I
ran my fingers over the collar of my brand-new coat, thoroughly enjoying the feeling of the way the top-of-the-line faux fur collar hugged my neck. Of course, I couldn’t stand the thought of owning real fur. I may be a stone-cold bitch in some ways, but I wasn’t into animal sacrifice when it came to fashion. I sighed and surveyed my kingdom from my usual stool, right next to Rasputin’s empty stool at the bar. He was out for the evening, conducting business with his new judge, so he left me in charge.
“Another drink, Ms. Antonetti?” Mikey asked in a deferential tone. Gone was the bartender that used to tease and even flirt with me. Now he was polite and respectful every time we saw each other. Occasionally I missed our banter, but I much preferred my new status.
“Please,” I said, pushing my glass toward him without looking away from the dining room. The new wait staff were doing an excellent job. We’d had to replace both Magda and myself rather quickly. Rasputin wouldn’t let me continue as a waitress, not even for one more shift, despite Magda’s abrupt disappearance.
He’d given me almost complete decision-making power when it came to the restaurant, his only rule being that if his guys came in with cash, staff had to accept the bills and give cash back, no questions, no hesitation. If anyone came nosing in our business we looked the other way and plead ignorance. In the weeks since I’d been running the restaurant he paid me the highest compliment by saying the place was running smooth as clockwork. He even said he’d been able to pay more attention to his business around the city, expanding our empire since he didn’t have to pay such close attention to the money laundering side of things. I’d grinned at the way he said the word ‘our’, how he entrusted so much to me in such a short amount of time.
Having assured myself that the dining room was running as smooth as ever, I uncrossed my legs, picked up my glass of wine and slid off the stool. “I’ll be in Mr. Shy’s office if anyone needs me,” I told Mikey, turning away from the bar and heading down the shadowy hallway leading toward the back rooms.
Before I made it to the office an arm slid through mine. I glanced up, expecting to see my lover, back early from his business. Instead I was met with the fierce glower of an older mustached stranger, clearly Italian. The thick eyebrows, thin lips and a wrinkled, bitter expression told me this man was probably related to Magda. Well shit. The muzzle of a gun flashed in the dimly lit hall before he pressed it against my side. Double shit.
“You’re coming with me,” he growled, shoving me hard toward the back exit. The glass of wine I’d been holding slipped from my fingers, smashing against the floor.
I opened my mouth to protest, but the door flew open and a shadowy figure reached through the doorway, grabbed my arm and yanked me through. Now there was a man in front of me and a man behind, both ushering me into the rainy alleyway behind the restaurant. My heart pounded in my chest and despite the gun I opened my mouth to scream, to let the restaurant staff know what was happening. Before any sound emerged from my lips pain exploded in the side of my head. My knees buckled and I would’ve fallen except the guy in front grabbed me roughly and dragged me forward toward the open door of a vehicle. I was shoved inside. The door slammed shut before I could attempt another scream.
I pressed a shaking hand against the side of my head. The door on the other side of me slammed as the mustached thug slid into the vehicle. The moment his door closed the car took off, driving away from the scene of the crime at a high rate of speed. I clutched the doorframe in one hand and brought my other hand down, looking at the blood on my fingertips with anger. The asshole cut me when he smacked me in the side of the head with his gun. He was going pay for that move.
It should’ve frightened me that they weren’t worried about me seeing where we were going. It didn’t. We drove to a dilapidated warehouse on the riverfront, completely deserted except for an empty car parked next to the building. They couldn’t have made more of a statement about their plans for my future health if they wanted to. Someone opened my door and I was pulled roughly from the vehicle.
“Move.” The same man pushed me forward, because clearly the asshole believed I couldn’t walk on my own. I stumbled on my heels and reached out to steady myself against the side of the car.
Mustache grabbed my arm and pulled me through a door into a cold, empty building. The other two guys from the car filed in behind us, while another, much older man stood in the warehouse, waiting. He was leaning negligently against a table, smoking a cigarette. I was dragged forward to the old man and then pushed to stand directly in front of him. I wasn’t particularly tall, but in heels I damn near towered over the stooped, elderly man.
The cigarette still dangling from the fingers of one hand, he reached for my face with the other. I tried to jerk away from his touch but one of his thugs grabbed my arms and held me still. He took hold of my chin and squinted up at me. “Pretty thing,” he grumbled, his voice thick and creaky with age. “Shame.” He released my face and turned away. “Sit ‘er down. Don’t touch her until Shy arrives.”
A chair was brought forward and placed next to me. Before I had the chance to sit myself down, I was shoved into the seat, my ass hitting the wood hard. The breath hissed from between my teeth and I vowed that these men would die badly. Which was a pretty easy bet considering my lover wasn’t going to be happy when he found out what happened.
I looked at the table taking note of a rusty machete, a large switchblade and a pistol. I nodded toward the motley assortment. “Nice,” I said, leaning back in the chair and crossing my legs, getting comfortable. “It’s good to give yourself some choice. Although that rusted out piece is going to hurt like a bitch when Rasputin shows up.”
“Who the fuck you talking about?” Mustache asked, lighting a cigarette.
“Mr. Shy,” I clarified. “Rasputin is his first name. You know… I don’t think many people know that.”
“No one gives a shit,” he spat, his eyes gleaming malevolently.
I shrugged, unconcerned. “I guess it’s a matter of perspective. I give a shit. But you certainly won’t once he shows up and starts hacking y’all into little pieces.”
“Enough,” the old man grumbled. He snapped his fingers and pointed at another chair, directing his man to bring it forward and place it in front of mine. He sat and faced me. “Do you know why you are here, madam?”
I smiled coldly. “I have an idea.”
“I am Magda Russo’s uncle.”
I tilted my head but otherwise ignored his question. Of course I knew who these men were.
“That man over there,” he nodded toward mustache, “is her brother.”
I really wanted to correct their use of the present tense when discussing Magda’s aliveness, but I didn’t want them to just go ahead and kill me. I simply shrugged and said, “What does this have to do with me?”
He narrowed his eyes and growled, “She was last seen at the restaurant, going into a back room with Shy. Hasn’t been seen in over two weeks.”
I rolled my eyes. “Again, what does this have to do with me?”
“He’s made it clear exactly who you belong to. He’ll come for you,” he leaned closer, blowing a stream of smoke in my face.
I flashed another tight-lipped smile. “Yes,” I agreed. “He will.”
Before he could reply someone banged on the metal door, the sound reverberating throughout the warehouse. I couldn’t help the smug happiness that I was sure flashed across my face. The old man nodded toward one of his henchmen, sending him toward the door. The guy pulled a gun and swung the door open, pointing his weapon. Everyone waited with breathless anticipation.
No one was there. The guy stuck his head out the door and looked around. Nothing happened. He shrugged, stepped back inside and kicked the door shut.
I looked at Russo and asked, “Can I get a cigarette?” He raised an eyebrow. I shrugged. “Call it a last request.”
He flicked a hand at mustache who pulled a pack from his pocket, lit one and handed it to me. I nodded my thanks and took it from him, settling back in the chair again.
“You’re pretty relaxed for a dead woman,” the old man rasped, annoyance clear in his voice. He wanted me rattled, begging for my life.
I sighed softly and lifted a shoulder. “Again, that’s a matter of perspective.”
He leaned forward in his chair, growling in his creaky voice, “We’re going to cut you to pieces, you mouthy little bitch.”
I took the cigarette from between my lips and blew, exhaling the smoke, enjoying the sensation. I rarely indulged in cigarettes. I winked at old man Russo. “I’m not worried.” I took another drag and studied the man in front of me, taking in the exhausted slump to his shoulders. It was probably time for him to retire. “Want to know why?”
“Why is that?” he demanded sharply.
I dropped my voice to a whisper. “Because I know something you don’t know.”
“And what the fuck would that be?” he asked angrily.
I nodded toward the table and raised an eyebrow. “Missing something?”
All eyes landed on the table where the gun and switchblade remained, but the machete was missing. Everyone started shouting and pointing, trying to figure out where it went. Russo’s eyes were on me, narrowed in question. I stared back, a smile spreading across my face as I watched the machete rise up behind him, high in the air. It was a beautifully dramatic moment. No one saw it except me. My lover must have guessed how much I would enjoy the show.
“Say hi to Magda,” I said to her uncle, just before the machete buried itself deep in his neck.
The look on his face as he realized he was about to die was priceless; something I would take pains to burn into my memory. Blood sprayed from his neck, all across the table and one of his guys. I laughed and took another drag of my cigarette. One of the henchmen pulled his gun, making him an excellent next target. Apparently, my invisible lover agreed. The switchblade flew off the table and buried itself in the man’s left eyeball before he got a single shot off.
The next man made a run for the door, but Rasputin grabbed the gun off the table and shot him in the back. Mustache was next. He tried to grab me, reaching for my arm, rightly thinking he could use me as a shield. Unfortunately, he underestimated his foe’s speed and agility. The table flipped to the side and before mustache could lay a single finger on me, he hit the cement so hard I heard bones crack. I turned my head to the side and watched in fascination as Rasputin began systematically breaking each of the man’s limbs, bending and smashing until they snapped. Mustache screamed, cried and begged for mercy as an invisible man, a ‘ghost’ beat him to a bloody pulp, beat him until he quit moving, quit breathing.
When Rasputin was finished, when the last man was dead, he straightened. I could hear his harsh breathing as he stepped away from the body and turned toward me. He stopped a few steps away and reached a bloody hand out. I could see the red-painted appendage floating in the air in front of my face. I tossed my cigarette to the side, twisted in the chair and stood, placing my hand in his.
He brushed the hair gently back from my temple. I felt the barest brush of his lips against the cut on my head. “Let’s go home, doll,” he said in his sandpaper voice.
I smiled and followed him outside, pausing under the streetlamp next to the warehouse. I tilted my head up and opened my eyes wide, staring into the night. “The rain stopped.”