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Dammit. Somehow I believe him. “Johnny said to visit the Red Jet Café in Grand Rapids, Michigan.”
His dark eyes widen. “Michigan.”
I turn to go, and he stops me. “What?” I growl.
“Thanks, man. I mean it.” He points to the left. “Nino went that way. It’s the emergency exit. If you hurry, you’ll catch him. Good luck.”
***
The metal door of the emergency exit yields with a creak, and I’m out in a dark back alley. The cold of the night bites, and I zip up my jacket, shivering. Breathing hurts, preventing me from drawing a lungful of air. Instead, I’m panting, even though I’m only standing there, trying to gauge which way Nino went.
Fuck. If only Colt had told me off the bat which way Nino went, I wouldn’t be standing here like an idiot, trying to guess. Damn him.
Okay, need to make a decision. To my right is a bright and noisy avenue. To the left, narrow streets with dim lights. If Nino is running from money collectors, dim lights it is.
I lurch to the left, my breath wheezing. A stocky figure is striding away from me, and I quicken my pace. Fire licks my side. Claws of flame dig into my chest. I’d forgotten how much fun broken bones can be.
But they won’t stop me. Not when I’m so close.
I start to run. Fuck, it hurts, and blackness swirls at the edges of my vision, but I keep going. The man starts running, too, but he’s no match for me, even in my sorry state. I corner him against a dumpster and hold him up against the dirty plastic.
“If you want money, just take it and let me go.” He tries for cool but his dark eyes betray him, wide with fear. “Wallet’s in my pocket.”
“Nino Gaspari,” I grunt.
“And who’re you?” He tries to spit on me, but I slam a fist into his chest and he gasps instead.
“I’m Rafaele Vestri.” I push up his sleeve and there it is, the tattoo of a hand. I look up into the face from my memories. Pudgier, red, older. “You killed my parents and sister four years ago, you sick fuck. Their names were Enzo, Grace, and Carla Vestri. Murdered in cold blood in our house.”
“Vestri.” He scowls. “Damn. I thought you were here for the debts.”
“This is a debt,” I mutter. “A life debt. A blood debt.”
“So what, you’re here to collect? Are you going to kill me, Rafaele Vestri?” His nose flares and his eyes narrow. “You want to hear I regret what I did? That I’m sorry? Think again, little punk.”
The world turns red. My teeth scrape together, my jaw so tight it aches dully. “Motherfucker.”
I slam him back into the dumpster. The crash echoes in the alley. I slam him again, my arms trembling.
“I’m not sorry,” Nino grunts. “Do you even know who your daddy was?”
I’m about to slam him again, but I turn to stone on the spot. “What the hell do you mean?”
“Enzo Vestri. Belonged to the Detroit mafia, before he ‘retired’. He betrayed us all, got put in a witness relocation program and fell off the grid. Meanwhile, he got married like a good Italian boy and had himself a family. He thought he was safe here. Arrogant son of a cunt didn’t even change his name. A traitor isn’t safe anywhere.”
My hands are shaking where they’re holding him. My teeth are rattling in my mouth. My gasps are too loud in my ears.
My dad. Mafia. Detroit. A traitor.
“And my mom?” I hear myself ask as if from miles away. “My sister?”
“Ah, yeah.” He pushes on my chest and I stumble back, dazed. “Still waiting for a reason, boy? For an explanation that’ll set your shattered world to rights? They were there, so I shut them up forever. I should’ve killed you, too. I was going to, but I got cocky and then I had to run or risk getting caught. Never thought you’d survive and track me down. Then again,” he pushes me again, shoving me to the ground, “I shouldn’t have come to this shithole of a city again.”
I crash on the wet asphalt, curling around the pain in my ribs. The glint of a handgun catches my eye. Blearily I look up at my family’s killer. He’s about to finish the job he started four years ago.
“Ciao, Vestri,” Nino says and lifts his gun.
Voices sound from behind me. Unfamiliar ones. Nino curses in Italian and steps back, behind the dumpster.
