Grasp of Darkness

Chapter Four

Dimitri and Antony Colombo stood before them. While their faces paled with shock, they still looked the same, albeit more tired.

Good, Phoebe thought. They deserve it. Pure instinct took over as she scooted further into the seat, protecting the mother and child behind her. Her eyes never left those of Dimitri's, the leader of the New York Mafia. Her eyes narrowed while his face remained as blank as a canvas that had just been unwrapped from its plastic bindings, though his face still looked like it was carved from stone, still flawless in its entirety.

She despised it; only the evil could look pretty while committing heinous acts.

"What is her name, Angela?" Antony asked, ripping his eyes from the little girl that resembled him so much to look at the woman he called his own just for a moment. "Tell me my little girl's name."

"El Diablo," Phoebe interjected, a mischievous smile on her face.

"You better wipe that smile off of your face, little girl, before I–" Dimitri was interrupted.

"Before you what?" Phoebe smirked at Dimitri, crossing her arms over her chest. If she was going to go down–which she would certainly not be doing that Thursday evening, for that would surely defeat the purpose of having a nice Friday Eve–then she would be harassing him as she went, dragging him into the pits of insanity with her. "And, by the way, I find that name very inappropriate considering there's a child sitting right behind me."

"Our niece."

"My niece. We don't even know that she's even yours." Her heart lurched, but she did not let her panic show. Nasty habits made sure to poke through her personality at all times; one of these habits being the decision to say terrible things at inconvenient times...and the decision to continue on. "We're pretty women; we haven't had any trouble getting some while you boys were off chasing your own tails."

That was a lie, but she did not miss the way Dimitri's nostrils flared and the way Antony broke from his stupor to stare at Angela in surprise. To her credit, she merely shrugged as the rest of her body quaked.

"I will let that one slide, Phoebe. You and Angela have been through a lot these past few months."

"Getting some dick or what I just said?"

"Phoebe, shut the fuck up!" Angela hissed, covering Caty's ears, protecting her from her harsh tone and threatening words. Angela turned toward the two men that towered over their sitting bodies. "We haven't...we haven't slept with anyone. I swear."

"Speak for yourself," Phoebe said, picking absentmindedly at her nails. Dimitri's jaw clenched, and she could not help the little smirk that pulled at the very edge of her mouth.

"She hasn't either. She works, she sleeps, she takes care of the baby, and that's it. There's no room for anything else, I swear. Same with me."

"You don't know that! I could be getting paid to–" A hand shot out from behind her, wrapping around her mouth. Phoebe rolled her eyes, licking a long stripe up Angela's hand. "That's what you get, you little shit."

"Don't speak to my wife in such a manner," Antony hissed, his nose tilting in the air.

"Same with you, Antony," Dimitri interrupted, shooting a cold glare in his brother's direction. "Come on, Sweetheart, take my hand. We're leaving."

Phoebe feigned a sigh, rolling her eyes before crossing her arms. She would need to put up a fight, a small one before she could convince him that her fake surrender was not, in fact, a farce. "No, I don't think I'll be doing that."

Dimitri sighed. "Phoebe, stand up, Baby, before I carry you out of here myself."

"I thought I was the one that was supposed to get their back blown out." Phoebe winked, leaning back in her seat as Antony snickered and Dimitri huffed.

"Stand, little girl, or you'll be tied to my bed for the next week."

"What if I have to go pee?"

He was obviously far too used to her antics, only sighing and pinching the bridge of his nose. "You'll get to go pee. Obviously."

"Then that's tolerable. I'm sitting here."

Angela quivered in her seat, shaking Phoebe's shoulder. "Stand the fuck up right now, or I will kick your ass out of the seat."

Phoebe rolled her eyes before putting her eyes back on Dimitri. "Fine. I'm just going to get my bag."

"You don't need it."

"It's right here, and I'm quite fond of the things I have in there, thank you very much."

"I'll get you copies."

"They're thrifted, you pretentious dick. Of course you think you can get me a copy–have you forgotten about emotional attachment you fucking–"

"Get the bag and get out," Angela hissed. Of course Angela knew her plan; there was no bag tucked beneath the seat. It would just be a chance for Phoebe to dig her fingers into Angela's shoe and pull out their only weapon. She positioned her foot so it would be easier to reach. Phoebe dipped to the ground while Angela began her task: distracting the people who could take their freedom away with one move. "Her name is Caty. That's C-A-T-Y, Caty Harper Colombo."

"Caty," Antony tested, looking at his daughter as the hilt of the gun touched Phoebe's finger as she was getting ready to pull out the gun. "She looks just like you. So pretty...the both of you are so pretty." He took a step forward, and Phoebe pulled out the gun slowly. "Thank you so much, Angela. She's so beautiful."

Phoebe whipped out the gun, pointing it directly at Dimitri's forehead. "Leave now, or I will be getting murdery on this bus tonight. We don't want that, do we?"

"Baby," Dimitri tried, sighing as he buried his face in his hand, not batting an eye. "You couldn't hurt a fly. Stand up, babygirl. We need to go; you have bags under your eyes and you need sleep. You're just tired."

"I'm not just fucking tired! And you shouldn't point out the physical faults of someone who's holding a gun to your head. It's not a good idea."

"You have no faults, but you're grating on my nerves. Stand up. Now."

Phoebe moved the gun, just slightly, pulling the trigger in order to fire a warning shot, just past the two mens' heads. Nothing erupted from the gun. She checked the safety. It was turned off. She whipped her head around to face Angela. "What?"

"Give me the gun, Sweetheart. You shouldn't be handling things like that." Tears filled her eyes as Dimitri pried the gun from her hands. "I'm sorry, don't cry. Please don't cry, you know how much I hate it."

She was not sad. She was not mournful. Deadly rage filled her veins, at both her friend and at the men in front of her. That gun was loaded; she had checked only that morning. Angela did something to it. She knew they were coming, and she called them right there.

"Come on, Baby," he said, plucking her from her seat and putting her on his hip. "We're leaving. Now."