Raffaele
While waiting for the Capos to arrive, I've gone through half a bottle of bourbon. I have forgotten what it's like to be sober. I internally curse. I never wanted to betray Asimina. She may not be here, but that doesn't stop me from feeling like I have. Laughing, I pour another glass. Before that woman, I would have several and didn't give a fuck. Tears never ran down my face; this pain in my chest was foreign. I can't accept my reality; I don't want to accept she's gone. I walk through that bedroom door every night, and my eyes travel to our bed. My heart fucking shatters when I see it empty. Insanely enough, I keep expecting her to be there.
Drying my eyes, the door opens, my four Capos walk in. "The job is done," Leon advises, making his way over to the minibar.
"An announcement has been placed on the church community. Father Frances had urgent family matters to attend to in Italy." Mark walks over, handing me a copy of the leaflet.
"Nice work," I mumble and raise my glass.
The boys take seats on the black leather sofas shifting uncomfortably. They each sense my dismal mood. I erupt with laughter earning perplexed glances from around the room. "Are you alright, Raf?" Sal asks nervously.
"Am I alright?" I repeat and evict the lump in my throat.
Standing from my seat, I pick up my glass and repeat, "Am I alright?" shaking my head, fury consumes me, my anger rises so violently I don't get a chance to contain it, smashing my glass on the floor, I abruptly turn to them, gritting my teeth. The boys tense as I spit, "She didn't, fucking fight to stay alive."
My chest burns as I yell. My thin shirt suffocates me. The boys flinch, scared to open their mouths, fearful of taking any approach. Hitting my head repeatedly, with my palm, I start to pace. "She won't leave my thoughts; she's embedded in there." Insanity finally wins, throwing me into a never-ending abyss as I start to laugh hysterically. "I can't even fuck a whore. Guilt consumes me."
Sal's mouth opens and quickly closes. Faltering his eyes, he attempts to come up with the right words and fails as his apologetic eyes meet mine. Defeatedly I drop on the chair in the corner for the room. My eyes fuse shut, and I'm praying the clog in my throat finally chokes me. "She didn't fight."
Mark walks over, handing me the bottle. It's what men do, drown it in liquor and hope it stays the fuck down and doesn't surface. "None of us have a clue as to what to say," he states the obvious.
"She loved you," Alex says, words he and all of us never thought he would speak.
"I know," My brows pull together; I stare in blank space.
"She gave you Nathan," Leon swirls his drink, not meeting anyone's eyes. "Take it from me, that hasn't had parents. One is better than none. Focus on him. It's what she would want."
Leon grew up in Saint Mary's, raised as a killer, sent on jobs at the age of ten. I know I need to pull it together for my son's sake, but I can't see a way out of this hole. "I failed her. I failed my son."
"She wouldn't want you to blame yourself." Sal shakes his head, "You still have Nathan."
Mark's phone rings, and everyone goes quiet as he answers, "Tommy," rolling his eyes, he places the phone on speaker. "Go ahead. We are listening," Mark confirms.
"Why the fuck is your phone off, Raf?" He yells and irks me.
"Watch how you talk to me. It died of battery. What the fuck do you want Tommy, aren't you meant to be providing comfort to one Katerina Alexiou?"
Exhaling slowly, he ignores my jab, "Get in the car, all of you now. My boys lured the assassin to our mother's restaurant."
The moment Tommy breathes his last word, my body tenses, and I jump to my feet, storming over to Mark's desk. I tuck my gun into my pants and throw my jacket on—a sharp intake of air fuels the fire within. I've been waiting for this.
Taking the back exit, I slide into the driver seat. Mark always parks his car directly outside. Throwing me the keys, my cousin jumps into the passenger seat. The engine roars to life, and I slam my foot down on the accelerator. Reaching a hundred and fifty miles, I'm racing through California's streets. I am intoxicated, but my senses are sharper than ever. Abrupt turns cause me to drift, but I can't get there fast enough. I'm on edge. I need to end the life of her killer. Maybe it will give me some peace.
Slamming my foot on the brakes, my eyes drift to Tommy holding the door open as employees exit through the back door. My body is on fire. Rage is all I feel, flinging the door shut, my steps are explosive, "Is the cunt in there?" my eyes narrow as my voice surges.
"Yes, our father and uncle are a few minutes away." Pushing past Tommy, he takes hold of my arm. "There are fucking customers in there,"
Leaning closer to his face, I snap, "Then get them the fuck out. Now!"′
Unlocking his phone, he nods, "They're here. They're entering from the front," flicking his screen around, he shows me our father's text.
Storming through the kitchen, I enter the restaurant sitting area. My eyes meet my father's as he advises people the kitchen is shut due to a malfunction with the oven. Apologizing to the customers, he hands them a card asking them to return Friday for a free meal.
Scanning the room, I glance at Zio Valentino sitting next to a man, forcing him to stay seated. Running his hands through his ash-blond hair, he curses under his breath. Those hazel eyes dart around, looking for an escape. Maliciously I stare. The moment he looks in my direction, my feral state has him visibly shaking; his breathing becomes erratic. The Capos walk through the restaurant closing the screens on the windows.
Shutting my eyes, my hands ball into fists. One breath is all I take before I storm towards my victim. Fisting his jumper, I lift him on the table and bring down my right fist repeatedly to his face. Tuning out everyone I continue to hit, watching the skin of his face blotch and discolor.
"Mother fucker," I grit through my teeth. My father and uncle's hands grab hold of me, trying to peel me off him; there is no stopping the Demon. His left eye swells and bruises. My knuckles feel raw. With every punch, his skin splits. I can no longer make out his features his covered in blood.
"Raffaele," My father bellows.
"Fermare - stop!" My uncle is now heard.
Their grips around me tighten, and they start to restrict my swings. I scream with fury as they manage to pull me off. I'm not fucking satisfied. "You, fucking cunt," I bellow, trying to push through the men in front of me. Both my uncles, along with Stefano, hold me back with more force.
"Look at me, Raffaele," Zio Valentino grabs my face forcing me to meet his eyes. "We need answers first,"
I breathe through my nose, trying to control my rage. I'm unable to peel my eyes off the man that killed her. Stefano pulls me by the arm towards the bar, the same bar Asimina once drugged Sal. Rubbing my face, the metallic smell of blood hits my nostrils. Lowering my shaky right hand, I look down at my knuckles, split, swollen, and bleeding. The endless emotions crush me, one fucking tsunami after another. Anger, pain, and hurt have me shaking as my rapidly beating heart pumps. The pulsation is felt in each of my veins. Throwing my jacket off, I take a drink out of Stefano's hands. All I see are those brilliant green orbs, and I shatter all over again. Tears are threatening to run once more. It's overwhelming.
Stefano's hand clasps my shoulder. My eyes remain on the golden liquid as I swirl it in the glass. "Raf," he tries to get my attention. I tilt my head slightly, acknowledging him. Letting out a heavy breath, my brother removes his hand, "I don't even know what to say,"
"Nothing! Say nothing," I mumble, setting the glass down. I rest my elbows on the bar and drop my head in my hands. Breathe, I keep telling myself. Hearing groans, I snap around, gawking at the assassin. Stefano remains by my side.
"Settle down, boy," my father pushes him back onto the table. Lighting his cigarette, my father takes a drag. "Judging by the terror in your eyes, you know what we want with you."
Luciano remains calm with his speech. "You killed two of our people," he blows out smoke and studies the assassin as he vigorously shakes his head. "No?" my father questions, pointing to Tommy and Leon. He motions them to come hither, "Is this the man?"
"That's him alright," Leon confirms while my brother gawks.
"I-I," he spits the blood out of his mouth before attempting to talk again, "I didn't kill two," he forces the words out while shaking his head. "You didn't kill two!" My father states, leaning closer to his face, he corrects, "You did!"
Hissing in pain, he confesses, "No! only a woman. In the carpark, but I didn't mean to."
"Well, that woman was my sister. She jumped in front when you pointed a gun at my son and one of our men," my father butts out his cigarette on the table next to the assassin's head. "You also shot a woman while she was on stage."
"No," he denies again, swallowing the lump in his throat, he continues, "I was there, ready to pull the trigger. I aimed, but someone beat me to it. I didn't fire."
"Who did?" My father doesn't bother to ask why run? The Red Rose Ball is by invite only.
"I don't know, but it wasn't me."
"You're lying," my father narrows his eyes, focusing on the man's body language.
"No!" He yells, closing his eyes, "the shot was taken from the right. I was on the top left of the projector above the fourth pillar."
My father snaps his head to Leon. All Saint Mary's assassins are trained in the same manner. "They always set up close to the exit. So, they can escape quickly amongst the crowd." Leon confirms.
My father eyes meet mine as Tommy pulls out his phone, making a call, "Mariano,"
"Tommy," he greets.
"The shot on Mina," exhaling slowly, he rubs his eyes, feeling disappointed he hasn't delivered her killer. "Which angle was it taken from?"
"Eric's forensic team concluded top far-right," Mariano confirms. My heart sinks. There was more than one assassin, my anger fades, and depression takes over.
Apologetic glances fill the room; my father waits for me to accept the facts. With a stern nod his way, I acknowledge he's not Asimina's killer. My uncle steps forward, walking towards the kitchen. My father's persona changes, the Devil reveals himself. He drags the assassin off the table, throwing him on the floor, and delivers a few hard kicks to his stomach. Mark and Sal step forward and restrain him as he struggles to breathe. For the second time tonight, they're dragging a man to his death.
The assassin is beaten badly already; he has no strength to fight back. Weak kicks are all he can muster as he pleads for his life. No one responds, he may not have killed Asimina, but he killed the Devil's sister. Following the boys, I lean against the stainless-steel bench in the industrial kitchen, watching. Mark and Sal grab an arm each and lift him to his feet.
He spits, begging, "Please, she got in the way, the shot..."
"Shut the fuck up," my father's voice rockets, vibrating through his chest.
The man flinches and throws his head back, attempting to silence his cries hoping they will give him a quick death. Luciano Morelli grips his head, slamming it down on the burning hotplate. The sizzling of his skin is heard above the man's screams. My eyes stay glued to his as the right side of his face liquefies. Life starts to slip away, his body slightly convulsing before falling limp. Seconds away from death, my father releases his hold as Zio Valentino drives a butcher knife straight through his temple.
Throwing the man to the floor, his hazel lifeless eyes stare into blank space. The skin on the right side of his face completely melted off and remains on the hotplate, still sizzling. "Tommy, find the cunt that shot Asimina." My father demands.
"One of you organize a new hotplate," he barks another order, walking up to me, his hand clasps my shoulder. With a tight squeeze, he promises, "We will find him, and he will die!"
Dislodging the lump in my throat, I pull out my keys. Suddenly I'm desperate to read more of Asimina's letters, "I'm heading home."
* * * * *
The disappointment, along with a build-up of anger, kept me up last night. We still haven't found the fucker who pulled the trigger on Asimina. Tommy and Stefano are working with the Capos to deliver the man to me. In the meantime, I'm taking this road trip. I don't know what I'm hoping for. I know I need to feel close to her, and with this letter, our memories are vibrant.
After packing a bag last night, I closed my eyes for a couple of hours. This morning after a quick shower, I canceled the meeting with Roberto until my return. Pulling into the carpark of the hospital, I kill the engine on the Mustang. She loved this car for its memories. I won't lie; I'm attached to it for the same reason.
Opening the car door, I head to a private elevator. Stefano and Jaz are my first stop. My mother is visiting, and I need to see my son before I leave. Within a few minutes, the doors open on the Morelli floor, and my son is heard. He attempts to talk more and more. Intently, he watches you and tries to repeat the words. It won't be long before he starts having brief conversations. Pushing the door open to Stefano and Jaz's room, everyone's eyes fall on me. The sympathetic glances are beginning to irritate me.
Ignoring everyone, I catch my son as he walks towards me. "Hey, little man," wrapping his arms around me, he leans his head on my chest.
"He was a little unsettled last night," my mother advises ruffling his hair.
"If he's too much trouble while I'm gone, just call me. I'll come home," I gaze into his green eyes. A feature he's taken from his mother. At least this color remains.
Scoffing, she glances at me, annoyed, "I have raised four. Each one of you was nothing less than trouble. I can handle it." She reminds me of our childhood. Stefano was around five when he broke our mother's vase by kicking a ball in the house. He was a fast runner. She spent fifteen minutes trying to catch him.
"When are you heading off?" Stefano questions, pulling me out of my thoughts.
Meeting his eyes, I respond, "Straight after this visit."
Jaz keeps her head lowered, focusing on Luciano. She is struggling as much as the rest of us. Trying to lighten the mood for their sake and mine, I ask, "How is he?"
"Good," she mumbles, blowing a breath and meeting my eyes, "he's no longer in the incubator. We might be going home soon."
Tears well up in the girl's eyes as she glances at Nathan. Stefano throws his arms around her for comfort, "Jaz and I would like to stay with you for the first month. She could use Bianca's company and Nathan's."
Stefano's sad eyes say the words his mouth hasn't. She needs people around. The death of her friend and the arrival of her son is overwhelming.
Nodding, I agree, "Of course,"
Standing from the bed, my brother walks over, "Tommy and I will have leads by the time you're back. We will find him." He promises.
Squeezing my hold on Nathan, I indulge in his little hugs. The door behind me opens as Petro walks in. "Hey," he greets, clasping my shoulder. He leans down, kissing Nathan.
"The room is empty," he advises, giving me a meek smile, "I hope this trip helps,"
"Thanks," I respond. The letter starts in room ten, second floor, where one feisty Asimina held two of my men and me at gunpoint. The memories still vibrant in my mind as if they only happened yesterday.
"And for the two of you," Petro turns to Stefano and Jaz, "Baby Luciano's weight has doubled, he's feeding well, and his lungs have matured enough." Taking Luciano from Jaz's arms, he smiles at the boy, "You're going home at the end of the week."
"Really?" Jaz sits straight, her eyes well up, relief washes over her.
"Yeah, really!" Petro answers.
My brother embraces his fiancé. Peeking at me over Stefano's shoulder, guilt consumes her, Jaz's features painfully morph. Feeling happy is bittersweet when we suffered a loss just under two weeks ago.
"That's great news," I ease Jaz's worry and turn to my mother, "Can you organize one of the rooms at the house?"
"Of course," taking Nathan from my hands, she opens a biscuit for the boy. His eyes widen; he hungrily shoves it in his mouth.
I take a few steps towards Petro and look down at my nephew. His skin finally has color. His cheeks are fuller. A smile curls on my lips at the sight of his. He must be having one sweet dream. "Nathan used to do that a lot," Stefano wavers my thoughts, "Mina was convinced he was dreaming of boobs."
A weak laugh escapes my lips. It's something she would say. I miss that mouth of hers. Waving everyone off, I leave the room. Am I ready to relive our moments through her words? Probably not, but I need to. The elevator doors open, stepping in, I press the button for the second floor. Closing my eyes, I control my nervous breathing and only reopen them at the sound of the door opening. Stepping out, I unroll her letter and walk inside room ten, leaving the door open.
A night of nightmares leads me to the love of my life. I just didn't know it yet.
Traumatized, I met you. Although I didn't notice you at the time, there was an aura about you that drew me in. Unfortunately, my fear stopped me from really seeing the sexy god in front of me.
I shake my head at her words. She never ceased to bring a smile to my lips.
I held a gun to your head unknowingly with the safety on. The best decision I ever made was following you that night. The fates interwind our threads. We were always meant to be.
Tell me your first thoughts of me, Raffaele.
Fusing my eyes shut, I remember that night she intrigued me. My first thought was breathtaking. Her shaky hands could barely hold up those guns. I watched her that night battle the fear down and raised above it. She stood her ground—demanded and threatened me—she was impressive!
I chuckle at one of the requests she made. Google! She needed Google; she had heard my name but couldn't remember. Rolling up her letters, I walk out and back to the elevator. Ready to make my way to the French Manor.
Stepping out into the underground car park, Petro's car comes to a stop directly in front of the Mustang. Lowering his window, he looks up at me, "I'm heading home. I'll see you in a week,"
I nod and slide into the car, roaring the engine to life. The gas light comes on. I sigh. Luckily there's a gas station up the road. I pull out of the car park, make a left, and then a right into the gas station to fill up.
Popping the tank open, I step out and head to the back of the car. It's already six in the afternoon. My goal was to make it to the ranch tonight, but I might need to just stay at the Manor.
Pulling the lid open, a folded piece of paper falls out. Crouching, I unfold it and read the contents. Pins and needles rush through, and a numbness consumes me. I sit here stunned, re-reading the note, trying to understand the meaning.
The weight of a single brick is three kilos. Twenty-one bricks equal my body weight. Add another four bricks, and it fills a box.
My rearing Stallion is the answer you need is 9997
Yay or Nah?
Thoughts on the hidden note and its contents?
Thoughts on Raffaele?
Tommy, the gun?
Thoughts on Luciano and the death of the assassin?
Who shot Mina, if not that assassin?
What could Roberto want?
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