Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 82524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
“Please,” he pleads, his face wild with pain and terror.
I want to follow Hattie and Nunzio, but I can’t seem to move, transfixed by my husband. He looks every inch the monster I’ve been imagining. It’s unleashed, all the hate and the pain, his dark side on full display. He cuts the young man, not hesitating, not seeming to care at all when the wound bleeds and his victim cries out, sobbing and begging.
It’s horrific, and Rafe shows no emotion.
“Who sent you?” he asks and cuts every time the young man says he doesn’t know. “Who planned this? How did you get here?”
“It was Ignazio!” His pathetic sobs send ice down into my heart. “Ignazio and some of the other older Capos planned it! They sent us here… they wanted your daughter for leverage… they said you’re ruining the family, that we’re all finished…”
Rafe’s snarl is shocking. Only a moment earlier, he was calm. Now he stabs the young soldier again and again, jabbing and slicing, blood splattering everywhere. It’s vicious and horrible, and when he’s done, Rafe is drenched in sticky red and his victim is a ruined mess of butchered meat.
“The fucking accountant,” Rafe says to himself as if he doesn’t fully believe it. “All this time… Ignazio…”
“Rafe?”
He seems to only just realize I’m there. His face is twisted into a mask of pain and rage. “I’ve known him since I was a child, June. He was one of my father’s original Capos. He’s been in my life… I don’t know how long…”
“Rafe, I’m so sorry.”
I don’t know why I do it. I go to him and wrap my arms around my husband. I hug him tight, breathing in the smell of blood, gunpowder, and his sweat. I kiss his neck, wanting to comfort him, because it’s clear that he’s hurt.
Men came to his house and tried to take his daughter away.
All for some sick game.
And now to find out it was a member of his own family?
I can’t even begin to imagine.
“You have to go join Hattie and Nunzio.” Rafe sounds calmer now. “I’ll handle the cleanup.”
“Are you going to be okay?”
He looks at me and there’s only brutal honesty in his expression. “No. I’m not.”
“Rafe—“
“Go, June. If you want to help me, you can make sure you’re safe, you and our daughter.”
I don’t correct him this time. I get on my toes and kiss him. This brutal beast. I watched him torture, interrogate, and viciously murder a person, but I still want to ease his pain. Something’s broken inside of me. There should be more humanity, but I’m fresh out.
They tried to hurt my daughter.
There’s no mercy for beasts like them.
22
RAFE
The door of the townhouse shatters under my boot.
Inside is a nice foyer. A chandelier hangs from a golden chain. Photos of a happy, smiling family sit beneath a large ornate mirror. Steps lead up. A hall goes back. The floor is polished hardwood.
There’s no noise.
“Find him.” I lift one of the pictures. It shows Ignazio, his wife, their three kids. I smash it under my boot and take the stairs.
Each room is empty. I rip it to pieces. His boys are grown now, out of the house, but they’ll be found. His wife too. I don’t know what I’ll do with the extended family, but we’ll see.
First though, the accountant.
His office is neat. Ignazio always was orderly. The ledgers and files are clearly marked and organized. His books are arranged and were dusted recently.
I rip them off the shelves.
When I was eleven, my father brought me to this room. I remember it being much bigger. Back then, Ignazio was like an uncle, always smiling. He offered me candy and I sat on the couch toward the back wall while my father puffed on a cigar. The room stank of tobacco and whisky. I loved that smell. I still do. It reminds me of my parents.
Ignazio’s laugh was enormous. I’ll never forget it. For some reason, that afternoon sticks in my head, probably because my father kept making Ignazio crack up. They would discuss business and I’d zone out, not interested, but soon after Ignazio would be howling again and I’d be grinning too, unable to help it. I remember going through the stacks of books at one point, looking for something good to read.
Nothing for kids, unfortunately, Ignazio said to me at the time. But maybe try John’s room if you need something to read.
There were afternoon cookouts, backyard barbecues, block parties and sports when we were young. The community pool, roof decks, running down the subway steps. I always liked Ignazio’s kids. We called them our cousins, back in the day. John, Thomas, and Paul. Three fucking saints.
Now I have to kill them.
I tear the office apart. I feel sick straight to my soul. The thought that my father sat in this room and enjoyed himself, made Ignazio laugh, gave a piece of himself to this place—to that traitor fucking bitch—it threatens to break me.