Total pages in book: 158
Estimated words: 144832 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 724(@200wpm)___ 579(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 144832 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 724(@200wpm)___ 579(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
Eloisa thought they had been coddled by Stefano. Taviano wasn’t certain what his mother meant by being coddled. Stefano was a taskmaster, but he made his siblings aware that he loved them. If that was coddling, Taviano was all for it.
“I hope you get to a point that you feel you can share your music with me someday, Taviano,” Nicoletta said. “I’d really love to hear it.”
His heart clenched hard and his stomach did a weird pitching roll. He wasn’t certain whether it was in joy at the thought or in protest. He wanted to share with her, because there were songs he was proud of. He wanted someone to hear them. He’d written them from his heart—maybe even his soul. He’d heard music outside in the woods, with the wind howling the way his mind did some nights when it wouldn’t quiet. When the rain beat at the windows of his home, the way his tears did in his mind. She would understand. If anyone could, Nicoletta could.
He had listened to Kain Diakos’s music because Nicoletta loved it so much. She played it all the time. He’d listened closely to the lyrics and he understood why she identified with his songs. There was always hope there after the initial terrible tragedy.
Taviano hoped that Nicoletta would identify with his lyrics even more. That his songs would give her that same lift, the same faith that there was more than just ugliness in the world. That there were choices and family was the best choice of all, whether blood or of the heart. Those were his beliefs. His hopes. His gifts. And they were for her.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Halfway between St. Louis and Chicago sat Bloomington, Illinois. Mariko and Ricco used the fastest tubes to take them to Bloomington. They stayed in the shadows of the little café where the Demons were reputed to hang out and eat while they refueled their cars when traveling. The owner of the café was friendly with them and the cops stayed away from that part of the city for the most part. Unwary travelers were parted from their wallets. A few bodies turned up but most of them simply disappeared.
Ricco and Mariko had endless patience. Both had grown up in a hard school. They had honed their skills and were excellent at their craft. Their craft just happened to be assassination. It didn’t matter how long they had to wait; they could easily pass the time together anywhere. They took a shadow up the side of the building to the roof.
Ricco liked the fact that the café was a large rectangle. On the two shorter sides, two gaudy neon signs spelled CAFÉ in large red capital letters. On the front of the building, a sprawling, obnoxiously large sign on the bottom took up most of the long front, proclaiming in red neon letters on a gold background that it was “great eating.” Stacked above that sign was another, forever claiming the café as belonging to Harold Peterbuilt and Son. The “son” had been x’d out with black paint. Ricco sarcastically thought that was very classy.
The roof itself was fairly flat. He took Mariko’s hand and helped her across what looked like a tar rooftop. There were two outcroppings that were square, along with several giant fans. They made their way to the squares, where Mariko sat while Ricco scouted the area for cover and the best shadow tubes leading to the alleyway below as well as the parking lot to one side of the building and the landscaped front.
The front was mainly overgrown weeds and white rock that had long since been tossed around the parking spaces for the handicapped. Graffiti decorated the spaces in colorful language and art. The drawings added to the décor, along with sidewalks that were cracked and broken in places. The cement was more like waves than a straight line. Someone had written “fuck you, Harold” in bold black letters over and over right up to the door of the café. Ricco presumed it was the son who had been crossed off the neon sign.
His gaze swept the parking lots on all sides, seeking the cars they had been told the Demons were traveling in. Two SUVs, both with tinted windows, both dark navy blue with silver rims, traveling with a Ram truck with a cab. Fourteen members of the Demons coming in from St. Louis to Chicago, all to help Benito Valdez retrieve Nicoletta Gomez for whatever nefarious purposes he had in mind for her. That wasn’t going to happen. Nicoletta was a Ferraro, and no one was going to take her from their family.
There were several cars in the parking lots, but not the vehicles they were looking for. He wasn’t surprised. They had taken the fastest shadows possible in the hopes of arriving well ahead in order to scout out the premises and prepare a strategy.