The Woman in the Back Room by Jessica Gadziala

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Fifteen

Santi

 

 

 

 

"Spit it out," I demanded, feeling Brio's gaze on the side of my face as I drove away from my parking spot.

"She's a good woman," he declared.

"I agree."

"It's fine to have fun," he told me. "So long as you don't fuck her over."

"Is that a threat, Brio?" I asked, surprised.

"I like her," he said, shrugging. "If she came to me saying you fucked her over, I would have to find some way to punish you for it. And then I'm in hot water with your brother. It'd be a whole fucking thing. So what I'm saying is, there are women you fuck around with, and there are women you give a fuck about. Don't confuse the two."

"Trust me, Brio, you don't need to have this conversation with me. I've been thinking of all the ways this could go wrong for weeks."

"And?"

"And I've decided to see if maybe it can go right," I told him, shrugging.

To that, he nodded. "I can get behind that. So, you gonna have extra fun with this fucker for her?"

"She'd be pissed if I did," I told him.

"Nah, man. That shit's romantic," he declared, nodding as he looked out the side window.

And, I guess, to someone with wires crossed like Brio, it was.

What was more romantic than a severed toe?

"Did your brother say what the connection is?" Brio asked as we drove. "Lombardis or Espositos?"

"He said he'd leave it up to us to figure out the details," I said, stomach twisting a bit all the ways Brio might extract information such as that.

Certain other images made those potential ones more tolerable, though.

Bullets ripping through Avi's mom, her hot blood splattering across my face.

The way my son's face crumpled when I'd told him his mom was gone.

The way he broke down at the gravesite.

Then the image of Avi in the hospital covered in Alessa's blood.

The image of her in that big bed that made her seem so small.

The images of her wincing in pain whenever she tried to move.

Yeah, I was starting to think we should have stopped for a coffee for Brio so he had the energy he might need to have some 'fun' with the bastard who put all those images in my head.

"Did your brother say how they finally found the fucker?" Brio asked, tapping his fingers on his armrest.

"Some random fucking tourist video they came across being taken in the area. They were able to trace it from there."

Right up to a three-floor walk-up above a bar.

Which worked out. Because it was early in the morning. And the bar was still shut down.

"Nah, next corner, man," Brio directed when I tried to park. He was the expert at this sort of thing, so I just followed instructions without comment.

Five minutes later, we were walking up the stairs to the apartment. Brio looked around for cameras while I just stared ahead.

I wasn't sure what I should have been thinking right then, what others thought or felt when they knew they were about to kill someone.

I guess I should have been thinking about turning around, not doing it. But my moral compass had never pointed due north. And while time and space from the incident had dulled some of the rage that had been coursing through me in the days and weeks following Brit's murder, but the lion's share of it was still there, simmering under the surface.

I'd lost my mom young, thinking she was gone forever, so I knew how that feeling of loss ebbed and flowed. I knew Avi would be experiencing it in varying levels of intensity for the rest of his life.

This bastard had to pay for that.

But I felt like I should have been nervous, at the very least.

I hadn't joined the Family at the same time as everyone else, making my bones at seventeen or eighteen years old when they'd all done their first hits. Back when teenage recklessness would have made the task almost exciting.

I didn't feel nervous or excited, though.

If anything, I felt strangely detached from it all.

I stood back as Brio slipped a lock pick set out of his back pocket, and gained entrance to the apartment.

The empty apartment.

"Well that's anticlimactic," Brio declared, standing in the middle of the living room after having searched the apartment.

"So, what now?"

"Now we wait," Brio declared, snatching a newspaper off of the coffee table, and sitting down with it.

"For how long?" I asked. He could have been at work.

"For however long it takes," Brio declared, shrugging. "The fucker is probably out buying a new flatscreen."

Right.

It was Black Friday.

Impatient, I couldn't occupy myself the way Brio could.

I paced.

Until Brio told me to stop.

"You gotta sit, man," Brio demanded. "Save that energy for questioning this bastard," he said, flipping through the newspaper.

I couldn't quite sit, but I leaned against the wall, fiddling with my watch, going over the whole situation from start to finish, rolling over the details in my head that Lorenzo had given me.

Like how the SUV was registered to the owner of this apartment, but there were clearly others involved since someone had to drive, and someone else had to shoot. Like how we were going to get the other name out of this guy, and how much bloodshed and screaming there might be.

"Here we go," Brio said, perking up, folding the newspaper, and getting off the couch.

I didn't hear anything, but yet again, Brio was the expert here, not me.

"Go into the kitchen," he demanded, waving casually as he pulled a gun out of his holster, and moving behind the door to the hallway.

I took myself into the kitchen, finding a surprisingly neat kitchen with amber glass bottles sitting in a line near the sink.

It was the bottles that had my hair standing up on the back of my neck, something niggling at the very edges of my mind, begging to be uncovered and understood.

I was just about to walk toward them when I heard the door close, then the quickly indrawn breath, followed by Brio's voice.

"I'd say this ain't gonna hurt," Brio said, calm as could be, "but I'd be lying to you, man," he told the man. "Why don't you come out now?" Brio suggested to me, making me abandon the bottles, and move back into the living room.

"Oh," the man said as his gaze fell on me, nodding.

That was strange.

If he should have recognized anyone, it should have been Brio, not me. He'd been in the Family longer. He had a reputation that preceded him all across the States.

Brio's curious gaze slid in my direction, something working behind his eyes too.

"You know me?" I asked, cutting to the chase.

"Yeah."

"How?" I asked, wondering if I'd worked with him in my legit business, if I'd pissed him off, if he felt fucked over. It wouldn't be the first time a man snapped if he felt his livelihood was being threatened.

To that, the man took a slow, deep breath, releasing it on the one word he said. The one name he said.

"Britney."

"You don't get to say that name, man," Brio warned, pressing the muzzle of the gun into the man's temple. He didn't even stiffen at feeling it.

It was then that my brain seemed to start working all at once.

That was why the amber bottles had put me on edge.

Brit was obsessed with amber bottles. All the cleaning products she bought, she emptied into amber bottles and lined them by the sink because she liked how it looked.

There had been amber bottles lined by our kitchen sink for years until, when my mom came to help around the house after Brit's death, she'd stashed them under the sink instead.

This guy had the amber bottles lined up just the way Brit used to do.

Because she'd been here.

She'd been here at this apartment often enough to feel at home, to make changes.

"You were the one seeing Brit," I said, knowing it was true without needing his confirmation.

We'd had a don't-ask-don't-tell rule about it. I knew she'd been seeing someone, but it wasn't my business so long as she kept it away from Avi. So she didn't talk about him and I didn't ask about him.

Apparently, this was him.

And he was nothing like me.

He was shorter and more solidly built, suggesting he likely spent a decent amount of time in the gym picking up and putting down heavy shit. Brit had always been very into her fitness, so that didn't surprise me at all. But his features were opposite of mine, too. He had a very squared jaw, blond hair, and light blue eyes. He was in a pair of lightweight exercise pants and a white tee.

From the size and furnishings of his apartment, he didn't make a shitton of money.

He was the polar opposite of me in every way.

That, apparently, was what Brit had wanted.

And, really, how could I judge? Alessa was as different from Brit as possible. She was tomboyish and messy. She loved junk food and didn't know how to cook, well, anything at all. She was impulsive and laid-back, preferring to hang out at home than always be rushing off to some task or another.

"Yeah," he agreed, deflating, shrinking, crumbling even.

Grief.

That looked a lot like grief to me.

But that made no sense at all.

"That explains the newspaper," Brio said, nodding. At my furrowed brows, he explained, "It's the one with her obituary in it. You sick fuck. Keeping it as a trophy."

"It wasn't supposed to be her!" the man exploded, unable to hold it in another minute. "It was supposed to be you," he added, pointing toward me.

"Might want to watch what you're sticking at a member of the Costa Family, man. You never know what might need to be sliced off. Not that you'd miss that finger too much. Or for too long," Brio went on. "Can't fucking use it right anyway," he added. "Hit the woman several times and missed him completely when he was standing right next to her."

There was a slice of pain in his eyes at the mention of Brit being shot.

"I don't think he was in that car," I said, shaking my head.

"No?" Brio asked. "What? Not man enough to do the job yourself, huh? Contracting out like a pussy."

"I'm not a killer," he insisted, closing his eyes tight for a second.

"See, man, that's where you're wrong, though. Don't matter if you pull the trigger. It never would have happened if you didn't deliver the order in the first place."

"Why?" I asked, ignoring Brio. "Why would you want to kill me? We were separated. I didn't care what she did. We were getting a divorce."

"Yeah? When? A year? Two?"

"That was Brit's decision," I said, shrugging. "If she wanted to have the divorce in a week or two, I would have gone for it. She wanted to take it slow. Why the fuck would you want to kill me for that?"

"Right. Yeah. Like she would ever be free from you."

Had she painted me as some sort of monster? Sure, our relationship had fallen apart years before, but I'd never been abusive. I never raised a hand to her. I never made her feel like shit. The only times we argued were over the parenting of Avi. I left her to her own devices otherwise. She could come and go as he pleased, spend whatever she wanted without question. As soon as the separation had gone through, I even made sure she didn't have to do any basic chores for me, having my dry cleaning picked up, hiring a housekeeper to help her out with the rest of the house, but especially my bed and bathroom.

She was in no way suffering because of me.

And I damn sure wasn't forcing her to stay with me if she wanted to be with this guy.

"She was free to go at anytime," I insisted. "We'd have had to work out a schedule with Avi, but it would have all been amicable."

"Right. Like some guy in the mafia would let his wife leave him for another guy."

"First, she was only my wife on paper. Second, I wasn't in the mafia."

"Right," he said, glancing over at Brio with his gun still pressing against his temple.

"I wasn't then," I explained. "But when someone killed the mother of my son, and I needed to make them pay for it, yeah, I got back in."

"Who did it, man?" Brio asked, wiggling the gun muzzle against the man's head. "Who'd you hire to do your dirty work? I want to have a little chat with them."

The man's gaze slid to me. "You're going to give them up," I explained. "You can do it now, or after this lunatic has pulled off a couple fingers and extracted a few teeth. That's your choice. But if you gave a shit about Brit at all, I don't see why you'd protect the men who killed her."

"It was just some local gang, man. I'm not like you. I don't know who to call to murder someone," he insisted. "They said I would have to lend them my car because they didn't have one. And they would handle the rest. For a sum. I figured they would know what they were doing."

"Right. So you thought anyone with a gun could get the job done. Smart, man. Real genius-level shit," Brio mumbled.

"We're going to need names," I demanded, reaching into my pocket for a pad and pen, jotting down what he knew.

"That's it. That's all I know."

"You met with these fuckers two times, and you can't give us more than street names?" Brio asked.

"Two times?" the guy asked, brows furrowing.

There was that feeling again. The hair on the back of my neck standing on end, thoughts just waiting to be exposed.

"You didn't put a hit on Alessa?" I asked.

"Who is Alessa?" he shot back.

"Or my son?"

"I'd never hurt Ottavio. Britney loved him more than anything."

"Maybe he just needs some... incentive to talk," Brio suggested, evil smirk toying with his lips.

"No," I said, shaking my head. "No, I think he's telling the truth. I think it isn't related."

"So so... so what now?" the guy asked, shaking. "I didn't do it," he insisted. "I never meant for that to happen. I'm suffering enough," he added, eyes glassy.

I was just about to tell Brio I agreed, that letting him live would be the cruelest thing.

"Sorry, man, ain't how it works," Brio declared, squeezing the trigger with a silenced pop, the bullet tearing through the man's head before I could even react, spraying blood and brain matter out toward the side, splashing across the wall as he teetered then fell, dead before he hit the ground.

"Brio," I hissed, holding up a hand in a 'what the fuck' gesture.

"He hired 'em, man. And he knows who you are and who you're connected to. He had to go. Figured you wouldn't mind if I did the dirty work with this one. We'll take our time with the ones with clumsy trigger fingers," he assured me, walking back to grab the newspaper he'd touched, rolling it up, and sticking it in his pocket before tucking the gun away. "We gotta go," he added, producing a wet wipe, and rubbing off the doorknob as he pulled it open.

Since there wasn't anything else I could do, I moved out into the hall, waiting for Brio to wipe off that knob as well before we both headed back down the stairs, and out onto the street.

Like we hadn't just murdered a man.

Maybe I should have been shocked or outraged that Brit's boyfriend had to die. But, really, it was irrational for me even to entertain the idea of letting him live. That wasn't how it worked, and I knew that.

"Just gotta call the boss man," Brio said as we walked back toward our car. "See what the plan is about the trigger men. Could be messy if we can't catch them alone," he added. "Not that I mind messy. Hey, yo, Enz, we got a story, man," Brio said, launching into it as he walked.

But while Brio was busy talking to my brother about what we'd learned, my mind was racing with things not related to Brit at all, since I knew we would have that all sorted out in short measure.

We'd learned something just as explosive today as the fact that Brit's boyfriend had accidentally had her killed.

We'd learned that Alessa getting shot had nothing to do with it.

Everyone had been working the both cases as one and the same.

But they weren't.

And that was important.

If someone wasn't targeting Brit and Avi because of their connection to me, and my connection to the Costa Family, then why was Alessa shot?

Had Avi ever been a factor?

Or were they, perhaps, aiming for her to begin with?

I knew that Alessa had been an unofficial worker for her father, taking on odd jobs when they needed a hand. And the Morelli family dealt primarily in cocaine.

Could it be related to that?

Had she pissed someone off?

I liked Alessa more than was probably appropriate, but even I had to admit that she could come off as prickly. And she had a tendency to poke at people sometimes, usually in good humor, but some people could be sensitive to that.

So if someone who didn't know Alessa as well as I did got offended by something she'd said or did, I could see them lashing out. Especially if they'd been cut off from their cocaine supply or in debt for it.

Being a member of any of the Five Families made it possible to have a target on your back for any number of small or big things.

It could be work-related.

Or it could be Family unrest related.

That could never be ruled out.

Someone in the Esposito or Lombardi Families could have been pissed that the Morellis got on Lorenzo's good side as soon as he took over after our father was killed. Back when our father ran shit, he tended to give the Esposito and Lombardi families more preferential treatment. But because of the issues going on since our old man's death, Lorenzo was requiring a lower kick-up rate from the Morellis and D'onofrios while demanding the same old rate from the other two. Which could absolutely cause tension.

And since Lorenzo was never found without a couple bodyguards these days, making him a pretty impossible target, it made sense that whoever had their panties in a bunch would go after easier targets.

The Gio Morelli Sr. was almost always at home or his business, making him a tough person to get to as well. The Morelli brothers were a little easier to catch alone. But Alessa was likely the easiest of all. Because she wasn't technically in the Family, she wasn't given the same level of protection. She flitted around the city being a walking target.

I was just reaching for my phone to text Alessa, so she could start racking her brain to try to figure out who it might have been when it started to ring in my hand.

Salvatore.

It was the third time that day that the hair on the back of my neck stood on end.

I nearly dropped my phone in my rush to answer.

"Sal—"

"They took her," he ground out, making my stomach plummet.

"Alessa?" I asked, voice tight as I turned to Brio who went suddenly silent on his own call. "They took Alessa?" I asked.

"Yes," Salvatore said, sounding like he could barely get the one syllable out.

"Who took her?" I asked. "Where's Avi?"

"Hiding. Cameras," Salvatore said, hissing and grunting.

"Are you hit?" I asked, waving toward the SUV as I rushed to climb in myself.

"Yo, boss, Alessa was taken," Brio said. "Sounds like Salvatore was hit. Yep. Ten minutes out. Okay. Yep."

"Yeah, hit," Salvatore growled. "Where's the tweezers?" he asked.

"No, don't take the fucking bullets out yourself," I snapped, my head racing too much for pleasantries. "We are ten minutes out. Lorenzo might beat us there. Wait for someone."

"I fucked up," Salvatore said, sounding defeated.

"It sounds like you did all you could," I countered. "We will find her," I added, hanging up. "We will find her," I added again. To Brio. To myself.

Because we had to.

We had to find her.

When we got back to my apartment, Lorenzo, Emilio, and a few of their men were already there, bringing up the camera footage.

"Brio," Lorenzo barked as my gaze slid to the ground outside of the door where an alarmingly large puddle of blood was sinking into the carpet. My stomach dropped immediately until I saw the drag marks of blood leading into my apartment. Salvatore's blood, not Alessa. "You need to get over here and assist this fucker who won't go to the hospital," Lorenzo said, waving toward Salvatore who was half-collapsed in one of my dining room chairs, his shirt off, blood dripping down his side. He was breathing hard and fast as he uncapped the bottle of vodka, took a swig, then poured it down his body with a chorus of curses.

"Where's Avi?" I asked, heart pounding so hard I could barely hear anything else.

"She probably told him not to come out for anyone but you," Salvatore explained as Brio moved in close to check out his wounds.

"Go ahead," Lorenzo said, nodding. "We don't have anything to go on yet. Mom is on her way, though. We're going to need you," he explained.

Even if he didn't, he was stuck with me.

"Did you tell Christopher to expect the Morellis?" Emilio asked, talking about the guard stationed by the elevators.

"Yeah. They're all on their way. Crazy fucking Ricco is flying in too. So he should be here to help," Lorenzo explained, talking about another of Alessa's half-brothers, the one who was almost always loaned out on jobs because of his particular skill set.

"Avi?" I called, walking through the living room, but knowing she wouldn't have stashed him somewhere so close if she had an extra minute to put him somewhere else. "Avi, come out," I called, voice getting louder as I dipped into his room, then Alessa's, not finding him anywhere. "Ottavio!" I yelled, moving into my own room.

It was in there that I heard quiet sniffling coming from my closet.

"Avi," I said, breathing a small sigh of relief as I pulled the door open, finding him stashed behind my suits in the back, all but invisible if I didn't know he was there.

"They took Less," he cried, launching himself at me as soon as he saw me. "They took her."

"I know, bud. I know," I said, arms going around him, squeezing tight. "But we're going to find her. That's why everyone is here. They're all going to help find her."

"She saved me," he said, voice wobbling.

To an extent, she did. Since she hadn't known the threat at the door was for her, not my son. She'd done what she could. She'd hidden him away, then went to try to make a stand, protect him.

She was an amazing fucking woman.

And we had to get her back.

"Yeah, she did, bud."

"I need to thank her."

"You will," I assured him.

"Soon?"

Fuck, I hoped so.

There was no telling what they might be doing to her in the interim.

"Yes. But I need to help Uncle Enzo for a bit. Nonna is coming to sit with you, though," I told him, pulling him back to wipe his cheeks. "Think you can be strong for me for just a little bit, so I can help find Less?"

To that, my tough-as-nails kid practically sucked the tears back in his eyes, stuck out his chin, and gave me a firm, manly nod.

"Go find her," he demanded even as I heard my mom's heels clicking across the floor.

"I will, bud. I will."