Page 35 of Mafia Queen
“Condoglianze,” she says, then turns over her shoulder to blow out smoke, making a pointed look upward, then at me.
I’m a split second from death. I know it without looking.
With all the energy I have, I straighten my legs and launch myself backward, toward the house and under the balcony, just as a bullet bursts into the tiles an inch from where I was standing. Her eyes widen, but she’s too terrified to move.
Without thinking it through, I jump away from a secure position to grab her and pull her into the house, saving her from a second shot.
She doesn’t waste a moment.
“Upstairs and in the front and—!”
I yank her behind me and shoot the man coming down the stairs. She growls, and I turn to see what’s happening. A thudding sound is followed by a second man falling backward into a table. She’s holding a ceramic vase.
I shoot the falling man twice before he has the chance to come back at us. Loretta drops the vase and holds up three fingers, then points toward the front door.
“Stay down,” I command, then throw her down because there’s another gunshot, and I don’t have a moment to wait for her to get out of the way of whatever’s coming.
Following the edges of the room, I go to the front of the house. From the bottom of the window, I see a trail of smoke, but no Tavie. Aiming above where he could be standing, I shoot the window. I lean out the jamb to find a car speeding away and Tavie lying on the ground with a lit cigarette still between two fingers.
“Fuck!” I climb out and crouch by him.
His eyes are open, and his breaths come in shorthic-hicsounds. Calling his name will do nothing, but I do it anyway because he’s focused on me, yet looking past me. The front door opens, and light streams over the hole in his chest.
“Puh-puh.” A bubble of blood forms between his lips and stays there because he can’t get out another syllable. He’s trying though. Damn this kid, he’s trying. He’s living with a weight on his heart, and in a few seconds, he’ll die with that weight unlifted.
“Don’t worry, Tavie.”
“Dun-duh.” The bubble pops.
“I won’t. I won’t do it. I’ll figure something out. Do you hear?”
“Aa.”
I don’t know what that sound means, but it is the last one Octavio Polito will ever make. The cigarette drops from his fingers.
Loretta comes out and stands over us.
“Are there more?” I ask, closing my cousin’s eyes.
“Just the three.” She steps on the smoldering butt. “It’s starting, isn’t it? The war for the crown?”
“Yes.” I take out my handkerchief. Emilio tried to protect his daughters from this exact war, but he only delayed it and moved it over an ocean. I cover Tavie’s face. “Riposi in pace.”
I light up a cigarette. I have the feeling I’m going to need to buy a pallet of cartons before this is over.
“How did they know I was coming?”
“They didn’t,” she says. “They’re everywhere. Like roaches. Waiting where they think you’ll show up.”
They’ll be at Mille Luce. And my own damn house. And Anette and Angelo’s. And it’s confirmation that they’ve set themselves up with Violetta’s aunt and uncle.
“Pack a bag.”
“Why?”
“Just do it.”
“You bought this house to keep me,” she says. “You’ve told me where to go and where to work. You brought death to my door. Maybe I want to make my own decision.”
