So I stood, bent down and I grabbed McGregor by the abdomen. I tossed his body over my shoulder, his weightless body heavier than its approximately one hundred-seventy pound, five-foot-ten frame. The sheer act was torture. A fresh flow of blood drenched down my side, coasting over the sticky, drying blood.
“McGregor got a little threatening note from our Reese telling him he ruined her life and should've gone to jail like Milo. That’s enough to set off a man who ain’t all there anyway,” Salvatore elaborates, since he’s the one who set this all in motion. “You had to defend yourself from the madman. You then took McGregor back upstairs into Reese’s bathroom. Placed him in the bathtub. Cleaned up. Bought that erosion stuff, eh? Then you continued on your quest to find Reese, to bring her home safely.”
I nod. In addition to dousing his corpse with sulfuric sulfate, I’d called Reese’s old landlord and said that she’d need one more extra month to move. Though I would be back to remove the decomposing body soon, that bastard had charged through the nose.
“I’m smarter than you take me for, Zaccaro. At this instant, you see me as a crazy motherfucker, just like McGregor was molded into. Milo too… My fucking son held his own child out as his own personal vest when SWAT and the DEA surrounded his home! Instead of that bitch of his blood, his blood —our little Reese— became his safety shield!” Salvatore makes his hand in the shape of a gun and places it at his own head. His eyes are glossed, saucers, teeth bared, spittle flies as he shouts, “Milo, that lousy piece of shit, placed a motherfucking burner against his own child’s head. You think I’m scum too? Milo was my son, my legacy. I raised him to be a man, what a fucking man he turned out to be, eh? It’s my fault he had shit for brains! He was scum, so I’m scum too; right?”
“Yeah, no disrespect, but I believe you and your son are one in the same.” My jaw is clenched, and because I’m in his home, I will listen to the lunacy.
Giugliano holds his index finger out and taps it against the air, it’s an acute manner of his while angry. Giugliano nods to one of his men. An iPad is handed over to him. “How are things going?”
“Everything’s all good, Boss,” someone says on the screen.
“Gimme a preview,” Giugliano orders, I take note that he isn’t identifying the man’s name.
“Zaccaro, take a look,” the Boss says, holding the iPad up so I can see. Now the screen has been flipped around, whoever has it, shows Reese’s apartment.
“It’s spick and span, and the traces of blood up and down the stairway and toward the alley are all cleaned up too.”
“Alright, that’ll do.” Giugliano hands the iPad back over to his soldier and looks at me. “I’ve had ‘em on the team for a while now, Tino, but feel free to assess the scene once you return.”
“And the body, Giugliano, where is what’s left of the body?”
“A mass dumping ground, Zaccaro. I do believe our Reese prefers to keep a certain level of separation between you and I,” Giugliano stands. He reaches out a hand, “Now the name is Sal, I’ll call you Tino.”
For Reese’s sake I shake hands with the devil.
He pulls me to him, pats my back. “You’re family, Tino. And my granddaughter loves you.”
He laughs boisterously, “Reese doesn’t know how to show it. Napolitano blood but so inept at love. Fucking Italian yet uneducated in the ways of adoration. Tino, let’s take you to the woman of the hour.”
I breathe easy.
In the dining room, there’s a long stretch of table. The mass cluttering of silver chargers and the feast before me is all a blur. There are people seated on either side and soldiers posted against the wall.
“Evan!”
I hear her voice before I see her, and my fucking heart beats so wildly in my chest as Reese come from the opposite entrance of the room. A royal-purple ball gown is clasped in her hands, and pulled up since it sweeps and sways across the floor. She’s about fifty-yards away, but running every inch of it. I brace myself as she wraps her arms around me. I won’t complain, I close my eyes, breathe in the top of her head.
“I’m so sorry,” she’s crying to me. Reese reaches up and kisses me. Glancing at the nick on my chin, she says, “Oh, who the fuck hurt you, Evan, I’ll kill them.”
But she doesn’t realize that her squeezing my waist is more pain than the superficial bruises to my face.
I’m a fucking man outta control when Reese is gone. All I want to do is take her in, hold her close and leave these motherfuckers behind. Yet, Reese takes my inability to speak for anger on my part. Eyes full of tears, Reese says, “Oh, Evan don’t be mad at me, baby.”
I brush my hand across her cheek. “You have to learn to listen, babe.”
“Where is the Dom? There should be champagne for everyone! We are having a celebration, aren’t we?” Salvatore shouts from behind me. He pats my shoulder. The demented man who had argued about his son holding Reese hostage, and the other crazy McGregor, has been replaced by a family man. Pride radiates in the form of a smile.
“And a fresh batch of apple cider for Reese,” he winks.
I turn to Reese. She nods, rivers flowing down her cheeks. Even in the dull ache of a pain, I fall to my knees before her, and my forehead kisses softly against her stomach. There’s no greater feeling than becoming aware that my child is growing inside of her. Loving Reese isn’t easy, not in the least, but every second of chaos
