the Fuccini building so easily. It was much better to go as a willing captor. He thanked Darwin for the pleasure of delivering himself.
Then a streetlight turned on overhead. The day had fallen victim to night and its ever present darkness. Darwin shook as the darkness gripped him. He felt blind, he felt lost, but most of all he felt anger that he could be in this position. That he was the weak one again.
“Move,” Paul ordered with a flourish of the gun.
Darwin wiped the rest of the blood from the edge of his mouth, used both hands to straighten out his jacket, took a deep breath, and said, “No. Fuck you.” Then he spat out a red gob that landed on Paul’s lapel.
“Ohhh, you are so dead for that,” Paul seethed.
“Uh, uh, uh,” Darwin said, wagging his finger back and forth. “Temper, temper.”
Paul lunged, but this time Darwin was ready. He braced his legs and shoved with everything he had. The two men connected at the chest, arms grappling for a hold. Darwin lifted his leg up and kneed Paul between the legs.
Paul yelped and instantly lost his footing. Darwin redoubled his efforts, pushing Paul as he shouted out in triumph. Off the curb and out into the street. A horn blared. A car swerved, and still Darwin pushed.
Paul’s resistance gave out and he started to fall. Darwin shoved one last time and turned around to jump out of the way.
Too many cars were coming. He made a choice and leap-frogged the trunk of a car. He cleared the road and hit the sidewalk, his breath coming in waves.
He looked for Paul, expecting to see a raised weapon.
Paul hadn’t been so lucky. He sat on the road, his legs useless and broken. A car screeched to a halt after it had run over his thighs. More cars were coming. They were going too fast.
A BMW tried to slow, but waited too long. Paul screamed and then the bumper connected with his face, almost knocking his head clean off.
What remained of Paul’s face was driven into the cement of the road. Blood squirted out like a stepped-on ketchup package.
For the first time since he’d started this, he wondered if he’d throw up.
Everyone’s attention was on the accident. Darwin had to get out of there. He had to become unseen. There could be no witnesses connecting him to this. How the Fuccini family knew that Darwin had run away from Big John’s van earlier, he had no idea. That meant all the cops on Fuccini’s payroll would be looking for him. Adding Paul’s death to the list meant Darwin would never be able to leave Italy again. They’d have him tied up in court for years, and his Canadian Embassy had no teeth.
Fuck, the Canadian government has no teeth. They’re all asshole wimps, except for Rob Ford, but he only runs Toronto.
Darwin limped away, trying to act as normal as he could, considering the injuries Paul had just bestowed on him.
He chastised himself for not grabbing Paul’s gun. Now what was he going to do? He had no weapon. No way to get into a heavily guarded building and a dead man outside the front of that building.
Wait, maybe that could play into things a bit.
He walked around the edge of the Fuccini office tower and looked back to the road. The traffic had all but stopped. People milled around and others ran out of the front of the building where they held Rosina.
Perfect. Just as I thought. Members of the Fuccini security detail are investigating what happened.
The dark closed in. Another man was dead. The stakes had risen. There was no going back now. It was Fuccini or him.
Fuccini won’t even see me coming.
Chapter 7
Rosina jumped as her door was smashed open.
“Get up. Now!”
She had just been trying to relax, staying calm, thinking about how Darwin was probably on his way and how an undercover cop was in the building already. She told herself over and over, Everything’s going to be all right, everything’s going to be all right. But no matter how much faith and hope she had, nor how much willpower, when that door banged open, her heart rate spiked along with her breathing.
It was all starting up again.
“Let’s go,” the man said.
He was one of the guards from earlier. She stepped into the hallway and followed him on legs that didn’t wobble as much as before. She’d eaten the entire meal they’d offered her, and it had buoyed her system, offering electrolytes to her blood to replace those lost from her terrifying water experience.
The man led her past the office where she had met the boss and into an adjoining room.
As soon as she entered it, she gasped and brought her hands up to her mouth, stifling a scream. Everything in her soul shouted at her to run.
The room was some kind of torture chamber. A medieval stockade sat in one corner. A table with at least fifty metal tools and gadgets ran along one wall. This room didn’t have a dropped ceiling. Chains hung from the metal rafters above.
On her right was a square unit on wheels that appeared to be an electrical generator of some kind. She started to step backwards. She could feel it in the air. A kind of tension, thickened by the pain these instruments caused.
Someone bumped into her from behind.
“Leaving so fast?”
She turned to look into the empty eyes of the Harvester of Sorrow.
“Stay, join us, watch the show.”
She tried to speak, then waited, swallowed once and tried to find her voice. “What… show?”
“You’ll see. There is one thing I can tell you. We haven’t located your husband, so this isn’t about your pain yet. Yours is coming. Of that, I am sure.” His smile reminded her of an open coffin smile on a dead man.
Someone yelled in pain from down the hallway.
She reached into her pocket and pulled out the rosary her new friend had given her. Rolling it through her fingers, Rosina eased away from the door and stepped toward the wall that was farthest from the torture equipment.
The squabbling in the hallway grew louder.
Sorrow flipped a switch and turned on a machine. She had no idea what its purpose could be.
Then the door filled with men. For a brief second, she thought she’d seen Darwin among them. She almost yelled out in protest.
Four men walked in, escorting the undercover cop.
No, not my friend, my savior.
His hands were behind his back. Blood smeared his face and fear clouded his eyes.
“Tie him to those chains,” Sorrow ordered.
Rosina watched in horror. Sure, she’d seen horror movies before. Hostel, Saw, and other gore-fest flicks. But that was acting, and it was scripted. This was real. She had no idea people would do this kind of thing to others.
They turned the cop around to tie him up to the chains, his hands cuffed behind his back.
She wanted to scream at the top of her lungs at the injustice. She wanted every law official in Italy to watch so they would enact stronger laws against organized crime.
A nice man, a cop, was about to be tortured, or worse, and there was nothing anyone could do about it.
The burning rage inside fired her up. In that moment, if she could have killed the men around her, she would have. Even though that would bring her to their level, it would be a pleasure. Then she and the cop could walk from the building, their heads held high because they did a good deed.
