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It’s a promise I’m hoping I don’t have to break.
25
SERA
Salvatore calls Antony’s brother Marco to come with us. Marco, it turns out, has been making calls and trying to figure out where his twin has gone. Apparently Matteo’s regular phone has gone dark, and the private phone the family uses for emergencies isn’t answering. Marco drives, with Sal riding shotgun and me in the backseat, hanging on for dear life. Marco drives like there’s not a single cop in the entire state of Ohio. And as we careen down the highway, I start to wonder if they’ve all cleared a path for the D’Agostino crew on purpose.
I only know we’re near the warehouse because Marco does an abrupt downshift and we all lurch forward in our seats. “Antony is supposed to be there alone,” Sal tells us. “We have men in the area, ready to swarm the place on a moment’s notice. I called our lead guy, who says Vincenzi’s men aren’t there. He’s alone. Our guys’ll recognize Marco’s car when we pull up, so they’ll know to keep back. But we can’t go in hot and alert Vincenzi.”
Marco nods, and downshifts again, slowing the car to a crawl. The engine of the sports car purrs so softly that it’s barely audible, making it possible for him to pull close to the warehouse, stopping only when the crunch of tires on gravelmight be loud enough to be heard inside the building. He stops and kills the engine.
“What do we do now?” I whisper in the silent car.
But before Sal or Marco can answer me, the sharp crack of gunshots rings out from inside the building.
Instantly I’m out of the car, running as fast as I can toward the warehouse entrance as I fumble in my purse for my gun. Behind me, footsteps kicking up gravel tell me Sal and Marco are behind me. A strong hand grabs the bicep of the arm holding my gun, halting me in my tracks. I twist in his grip and close my other hand into a fist, punching wildly behind me toward what I think is his groin area. He yelps and lets go of my arm, and I start sprinting again. I hope that wasn’t Sal, but at this point I don’t really care.
The warehouse door is propped open about six inches. I skid to a stop and wrench it open. The screech of metal echoes inside. My heart pounding, I raise the gun. The inner dimness half-blinds me as I run inside, expecting to be tackled or shot at any moment.
Shadowy figures appear before me. One lying prone on the warehouse floor, and two standing over it.
“Sera?”
I blink, resisting the urge to flatten myself to the ground. My confused mind registers the voice, and who it is.
“Antony!”
He’s one of the the ones standing, I realize as relief floods my veins. He’s holding a gun. And lying motionless is Giovanni Vincenzi.
Next to Antony is Marco. But that’s not possible…
“Antony! Matteo!” Sal shouts behind me.
“Jesus, Sal, what’s going on?” Antony exclaims, approaching us at a job. “Where’s Marco?”
Sal comes to a stop next to me. “Outside, trying to get up off his knees. This one here punched him in the balls.” He cocks a thumb at me.
“What the hell?” Antony turns to me with a quizzical look.
“I’ll explain later,” I stammer. “What happened? Is Giovanni…?”
“Dead?” Matteo interrupts, coming up to us. “Yeah. Antony shot him. And good riddance to that piece of shit. Excuse my language,” he says to me.
I erupt into a fit of near-hysterical laughter. “I think I can handle a coarse word or two, given the circumstances.”
Sal grasps Matteo by the shoulders. “You okay?”
“Yeah, Sal. I’m good.”
“Good. Go check on your brother.”
Matteo nods at him, but turns to me. “How’s your father?”
“He’s at the hospital. Mamma and Tina are there with him.”
At the mention of Tina’s name, his face clouds. “Good. God willing he pulls through.”
Face drawn, Matteo heads outside. Sal nods at the body on the ground. “Looks like we’re gonna need clean-up.”
