43. Simon

We take the emergency staircase. My hair is still wet from that fucking shower. I pause at the top, holding onto Emily's hand to stop her from barreling forward, and put a finger to my lips to keep her silent. Once I'm sure there's nobody else on the steps, we start to descend.

But not too fast. If we go too fast and one of us trips, we both go down and we make a whole lot of noise, and then those fuckers come and they kill us. We go at a moderate pace, and I'm cursing myself silently for taking a room on the fourth fucking floor the whole way down, and Emily looks terrified. I can't blame her.

We hit the second-floor landing when I hear a door down below slam open and voices echo up the concrete.

"…the fucking worst job. That cock-sucking prick Joey thinks he knows how to run a fucking crew, but I swear, we're gonna catch that Bianco dickhead and kill him first, yeah?"

"Sure, John, whatever you say."

I open the second-floor door as silently as I can, but unfortunately the ancient push latch makes a sound like dinner plates smashing on a tile floor, and then I'm dragging Emily inside.

She tries to keep running, but I yank her back against the wall and shove a hand over her mouth. She's staring at me with eyes like a dying deer, oozing panic and fear. "Don't move," I whisper. "And don't watch."

The two thugs come up after me a second later. Neither of them bothers looking to the left, since that's the wall. I'm on the first one before they know what's happening, my knife driving into his neck as I turn, drop to a knee, and shoot the other guy in the skull, aiming up so his brains and blood and bits of his skull splatter toward the ceiling and don't get all over me. His friend, probably the nice gentleman named John, collapses to the floor and chokes on his own blood.

Emily's pale and trembling. "I told you not to look. Can you start moving again?"

She works her mouth. Then she says, "Why didn't you just let them keep running?"

"Now there are two less people trying to kill us. Come on, we have to move."

I don't know if she likes that answer, but it's better than the total truth. I killed them because I wanted to kill them. Because Santoro and his whole crew have been nothing but a pain in my ass and I'm so far from destroying them that it's maddening, all because my father can't get his shit together.

I killed them because it felt good and because I'm a selfish prick. I probably shouldn't have done it in front of Emily, but oh, well. She should know what I am.

Welcome to the mafia world, baby.

Down on the ground floor, we walk across the lobby like we're in a hurry but not freaking out. I'm squeezing Emily's hand hard to keep her from running outside at a flat-out sprint. That would only draw attention, and right now we want to slip away like a couple of ghosts drifting through walls. Outside the night is muggy and warm.

"We can't go straight to the truck," I say to her and drag her to the left and into the parking lot. I put the cars between us and the windows. "They'll have somebody watching."

And I'm right. They have two guys in a sedan parked catty-corner from my spot just sitting and smoking cigarettes in the darkness. The cherry glow brightens their faces every time they inhale.

"Are you sure?" Emily whispers. We're crouched behind a van slightly behind the pair and neither of them knows we're there.

"I'm sure," I confirm. It's possible I'm wrong. It could be these two thuggish-looking men are a couple of bored civilians out for a smoke in their car together, but I highly doubt it, and if I'm honest with myself, I'm not in the mood to find out.

I go right up to the window, tap on the glass, and start shooting.

They're dead pretty fast. The guy in the passenger seat nearly gets his gun drawn before a bullet clips his nose off and another screams through his temple. The car's interior is a charnel house of blood and flecks of human detritus. One cigarette's still burning a hole in the driver's pants. I think about putting it out, but he won't mind. He's very gone.

Emily doesn't say much when I get her in the truck and we pull out. That whole fucking hotel must be swarming with men right about now, and I picture it like a beehive, and all the bees are rushing toward the exits, coming to swarm whoever's trying to hurt them. But it's too late as we reach the main road and drive away.

We don't talk for a while. I'm deeply paranoid by now and start to drive erratically, run a few stoplights, pretend to slow at a yellow before I gun it through at the last possible second, that sort of thing.

"Did you recognize those men?" Emily finally asks. It's the first thing she's said to me in the last hour.

"No."

"Does that mean they weren't from your father?"

"Not necessarily."

"You should call someone. Tell them what happened."

She's right. I've been busy thinking pissed-off murder thoughts and haven't taken a minute to plan ahead. I pull onto a quiet neighborhood street and park in front of a house with its outdoor lights off. I get out of the truck and lean against the hood, leaving Emily alone inside. She huddles into herself. I'll do my best to comfort her later, but for now, I'm all business.

Elena answers her phone on the first ring. "I was wondering when I'd hear from you," she says.

"Did Dad just send a hit squad after me?"

She doesn't answer right away. It's the kind of quiet that follows an abrupt question like that. "I don't think so," she says, and her voice sounds shaky. "I haven't heard anything."

"A bunch of men found me and Emily. We're fine, we got away, but there are a few bodies back there. We'll have to do some cleanup."

"Yeah, okay, I'll talk to Davide. We can handle that." She starts to find her footing now. "I don't think it was Dad. He's pissed at you, but I don't think he wants to kill you. Emily though?—"

I look at my wife through the windshield. She's looking back and, fuck, she's so beautiful. I could climb in there and kiss her, but I'm not sure she wants to kiss me right now, not after what I just did to four human beings right in front of her. Emily's not a part of our world and that level of violence isn't something she's used to, which means she's still processing. I have to let her brain do its thing for a while.

"They were after me," I confirm. "I heard two of them talking."

"Right before you killed them?"

"Yep."

"How is she? Is she okay?"

"In shock. She saw a little too much tonight."

Elena lets out a long sigh. "Fuck, Simon. This is such a mess."

"I know. Santoro's getting aggressive. He smells the conflict I'm having with Dad. He's going to do something."

"You think this isn't it?"

I shake my head against the night. The darkness feels oppressive and I miss the lights of the oasis so damn badly right about now. It's amazing how much of myself I've given over to the Bianco Famiglia and how much of myself I define by my loyalty to the organization. Without the family, I'm absolutely nothing. Maybe that isn't fair; Emily could be my ticket to a new life. We could turn around and drive the fuck out of Chicago tonight, keep going until I'm too tired to keep going anymore, maybe we could sleep a while and switch over when she wakes up. We could drive until we hit the Pacific Ocean and disappear in some small coastal Oregon town and start wearing a bunch of knit sweaters and shit like that. I could become a lobsterman.

But it'll never happen. It's just a fantasy. There are too many people depending on me and I'd never let them down, not unless I were dead. Davide's out on a limb already and there are too many Capos ready to step up and do the right thing. Even Elena and my mother are on my side in their own ways.

And frankly, I care too much about this city. I love Chicago, my fucking homeland, the only place I've ever really cared about. The damn L runs straight through my blood. I want to be with Emily and I want to see what kind of man I could be with her if we could only ditch the pressures molding us into who we are right now, but it won't ever happen. I'd never do it, and I'd never ask her to do it, either.

"Elena says that wasn't my father," I tell her, climbing back into the driver's seat. I put the truck in gear and start moving again.

"Where does that leave us?"

"We need a place to crash for the night." I look over at her. "Unless you want to sleep in the truck?"

She leans across the space and puts her head on my shoulder. "I don't care. I'm fine if I'm with you."

I slow at a stop sign and kiss her. "We'll get you a bed, I promise. But after tonight, I need to take care of some things."

She looks up at me with these big fucking eyes and they're filled with love, and that nearly breaks me. After watching me kill four men, she's still looking at me like that, and I wonder if I deserve it.

"Are you trying to get rid of me, Simon Bianco?"

"No, baby, I'd never dream of it, but I do need to stash you somewhere safe while I go do some things that aren't safe at all."

She sighs and closes her eyes. "I thought we were past that."

"We were and then a bunch of men tried to kill us, so we're back to it."

"I don't want you to ditch me."

"I'm not and I won't, but I can't do what needs to be done if I have to worry about keeping you alive too."

She's quiet as she absorbs this. "You don't want me to see you kill anyone else."

I laugh because yeah, of course I don't want her to see me kill anyone else, but that's not my primary concern at the moment.

She gives me a hard look and leans away. "It's not funny. I know who you are. I mean, I understood when we got married, okay? You have to kill people sometimes."

"You're right, I do, but you don't have to be a part of that."

"I'm your wife. Shouldn't we share our lives?"

I snort and shake my head. "Fuck no. I mean, not that part. You were a normal person before I dragged you into my hellhole and now apparently you're okay with murder."

"I'm not okay with it. I'm just being realistic."

"Fucking hell, Emily, you are incredible and also a pain in my ass. I'm dropping you somewhere safe for tonight."

She crosses her arms. "Fine."

That's not what I expected. She's stubborn as shit and I figured I was in for a protracted argument. "Fine," I echo, gripping the steering wheel. "I love you."

"I love you too. And I hate this."

"Yeah, baby, I hate this too."