His Property, page 22
“Fuck that.”
“So, you'd rather have the cops and the Feds breathing down your neck all day, every day?” I ask. “You'd rather scratch and claw for peanuts when there are billions sitting out there just waiting to be had? Billions that don't carry the risk of death or prison?”
Marco shrugs. “That's the life, kid,” he says. “That's somethin' you never understood. You always thought you were better than us, what with your fancy education and your fancy, rich friends.”
“I was trying to do right by our family,” I say. “I was trying to give us a legacy to be proud of.”
“Hey, I'm pretty proud of the legacy we have right now,” he snaps. “Ain't nothin' wrong with bein' rich and feared.”
I shake my head. He doesn't understand. He'll never understand. He's hard-wired to be part of the problem – not part of the solution. To somebody like Marco, a life of crime is prestigious. A life as a mob boss demands respect. Makes him somehow a better and stronger man.
There's nothing I can say that's going to convince him that my way is the right way.
“Kid, the problem with you is that you got too much of your mother in you,” Marco says. “Now, don't get me wrong, I was plenty fond of Constance. But she was always a little too uppity for my liking. Always thought she was superior.”
“She was,” I say. “Especially to a cockroach like you.”
The gun is in Marco's hand before I can even blink. He presses the barrel of the gun against my head, pushing it against my skull good and hard. I close my eyes and conjure Harper's face in my mind. Just when I'd finally found happiness – true happiness – it's going to be taken away from me. It hardly seems fair. I've tried to do things the right way. I've tried to get out from under the corrupting shadow of my family name. Tried to turn it into something good.
But, it's apparently all for naught.
“So, what now?” I ask.
“What now is that you are going to die,” he says. “And I am going to restore the true Rossi family legacy.”
“And I'm taking Harper the hell away from here,” Landon says. “Plus, I'm gettin' a hundred grand from Marco for bringin' your sorry ass here. Set you up, dumbshit. How does that feel?”
I look up at Landon and smirk at him. “You really think Marco is letting you walk out of here?” I ask. “If you really believe that, you're stupider than you look.”
“What the fuck are you talkin' about?” he asks. “We got a deal. Right, Marco?”
Marco turns to Landon and shrugs. “Unfortunately, my nephew is right,” he says. “I appreciate your assistance in getting him here and planting this wonderful idea in my head. This really does seem to be the gold mine you spoke of. I'm looking forward to expanding the Rossi empire to both coasts.”
“What the fuck are you –”
Landon never gets to finish his statement because Marco wheels on him and squeezes off a shot. The report from the gun echoes around the warehouse and Landon's eyes grow wide. He looks down at the blossom of red on his chest and looks at Marco as if he doesn't understand what just happened.
He opens his mouth to speak, but all that comes out is a wet, gurgling sound. Landon sinks to his knees, the front of his shirt turning entirely crimson and a rivulet of blood slipping from his mouth. Marco walks over and puts the barrel of the gun against Landon's head and pulls the trigger.
I watch as the spray of red mist and gray meat blows out the other side of his head, spattering upon the ground. His body slumps over on its side, his eyes forever wide and unseeing. The scarlet pool that pours from the holes in his body pools around him, expanding outward.
I just shake my head and sigh.
Marco turns back to me, a predatory grin on his face. “There's one thing I want you to know before you die,” he says. “It's a secret I've been keeping for years and I've been dying to tell you, kid. I just needed to wait for the right time. And since we're almost out of time, I guess this is it.”
I look up at him, my eyes narrowed, pure hatred flowing through my veins. “What are you talking about?”
“Your parents,” he says. “Who do you think set up the hit?”
As the full import of what he's saying sinks in, I feel my heart shatter and a dark wave of despair wash over me. I shake my head, fighting to deny it.
“That's right,” he says. “It was me. I was tired of waiting for my shot, so I decided to make my own opportunity.”
“You son of a bitch,” I seethe.
He shrugs. “Didn't really turn out how I expected – thanks to you – but hey, it all works out in the end, am I right?”
“I'm going to fucking kill you.”
“Yeah, that'll be a little tough for you to pull off, but good luck with that,” he says, his tone jovial. “Anyway, I wanted to say that I am genuinely sorry about your mom and sister. I didn't expect them to be with your dad that night. He was the only one who was supposed to take the bullets. But, they happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, so yeah, sorry about that. Collateral damage sucks, I know.”
A rage darker than anything I've ever known rises up within me. I struggle and strain against my bonds, but I can't move. I'm desperate to get to Marco. To rip his heart out of his chest. I growl as I try to break the ties binding me to the chair and when I can't, I let out a scream of pure agony and frustration.
“Well, we should probably bring this to a close, huh?” Marco says. “I got things to do. Like this Harper chick. Saw a picture of her and damn – I'm gonna have fun breakin' that one in.”
“Fuck you, Marco.”
He laughs and shakes his head. “Defiant to the end,” he says. “You coulda been great for this family, kid. If you only knew your place.”
The silence that permeates the rest of the warehouse is shattered by the sound of a siren and a voice shouting over a bullhorn.
“LAPD,” the voice calls. “The building is surrounded. Drop your weapons and come out with your hands up.”
I listen to the voice and I recognize it. But, I see the red strobing lights flashing through the broken out windows of the warehouse. Something isn't adding up and I'm not sure what's going on.
Marco though, is in a near panic. He's looking around, plotting his next move – looking for a way out. That's always been Marco's first priority – save his own ass. A shot rings out, coming out of nowhere, and I see the red hole open up on the giant man's forehead. A rivulet of blood runs down his face and he drops like a sack of potatoes. The large man hits the ground with a meaty thud and doesn't move again.
A second shot comes out of the darkness and the other man with Marco drops, a hole in his neck that's spraying arterial blood everywhere. The man runs around, his hand clamped to the wound in his neck, but there's blood everywhere. He can't staunch the flow and he's going to bleed out in minutes. He runs off into the darkness, the only sound he's capable of making, a wet, choking gurgle.
That leaves Marco and me standing within the circle of lights. He turns in a circle, his eyes wide with panic. Sweat rolls down his face and his breathing is so ragged, I can hear it from where I'm sitting. He turns and sees me – and I see in his face that he's just figured out his escape plan. He's going to take me as a hostage and demand he gets a way out.
But as he moves toward me, another shot comes out of the darkness, the bullet glancing off the ground at his feet. He stops and looks around, his eyes wide and fear coloring his features.
“Who the fuck is out there?” he calls, his voice echoing around the warehouse.
I've figured out by this point, that it's not the cops. The cops wouldn't have executed his men the way whoever is out there did. I got back to the voice that came over the bullhorn when this whole clusterfuck started. I think I recognize it, but I don't see how it could be possible. Nobody knew I was meeting Landon at that bar. And they sure as hell didn't know where I was going to end up.
Marco spins around and raises his gun, my eyes grow wide when I realize it's pointed straight at me. Another shot rings out of the dark just as he pulls the trigger. The mystery gunman hit Marco in the shoulder, but he still managed to get off a shot.
When the bullet slams into my shoulder, it literally takes my breath away. A split-second later, I feel an agonizing, burning pain in the shoulder. Blood pours from the wound, but the pain is the only thing I can focus on. I've never felt such an excruciating pain before in all my years.
But, it sure beats the alternative. If the mystery sniper hadn't hit Marco, he would have put a bullet right between my eyes. So, all things considered, I'll deal with some pain.
I howl in pain, fighting to keep myself from blacking out. Marco is on the ground, blood pouring from a wound in his shoulder. He's rolling around on the ground, writhing in agony, and cursing everybody who'll listen.
“I'll kill you, you motherfucker,” he gasps. “I'll cut your goddamn throat.”
I'm unsurprised to see Miguel emerging from the darkness. He's dressed in all black and is carrying a sniper rifle. When he sees me tied to the chair he grins and gives me a nod. He turns his attention quickly to Marco. He kicks my uncle in the gut with his steel-toed boots, driving all of the air out of the older man. Then, he picks up Marco's gun and tucks it behind his waistband.
Only then, does he come over to me.
“Maybe next time, you'll listen to me about bringing your bodyguard along with you to a meet with a sketchy as hell cokehead,” he says.
“I'll do that,” I say. “But maybe next time, you can step in before I get shot?”
He shrugs. “Had to teach you a lesson somehow.”
We look at each other for a long moment and even though I'm in excruciating pain, I can't help but laugh. We laugh hysterically and somehow, it dulls my pain.
Miguel takes a knife out of his boot and uses it to cut my bonds, freeing me. He helps me to my feet and puts his arm around me, giving me a little support. He walks me over to Marco, who's still on the ground, his mouth opening and closing, gasping for air like a fish that's been pulled out of the water.
“What do you want to do about this punk ass piece of crap?” Miguel asks.
“He killed my family.”
“I heard.”
He pulls Marco's gun out and hands it to me. I hold the gun in my hand and look at it, feeling the rage building inside of me. I see my mother's face float through my mind. My sister's face. I even see my father's face. All gone. All taken. By him.
Marco's rolled over onto his back and he stares up at me, his eyes wide, a look of pure hatred on his face. The darkness inside of me surges and I raise the gun, point it straight at his face.
“Do it,” Marco growls. “Prove that you have the guts. Prove that you're a man. That you're a Rossi. Because I got a good feeling you're not.”
Miguel is watching me, but says nothing. I know he's not going to judge me whether I pull the trigger or not. I know he understands my reasoning for wanting this piece of crap dead. The question I keep asking myself though, is whether or not I can live with myself if I do it?
A wave of darkness rolls over me, pulls me beneath its comforting waves and tells me that I can absolutely live with myself. Marco deserves what he gets. He killed my family and laughed about it. Hell, he was going to kill me if Miguel hadn't stopped him.
If anybody deserves to die, it's Marco.
“Call the police,” I tell Miguel. “Tell them there's been a murder out here – where ever here is.”
Marco's smile is predatory. Malevolent. He knows I want to give him what he wants – death. And I want to grant him that gift badly.
But – I'm not my father. And if not being a Rossi means I'm not a murderer, I'm okay with that.
I move my aim and squeeze the trigger. The gunshot sounds like a cannon going off as it echoes around the warehouse. And then Marco screams in outrage and agony.
“I'm not gonna kill you,” I say, looking at the hole I blew in his knee. “But, I'm not gonna let you not be here when the cops show up.”
Blood pools beneath his leg and he writhes in agony. He's screaming my name and following it with every curse he can think of. But, I know he's not going anywhere. Except to prison when the cops show up.
As Miguel helps me out of the warehouse, the sound of Marco's bellowing follows us out into the cool, night air.
The side door of the black van parked in the alley is torn open so fast, I'm afraid it's going to come off the hinges. And when I see Harper's wide, innocent eyes staring back at me, I see her focus on the ragged, bloody hole in my shoulder. Tears spill down her cheeks and her face is a mask of worry. I put my good arm around her and pull her tight to me.
“It's okay,” I say. “It's a shoulder wound. No big deal.”
“We need to get you to the hospital,” she says.
“No hospitals,” Miguel and I say in unison.
“They're obligated to report gunshot wounds,” I say. “I can't be mixed up in that.”
“Besides,” Miguel says. “We've got a doc on call. She's one of the best. She'll patch him up right away and he'll be as good as new. She'll be there waiting for us.”
Wincing, I climb into the van and sit down on the bench, leaning against the wall. Harper is beside me – on my good side – fussing and doing her best to not freak out seeing all of the blood on me. I look her in the eye and hold her gaze for a long moment.
“I'm okay,” I say. “I'm going to be fine.”
She looks at me with her wide, watery eyes. “Landon?”
“Dead,” I say. “I'm sorry. He aligned with my uncle and when Marco had no more use for him, he killed him. I'm truly sorry, Harper.”
“The strange thing is that I know part of me should be sad,” she says. “He meant a lot to me for a while. But, knowing what I know now – I actually don't feel a thing. I mean, it's sad he's dead. But it's his choices that made that happen.”
I pull her in tight with my good arm and hold her close. Miguel stows his weapon and then gets behind the wheel, firing up the van, pulling the fake red cop light off the dash and turns it off. He pulls out and heads for the highway. We've driven a few miles from the warehouse when a line of cop cars, red sirens flashing, whizzes by us going close to ninety miles per hour.”
“Looks like your uncle's going to have some friends show up real soon,” Miguel says.
“Good,” I say. “I'm kinda hoping he resists arrest.”
“I thought you'd kill him,” she said softly.
“I thought about it,” I say. “But not only would making him sit in prison for life be the ultimate karmic payback, I'm also not my father. And I have no desire to be anything like him.”
Harper plants a soft kiss on my cheek. “I knew you wouldn't,” she says. “I knew you were too good of a man.”
I give her a small smile and then wince as a shard of pain stabs me. As I sit there, my head leaned back against the side of the van, a question occurs to me.
“How in the hell did you guys know where I was?”
“Cordy,” Harper says. “She was worried about you and talked to Miguel. Filled him in on everything.”
“After that, it wasn't that hard to find you,” he says. “I just sat on the bar and waited to see what shook out.”
“Aren't you afraid that your uncle is going to tell the cops about you?” Harper asks.
I shake my head. “Nope. He's a prick, but he's not a snitch,” I say. “Besides, he's harboring the hope that he'll get out of prison one day. And when he does, he's going to come at me with everything he has. It's just a matter of pride and biding his time now.”
We ride in silence for a long while and I think about everything that's happened. I take stock of it all. I could have very easily not just lost my life, but if I'd pulled that trigger on Marco, I would have lost my soul. And there is a time I would have pulled it without thinking twice.
But, that was before Harper came into my life. When she came into my world she changed everything for me. And because of her, I find that I want to be a better man. A much better man. Not just for her, but for me too.
“Hey, Miguel,” I say.
“Yeah, boss.”
“Thank you,” I say. “You saved my ass in there. I owe you a debt I don't know I can repay.”
Miguel chuckles softly. “Just doin' my job, boss.”
I had a feeling he'd say that.
Harper lays her head on my shoulder and we rocket through the darkness, heading for home. And for the first time in my life, I feel like the shadow I've existed under, that dark legacy my family left behind, is gone.
I feel like I have a fresh start. A clean slate. And with Harper by my side, I plan on taking full advantage of the second chance I'm being given.
Epilogue
Harper
Seven Months Later
The studio is unlike anything I've seen before and is like something straight out of my dreams. It's everything I could have ever imagined. Everything I did in fact, dream about. The interior of the booth I'm sitting in is dimly lit – though, one of their assistants had thoughtfully put about two dozen candles all around before I'd started, creating the moody atmosphere I enjoyed performing in the most.
As I look at all the faces in the booth watching me, I still can't believe it. All that hard work and patience – not to mention everything I went through – to get me to this point. In a studio with important people in front of me. People who can help make and shape my career. People who can help refine my music. And people who can take me to heights I never even dreamed possible.
The whole thing still feels so surreal to me and I have to take a few deep breaths just to calm myself down. And as I look through the glass of the booth in front of me again, I have to resist the urge to pinch myself to make sure this is all really happening.
Rob and his friend, Stephen, are sitting in the back of the booth, behind the engineers, along with a few people I don't know yet. Rob is behind the glass and I'm alone in the studio – wishing, more than anything, that he could be in here with me. But, I know he can't – that's not how this works. As much as I'd like him to be, I can't have him there holding my hand.
