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Saks turned his head away from his cousin, not knowing what to say. Yeah, things were not going in the right direction. This was going to turn into a gang war. Someone had engineered it that way. How could he explain that? He did not know whether it was Vits or Pandolfo Serafini who started the whole crazy scheme.
“What I know is Uncle Vits and Pandolfo Serafini are playing a sick game and I’m in the one in the middle, along with Serafini’s granddaughter, Chrissy. They chose two of the most unlikely family members and tried to pair them. Except they knew both of us would be kicking and screaming about the ridiculousness of it. Someone wants a war. Who it is? I’m not sure.”
“What is this about pairing family members?” Louis shook his head.
“Yeah, they had this arranged marriage all planned. Me and Chrissy Serafini. Vits and Pandolfo came together and said we had to marry to cement relationships between the Rocco and Serafini families.
“Holy shit! How the hell’s that supposed to work?”
“It didn’t. At least, not very well. According to Miss Serafini, I’m not fit to wipe her boots.”
“You, Saks, struck out with a woman?”
“I can’t say I struck out. Game called on account of rain.”
Louis was about to say something when the doorbell rang.
“Finally,” said Saks. “Someone used the doorbell. It’s probably Oakie. He’s supposed to come by to keep an eye on me.”
“Why?”
“Long story.” Saks crossed the room to open the door, and immediately flew back as the door slammed opened. Two beefy and clearly threatening guys stood crowding the doorway.
Louis drew his service weapon and pointed it to the doorway. “Police! Stop!”
But the two men didn’t stop. One picked up Saks and threw him against the wall. The other flung himself forward and landed on Louis. The gun went off, but then fell to the floor. Saks got three vicious jabs to his midsection before he could get off a fist to his attacker’s jaw.
“Sonafabitch,” grunted his attacker.
Saks letting loose a volley of blows to the man’s face and midsection. The big man backed up, flailing his arms as Saks pummeled his flesh. But the man picked up the lamp on a table on the long wall in front of the bedroom and attempted to slam it on Saks’ head. Remembering the doctor’s instructions to avoid further head injuries, he raised this arms over his head to block the assault. The lamp hit the underside of his arms painfully. He groaned but managed a half-turn, transferred his weight to his right leg, and kicked out with his left foot.
The man, unbalanced from swinging the lamp, fell. His ass thumped on the floor.
“What the hell’s going on here?” Oakland Walker stomped into the room and hauled the man attacking Saks away and forced him onto his feet. He shook him like a rag doll. “Who the fuck are you?” Oakie, with his Spawn leather coat, long grey beard, and muscular arms looked like a nightmare ready to unleash hell.
The man on Louis stood. His face blanched when he spotted Oakie holding his buddy like an errant toy and attempted to run. But Oakie shoved his first captive toward Saks and threw out his arm, catching him under the chin. The force of the attacker’s forward motion meeting the unstoppable force landed him on his butt.
Oakie hauled him up by the back of his neck as well. “Who the fuck are you? Do either one of you muscled-bound gym bunnies have any idea who you’re fucking with? Anyone who messes with a Spawn messes with the whole club. Do you want the Hades Spawn on your ass?”
Both men glowered at Oakie, but kept their mouths shut.
“Who do you work for?” questioned Anglotti. Again, neither man said a word.
“Nothing, eh?” said the detective. “One of you will talk when we get to the station. One of you will stay out of jail. The charge is assault and assaulting a police officer. Gets stuck on both of you since you’re working together. So, I wonder which one it will be who spills his guts.” Louis took out a pair of handcuffs and a zip tie. He pulled at the one Saks held. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say will be held against you...” Louis continued his spiel as he handcuffed the man. Then he did the same thing to the other and pulled out his phone and called for backup.
“What about him?” complained one of the attackers, nodding to Oakie. “Doesn’t he get arrested, too?”
“This ain’t no domestic fight, asshole,” said Louis. “Sit, both of you, on that couch until the patrol cars come to take you to the station.”
They sat with encouragement from Oakie as Louis looked around the room.
“What are you looking for?” asked Saks.
“My service revolver. I dropped it in the fight.”
“Is this it, asshole?” said one of the attackers. He had freed his hands from the zip tie and in a flash bent to the floor, picked up the gun, stood, and pointed it at Anglotti.
Louis looked over his shoulder toward the man pointing the gun at him. “Shit.”
“Now you,” he ordered Louis. “Unlock his handcuffs and then all of you will get away from the door.”
“Fuck you,” said Louis. “I’m not letting you leave here with my gun.”
“How about it I give you it to you a piece at a time?” The man pulled the trigger. Saks reacted without thought. He flew at his cousin and knocked him over. White-hot pain flashed in his shoulder as Oakie moved forward. Saks groaned turned to see Oakie plow into the man with the force of a bull, dropping him against the wood coffee table in front of the couch. The man grunted as the coffee table splintered in pieces on the floor.
Saks clasped his hand to his shoulder, trying to ignore the pain and the blood streaming from it.
“Fuck,” said Louis. “You shouldn’t have done that.”
“Shouldn’t have done what?” said a feminine voice. “Saks! Son of a bitch! What’ve you done to yourself now?”
“What the hell?” said another male voice.
Saks groaned when he saw it was Marcus. Of course, when he got hurt Marcus wasn’t far away.
“Gloria,” said Chrissy. “Call an ambulance.” She knelt beside him. “Give me a pillow for him,” she ordered to no one. “And towels.”
Marcus ambled in while Oakie and Louis secured the man who fired the gun once more. Oakie stood guard over them with a scowl on his face, daring either to move. Sirens sounded in the background as Marcus handed Chrissy a pillow she slipped behind Saks’ head.
“You just can’t do without me,” she tutted. “I leave you alone for half a day and you get yourself shot.”
She said this with a slight smile and a worried look on her face at the same time. All he wanted to do was kiss her pretty pink lips. The pain was making him delirious.
“Did you get my flowers?” He was feeling woozy, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep his eyes open. He felt pressure on his shoulder and Chrissy held one of his expensive white, one-hundred- percent cotton towels to the gunshot wound.
“You sent the flowers?”
“Sure. Who else would send you a card with a quote from Shakespeare? Or do you have a bunch of men who do that?”
“No,” she said gently. “No one sends me flowers but you.”
“The florist did sign my name, didn’t he?”
“Yes, yes,” she said thickly. A tear slid down her cheek.
“Don’t cry, Chrissy.” He tried to raise his hand to wipe it away.
“Where’s the damn ambulance?” she yelled.
