Chapter 31: Married With Malice: Chapter 30

The bomb came first.

All I knew in the first critical seconds of the aftermath was fire and chaos. The force of the blast knocked me down and I wound up flat on my back on dirty asphalt with my ears ringing.

Yet some inner mystery voice warned this wasn’t over.

Rather than wait for the smoke to clear, I scraped together the energy to spring to my feet. A few yards away, Monte was sitting on the ground looking dazed. His brother Nico was standing stock still while staring at the inferno behind us. And Richie was staggering around blindly like a drunk while holding a hand to his head.

Nearby, the establishment formerly known as Greasy Vito’s had been disassembled by the explosion and was still spitting fire. A couple of men ran out of the building and one of them was burning.

Nico looked my way and I waved my arms, hoping he understood that I was motioning to him to take cover. I scrambled over to Monte, yanked him upright and then took him with me when I dove behind the nearest large SUV.

Not a second too soon.

Monte was still out of it but recovering rapidly. He saw the pistol in my hand and grabbed his own piece out of the holster.

As for Richie, he was lurching around in the smoky haze. I could see him shouting but my hearing was still fucked. Richie likely suffered from the same temporary handicap. That’s why he had no clue that a black sedan had just turned sharply at the corner and was barreling down the street with an Uzi pointed out of an open window.

Richie never saw it coming before his body jerked with the impact of multiple hits. I squeezed off five shots in quick succession and clipped the car, blowing out one of the back tires. The car careened down the street, mowed down a pretzel cart and finally collided with the pole of a street light.

Half an hour later, those of us who were lucky enough to be outside the building when it blew are holed up in a deli down the street and trying to figure out what the fuck happened while avoiding all the uniformed lawmen running around.

Richie’s top capos, Franco and Brisetti, are dead, along with a list of mid-level bosses, soldiers and longtime family associates. Last I heard, Richie was still alive, though barely. I counted at least six bullet wounds before an ambulance got through the scene to pick him up and he wasn’t moving.

I check my phone for the tenth time, hoping Anni has responded to my texts. She has a bad habit of letting her phone battery die and I hate to think of her hearing the news and worrying about me for even a second.

It’s a tiny dose of luck that this place, so close to the scene, is owned by Franco’s cousin or we would have been scrambling. All the windows have been shuttered and the CLOSED sign is on the door, which is being guarded by two jittery gunmen while the rest of us pace around and talk quietly. Everyone who either wasn’t important enough to be at the Greasy Vito’s meeting or was lucky enough to be outside on a smoke break when the building blew has congregated here.

Most of us, anyway. A few are out there scouting for answers but right now we’re stuck in limbo, an information black hole. And every man in the room is looking at me to give orders as I sit at a table with the Castelli brothers.

“You need to get that taken care of,” Monte warns.

Nico glances at the bloody mess of his upper arm where he got grazed by a bullet. The bandana he tied around the wound is soaked through.

“I’m all right,” he says. A film of sweat shines on his forehead. I won’t be surprised if he pukes.

“You all outta prosciutto?” complains Eddie Vallone, one of Brisetti’s guys. His eyebrows have been singed off, he lost his mop of a hairpiece and his suit is covered in ash but he’s pawing around in the deli case and building a giant sandwich.

I guess we all deal with trauma in different ways. Some of us eat lunch meat to cope.

My phone buzzes but it’s just Aunt Donna. She’s weeping and borderline hysterical but she manages to sob out the news that Richie is in surgery.

“Who would do this to him?” she wails.

I love my aunt but she can be painfully dense. Doesn’t she understand who she’s married to? Over the decades my uncle has accumulated more enemies than there are stars in the sky.

“We’ll figure it out,” I tell my aunt. “Stay calm and I’ll be there when I can.”

She’s still howling and weeping when I end the call. I’ve wished for Richie Amato’s death many times but that doesn’t mean I enjoy seeing innocent bystanders like my aunt suffer.

I try Anni’s phone again. Voicemail.

Worry twists through my mind. I really need to talk to my wife. I need to hear her voice and reassure her that no matter what she hears, I’m coming home to her. Even if Anni doesn’t yet know about the Greasy Vito’s blast, it would be inconceivable to think that her father hasn’t heard. In all the confusion, Albie Barone may not realize that Richie can’t communicate at the moment.

Just when I’m about to call my father-in-law with an update, the door is opened. Silvio and Gianni walk in. They were fortunate to be hanging out in the kitchen when the bomb went off in the main dining room. Everyone in that room was turned into mincemeat.

If you own a junkyard you’ll probably keep a couple of Dobermans or Pit Bulls around to tear a leg from trespassers. Gianni and Silvio are our most reliable Dobermans. Both of them are ruthless, not the brightest bulbs in the pack but fanatically loyal to Richie for twenty years. They went chasing after the occupants of the car that fired the Uzi after the bomb blast.

Both of them stand just inside the doorway and ignore everyone as they scan the overcrowded deli packed with what’s left of the Amato empire. When their eyes land on me, Gianni jerks his chin and motions to the back, a clear signal that whatever they have to say will be said to me alone.

They start walking, assuming I’ll follow them out to the alley behind the deli. Monte raises an eyebrow and pushes his chair back but I shake my head as a message for him to stay put.

“He ought to get to a hospital,” I say, pointing at Nico, who responds with a stubborn scowl.

“Flesh wound,” he insists. “I’ll wait for a family doc to dig it out. Not going to any hospital for an interrogation.”

I understand his point. The brothers watch with apprehension as I rise from the chair. All other conversation in the room has come to a halt.

“I’ll be back,” I say.

“We’ll be here,” Monte replies.

Silvio and Gianni wait at the end of the dim corridor. Silvio shoves the back door open and lets me walk through it first before they follow and shut the door behind them. The alley is narrow, filthy, and empty except for a young guy wearing an apron and leaning against the grimy building while he sucks on a vape pen. One look at us and he goes scampering in the opposite direction as fast as his spindly legs will carry him.

“What’s the word on the boss?” Silvio asks. He sobbed when he saw Richie lying on the ground and riddled with bullets. There’s a streak of blood on his shirt and I’m sure it isn’t his.

“His condition is critical but I’ll know more when he gets out of surgery.”

Silvio winces. “Those bastards.” His eyes flick to me and he shifts his weight, clearly troubled about something more specific than my uncle’s condition.

“What did you find out?” I ask.

He exchanges a glance with Gianni. “The driver of the car fucked up his leg in the crash. We caught up to him a block away and hauled him into an empty building before the law started crawling all over the area.”

“Did he talk?”

A grim smile from Silvio. “He squealed like a rat in a trap when we put the squeeze on him.”

“He’s not squealing no more,” Gianni says with vicious pride.

“What did he tell you?”

Silvio’s boxy jaw tightens as he cobbles his thoughts together. “Did you hear the words that got shouted from the car before the bullets started flying?”

“Couldn’t hear a thing just then.”

He nods. “Nobody could.”

“Well? Did you find out what was said?”

“I did. ‘This is for Bill Barone.’ That’s what they shouted before cutting Richie down.”

Of all the possibilities that have been careening through my mind since the moment the bomb went off, this was not among them.

“That can’t be right.”

“The guy we cornered is definitely one of Albie Barone’s. I recognized him. Well, he was one of Albie’s. He doesn’t belong to anyone anymore. Seems Albie liked the idea of picking today, anniversary of the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre, to settle all scores at once.”

He raises an eyebrow, waiting for the wheels to stop spinning in my mind.

Albie and Richie have always been tight. For decades they’ve worked together to squeeze out the competition and divide up New York like a pizza pie. Richie’s relationship with his longtime friendly rival has played a central role in my uncle’s ambitions. And I’ve played a pivotal part in ensuring our two families will remain linked by blood.

But a friend who knows your weaknesses is potentially more dangerous than an enemy who doesn’t. My father-in-law always trended toward paranoia. The murder of his brother left him feeling exposed and vulnerable. In the wake of personal tragedy, he became more eager to turn his own organization into a fortress.

What better way to achieve this than to accept an agreement from an old, powerful friend when it was offered?

As for Richie, no one needs to educate me on his depravity. If he’s capable of using his nephews, his own flesh and blood, the sons of his only sister, as pawn pieces on his personal chessboard, then it’s no stretch to conclude he’s also capable of orchestrating a murder to prod an alliance along.

Maybe it’s true, maybe it’s not. Makes no difference right now. Albie Barone thinks it’s true.

The bomb was planted in anticipation that anyone of importance within the Amato empire would be inside that building. Then the car was supposed to pick off any survivors who staggered out alive.

Richie was supposed to die today. He might still die.

I was supposed to die too. There’s no other conclusion that can be drawn.

Albie wanted me dead even though I’m married to his daughter.

A crippling new terror cuts straight through me. I tell myself Albie would gain nothing by hurting his own daughter. Annalisa isn’t involved in any way in Richie’s business. He’s a rotten father but he has no reason to take out his fury on Anni.

I need to go get my wife. The rest of this bullshit can wait.

But when I take my phone out of my pocket and head for the door, Gianni stops me with a hand on my chest.

“You were late to the meeting.” He’s not at all subtle with his tone of suspicion. “Why were you late?”

“Fuck you” I fling his hand away. “First I almost got blown to kingdom come and then narrowly missed a final date with a hail of bullets.”

“Not now.” Silvio gets between us and shoots his partner a warning glare. “The kid is Richie’s nephew and has Richie’s trust. That’s all we need to know.”

“Right.” Gianni coughs. “Sorry, Luca.”

I don’t fucking care. Nothing matters to me less right now than the opinion of my uncle’s guard dogs.

“I’m getting my wife,” I say. “Silvio, you have the authority to do what needs to be done until Richie wakes up.”

He puffs up his chest, pleased to have the responsibility. He’s not the best candidate. However, the leadership positions have mostly been vacated today so he’ll have to do.

I have no more time for these clowns. I’m finding my wife. They can fight it out with Barone’s army as he seeks his insane revenge.

Cale.

My stomach flip flops in sickening fashion. I wasn’t even part of Richie’s team when Barone’s brother was killed. But Cale was. He was still Richie’s right hand man at the time.

Barone is cleaning house. There’s no way this same chain of logic wouldn’t occur to him. There might be a killer pulling up to Bright Hearts Ranch right now.

Spots swim in front of my eyes as I call my brother’s phone. It rings and rings.

WHY DOES NO ONE ANSWER THEIR DAMN PHONES TODAY???

Next I call Sadie and miracle of miracles, she answers on the second ring.

“Hey Luca,” she says. “Guess who laughed for the first time today? Margaret, it’s your Uncle Luca!”

“Sadie, where’s Cale?”

She stops cooing at the baby, immediately realizing something is wrong. “He’s working outside.”

“Do you see him?”

“Let me go to the window,” she says while Margaret makes baby noises in her arms. “Yes, I see him. He’s walking toward the barn.”

“Listen to me carefully. Open the door and shout to him the following words: ‘Angela says it’s time for dinner.’ Make sure that he hears you. Do it now.”

Sadie doesn’t question the order. Door hinges squeak and in a calm, clear voice, she calls out the same coded sentence Cale once told me to expect to hear from him if shit ever hits the fan.

Angela was the name of our mother.

Within seconds I hear pounding footsteps and then a rustling noise as Cale takes the phone from his wife.

“Luca,” Cale says, sounding calm and unruffled even though he’s aware of the enormity of this call.

“No time,” I say. “Things went bad between Richie and Barone. Barone’s men are probably on their way to you. Do whatever you’ve got to do.”

“I will,” he replies.

I hear Sadie in the background, fearfully asking what’s wrong.

“You take care, brother.” I swallow hard. “I need to get Anni. I’ll call you when I can.”

“Got it. Love you, kid.” A gruff current of emotion creeps into his voice.

I shut my eyes for a second as the magnitude of everything that’s at stake hits me with the speed of a train. “Love you too.”

Gianni and Silvio have vanished through the door to the deli by now and I stand there alone, consumed with helpless fury, unable to instantly save the people I love.

I try my wife’s phone again and curse up a blue streak when voicemail answers.

“Baby, it’s me. I’m fine but I need you to call me immediately.”

When I saw her at the house earlier, she didn’t mention any plans this afternoon. In all likelihood, she’s still there, waiting for me to come home early like I said I would.

There’s an easy way to confirm whether Anni’s left the house and I don’t know why I didn’t check before. Scrolling to the home security app, I log in and see that the alarm isn’t set. I click on the list of video clips recorded by the security cameras and find the one of me leaving.

The perspective is from the camera mounted over the garage and pointed at the driveway. Sabrina and Monte wait by the car while I run back to Anni and swing her around in my arms. There’s no sound, only the vision of Anni laughing with joy as I spun her around and gave her one last kiss. She watched until we drove down the street and then she returned to the house.

The camera captures a few other cars driving down the street, just ordinary traffic.

Then, forty minutes after my departure, there’s a video clip that makes my blood run cold.

I watch an unfamiliar dark sedan pulled into the driveway. Four men exit and I recognize three of them as Albie’s men. The middle aged balding guy named Sonny appears to be in charge. He issues silent orders to the rest of the men and then disappears out of view while the other men hang around tensely.

Within minutes, Sonny returns and Anni is with him. She’s not fighting. She’s walking calmly with a coat thrown over her shoulders. Strangely, she appears to be barefoot. She climbs into the car without a fuss.

Anni never would have gone willingly if she thought there was any danger. No telling what kind of lies they fed her but she was safe and didn’t appear frightened.

This is cause for significant relief. But now I need to know where they took her. Because that’s where I’m going. I’m getting my wife back and I’m getting her back RIGHT FUCKING NOW!

The back door to the deli screeches open. Monte and Nico walk out with their guns drawn. They must have gotten nervous when Gianni and Silvio returned to the deli without me. The Castelli brothers visibly relax when they see me standing upright and they move to holster their weapons.

I’m about to explain that I’m leaving to find Anni when my phone rings.

As I look at the screen, I need to do a double take because the caller is just about the last person I’d expect to hear from right now.