito growled, grabbing Liz's arm.
"I'm going to end you," Moretti snarled through his clenched teeth.
As Vito pulled her back, Liz kicked him in the shin. He let go of her and stumbled slightly before charging at her again. Liz dodged his attack, rolling over and kicking at his legs. When he tried to kick her in the stomach, she managed to grab one of his legs and twist it. As he bent over in pain, Liz grabbed his other leg and yanked hard.
Vito howled in agony, but he did nothing to help himself. Instead, his hand shot out and grabbed hold of her. Pulling her close, he slammed her against the wall. The breath was knocked out of her lungs from the impact, but she didn't give up, trying to kick him in the ribs. But his grip on her tightened, and the pain in her ribs intensified. Blood pooled in between her fingers from where she clawed her arm as she tried to get out of Vito's grasp.
But his grip didn't loosen, not even when she struggled harder. And suddenly, a voice broke through the silence.
"Let's get her out of here," Moretti said, looking around at the people walking by. "Someone’s calling security over the speaker."
Vito tightened his grip around Liz's arm and dragged her toward the exit. Liz looked around, hoping that someone would help her but was disheartened by the way they pretended not to see what was happening. What if they were right? What if Ben wouldn't show up to save her this time? What would happen to her?
When he finally threw her down in the street, landing painfully on the ground, she slid several feet before stopping. Tears gathered in her eyes. They had beaten her, and she couldn't even fight back.
Behind her, she heard a car approach.
Her eyes widened with fear, but she didn't move or try to run. The pain traveled through her body as she lay crumpled on the ground. Whoever was in the car wouldn't be able to help her any more than she could help them.
Then the realization that it wasn't there to help her sank in, and she was overcome with fear. Vito yanked her off the ground. He threw her into the vehicle before sliding in next to her. Moretti looked back at her as he got into the passenger seat and slammed the door. The satisfied look on his face sickened her.
Her head pounded as she struggled to stay conscious.
This is it. This is how it ends.
Chapter20
Ben
Ben drove off and away from the airport, his palm stinging from the long red line he’d made with his own claw. It wasn’t like he noticed it anymore, anyway. He felt like one giant wound filled with sorrow, a heightened sense of agony that had rendered his response to everything almost null.
He knew that the Don wasn’t going to like what he did to the Moretti boy. Nor was he going to like the fact that he had let the subject go of his own accord. Ben could try lying to him, of course, but it was pointless. The Don had connections and would likely slice his head off for the mere disrespect.
He was walking the plank when it came to meeting with his boss. But he didn’t care. Death would offer him some comfort, and at least there, he could feel the warm embrace of eternal nothingness. It was preferred compared to the constant stab he’d feel waking every morning to the sight of his empty bed.
A bed that hadn’t felt empty until he’d met Liz. The fragrant and formidable Liz.
Ben would submit to the Don, admit all wrongdoings, and take his punishment with ease.
They met outside one of the restaurants the Don owned. The man was in his big bulking Escalade. Two of his security men stood in front of the tinted windows. Sometimes, the Don did business on the road between the establishments he owned, bringing his presence to various owners who needed some extra nudging when it came to intimidation.
When the men saw Ben, they barely nodded. They merely opened the door to the leather interior. When Ben saw the Don leaning forward, holding a cigar, his stomach flipped. If death was going to come, it might as well reek of that wretched cigar smoke.
“Come in, my boy,” he said low and rumbly.
Ben stepped into the car, the door closing softly behind him. He sat next to him in the seat like it was a casual meeting with a woody-scented glass of whiskey placed before him in a glass that shined in the luxurious light. Ben knew better than anyone what it was like being groomed. He would take it, though, arms open wide.
“I know that you are physically incapable of screwing up, Benicio,” Don said, hunching over and pouring himself another drink. “So you either must think I am stupid, or you really don’t give a shit about your life.”
The leather seats groaned as the Don sat back, his bulbous gut acting as a shelf for his glass. He glared at Ben in a way that only used his eyes, breathing heavily with a rasp that hit his throat like a metronome.
And through it all, that smokey air, the white, grim ghost floated along.
“I don’t think you’re stupid, Don,” Ben said, leaning forward and staring at his shoes. “But you are right about the second half. I don’t really give a shit what happens to me. I’ve been disloyal, and I deserve to be punished.”
