The Mafia Trilogy (10 page)

She did it for her husband. She had to remember that reason and stay as strong as she could, because there was a very real chance that these men would capture Darwin and bring him there.

She would need to be strong for him. She only hoped she’d get to see her husband one more time before she died.

She rolled into a ball on the mattress, wrapped her arms around her legs and cried.

What a fucking honeymoon this turned out to be.

If she ever got the chance, she’d take down as many as she could before she died. Even if that meant throwing herself out the window. She’d grab a few of them as she went.

A knock on the door startled her.

Before she acknowledged the man at the door, he was already opening it. Light spilled in from the hallway. The door shut behind him and the light got cut off.

What now? Personal interrogations?

“Dinner,” he said.

The man walked over and set a large plate of steaming lasagna down beside the lamp.

“I’m,” she paused to clear her throat, “I’m not hungry.”

“Doesn’t matter. Eat. You do not want to piss off the boss. If he says eat, then you fucking well eat.”

The man walked over to the wall and leaned against it. As far as she could tell in the dim light, he stared at her.

“What?” she asked. “Are you supposed to stand there and watch me eat? How do I know it isn’t poisoned?”

The man pulled something out of his pocket and started twiddling it in his hands. She waited. He didn’t respond right away.

He pushed off the wall and walked back to her mattress. She unrolled her body and edged away.

He squatted, clutching a rosary.

Religious bumfucks. Who knew?

“There isn’t any poison in your food. Didn’t anything that happened to you today give you any insight?”

“What are you talking about,
insight
? The only reason they stopped was to keep me in good condition in case my husband proved difficult. So I’m still meat, just a different kind. Bait.”

The man shook his head back and forth and flipped his rosary in a circle around his palm.

“No, there is a blood debt that has to be collected. Poisoning you means you don’t bleed.” He stopped, contemplated something, and then said, “Well, I guess there’d be bleeding on the inside, but that wouldn’t do. The boss wouldn’t be able to see it.”

“Hmmph,” she mumbled.

“Anyway, whatever. I’m here to take you to the bathroom too. Can’t have you soiling your pretty panties. Not with what’s coming. Get it, coming?” He laughed.

What a horrible sound.

“I don’t have to go.”

“Oh yes, you do. Man, aren't you defiant? I’m here to take you to the bathroom. That’s it. I have a job to do. I do it. No questions asked. You’re supposed to go to the bathroom, so you go. Whether you shit or piss makes no difference to me. But you’re going. Got it?”

His face had changed. His eyes seemed wider, his teeth closer together when he talked. She could tell she was trying his patience.

Well, fuck him. To make a point, I should defy him. Get him killed for not taking me to the bathroom.

She rolled off the mattress and got to her knees. She used the wall to help her stand on wobbly legs.

“Good girl. Follow me. Do not deviate. As you’ve already seen, penalties are severe.”

She nodded, most of the fight beaten out of her. The only thing she could count on was her internal voice. The voice of reason, understanding and coping. She could call them all the names she wanted in her head and they couldn’t touch her.

The man led her out of the room, down the hall a few doors and then opened the ladies bathroom door. He stepped into the sink area and waited.

“What?” he asked. “I am not letting you out of my sight. I won’t watch you piss or shit, but I’m staying right outside the stall door. Now, do this thing.”

She stepped into the stall and tried to deal with the humiliation of having to go with a man just outside the door. When finished, she washed her hands and followed him back to her jail. The two men on either side of her door were new, spelling the others. They parted and let the two of them inside.

The man shut the door behind them.

“Aren’t we done here?” she asked.

“I want to make sure, before I go, that you start eating. I can’t leave without knowing I did my job.”

Rosina knelt down, eased her sore frame onto the mattress, and picked up the lasagna. It smelled amazing. She couldn’t believe she was so hungry after all she’d been through.

The first bite woke up her stomach. Then, before she realized what was happening, the man hustled over and dropped down beside her.

“Here, take this,” he whispered.

He held out the rosary for her. She looked up into his eyes.

“I’ve only got a second and then I have to go. I’m here undercover. Say nothing to no one. I won’t let them kill you. I can’t say if I can stop more torture, but I’ll do my best. Do you understand?”

She nodded and reached out to take the rosary.

“Good. Listen closely. The Fuccini Family showed up here four days ago, looking for you and your husband. They don’t have the muscle in Italy like they have in Canada. They had to reach out, ask for help from their family ties in Sicily and ask permission to conduct business here in Rome. It was granted last night. I am one of a dozen men sent over to handle the Kostas situation. I’ve been undercover for three years now and my real bosses are about to pull me. I’ll be taking you with me. Got it?”

Rosina felt shock, salvation and hope course through her. It was like she was on a failing plane when all of a sudden everything righted, and the pilot came on and said he got the engine restarted. They were going to be okay. She nodded at him.

“Good, play it cool. Do what they say. This’ll be over soon.”

He stood up and stepped away. “Good,” he said, his voice louder. “Eat all your fucking food or I’ll come back and force feed you.”

As he exited between the two men in the hall, he muttered, “Stupid bitch.”

One of the guards slammed the door shut, casting Rosina back in the dark.

But it wasn’t as dark anymore.

Chapter 6

Darwin wondered what he would do for the next twenty-four hours. Where would he stay, what would he eat? Greg told him to check in at a ritzy hotel, but which one?

He walked along the crowded train station in a daze, unfocused, rudderless.

The first step would be a weapon. But what kind? Knives were out of the question, of course. Along that line of thought, he hated the dark too. Absolute darkness caused him to have panic attacks. He found he just couldn’t cope well after living with his stepmom. All those years of being tossed in the room in the basement that had no window. The things she would prick his skin with for hours. He remembered if he cried once, or even mumbled a single peep of protest, she would start again, poking and pricking him with sharp needles, in the pitch-black room.

He always said one day he would do it to her, and when he got the chance in that barn, he used a pitchfork. No one ever found out it was him and he was okay with that. One less fucked up human for the rest of humanity to deal with.

One day he would tell Rosina all about it. How his stepmother was always pricking him and his father had no idea as he was away from home a lot. Darwin was bleeding in a dozen spots that day. His stepmother was about to lock him up in the dark room again, but Darwin escaped and ran at least a kilometer away. He hid in a barn that didn’t look used for anything other than hay storage. When his stepmother found him three hours later, she was furious. She saw a pitchfork against the wall of the barn and came at him. He recalled her saying something about pricking him
real
good this time. He dodged left, he dodged right, and kept himself off the long tongs of the pitchfork, but he knew it wouldn’t be long before she got lucky.

The sun was setting that afternoon, casting the barn into darkness. His ability to control his temper became too difficult. When she lunged again, he dropped to the hay-covered floor, reached up and grabbed the handle of the pitchfork. After twisting it from her grasp, he moved at her with a quick jab. It entered her chest, and she died in less than two minutes.

Darwin ran from the area and never looked back. He knew no one saw him because it never came up. His morose attitude was attributed to the loss and funeral of his stepmother.
 

He wasn’t a murderer. He wasn’t a repeat offender. It was a one-time deal of getting back at the source of years of pain and anguish. Years of torment and torture at the hands of a psycho.

His father had been absent all those years, working late hours. When he finally broke down and told his dad what his stepmother had been doing, his father wouldn’t believe it.

Darwin was left emotionally damaged and scarred. He developed a violent reaction, an outright insane anger, to anything sharp being pointed at him. Although,
he
couldn’t hold a knife. No way. He’d end up getting angry at himself, piss himself off. He couldn’t have that.

So what kind of weapon would work? A taser? A stun gun. A pellet gun? But he had no idea where he would get those things in Rome.

Darwin took the escalator back up to the main floor and started walking along the line of train tracks, some occupied, others not.

He passed by a stationery store on the right and came up with a great idea for a weapon.

He bought exactly what he needed and stepped out with the weapon carefully hidden in his new jacket’s pocket.

Wait, when Rosina and I were here earlier, two men chased the bus and banged on the window. Maybe they’re still here?

He spun on his heels, a full circle, looking in every direction. He didn’t see anything untoward. No one watched him longer than normal. No one appeared to be stalking him.

How stupid, how stupid
, he chastised himself.
I walked out in the open. I could’ve been grabbed at any time.

He moved to the wall and stayed close to it as he continued along, watching the faces of all the travelers. He looked for anyone without luggage.

People from every culture ran by, heading in a myriad of directions, intent on making it back to their loved ones.

If only I could make it back to Rosina.

In thirty minutes, he had traversed the entire bottom floor of Termini Station without seeing anyone who resembled a mobster.

What the hell does a mobster look like anyway?

Toward the front, people stood in long lines buying train tickets. The roof was made of some kind of glass. Clouds rolled in, some gray, some darker.

Then he spotted one of the men from earlier, the slimmer of the two men who had chased the bus Rosina and he had taken to the airport. The man sat on the second floor at some kind of coffee shop, a cappuccino in his hand. Right above the ticket area was a railing and behind that were cafés and restaurants. The man sat all the way down at the end, at the last table.

Darwin immediately ducked his head, tightened his grip on his weapon and started for the side. He walked with purpose, but without making his hurried step too obvious. Within twenty seconds, he made it under the railing of the second floor and as far as he could tell, the mobster guy hadn’t seen him.

He skirted around and took the escalator to the second floor.

What am I doing? Greg told me to be cool. I’m supposed to be playing it safe.

Too late. He almost died on that highway and he wanted to send a message to the boss man that he wouldn’t be intimidated.

The motherfucking FBI is on my side and one phone call brought them running
.

The Fuccini Family will always remember Darwin Athios Kostas.

He slowed as he neared the corner of the cafeteria-style café. The man still sat there, looking down over the railing, his attention on the lines at the ticket booths.

Darwin edged out and walked briskly up to his table. He made to walk past in case the man looked up, but he didn’t, so Darwin turned and stood for a second directly behind him.

He waited. His hand shook the weapon as he gripped it in a sweaty palm.

What am I doing? This is stupid. These guys are trained killers. How am I going to intimidate him
?

This was the only way. Act insane and be insane. Insanity meant unpredictability.

He lunged forward, placed his weapon against the man’s throat and leaned down next to his ear.

“Move a
fucking
inch, and the next time you move any muscle will be convulsions from the lead poisoning in your neck.”