Wicked Intentions

32

He shouts into my face, “Do you know what I’d do to you? Do you have any f*****g idea?”

I don’t understand what’s happening. I know he’s furious with me, I know his hands are squeezing the life from my body, and I know that very soon I’ll lose consciousness, because the room is starting to fade.

But I still don’t get why I’m not already stripped naked and strapped to a St. Andrew’s cross, watching Capo approach with nothing but a dark smile and a whip.

Enzo strolls back into the room, wiping his hands on a white handkerchief. Capo catches sight of him from the corner of his eye and abruptly releases me.

He stands and roars, “f**k!” at the top of his lungs, then stalks to the ring outlined in silver, interrupting the two fighters.

He grabs one of the men by the throat and punches him so hard I can hear his nose shatter all the way across the room. The fighter crumples to the floor. Capo turns to the other man with an animal snarl and lunges at him, striking him with his fists over and over, mercilessly, even after the man falls motionless on his back on the carpet.

Enzo watches this outburst with vague interest, his lower lip puffed out. He’s still wiping his hands on the handkerchief.

I sob when I realize what he’s cleaning from his hands is blood.

The aria from Madama Butterfly ends. The only sounds now are ragged, heaving breaths, Capo’s and mine.

Capo stands. He spits on one of the men on the floor. He wipes his mouth on the cuff of his sleeve, then drops his head back, closes his eyes, and inhales a deep breath.

I roll to my side on the sofa, get my feet under me, and slowly sit up. My whole body is shaking. I cough and gag, dragging in excruciating breaths. My throat is so raw and bruised, I don’t know if I’ll be able to talk.

As if he’s a bored waitress in a diner, Enzo asks, “You want I should order up some sandwiches, Capo?”

Sweating and disheveled, his gaze disoriented, Capo turns and squints at Enzo. He shakes his head like a dog coming out of water. He swallows, rakes his hands through his hair, and staggers away from the bodies in the ring.

I can’t tell if either man is breathing.

“It looks like you’re in luck, Mariana,” says Capo, panting a little. “You won’t have to owe me a favor after all.”

He’s looking at Enzo’s bloody handkerchief.

I cover my face with my shaking hands. In a moment, another song starts up. Another aria. Another woman singing in her beautiful, soaring voice.

I’ll never be able to listen to opera again.

Sounding more under control, Capo says, “Yes, Enzo. Order food. But not sandwiches. Steaks. Bloody rare.”

“Sure thing, boss.” Whistling, Enzo wanders to the elevator doors. He steps right over one of the unconscious fighters on the way.

Between my fingers, I see feet approach. A pair of big, expensive black wingtips polished to a mirror shine stop a foot or two away.

“I called you here because I wanted to discuss your next job. Only two left to go under your contract.” Capo has regained all his control now and sounds like any boss addressing any employee in a staff meeting.

I can’t look at him. My voice comes out as a painful croak. “One.”

“It was one. Your dumb f*****g Mother Teresa act just added another.”

I stay silent, eyes lowered, impotent rage boiling in my veins.

A heavy sigh breaks from Capo’s chest, stirring my hair. He lowers himself to the sofa beside me and pours himself more champagne.

He murmurs, “Ah, Mariana. This isn’t how I wanted tonight to go. I wanted us to have a drink, visit, spend a little time together. But you always make me so goddamn…” His voice shakes over the next word. “Angry.”

I don’t dare look at him. I don’t dare speak. I think of tropical rainfall and roosters crowing at midnight and a man who called me Angel, and try not to cry.

After a moment, Capo whips the silk pocket square from his suit jacket and digs into the silver ice bucket, rooting around the magnum of champagne. He grabs a handful of ice, ties the ends of the pocket square together, and silently holds the dripping packet out to me.

I take it and press it against my burning throat.

Because this is my life.

Sounding tired, Capo says, “Listen to me. The job.”

I nod. Ice water slides down my neck and trickles into my cleavage. It might as well be acid for how it burns.

“It’s in Washington, DC. At the Smithsonian. I want the Hope Diamond.”

I turn my head and stare at him with wide eyes.

“By the first of the month.”

I drop the ice into my lap.

“And before you tell me it’s impossible, remember what happens to Reynard if you fail.” Capo takes a long swallow from his glass of champagne. Gazing at the unmoving bodies of the men on the carpet, he says bitterly, “You can do it. I have faith in you, Mari. Your loyalty to that old dog is even stronger than your need to be a hero to whores.”

When he turns back to me, his eyes have changed. Gone is any hint of humanity. What I’m looking at now is the raw, brutal beast who would’ve strangled me to death if Enzo hadn’t accidentally interrupted him.

The beast snarls, “Now get the f**k out of my sight before I lose my temper and tear you to shreds!”

He doesn’t have to tell me twice.