Aftermath (37 page)

Ariana was mafia, she may not have seen
it
that way, but she was
nonetheless
. She
should
’ve
considered the consequences and covered her ass. Instead, she got mixed-up with a scumbag who kidnapped her son and if it wasn’t for this mistake, he would not
have to deal this
hand.

Ariana brought this on
herself. T
he
evidence tying Nico
to the woman would
eventually
lead
to hi
m.
No, Ariana Mattheson was far from pristine. Selange wasn’t privy to intimate business details. Ariana Mattheson was. That knowledge could
land him on death row or
an eternity in jail.
And that was not a fucking option
!

No,
Alfonzo refused to
bend. Ariana Mattheson was a liability and a lawyer. Attorneys cut deals. He was cutting her out of the picture. Erasing
her to
protect his family
.

“You said babe, you’re with me.”

She hiccupped.

“You told me once to do what I have to and stay alive.”

Her crying hiccups turned sharp.

“You said we’re forever…remember…babe...remember you said that?”

Her sobs were panted breaths
and tears of guilt
, believing his decision was harsh vengeance for what she and Nico had done
.
It was
only
business
,
not anything personal until this intervention from her caused them to merge.

“
Did you lie
…
did you
lie when you sa
id
you love me
no matter what
...come on…mujer…tell me…did you lie…have you been lying to me
?”

Her eyes were running
liquid
s and it saturated his shirt.
He
reached to
God
as a
conscious sinner. He clutch
ed
Selange,
she was his symbolic rosary
beads
. He did not genuflect, for his spirit
was bowed instead.
He refused to
offend
God
, and request a favor. He allowed his mind to drift
;
it
bec
a
me silent.
Still
as death
.

Forgive me father, for I have sinned
…
again.

He confessed
to
a higher
authority
his sins,
but on eart
h
he feared the loss of his love
. She held
the
power to slaughter
his spirit and kill him with the flick of her hand.

He
saw happiness floating by. He could never hold on to it and at times he wondered why he tried.
S
elange
brought
peace to his spirit, she calmed him down. He was a grown ass man with a hyper activity disorder and she was
the
Ritalin. She had a serenity of spirit
and didn’t have a warring soul. She was the broker of peace, the goddamn mediator, his
goodness
,
his post.
One of the reasons he loved her was because
she wasn’t bad
and corrupt
like
him?

But they were at that
place;
would she stand, break or bend? He had to know.
Which road would she take and with whom
would she stand
?

Ari or love.

Trust or lack thereof.

Life of a tainted woman or
impart
death
on
a
tortured man.

Did
she
truly
possess
faith
in him or
were the words
of fealty
spoken during sweet moments, simply a lie?

The squeals of laughter emanating from their home were torturous sounds to a broken-heart
.
He opened his eyes and they were ice.

An a
nguished
soul
demanded, “
Are you with me
; t
ell me babe w
here
do
you
stand?”

Selange became silent.

An eternity was only a second for her to answer. “
I’m not going anywhere. I can love you and disagree
but beside you I’ll stand
.”

CHAPTER THIRTY

The dark van drove behind the compact car
with its four
passengers as it sped west on the
L
ong
I
sland Expressway. Traffic during four in the morning was extremely
scarce
. The van raced alongside the vehicle and
the man
in
the
van looked over for a positive identification.

There were two boys asleep in the
backseat
.
Up front a woman’s head rested against the male driver’s arm in what appeared to be a peaceful slumber.

What a
wonderful
family
portrait
.

Togetherness.

T
hey traveled to their destination, confident in the man taking them there.
A person
only sleep
s
in a car when the
y have trust and confidence in their driver.
Obviously, their faith
in him was
in their action
to doze
without cares
.

The day after Thanksgiving.

A family of four.

A unit on the road.

A
ccidents
occurred frequently arou
nd the holidays.

The cargo door
s of the van
opened
.

The male driver of the car peered in its direction. The stare of cold indifference sent chills across the men. To look into the face of Nico Serano was often synonymous with death. He was a Sicilian.
The features were strong. The angular jawline. The slightly flared and sinister nostrils. The mouth too sensual for a man, yet loved by women.
But, it’s the eyes. They were dark brown, almost blackish in appearance like his hair. His
quick maneuver
didn’t occur with
panic
ked surprise of an amateur. He’d watched them from the time he entered the expressway and surmised why they were there.

His switch-up was as smooth as a
pro;
you didn’t see the movements of his hand.
The van clumsily adjusted and then straightened.
It was
led by the infamous Serano twin who showcased why he was master of lethal games.

They
were aware of Nico’s reputation. Every
mafia enforcer
aspired to imitate him and most fell short. There was only one Nico Serano when it came to assassinations, he was a legend.

They were given explicit instruction by the Big Boss
’ Capo, “
Complete eradication
and leave
nothing identifiable
.”

I
ncinerate!

They maintained pace and
it’s
at the junction where
a
curve lead
s
to the Grand Central Parkway
and
the vehicles were temporarily obscured from view
where the action took place
. In the frame of a picture, the scene moved and the audio was ear-shattering thunderous
booms
. Whatever winged animals were asleep in the
darkened
trees scattered to safety.

Drivers racing in opposing lane
s
saw metal flipping
and crashing from hood to trunk, bending and breaking upon the hardened cement.
The car
became a ball of metal fire, and by then the mysterious
black van was gone.

The compact
car plummeted to the south lane of the Whitestone Expressway barely missing
vehicles as it crashed
atop its hood
and exploded.

Motorists swerved, their tires making sickening screeches as rubber gripped the asphalt. A car
maneuvered around the wreckage
and when it safely pas
sed, the driver pulled to the shoulder and dro
pp
ed
his head on the steering wheel, thanking the heavens
, he was so scared. He narrowly
avoided a
head-on
c
olli
sion
and his heart wanted to fly out of his chest
. He
promis
ed
to
attend
church and
thank
God
that he
hadn’t perished on this day.
He was going to visit family while on leave from Fort Benning and drove all day and night to get to New York. How tragic would it have been
he’d
die in a civilian car accident and not in a conflict abroad?

The heat from the twisted metal deterred any
Good
Samaritan who considered
aiding
the occupants. The
car crackled as it burned
. A second
combustion sent pieces of shrapnel flying into the air and a tire struck a car with such force it crushed the grill of a Mercedes.

The horrific accident caused traffic to stall, completely shutting down the entire north and southbound lanes of the expressway as emergency vehicles rushed to the scene. When the fire trucks arrived,
they were met with the charred remains of metal and flesh. Even the roadway where the vehicle collided was scorched black.

No on
e
survived the crash. Only a miracle
from
God could have saved the four occupants
. The
police and firemen survey
ing the wreckage
held their
mouths
pursed tight in
sympath
y and frustration. Ther
e wasn’t anything they could do to have saved the family.
What lay before them was a horrific sight.
The human
remains
were
scorched beyond recognition nearly to the point of cremation.

The tragedy was compounded because it was the day after Thanksgiving
and
a time of family.

EPILOGUE

Selange flicked through the satellite
news
channels for
anything out of the ordinary involving a woman and children.

Nothing.

Channel after channel
her eyes scanned in desperation, praying nothing of interest continued. But,
in New York sensationalism is entertainment and at any time of day the shocks of tragic reports soon became a daily way of life. Apathy became the New York coping mechanism to avoid the fear.

A news reporter came on the screen suddenly. She clutched the oversize mike with the station logo and looking more like a model than a reporter her face squint in earnest as she spoke with practiced journalistic skill about
a
vehicular accident that happened on the Whitestone Expressway several hours ago.

Behind the woman was twisted wreckage
, f
lashing
lights from
emergency vehicles and trees on the outskirts. She knew the area.
She’d driven its roadways and frowned because this is the route Ari traveled from Long Island to the city, except the GCP is above and the Whitestone is on the lower section from Queens to the Bronx.
Maybe, this wasn’t Ari. She listened and watched, anyway.

“…an entire family died in the horrific accident early this morning.
Witnesses describe the accident as the worst they’ve seen.
Fire and debris were scattered everywhere and the occupants
we’re told
were killed on impact. We’ve learned the family killed in this tragic collision was a prominent
attorney who once worked for
a former
Manhattan District Attorney and her two sons. The male driver of the vehicle has not been identified.