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Dante smacks my arm. “Grab his feet, Niccolo.” His tone is patient, but he looks at me with a sense of urgency. His eyesplead with me to understand the importance of what he’s saying, urging me not to waste time.
Though my head feels like it’s full of scrambled eggs, I force myself to put one foot in front of the other. While Salvatore and Luciano struggle to get Marco out of the building and into the van, Dante and I whiz past the two of them and toss Giovanni in first. My hands are covered in blood, my knuckles are bruised, and they’re swelling. I look down at my shoes to see red droplets dried onto the leather. Even the once-pristine white fabric of my wedding undershirt is stained with Lucatello blood.
“You’re in shock.” Dante places his hands on my shoulders. “This is the first time you’ve done something like this, so that’s normal. Let Luc take you home, and Sally and I will drop these two off at the hospital.”
I start shaking my head in disagreement. “I need to see this through.” I have to be there when we throw them out of the van at the hospital. I need to make sure when I go back to Christine, I can tell her that her uncles are alive.
Dante huffs in frustration as he walks over to help Salvatore and Luciano. “Nic, you did your part, and you did a great job, but let me handle the rest. IpromiseI will take care of it.”
My brother, with his broad shoulders and determined gaze, has always been our protector. I wonder if he knows how much it means to all of us that he’s stood by our side no matter what.
But shock or no shock, we’re in this position because of me. I need to get my shit together and follow through with my responsibilities. “I can handle it, Dante. This is my mess. Let me help clean it up.”
He doesn’t have time to argue. The two men in the back of the van are a liability that needs to be taken care of immediately. “Fine. You can drive,” he gruffly replies.
I slide into the worn driver’s seat, my hand automatically reaching for the keys in the ignition. I’m relieved that the van wasn’t taken while we were inside. Manhattan isn’t exactly riddled with crime, but when a car is sitting outside with the keys in it, you’re asking for it to be stolen. But luck seems to be on our side tonight.
The back doors of the van shut a second before Dante jumps into the passenger seat. “Alright. Let’s go.”
St. Francis Hospital is a seven-minute drive from the abandoned building we were in. The neon lights from the Emergency sign beckon us into the parking lot, but Dante directs me past the entrance and to the staff-only door in the back.
“I told Silas I’d leave the bodies here. He said it was the best-case scenario because someone is always coming out for a smoke break. Which means we need to hurry up.”
I pull the van up next to the hospital, its tall brick walls looming over us like a fortress. A single door made of thick, heavy metal leads into the back of the building and has a small window that peers into a dimly lit hallway.
I glance around nervously, but there’s no sign of anyone coming, so Dante and I climb out of the van and carefully begin unloading the bodies from the back. The air is chilly and breezy, carrying the distinct scent of antiseptic and illness. We move quickly, our footsteps echoing against the quiet exterior of the hospital.
“God, he’s so heavy,” Dante groans as we dismount Marco. “I’m surprised we were able to get the jump on him.” When Marco groans, we pause our actions for a minute before moving on to his brother.
With a grunt of effort, we manage to hoist Giovanni’s limp body on top of Marco’s. His mouth hangs open, his lips forming silent words as if he’s desperately trying to communicate with us. But his eyes are crusted shut with blood, making it clear that he is in no condition to speak or see what is happening around him.
“Do you think he’s going to die?”
Dante takes a look at Gio’s bruised and beaten body and shrugs. “Frankly, I don’t know. He’s breathing, and that’s a good sign, but he probably has internal bleeding and a punctured lung, minimum.”
“Christine had internal bleeding.” Does it make me a sociopath if I don’t feel guilty? Or a psychopath if I wish I could do it again?
My brother gestures for me to get back in the van before we’re caught out here with two half-dead Lucatellos. He waits until we’re a safe distance away from the hospital before asking if I’m okay.
I grind my teeth against one another, feeling my jaw tick with indescribable rage. I’m not sure if there’s a right answer to Dante’s question; I’m not even sure how I feel. “I don’t know,” I finally reply after what feels like an eternity. “After you took over, I felt all the anger go out of me. But looking at Gio again just now, remembering that that piece of shit ordered Rocco Castiglione to beat my wife senseless, made me want to do it all over again. I hate him. I hate his entire family. What kind of sickfuck watches his niece get beaten bloody without trying to save her?”
My voice cracks with desperation, and anger engulfs me. I feel every emotion vividly and painfully in every limb of my body.
“The first time I ever hurt someone as badly as you hurt Giovanni, I was fifteen years old.” Dante stares straight ahead, his face a block of granite as he recounts the first person he nearly killed.
“Father asked me to come with him to deal with some guy that owed him money. When the man refused to pay up, Father told me it was my chance to prove myself. He said if I ever hoped to take over the Terlizzi family and be a valuable member within the Castiglione regime, I would beat the man until he was blind.” The way he recounts the events is chilling, devoid of emotion or remorse.
I don’t know where to go, but I keep my foot on the gas pedal and continue driving.
“I was fine for the most part. I tuned out the little voice in my head saying this was my last chance to turn back and become an honorable man, the kind people write books about and women romanticize. Then I beat on that man until I had nothing left inside me.” Dante pauses for half a second. “Father said he was proud of me. He bought me a high-end escort to show his gratitude. Have I ever told you that? Fatherpaidfor me to lose my virginity as a thank you for almost killing a man whose only crime was borrowing money he couldn’t pay back.”
When Dante laughs, there is no joy in the sound, only misery. “I went home that night and threw up. I was sick for the next three days. At one point, I thought I’d have to tell Father I couldn’t dothis anymore. But then I got up on the morning of the fourth day, and everything felt okay again.Ifelt okay.”
“Am I going to go through that, too?” I ask. I keep waiting for regret to set in, but all I feel is vindication for my actions.
Dante shrugs his shoulders. “Maybe, maybe not. I only tell you this story to highlight the differences between whatIdid and whatyoudid. I was doing Father’s bidding. I didn’t hurt that man because he deserved it; I hurt him because Father said I had to.” He turns to face me, his eyes full of determination and pride. “Your foray into this lifestyle has been because you wanted to protect the people you loved. I think, in some ways, you exemplify the traits of our ancestors. You did this for your family the same way men in the 19th century did for theirs. When the law allowed people to hurt our ancestors and their families, they sought justice the only way they knew how: they formed the mafiosi to combat theinjustice.”
I never would have joined the family if it wasn’t for Christine. If her life hadn’t been in danger, I would have been content with my current existence, without any ties or obligations to the Terlizzis. But fate had other plans for me.
