18. Evelyn

"Who the fuck do you think you are?" Dad growls from his seat. The terror I thought I saw is gone. All that remains is boiling rage that turns his face red. With his fists balled beside his plate, he continues to yell at Peter. "You think you can come in here, point a gun at my family, and think you're going to walk out of here breathing the same way you came in?"Peter's cocky. The yellow light of the dining room bounces off his product laden hair and the shiny barrel of his silver 45.

"Matteo, calm down," Ma whispers, tapping Dad's arm. "You're going to give yourself a heart attack."

"And then he'll be just like Old Man De Luca. It's amazing that these old bastards are running a multimillion-dollar syndicate," Peter scoffs. "You all need to retire. Now, Mama Rossi, if you please, go help my children get ready. Roman? Courtney? Just pack a few things to get you through the next few days."

"Dad." Courtney stops with tears welling. "What about cheerleading, and school? I have tests this week."

"Yeah, and I have baseball," Roman chimes in. "Coach says I can play short stop. I've been working really hard?—"

"Enough!" Peter bellows. "Go get your shit and let's go!"

The anger in his voice tells everyone he's anxious, and rightfully so.

"It's okay, guys," Dad assures Courtney and Roman. "You go on and get your stuff together. Zena, babe, go help them. Use the suitcases in the middle closet, yeah?" Dad says as he tries desperately to stay calm. Only, I know what suitcases are in the middle closet. They're not empty.

Distracting Peter is the best option to give my mom enough time to get the suitcases ready to go.

"What happened to you?" I ask Peter. "You and my sister have the perfect kind of love."

"Perfect?" Peter yelps with a boisterous laugh to follow. "Perfect? You think that a former District Attorney with sights on a Congressional seat has the perfect kind of love with a convict? A felon who used my office to conduct criminal activities on behalf of her father's criminal organization."

"You low-life pezzo di merda. Dovrei farti a pezzi e gettare il tuo corpo nell"Hudson," Dad grumbles in Italian.

Peter gestures toward my father with the gun. "English! What the fuck did he just say?"

I sigh. "He said that you're a lowlife scumbag and that he should chop you into pieces before dumping your body in the Hudson."

"Oh, well guess what, Don Rossi, the only river my body plans on touching is the Seine when I take my kids on vacation to Paris. We'll get out of the country and let this bullshit with their mother die down. By the time we come back, it's going to be a perfect time for me to run for office again."

"You can't take them out of the country. Their family is here," I tell him.

"I AM THEIR FAMILY," Peter spits angrily. "They belong to me and will be the perfect addition to my campaign. Just don't make things difficult."

"What about Shana? She's doing time for you."

"No, she's doing time for the Family. La Familia, that I was never truly a part of," Peter sneers.

There's a thump and a rumble from upstairs, forcing Peter to turn his attention away from us. We use the distraction to move. I push myself forward, so my chair slides back into Peter's legs, causing him to stumble and fumble the gun. It takes a few seconds for me to spin around, but I don't hesitate, anchoring my feet and hitting him square in the jaw.

He takes it on the chin, which gives me pause. Jenkins moves, and Dad ducks under the table, coming back up with a shotgun. As soon as he racks it, Peter's eyes shift toward my father. It gives me plenty of time to grab a steak knife. My fingers are tight around the handle when I jab Peter in the center of his face.

His head snaps back as he curses, "Fuck!'

My next punch goes to his sweet spot, just under the ribs near his back, which brings him to his knees immediately. Alessandro was right. Rounding his slumped body, I'm ready to stab Peter when Jenkins catches my hand.

"Murder's not for you, Evelyn." Jenkins's words sink in, and I know he's right.

"Yeah, and you don't want Roman and Courtney to know their aunt killed their father," Dad says.

Ma's at the top of the stairs with a goon that she kicks in the back, sending him tumbling down with pride in her eyes and a shotgun secured in her clutches. The kids stand behind her with their eyes wide.

"Holy shit," Roman says quietly.

"Language," Ma chastises him.

"Keep them upstairs, Zena," Dad says to her and watches as they retreat into a bedroom until the house is clear. He holds his hand out for me to step away from Peter so Jenkins can yank him off the floor. "That's some uppercut you got on you, Evie."

"My husband gave me a few pointers. I can't wait to tell him it worked."

"Uh, maybe you should hold off on telling him about this. His temper is like a bull in a China shop these days. Heard he's been slicing people up, hanging them like jerky. I think it's time for you to think about being with somebody a little less violent."

"Excuse me?" I ask him. "This was your fucking idea that you connived and guilted me into going through with. Now that I'm getting something out of this, it's time to look elsewhere?"

"I'm just saying don't put all your eggs in one basket. He's been seen entertaining Don Montegna. After what happened yesterday, I don't know how much I can trust him to keep up his end of the truce."

"Un-fucking-believable. It's barely been a week and you're already looking to back out of the deal you made? That's fine, Dad, but next time, leave me out of the bullshit."

"Hey, watch your mouth talking to me like that. I'm still your father. I love you and I'm still looking out for you. I'll get Jenkins to take you back, and don't worry about dinner or anything. We'll clean up here."

He walks away before I contest anything else. Jenkins, just like that time he rescued me from a house I played hooky at, wraps his arm around me and takes me out of the home I grew up in. There are men hogtied on the lawn, and my father's talking to one of his capos.

Dad's instructions are clear. "I don't want these guys found. Leave Peter, but break his knees. I want him to feel every bit of pain when he comes crawling back to me for forgiveness. That, and I want to leave him for Shana. The way he let her hang for his shit? The least we can do is leave him for her to finish off."

Jenkins ushers me into the car before I can hear anything else. He's quiet for the most part. The crisp evening air blows through my open window as I watch cars pass us by on the BQE back to Manhattan.

I murmur to myself. "It's like dominoes."

"Say again?" Jenkins replies.

"It's like dominoes, all this shit going on. Peter getting arrested was the first domino to fall, and now, there's people dead, hurt, sliced, taken hostage, in prison, married, fired, rehired, attacked... It only took one fucking event to set off this crazy ass chain."

I'm half expecting some insight from Jenkins, but I see his eyes focused on the rearview mirror.

"What is it?" I ask him, glancing over my shoulder.

"Nothing. I think there's someone following us. I'm going to take a detour to Alessandro's house."

"Is that smart?"

"Evelyn, I don't know who's in that car. The last thing I want to do is lead them back to the home you're sleeping at. I'm going to lose them. Just hang on tight."

A quick tug on my seat belt lets me know I'm strapped in, but there's nothing I can really do. Jenkins gets off the expressway before we can get to the Brooklyn Bridge. He knows these streets like the back of his hand as he cuts around one corner, taking the service road.

It's only then that I see the tinted black sedan a few cars back. They're definitely following us and getting closer. Jenkins heads down one street, swerves around a construction crew, and checks the time. Evening rush hour still has the major streets gridlocked.

My heart races as Jenkins blows through a red light in the nick of time to miss oncoming traffic, but the familiar flash of a red light speed camera shutters behind us. A part of me hopes it's enough to blind the person who also blew through the light.

Cars honk and drivers shout obscenities as it looks like we're shooting a Law and Order episode. Fuck.

More cars turn up on the side streets, forcing Jenkins to make a dangerous choice to head down the wrong direction of a one-way street. We narrowly miss one car, but the car behind us catches up and knocks the back corner of the car.

Jenkins tries to keep control, but we're in a skid. The steady pelts of loose gravel caught under the tires along with screeching brakes echo through the air as we swerve into a turn. The car spins for what feels like forever until the force of a concrete barrier brings us to a full stop.

Hmm. Alessandro was right. The sound of bones breaking is a lot more distinct than the sounds of a punching bag. The window cracks as the airbag deploys and my head slams against the back of my seat.

Jenkins is bloody, his arm is at an awkward angle, and my vision is cloudy. I'm waiting for the shots to ring out, for the bullets to pierce through the car. But everything fades to black just as sirens wail in the distance.