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The following morning brought bitter below-zero temperatures. The January frost clung like frozen marshmallows to the stark tree branches lining the streets of Payne Avenue. Micola stood behind Eddie, shuffling to stay warm, puffs of her frozen breath billowing around his shoulders as he fiddled with the keys to the front door of Fortunato’s.
Eddie struggled to hide his anger at having to come down to the restaurant so early on a Sunday morning. All this trouble, just so Micola could be sure she’d have enough heavy cream and mascarpone for the tiramisù.
Payne Avenue was quiet, the only sound coming from the occasional passing car.
“I don’t know why this couldn’t-a’ waited ‘til later, Micola,” Eddie said, clearly irritated as he pushed open the door to the restaurant.
“Scusa, Eddie. Un minuto.”
She shuffled off to the kitchen as Eddie stood near the door, waiting, his head pounding from too much scotch the night before.
Ordinarily, he would have slept it off, no problem. But Micola had come barging into his room earlier, waking him from his amorous dream about Kate, and fussin’ about mascarpone. He’d barely understood what she was sayin’ to him. As his mind cleared, he was reminded of Marco’s deception, which further fueled his dark mood.
Micola hurried out of the restaurant kitchen, smiling. “Okay, Eddie. I have what I need.”
Eddie gave her a half-smile and moved toward the door. He let Micola out first, while he locked up.
The sound of an approaching vehicle off to his right caught Eddie’s attention. A dark SUV had slowed down a half-block away. Micola babbled on in her broken English about her recipes and how none of the other women in the kitchen followed them like she did.
“Eddie. Isabel, she no-whip the eggs.” She flapped her hands in the air. “They no-get fluffy and my tiramisù is no-good!”
Eddie shivered as he took her elbow, helping her maneuver patches of ice on the sidewalk, as they headed toward her parked car.
The black SUV slowed as it passed in front of the restaurant. Eddie looked up and saw a woman in the passenger seat pointing something. Sudden pops of light flashed in his direction as three shots rang in his ears.
“Micola!”
Eddie’s brain and heart seemed to stop as he threw himself onto Micola, the two of them crashing violently onto the icy pavement. The brunt of his fall was taken by his knees. The rest of him landed directly on top of Micola. He ignored his piercing sharp pain and pushed himself off, rolling her onto her back.
He ignored the screech of rubber against asphalt as the SUV thundered down Payne Avenue. He briefly looked up to see it screech again as it barreled right and sped down Seventh Street.
He grabbed Micola’s shoulders and shook her.
“Micola—sweetheart! You okay?”
She let out a low gurgle as her glazed eyes looked up at Eddie, almost as though looking through him.
“No! No! Micola!”
Her mouth opened to speak, but she had no breath for words. Eddie saw the dark blood oozing around her wool coat, now ripped to shreds by the bullet that hit her near her throat. He tilted his head toward the gurgling sound, and began to press firmly on the wound.
“Jesus Christ!” Eddie hooked one arm under her neck. “Micola! Micola! Stay with me, sweetheart! Stay with me! You’re gonna’ be okay, ya’ hear me?”
Eddie’s panic and heartbreak crippled him. His throat froze to a numbness as he fought the cold air for a breath. He lowered Micola’s head and fumbled furiously in his coat pocket for either of his two phones. His hand grabbed the bigger phone and he pressed the emergency button at the bottom of the locked screen.
“911, what’s your emergency?”
“I got a woman here—she’s been shot. She’s losing blood fast. Please—get somebody over here. Hurry!”
“Sir, what’s your location?”
“Fortunato’s Restaurant on Payne Avenue near Seventh. We’re right outside the restaurant. Hurry! Please!”
“Sir, I have an ambulance on the way. Put pressure on the wound. Do you understand? Put the phone down and put pressure on the wound. Keep the line open though, okay?”
Eddie threw the phone onto the icy sidewalk, leaving the line open. Through his sobs, he climbed onto Micola’s body. With one palm over the other, he pressed into the gaping hole near her throat. Her warm, thick blood slipped around his cold fingers, as he looked down at her, her eyes now closed, her body motionless.
Tears burned his eyes, his breath coming out in bursts of cold fog. He hadn’t realized until that moment how much he loved Micola. She’d taken him in. Changed his life. He felt overcome with a haze, a dizziness of disbelief. He continued to press as he shook his head, his tears freezing on his cheeks.
“No,” he whispered. “Please, God. No. Come on, Micola.” His voice grew louder. “Come on! Can you hear me? Stay with me! Micola!”
He heard the 911 operator’s voice on the phone near his leg but couldn’t understand what she was saying. He continued pressing on Micola’s wound as he looked up and down the empty street. Finally, the distant sound of a siren grew as he begged Micola to stay strong.
“They’re comin’, sweetheart. Here they come. Stay with me now, ya’ hear? I need you. Come on. Stay with me!”
Even as he pressed and begged, he knew he’d lost her. He’d killed her as if he’d pulled the trigger himself. This was his fault. His gut felt sucker-punched and his lungs could find no air. Still, he never stopped pressing.
The ambulance screamed louder from the direction of Seventh Street. It rounded the corner onto Payne Avenue and came up fast. Eddie stayed in position, never looking up, frantically working to keep Micola alive. He screamed at her. Begged her to stay with him.
Someone pushed him aside, causing him to fall back onto the cold, hard sidewalk. He watched the backs of the paramedics as they crowded over Micola, shouting words he couldn’t comprehend. His ears rang from all the noise. He ran his bloodstained hands through his hair and across his cheek, shaking his head, unaware he was crying.
Someone knelt down next to him. A woman. “Sir?”
He’d barely heard her. It was as if he were under water.
“Sir? Can you hear me? Are you alright?”
His brain cleared a bit as he looked at her face—a pretty young Black woman in a uniform. She looked concerned and was reaching out to him with a towel. She moved closer to help him clean Micola’s blood off his hands.
Eddie took in a deep breath and nodded, letting her wipe up the blood. She grabbed his hand and pulled him up to his feet. His knees stung and throbbed, his legs felt weak, wobbling underneath him, as he walked over to Micola, who was now sprawled across a gurney, a blanket covering her head.
“No, no. Please,” he said. “I need a minute.”
The paramedics all nodded and stepped aside, as he pulled the blanket from Micola’s face and looked down at her. She already looked pale and lifeless. Gone.
He leaned down and whispered in her ear. “I’m sorry.” He brushed the back of his hand across her cheek, kissed her forehead, and then stepped away.
They quickly moved in, pushing him aside as they loaded her into the ambulance.
“Sir?”
Eddie turned to see a police officer standing next to him.
“Sir, we need to talk. I’m very sorry for your loss, but I need to ask you what happened.”
Eddie nodded and looked around, taking a hand down his entire face to wipe away his hot tears and Micola’s drying blood.
“Ah’, yeah. We can go inside.”
He fished out his keys and opened the restaurant. He described to the officer the details of the events, the black SUV, and the woman who shot Micola.
Even though Eddie had never seen the woman before, he knew who she was.
O’s girlfriend. Tanya Steele.
Eddie tucked his rage deep in his gut, and kept that bit of information to himself.
