CHAPTER 8: THE TRADE
1687 Words
The gun didn’t waver. Marco’s finger tightened on the trigger.
“Last chance, principessa. You or the Irishman.”
Lucian’s blood pooled around Ava’s knees. Vincent’s breath rattled behind her. Sofia’s cry echoed from the NICU.
She looked at Marco. Really looked. He wasn’t Giovanni. Giovanni had been rage. Marco was ice. He would pull that trigger and sleep tonight.
“Okay.” Ava’s voice didn’t shake. “Me.”
Lucian’s eyes flew open. “Ava, no—”
“Shut up.” She didn’t look at him. Couldn’t. If she did, she would break. “You heard him. One life.”
Marco smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes. “Smart girl. On your feet.”
Ava stood. Her legs held. Barely. The t-shirt she wore was Lucian’s. It smelled like him. Cedar and blood. She wouldn’t get to wear it again.
“Keys are on the counter,” Marco said to his men. “Burn the place. Make it look like a gas leak.”
“You said no one else dies,” Ava snapped.
“I said Lucian lives. I didn’t say anything about his house.” Marco grabbed her arm. His grip bruised. “Move.”
“Wait.” Lucian tried to push up. Collapsed. Blood bubbled from his mouth. “Take me. Not her. She’s pregnant, you bastard—”
The room went dead silent.
Marco stopped. Turned slowly. “Pregnant?”
Ava’s stomach dropped. She hadn’t told him. She wasn’t going to.
Lucian’s face was gray. He knew what he’d done. “Fourteen weeks. It’s a girl.”
Marco stared at Ava. Then laughed. Soft. Terrible. “Giovanni’s granddaughter. In the Don of New York’s house.” He yanked her closer. “Changed the deal, principessa. You’re not just a trade now. You’re leverage.”
“Let Vincent live,” Ava said. “Please. He’s just a kid.”
“Vincent Ricci?” Marco glanced at the boy bleeding out. “That’s Enzo’s son. Even better. Two families for the price of one.” He nodded to his man. “Patch the kid. Dead he’s useless. Alive, his father will burn the city to get him back.”
They hauled Vincent up. He screamed. It was the worst sound Ava had ever heard.
“Time to go,” Marco said.
Ava dug her heels in. “Lucian needs a hospital. He’ll bleed out in ten minutes.”
“Then he bleeds.” Marco dragged her toward the door.
“MARCO.” Lucian’s voice was torn. Broken. “If you touch her—”
“You’ll what?” Marco didn’t turn. “You’re dying on your hospital floor, Castello. You’re nothing now.”
They reached the door. Ava twisted, caught Lucian’s eye one last time.
He was trying to crawl. Leaving a red smear on the marble. His lips moved.
I love you.
Then his eyes rolled back.
“NO!” Ava screamed, fighting Marco. “He’s—”
The door slammed.
—
The SUV smelled like leather and cigarettes. Marco shoved Ava into the backseat. Locked the child safety.
“Where’s my daughter?” She was shaking. Couldn’t stop.
“Safe. For now.” Marco slid in beside her. Nodded to the driver. They moved.
Ava stared out the window. The hospital got smaller. Then it was gone.
She didn’t cry. Couldn’t. If she started, she wouldn’t stop.
“You’re smarter than your mother,” Marco said after a mile. “Isabella screamed the whole way. You’re quiet. Giovanni’s blood after all.”
Ava’s hands fisted. “What do you want?”
“The same thing I’ve always wanted. The North. Jersey. The ports. Everything your father stole from me twenty years ago.” He lit a cigarette. Offered her one. She didn’t take it. “Now his granddaughter gives it back.”
“I won’t help you.”
“You will. Because every day you don’t, I send Lucian a piece of you.” He exhaled smoke. “A finger. An ear. He’ll watch it happen on video. In 4K.”
Ava went cold. “He’s dead. You left him to bleed out.”
“Did I?” Marco smiled. “My men don’t miss. If I wanted him dead, he’d be dead. He’s alive because you’re more useful when he’s breathing.”
Hope clawed up her throat. “Swear it.”
“I swear he’s alive. For now.” Marco studied her. “You really love him. The Don of New York. Giovanni would roll in his grave.”
“Giovanni’s dead because of you.”
“Giovanni’s dead because he was weak. Sent his daughter away instead of training her.” Marco flicked ash. “I won’t make that mistake with Sofia. Or with this one.” His gaze dropped to her stomach.
Ava lunged. He caught her wrists. Easy.
“Sit down,” he said. “Or I call my men and tell them to put a bullet in Castello’s head right now. Then Vincent’s. Then we’ll start on Sofia.”
She sat. The fight went out of her all at once.
“Good girl.” He released her. “We’re going to Philadelphia. I have a house there. Quiet. Safe. You’ll stay until the baby comes.”
“Then what?”
“Then you sign over your father’s territory. All of it. Legal. Binding. You, Sofia, and the new baby disappear. New names. New lives. Lucian lives, if he’s still breathing by then.”
“And if I say no?”
“Then I kill Lucian tonight. Slow. Vincent tomorrow. Sofia when she turns eighteen, just like her mother.” Marco’s voice was calm. “Your choice, principessa.”
The baby kicked. Hard. Like she knew.
Ava put a hand on her stomach. “You won’t touch Sofia.”
“Not if you cooperate.”
They drove.
—
Lucian
Pain was white. Then black. Then white again.
“Stay with me, boss.” Johnny’s voice. Far away. “Ambulance is two minutes out.”
Ava. Gone.
Vincent. Screaming.
Pregnant.
He’d told him. f**k. He’d told Marco she was pregnant.
“Johnny,” Lucian coughed. Blood. Too much blood. “Track the car. Black SUV. Headed south. I-95.”
“Already on it. Ricci’s got men on every highway.”
Sofia. Where was Sofia?
“Baby’s upstairs,” Johnny said. “Carmela’s with her. She’s safe.”
Not safe. Never safe. Not while Marco breathed.
Lucian tried to sit up. The world tilted. “Gun.”
“Boss, you’ve got a bullet in your lung. You move, you die.”
“Gun. Now.”
Johnny put it in his hand. It weighed a thousand pounds.
“Ava traded herself,” Lucian whispered. “For me. For the kid.”
“I know.”
“She’s carrying my daughter.” The gun shook. “Fourteen weeks. We saw the heartbeat.”
Johnny was quiet. Then: “We’ll get her back. Both of them.”
Sirens. Close.
“Not we,” Lucian said. Blood in his teeth. “Me.”
The ambulance doors burst open. EMTs swarmed.
“GSW to chest,” someone yelled. “BP 70 over 40! He’s crashing!”
Lucian grabbed Johnny’s jacket. Pulled him close. “Burn Philadelphia to the ground.”
Then black.
—
Ava
The house was white. Colonial. Big windows, big lawn, big walls with spikes. Prison.
Marco walked her inside. Two men followed. Guns out.
“Your room’s upstairs,” he said. “Bathroom attached. Closet’s full. If you need anything, ask. You’re a guest here, Ava. Not a prisoner.”
Ava didn’t answer. She walked.
The room was pink. Bright. Crib in the corner. Mobile with silver stars.
Sofia’s room. He’d made Sofia’s room. Down to the stuffed elephant.
She went to the window. Bars. Thick. New. Glass reinforced.
“You planned this,” she said. “For months.”
“Since the day you ran to New York.” Marco leaned on the doorframe. “Giovanni’s daughter, pregnant with Castello’s heir, under my roof. You’re the most valuable woman in the country right now.”
Ava turned. “If you hurt Lucian—”
“I won’t. Yet.” He smiled. “Be good, Ava. Behave. Nine months and this is over. You sign the papers, you walk away. Free.”
He left. The lock clicked. Heavy. Final.
Ava sank to the floor. Put her hands on her stomach.
“I’m sorry, baby,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
The baby kicked. Answering.
She didn’t cry. Not yet.
She waited.
Because Lucian was alive. Marco said it.
And if Lucian was alive, he was coming.
He had to.
—
Lucian
Hospital. Machines. Beeping.
“—lost a lot of blood—”
“—collapsed lung—”
“—if he wakes up—”
He woke up.
White ceiling. Tubes in his arms. Johnny by the bed, asleep in a chair, gun visible.
Lucian pulled the tube out of his throat. Gagged.
Johnny was awake instantly. “Boss?”
“Ava?” His voice was sandpaper.
Johnny’s face said it all.
“Where.”
“Philadelphia. Ricci compound. Marco’s had it for six months. Fortified. Armed. It’s a fortress.”
“How long was I out?”
“Sixteen hours. You coded twice.”
Sixteen hours she’d been with him. Sixteen hours Sofia was alone.
Lucian ripped the IV out. Blood welled.
“Boss, you can’t—”
“Watch me.” He swung his legs over. The room spun. He didn’t care. “Get the jet. Call Enzo. Call every family from Boston to Miami. I want men. I want guns. I want that house surrounded.”
“Lucian, you can barely stand—”
“He took my wife. My kid. My unborn daughter.” Lucian stood. His knee buckled. He stayed up. “He took everything.”
Johnny saw his face. Nodded once. “Aye, Don.”
Lucian looked out the window. Philly was south. 90 miles.
Hold on, Ava.
Just hold on.
He was coming.
And he was bringing hell with him.
- Writer
