Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 118965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 595(@200wpm)___ 476(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 595(@200wpm)___ 476(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
“Angelo.” He utters an uncomfortable laugh. “You’re making a habit of showing up at the most inconvenient times.”
The girl’s face is turned to the side. She stares at me with glassy eyes, but I doubt she sees anything. A pile of vomit lies next to her on the carpet, confirming the source of the sour smell in the air. Pieces of partly digested food are encrusted in her hair, and traces of bile have dried in the corner of her slack mouth.
I keep the gun trained on him. “She looks like she’s ODing.”
“Yeah, well, I told her to go slow on the candy.”
“Celebrating something?” I ask with a cold smile.
He measures me. “Just starting the weekend early. What’s up?”
I kick the coffee table out of the way, sending glasses and ashtrays flying. The bottle hits the floor with a thud and sprays a circle of champagne around the room as it spins on the tiles. Toma leans away from me, flattening himself against the backrest of the sofa. The girl doesn’t as much as blink.
I climb over the mess and kick his feet apart.
He raises his hands. “Ange—”
Pop.
The silencer dampens the sound of the shot I fire, but there’s nothing to be done about the howl that splits the sky as he slides to the edge of the sofa and slumps into a heap, cupping his groin where I shot off his nut.
Blood pisses through his fingers. Splatters cover the face of the girl who’s still lying like a naked corpse.
“You were saying?” I ask, pushing the barrel against his temple.
“It wasn’t me,” he screams through a mixture of tears and snot that runs into his mouth. “It was my father’s idea. I swear it.” He breaks out into a violent shiver. “I-I was against it. I s-swear. I told him n-not to hurt Sabella.”
The name alone on his lips does it.
Pop.
Brain matter and blood explode from the side of his head. His body falls sideways.
One more down, a few left to go.
I turn to the woman and feel her pulse.
Nothing.
Just like me. I feel nothing.
I leave the gun on the floor. I took it from one of Marziale’s dead men. His prints will be all over it. Then I step over the blood and walk to the door.
“Neighbors?” I ask my man who stands in the hallway.
He shakes his head. “They’re too scared to come out.” He tilts his head to the door. “They know who he is.” Correcting himself, he says, “Who he was.”
“Let’s go.”
“Cleanup?” he asks.
“No.” I take the fire exit. “Let the cops have this one.”
My next stop is at the hospital.
The men in front of Sabella’s room greet me with nods. They’ll change shifts in a couple of hours. I want the soldiers who guard her fresh and vigilant.
A few people sit on the chairs in the corridor, reading or checking their phones. I recognize one or two from last night. They move their feet out of the way to let me pass.
“Any change?” I ask the woman who sits at the nurse’s station on the first floor.
“No,” she says, giving me a small smile.
I push the door open and go inside. She’s right. Sabella looks exactly like she did six hours ago. The room is different though. A huge bouquet of pink flowers stands on the trolley at the foot-end of the bed, and a giant get-well balloon floats against the ceiling. Boxes of chocolates and candy are stacked on the nightstand. My wife is popular in town. She looks well-loved.
I take her hand and press it against my heart. “I’ll make them pay, bella. I promise you that. Nothing will ever happen to you again.”
I seal the oath with a kiss on her forehead, and then I leave to fight a war someone else started but that I have every intention of finishing.
Chapter
Twenty-Eight
Angelo
* * *
The carnage around me makes the warehouse looks like an abattoir.
They’re all dead.
Marziale walked straight into my trap. They arrived early, but we were already waiting. We cornered his men around the warehouse. When we opened fire, they had no choice but to flee inside for cover. The chemical gas took care of the rest. Our gas masks protected us. They were immobilized, their motor skills hampered by the paralyzing effect on their nervous systems, but their sensory impulses were intact.
They felt everything.
I take comfort from that as I look at the unrecognizable carcass that hangs on a hook from the ceiling. I did everything to Marziale I promised myself I would. He just blew out his last, laborious breath through his skinless, lipless face. I’ve taken what I wanted. There’s nothing left to hang around for.
“Let’s wrap this up,” I say, wiping sweat from my forehead.
My expert already planted the explosives. He gives a thumbs-up sign. We have five minutes to get the hell out of here.