DeLuca (Mafia Romance)

“Yeah,” he rasped and he stopped to cough, “I’ve got Angelo and Enzo with me. Enzo’s pretty messed up,” he wheezed, followed up by more coughing.

“Okay, there are two more headed your way. Ivan got Carlo, he’s alive and we’re tracking them. I don’t know about the other five.”

“They’re gone,”

“Wait for the other two then you guys need to get out of there. I want you to head south towards Salem. I’ll have Mouse send the address to your navigation systems.”

“Got it.”

“Be careful. The cops just got to the warehouse so you’re going to have to go around them. Do you need me to get you the alternate route off of the service road?”

“No, we have it.”

“I’ll have a doctor waiting for you at the safe house when you get there. We’re going to pack up and head out as soon as we have confirmation on where they’re keeping Carlo.”

“See you then,” he said and disconnected the call.

I grabbed a piece of paper and scribbled down an address, “Send this address to their GPS systems then shut everything down and pack it up.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Frankie, what’s going on?”

“They split up, but lucky for you I was always really good at that hide the ball in the cup game when I was a kid-”

“Frankie!” I cut her off.

“Jesus, yeah, I’m still on the right car. They headed east on I-84 then circled back towards downtown.”

“Okay, st-”

“Stay on them. Yeah, I got it the first six times you said it.”

“Right,” I sighed, and pinched the bridge of my nose. I was starting to get a massive headache and it was only going to get worse. Pulling out my phone I dialed the number I’d memorized when I was twelve. He picked up on the first ring, “Hello?” his voice sounding tired.

“Michael? It’s Mia. I need your help.”

…

I headed down to brief the men with Mouse and Frankie in tow. The address Frankie had tracked Ivan to burning in my hand.

251 NW Broadway St, Portland, OR 97209Content © copyrighted by NôvelDrama.Org.

It was the address of the club Ivan owned, the same one on the card he had given me the night I killed his brother. I had a feeling that’s where they were headed when Frankie had mentioned they looped back around towards downtown but I wanted to be certain. Carlo’s life depended on this game of cat and mouse Ivan and I were playing and there was no margin for error.

When we walked into the great room all conversation stopped. I looked around at the room full of men, most of whom I had only just met a few days ago, all of them looking to me for guidance.

Jesus Christ! What the fuck am I going to do?

I had zero experience here, but I couldn’t risk letting someone else take over and Carlo not making it out of this thing alive. I had watched Carlo for years, living in this world with him. I may not have the experience but I knew what Carlo would do. Evaluate and execute with any means necessary.

‘Fake it ’til you make it.’ Gina’s voice echoed in my head and I took a deep breath. With both of them in my head I might just be able to pull this off, I thought.

“We have the address where Ivan took Carlo, the club he owns in downtown Portland. From what I can tell this is his home base, but we don’t have any more information at this point. Angelo, Antonio and Enzo are alive. There are two more unidentified men that made it out of the fire but their condition and names are still unknown. I’ve sent them to a safe house south of Portland where a doctor will be waiting to treat them for their injuries. The other four men have been confirmed dead. I want you all to grab whatever you think we might need while we’re in Portland, guns, and ammo, whatever. We’ll leave in thirty. Any questions?” Holy shit, I did it. Please don’t have any questions, I thought as I looked around the room.

“I’ve got one. Why does Ivan have such a hard-on for you?” Frankie asked, her face awash with confusion.

“Because I sent him a video of me slitting his brother’s throat.”

Carlo

My head is pounding. I groan and try to reach up to grab the back of my head where the pain is only to realize my hands are numb and I can’t move my arms. Blinking rapidly I try to focus on my surroundings, the lighting is low but I can tell the room is fairly large. There’s an industrial sink in the corner and bare shelving along two walls. One door is directly in front of me, and from what I can tell, there aren’t any windows. My best guess is that I’m in some sort of basement. I can hear music, not the actual song but the base is coming from above me. The air is heavy with the smell of mildew and garbage. Where the fuck am I? The last thing I remember is Ivan Kashnikov holding his gun up to my face and I have absolutely no way to tell how long ago that was. There’s a screeching noise as the door opens and Ivan walks in flanked by two large men dressed in black suits.

“Ah, you’re awake, good,” he says in his slight accent.

Ivan is wearing a suit as well, and he makes a show of taking off his jacket and handing it to one of the men. Ivan isn’t as tall or as broad as his brother was. His hair is slicked back with so much product is shines against the glow from the single lightbulb dangling from the ceiling. The dim light casts shadows across his pock marked face and highlights a silver scar stretching from his left temple to his jaw. Those ice blue eyes stare daggers at me as he removes his cufflinks and rolls his sleeves up to his elbows. The image gives me a weird sense of déjà vu. I’ve been in this situation before, except I was Ivan and Gino was me. Thinking of Gino reminds me of Mia and my heart constricts. I wonder if she knows I’m alive or if she’s grieving the loss of me. I have to hope she knows I’m alive and sends someone to find me.

“So, Carlo, is it okay that I call you Carlo?” he asks, “Ah, of course it is, right? We’re old friends after all aren’t we?”

When I don’t say anything he continues.

“So, Carlo, I’m going to explain to you what is to happen. You are going to tell me how to get your little girlfriend alone and I will make your death slightly less painful, yes?”

I spit at him, “You’re not getting shit from me,” I seethed.

“Now, where are your manners? Didn’t your mother teach you not to spit? Oh wait, she’s dead.”

“Just like your brother,” I said smirking at him. That got him to break the playful act.

“You son of a bitch! I’m going to make that little whore of yours pay for what she did to my brother! First, I make her pay on her knees, then on her back, and finally I make her pay with her blood.”

Motherfucker! I was going to kill him.

“Oh, you don’t like that do you? What, you think that little cunt whore is something special? She’s just another bitch that needs to be put down.”

“Fuck you!”

“I kind of hoped you would make this at least a little difficult for me. The infamous Carlo DeLuca, you would think it would take more to, how do you say, rattle your cage?”

“Do your worst,” I said stonily.

“I plan to.”