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Mikhail went in one direction, and I went in the other. “Coffee’s hot,” he said, with his hand on top of a drip coffee maker in the kitchen. “Somebody was here recently.”
“Safe room?” I pondered.
“In this shit hole? I’d sooner guess he went down the fire escape.”
I hurried into the back bedroom and swore, finding the window cracked. Flinging it open, I leaned out to find Aldo crouching on the fire escape two floors below. He looked up, saw me, swore, and started moving again, slinging his overweight carcass onto the next ladder. His face was drenched in sweat, and I wondered if I Ieft him to his own devices if he’d just do me the favor of having a heart attack.
“Fuck,” I said. “I’m going down,” I yelled to Mikhail. “Do you hear that, you asshole? I’m coming for you.”
I could hear his groan as I clattered onto the landing and took the first ladder down in seconds. We were both swearing by the time I gripped the back of his shirt and hauled him up to the landing four floors below his apartment.
“I’m going to kill you twice for making me climb this rusty deathtrap,” I promised him, prodding him with my gun. “Get the fuck back upstairs.”
I certainly didn’t want to shoot him outside in broad daylight, where I might get picked up by a random security cam or spotted by a nosy neighbor. He swung at me and tried to pull his own gun, tucked in the back of his pants, but I neatly grabbed it before he could and hit him in the side of the head with it. Not hard enough that I’d have to drag his ass up the ladders, but enough to make him see stars.
By the time I shoved him back through his own window, Mikhail was waiting for us. Returning to where he was going to die took the last bit of fight out of old Aldo, and he began begging for his life.
Mikhail and I exchanged a bored look while we let him offer all sorts of deals. Mikhail finally put a stop to it and turned to me. “Are you going to rough him up first?”
I shook my head. Giving him a few seconds of hope was the only torture I would indulge in today. I wanted this done. I placed the barrel of my gun against his temple and pulled the trigger. Once again, Mikhail clapped me on the shoulder.
“Good work. Now let’s go.”
He didn’t have to ask twice. In the car, I set up a clean-up crew to take care of the mess on the eighth floor. If Evelina had done her job right, and she almost always did, any cameras in the building would have been disabled before we entered. No one would ever know we’d been there.
“We should make a quick detour to the jewelry store where I bought Evelina’s engagement ring before we head back to the airport,” Mikhail suggested as we turned to cross the river.
“She hardly wears any jewelry except for that. What do you want to get for her?”
He grinned. “I was thinking you’d want to get something for Samantha?”
“Jesus, not you, too,” I said, shutting down.
I couldn’t take everyone piling on about Samantha. What didn’t they get about a surrogate arrangement? And now that the Giannis were without leadership, it would be easy to keep dismantling their organization until they were completely out of our hair. Soon enough, she’d be safe. From them, at least. There were always new enemies.
At the airport, Mikhail went to find some food, and I found a quiet place to sit down and call my father. I was sure Evelina was keeping him updated, but he'd worry if he didn’t hear from me soon.
I got him on a video call, smiling to see he was sitting down to eat his dinner. The sight of the stew made me remember I hadn’t eaten yet today, and my stomach growled.
“Are you taking care of yourself?” my dad asked.
“Yes, Papa, you don’t need to worry about me.”
“But I do. You look like you haven’t slept in days.”
“Everything’s fine now,” I assured him. “We just took care of Gianni.”
He peered at me with a frown. “That’s good. So what’s still bothering you? Don’t try to pretend nothing else is wrong. You think I don’t know my son?”
I sighed. “I guess Ev’s filled you in about the surrogate?”
I waited patiently while he gave me all his opinions, winding up with, “Why would you decide something like that?”
“Because I don’t want a relationship. I’m not good at them.”
“Stop right there. Who told you you’re not good at relationships?” he asked indignantly.
“Every woman I’ve ever tried to have one with,” I answered.
