13. Salvatore

13

salvatore

“You’re making a mistake, Pauly,” I say calmly. “You don’t want to do this. It’ll only end badly for you.”

He cranks out a dismissive laugh and jabs the barrel of his handgun into my lower back. “Yeah, yeah, keep up the shit talk. You just don’t want to admit I’ve finally got the jump on you, Mancino.”

“Hate to break it to you, Pauly, but showing up like a coward during Christmas with my family isn’t getting the jump on anybody.”

“It’s Paulio. And the fact that I’ve got the Salvatore Mancino at my mercy sure feels like a win.” The pitiful little man winks at me, his grin wide and toothy.

Unlike his predecessors Hector and Giorgio, Paulio’s a small thing. He’s not round like Giorgio was and he’s not tall like Hector. Instead, he’s some five-six, skinny-fat excuse for a man who seems to think he’ll come out on top.

He and his men nudge us all the way up the stairs.

Seven of them.

Three of us, not counting Marcel, whose loyalties remain a mystery.

He’s held at gunpoint like we are, though he refuses to meet anyone’s eyes. Shame rolls off him, like he’s regretful he ever wound up involved in this mess. I’m still not even sure how he was caught by Paulio when he claimed he was leaving the area.

Suddenly, there’s a lot about Delphine’s brother that makes no sense.

We’re taken outside into the snow. Paulio and his men make us walk ’til we’re swallowed up by the woodland trees and the cabin slips into the distance.

It’s started flurrying in the last half hour, adding to the snowfall on the ground.

We come to a clearing where Paulio finally barks at us to stop.

“Get on your knees. Keep your hands up. Now!” Paulio shouts.

“This the only kind of control you’ve ever had over people, Pauly?” I ask with an antagonistic half grin. “What’s it feel like finally being in charge? Feel good to not be a little bitch anymore?”

“Mancino, you keep talking shit, and I’ll put a bullet in that mouth of yours!”

“The thing is, it doesn’t change a thing. You know that, right? Doing what you’re doing is the definition of LMS. Otherwise known as Little Man Syndrome.”

One of his henchmen breaks out in a laugh that he quickly chokes back the second Paulio shoots him a filthy look. He holds up a fist to his mouth and tries to disguise the laugh as a cough.

Paulio grits his teeth as he starts pacing in front of us. We’ve done as he says and kneeled in the snow, though I’ve done it as defiantly as a person can. I’m grinning at him, generally at ease, somehow coming across like I’m unconcerned by the seven different guns pointed at my face.

That’s because Paulio doesn’t scare me.

I’ll defy all odds to take him out. Just like I’ve done so many times before.

The others aren’t so brazen. Marcel hasn’t uttered a peep from the far end of our lineup, while Ernest is visibly shaken. Stitches seems more concerned with the fact that he’s kneeling in the cold and his glasses have slid off his face.

“Hey, buddy, you mind if I grab my second set of eyes? They’re in the snow.”

The henchman he’s asked shares a look with Paulio and then steps forward to crush the glasses.

Crack.

He lifts his boot to reveal the pair snapped in half.

“You assholes have no manners. If the situation were reversed, I wouldn’t break your glasses,” he says. “I’d have manners and return the pair to you. How am I supposed to get around when I’m blind as a bat?”

Paulio chuckles. “Who says you’re going to need to get around? You gentlemen don’t seem to understand this is the end of the line for you. It’s over.”

“The only one it’s over for is you, Pauly,” I say. “You’re done for.”

“Call me Pauly one more time, and I’m sending your little snot nose kids your severed head for Christmas.”

“You sure you have the stomach for that, Pauly? I seem to remember both Hector and Giorgio were concerned about you. They didn’t know if you could cut it in this lifestyle.”

“Shut the fuck up!”

“They shielded you as long as they could. Some good that did. You’re about to wind up just like them.”

“I said shut the fuck up!” he growls, cocking the hammer on his gun. He stomps toward me as if about to pull the trigger ’til his anger fades and he seems to realize he’s being provoked. “You know what, Mancino? I’ve got to give you credit. You certainly know how to get under people’s skin. I imagine that’s why Ernest Adams here always hated you. That true?”

Ernest glares at him. “Salvatore’s and my past have nothing to do with you. We may have a complicated history, but one thing remains the same—and that’s the Belini crime family was always the easier fish to fry. There’s a reason we pursued you first.”

“You think I care if you insult my cousins? I don’t give a fuck. They’re dead and I’m still here. I’m bringing the Belini name prominence it’s never had. But you want to make things personal, DA Adams? Let’s make things personal! Let’s talk about your son. Bring him here.”

Two of Paulio’s henchmen snatch Marcel from the end of our lineup and toss him onto the ground in front of us.

Paulio flashes a grin, kneeling to meet him at eye level. “Why don’t you share with the class what you’ve been up to, Marcel? Tell ’em all about the grimy shit you’ve been up to. GO ON, TELL ’EM!”

Marcel sits up on his knees in stanch silence. He’s still trying to avoid glancing at any of us or addressing us in any way, but Paulio forces his hand. He grabs Marcel by the cheek and twists his head in our direction.

“Tell ’em right now or your dad gets a bullet.”

The soldier closest to Ernest cocks the hammer on his gun to emphasize his point, aiming directly at Ernest as he does.

“We had a deal,” Marcel grits out stubbornly. “He’s not involved.”

“Yeah, we did have a deal, didn’t we? The deal was… I lend you the cash, you pay up! Guess what didn’t happen?”

“Marcel, what is he talking about?” Ernest asks. “Pay up what? You owe Paulio Belini?”

Paulio cackles like he’s heard the most hilarious joke of his lifetime. “Owe me? He practically sold his soul to me! You know how deep in the hole he is? Your son, District Attorney Ernest Adams, has a severe gambling problem!”

“Your casino,” I say, glaring at Paulio. “You’ve been trying hard to surpass our operation at Nirvana.”

“We’re damn near there, Mancino. Give it another year. All thanks to gambling addicts like Marcel here. He just can’t help himself.” Paulio claps Marcel on the back, releasing another taunting cackle. “He’s gambled away everything he’s got. His savings. His inheritance. His house and cars. Hell, we’ve got him for the designers he owns!”

“Marcel,” Ernest says with a rueful shake of his head. “Son, why didn’t you come to me?”

“Tell ’em,” Paulio says. He prods Marcel with the end of his handgun. “Tell him how you were too prideful to admit you got a problem! So you tried to solve it on your own, didn’t you?”

I’m observing every small detail about the situation. Everything from Paulio’s choice of words to the subtle shifts in Marcel’s stoic expression and body language. I’ve always been a good read on people and this moment is no exception.

The puzzle pieces come together waiting for Marcel to answer.

“You’ve been sabotaging us,” I say. “Paulio sent you here to sabotage us. Things like the power outage, the boat accident, getting lost on your first day up here, it was all by design.”

“Imagine my surprise when I found out the biggest debtor of my casino was related to not only Ernest Adams, but Salvatore Mancino, my biggest nemesis!” Paulio yells in glee. His grin somehow widens on his face, showing off every veneer tooth he’s got. “I was salivating like a fat kid served some double fudge cake. I was damn near drooling. Finally, a way I could get some payback.”

“Did you really get the payback you were looking for, Pauly?” I ask. “What have you actually achieved? You’re still about to go down as a pathetic footnote in the story of Northam’s crime world. Nobody’s going to give a fuck you used some gambling addict to crash somebody’s Christmas vacation.”

“They’ll care when I kill you and become the new kingpin of the city.”

“What’s it like being so delusional, Pauly?”

“Shut the fuck up!” he barks. “You’re not in charge here. I am and this goes how I want it to go! Tell them, Marcel. Tell them all about what you were doing!”

Marcel holds back for another second, still stubborn and prideful. When he speaks, his tone is listless and almost robotic.

“You promised to wipe out my debt so long as I did what you said. I accepted my sister’s invite for the Christmas getaway and then tried to get revenge on Salvatore.”

“Marcel,” sighs Ernest. “How could you do this to us?”

“What do you mean how could I?” Marcel snaps suddenly. The first real sign of emotion curls onto his face, forming a scowl. “You’ve gone off and made your own family without me! Remember when you swore you’d never accept Mancino, Dad? Remember when you were convinced he was bad for Delphine? I go away for a couple years and come back to you acting like the Brady fucking Bunch!”

Ernest stares at his son like he’s never seen him before. “Son, you… you’ve always been a part of that family. You chose to move overseas for your career. We’ve always missed you?—”

“Missed me so much you forgot about me! You moved on once Mom passed away and went back on everything you ever said about Mancino!”

“It took years for Salvatore and I to find common ground,” Ernest replies. “You know that. You know it wasn’t something overnight. I realized it was wrong to let hate cloud what was your sister’s happy marriage.”

As the two bicker, I’m more concerned with finding an out for this situation. Stitches is on the same wavelength as me. Our gazes meet and I give him a nod. We both understand that we’re going to have to make a move if we’re ever going to be able to get out of this in one piece.

It actually works to our advantage that Ernest and Marcel are arguing. Paulio stands between them cackling and demanding that Marcel tell his father all the grimy details of what he’s done.

Stitches makes the first move. “Hey,” he says to the henchman closest to him. “I really can’t see. Can’t I at least grab my spare glasses in my pocket and put those on?”

“What do you think this is?” he sneers, taking a few steps closer. He kneels in front of Stitches. “We don’t give a fuck if you can’t see. Sounds like a you problem.”

“Is it a me problem?” Stitches asks. “Or is it really your problem?”

He snatches a piece of glass from his broken glasses and then rams it into the guy’s jugular before he can ever react. Several of the henchmen turn their heads in alarm at the blood spurting out of the guy’s neck.

I use the split second to my advantage. I leap to my feet and grapple for the gun on the soldier nearest me. He’s in such shock that all it takes is an elbow to his gut and I’m ripping the Glock from his grip.

Without waiting for any of them to finish reacting, my fingers squeeze the trigger. One, two, three of them drop dead.

Paulio aims for me at the same time I aim for him. We’re at a standstill with our fingers hovering ominously over the triggers and nothing stopping either of us from going for it.

“You motherfucker,” he spits. “You think I won’t still shoot you dead? You think I won’t still?—”

“GO!” Marcel yells. “DO IT!”

He launches himself at Paulio, the two lurching several feet in the snow. Paulio’s gun goes off with a resounding bang. The others and I rush toward the two of them, me with my gun ready to fire as soon as I’ve got a clear shot of him.

“Son!” Ernest yells.

Marcel rolls off Paulio as blood stains the snow.

But it’s not Paulio’s blood. It’s Marcel’s.

I point my gun at Paulio’s face and end him with a single bullet. Stitches and Ernest have crowded around Marcel in a panic as they try to put pressure on his gunshot wound from Paulio.

“I’ve treated gunshot wounds before,” Stitches says. “We need to apply as much pressure as we can and seal the wound with dressing if possible.”

“My jacket,” Ernest says hurriedly, ripping it off. His other hand shakes as he dials 911. “Hang on, son. We’re going to get you help. Keep your eyes open.”

I’m standing over the three when the next two gunshots ring out. But it’s not from any of us in the middle of the woods. The sound’s coming from the house.

Delphine and the kids.

I break into a sprint with no hesitation.

My legs pump so fast that I make quick work of the snowy landscape, zipping by trees and emerging from the woods. The house is in the near distance, the curl of smoke from the chimney rising into the cold air.

“Phi!” I yell, charging for the door.

If any of Paulio’s men hurt her or the kids…

Everything feels surreal as my strides stretch farther and I’m coming up on the house. I dive through the back kitchen door and cross into the den where they’d been.

“Phi!”

Then I stop short altogether, huffing out deep breaths at what I find.

Sasha’s huddled in a corner with the kids. Delphine’s in the middle of the room standing over both of Paulio’s soldiers who had been keeping an eye on them. She’s holding one of their guns, looking triumphant as her gaze meets mine.

I’m so relieved I could pass out. Instead, I start toward her, engulfing her in a tight hug.

“Phi, what the fuck? What happened?”

“We were biding our time. Then, when we heard the gunshot outside, we made our own move. Sasha distracted them while I went for it. I disarmed them and took care of it.”

Of course she would.

My wife has proven again and again that she’s capable of taking out threats. She was once doing it on her own as a vigilante, and she’s done it several other times when fighting by my side. Years of marriage and motherhood hasn’t changed her capabilities—or the fierce fight that lives inside her.

I’m still overcome with relief as I press my lips to her forehead and squeeze her within my arms. “Phi, I never want you in that situation again. Let’s… let’s get the kids out of here.”

Sasha loads them into the car while Phi and I go meet Ernest and Stitches. They’re still kneeling around Marcel as they do their best to stop the bleeding.

“Marcel,” Delphine cries out in horror.

It’s the only word she can utter as we run toward them. Only a few minutes later, the ambulance and police arrive, officially putting an end to the holiday surprise none of us ever saw coming.