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“No,” Gagliano says, shaking his head. “There was never any hit.”
“What?” Gio and I look at each other, confused. We have evidence to believe otherwise—the missing page from my father’s hit book, likely torn out by Vitale to cover up his motive for coming after my family, and the blood vial labeled with Carlo Vitale’s initials. My father recorded Carlo Vitale’s death as if it was a hit and then Christio came along and did his best to remove the evidence. I understand Vitale’s motives but not my father’s. If it wasn’t a hit, then why would he document it as such?
“Valentina’s father moved the family out of New Orleans shortly after she became pregnant. I can only assume it’s because she told her parents the truth and he didn’t want anyone witnessing their family’s shame. But even the privacy of the country wasn’t enough for him. When I would go to visit her, he refused to let me inside to see her. This went on for weeks before I told my father. When I finally did, he went to your father, Domenico, for help. I hoped that they could reason with Carlo and arrange a marriage between me and Valentina. But…when they arrived at Carlo’s country estate, everything went sideways.”
“How so?” I ask. Gagliano takes a deep breath as his shoulders slump. It’s obvious these memories are painful for him.
“Carlo attacked them. It never made sense to my father or yours. Your father never had any reason to believe Carlo had anything personal against him, which is why it was so easy for Domenico to move Christio into Carlo’s place. Now hearing of what Carlo was up to all those years ago, I understand. He didn’t attack them on a whim, angry because of Valentina’s pregnancy. He…he took advantage of their presence and he tried to dethrone a king. He failed. My father and yours were forced to kill Carlo and his wife that day. And because there was no evidence to suggest that Carlo had ill intentions toward your father, he feared that if his people learned the truth, that he was involved in the murder, especially after the third body was found, they would rebel.” I nod. It’s a valid thought.
If you kill one of your capos without good reason, none of them will feel safe under your rule. And a king is only as powerful as his army. Thankfully, in my case, there is plenty of evidence proving Vitale’s guilt. And with Gagliano as a witness, I’ll have no problem ridding him from my ranks. Though, perhaps that explains why my father documented Carlo’s death as a hit. If anyone ever found out that he was present the day he died, he could at least say it was a hit even if it truly wasn’t. It’s not a fool-proof solution, but it was something.
“They were there because of me. Valentina got pregnant because of me.” Gagliano shoves his finger into his chest, shaking his head. “Even with what you’ve told me today, I am still not without blame when it comes to what happened to Valentina. She was sent away because of me. Her family turned against her because of me.”
“You weren’t the one who forced her to live like a slave, Alessandro. And you aren’t the reason she was sent away,” I tell him. “That was her father’s doing. And after his death, her uncle picked up where he left off by using her to destroy my family. Though, perhaps his motives are a little more understandable than Carlo’s simple desire for power.”
At that, Gagliano nods. “The fire was meant to cover up Carlo and his wife’s true cause of death and, most importantly, any evidence linking back to my father and Domenico. I suppose that explains why Vitale hasn’t added my family to his list of enemies over the years. Perhaps Carlo had told him of his plans against Domenico, at least enough for Vitale to suspect foul play in his brother’s death. But he wouldn’t have had a reason to suspect my father, especially if he didn’t know that I was the father of Valentina’s baby.”
I nod. “You’re right. He couldn’t have known or else he would’ve made you suffer the same as he did Valentina.”
Gagliano clears his throat. Perhaps I shouldn’t have told him everything about the treatment Valentina suffered at Christio’s hand. But if I didn’t, Ariana would feel like she had to and I don’t want her to have to relive those memories, as if she can ever escape them.
“My father swore to me they checked the house and found no one else there,” Gagliano says. “But it’s not uncommon for people in our line of work to have secret hiding places, especially for our children. But if what you say is true, Valentina was already in Boston, and it was Veronica Vitale who died that day.”
“We believe so. Which would explain why Vitale could be so ruthlessly cruel to his niece and why he’s kept coming after my family all these years. Unlike his brother, he doesn’t care about power. He was happy enough to promise Joseph Cullen of the Irish mob most of what he would gain so long as he helped him destroy me. That kind of motivation is only sparked by one thing—revenge.”
“So, what do we do now? When do I get to see my daughter?” Gagliano asks.
“In good time. But first, we need your help taking down Vitale once and for all.”
“Whatever you need, consider it yours. In a way, it kind of already is.” At that, Gagliano smiles. It’s an odd expression given our task. But I know that look. It’s one only Ariana can bring about. He’s excited to meet her, and while I was worried about just that, there’s something about him that puts me at ease. I suppose because I see the way he speaks of her mother, the way he mourns her, the way he still loves her even after all these years, even after marrying and building a family with another. Valentina has always had a claim over his heart. That is something I recognize because I know what it is to love someone that deeply. Yet, like him, I fear I also know what it is to lose that someone.
I stand to stretch my legs as Gio meets with Gagliano’s head of security and informs him of our plan. My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I have half a mind to ignore it completely. If there was an emergency at the house, Cassio would handle it rather than call me, given our mission. And if it’s work, as in the actual businesses I run that don’t involve drugs, it can wait. Yet, an uneasy feeling in my chest prompts me to pull it from my pocket. Ariana’s name appears on a text notification, and my mouth instantly goes dry. I didn’t expect her to wake this soon nor am I prepared for what she has to say now that she has.
With a heavy heart, I open the text. As the image of Ariana tied to a chair, beaten and bloody, sears into my eyes, I fight the urge to throw the device against the nearest brick wall. My blood boils inside me. My heart beats so quickly it feels as if it may rip out of my chest. I spin on my heel to face Gio as my words evade me. I bring my hand to my heart as my phone slips from my grasp.
“Boss?” Gio runs toward me as I drop onto one knee. He instantly spots the phone and reaches for it before Gagliano can see.Thank God. He shouldn’t see her like that. I…I shouldn’t have to see her like that. But this is exactly what I’ve been afraid of. This entire time.That monster!
“I can’t…I can’t lose her. I can’t lose her, Gio. Not like this,” I say, my voice cracking. Gio’s eyes narrow as he takes in the image.
“What’s going on?” Gagliano asks. “Is it Sophia? Does he have Sophia?”
Gio shakes his head and meets my eyes once more. There it is. He now shares the same look of pity Sophia wore just a short while ago. “It’s not Sophia,” Gio says, shoving the phone into his pocket. “But there is an address.” I nod, pushing myself up from the ground.
“It sayscome alone.”
“Yeah, that’s not happening,” Gio says, crossing his arms over his chest.
“What choice do I have, Gio? I won’t let him hurt her. I won’t let him kill her because of me.” At that, I sling my fist into the brick siding of the pass-through. “Ah!” If my knuckles aren’t raw enough after this morning’s visit with Ken Clarke, the bricks certainly make them so. I suck down a slew of curses as I shake out my fingers, now bloodied.
“We will figure it out,” Gio says, taking a step toward me. “We’ve got a two-hour drive to do so.”
“Two hours? What?” At the mention oftwo hours, the same amount of time it took him all those years ago to visit Carlo Vitale’s country estate, Gagliano finally understands. “He has my daughter, doesn’t he?”
32
My face stingsand my head is heavy as I come to. Fuzzy images of a fight dance behind my closed eyes as soft drops of water land on my skin, casting a chill upon me that combats the warmth of my wounds. As I open my eyes, my senses return, and the pain of my injuries becomes more prominent. My chest aches as if I’ve been kicked. My sweater is ripped, revealing cuts along my arms. I lower my gaze to take in the haphazard pattern of blood staining my shirt, and it feels as if a scab on my lip cracks. I wince as the coppery taste of blood skates across my tongue. Where am I? What…what happened?Ray!I shift in my seat to search the burnt remains of the unfamiliar place, which only adds to my discomfort as the ropes restraining me to my seat dig into my wind-whipped skin. Among the charred rubble, I do not find Ray. Though what I do find is unsettling.
From where I sit in what appears to be the basement of a home long since destroyed, I can see straight through to the sky. Pine trees sway along the backside of the skeleton-like building. Their shade only adds to the chill of the wind and the random drops of rain escaping the storm clouds overhead. The remaining exterior walls of the two-story home, which I can only assume is Carlo Vitale’s country estate, are charred black. All the windows have burst from their casings. The shards of glass lie on the ashy ground, mixing with broken sticks of wood and remnants of furniture and clothing long since forgotten. Yet, despite the disheveled nature of the home, there are structures that remain—a brick fireplace two stories tall, flooring I wouldn’t trust, and a stone stairwell through the center. It remains intact like the cinderblock walls that maintain the shape and privacy of the basement in which I sit. It is around the perimeter of the room and upon the stairwell, stretching far above me, that armed men stand. Though, their mere presence is not what I find unsettling. It is their vantage point. If I am where I think I am, then I am surrounded by an open field, save for the pine trees on the backside of the property. While the men patrolling the decrepit space may be easy targets for a sniper, the likelihood of one setting up for a shot without being spotted is slim. This isn’t going to end well.
