Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 83776 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83776 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
There are a lot of ways this can go wrong. In an ideal world, we’d tail him for a while, at least a few weeks, and get a better feel for his comings and goings. Except I don’t want to wait that long, and I don’t want to be cautious. This is my chance to hit Santoro and hit him hard, and if I get a little bit lucky, I can end everything tonight.
Waiting is the hardest part. My phone buzzes with messages from Stefania, but I can’t bring myself to read them. I know what she’s feeling, and there’s a steady drumbeat of self-loathing pounding with my heart. I hate that she’s alone in our house afraid for me. But I’m doing this because I have to, not because I want to, and I hope she’ll understand that one day. I hope she’ll forgive me.
At ten past one in the morning, a black car pulls up outside of the apartment building. The windows are tinted a deep black, but the man that gets out has to be Lombardi. Emilio confirms it by flashing his lights twice once he disappears inside then he pulls away, switching positions with Bruno to avoid any suspicion. The guy is notoriously careful, and we can’t underestimate him.
I take a position further down the block. If this goes wrong, it might go catastrophically wrong, but if it goes right—I could end the war in a few days, tops. I think of Lombardi up in that building fucking his girl, some pretty little thing that’s good with numbers and happy to take his dick and his cash in exchange for sex, and I almost feel bad for the guy. Getting ambushed because he wants a piece of action.
It’s another hour before he comes back out. I can’t really see him from where I’m parked, but Bruno shoots me a quick text letting me know the game’s on. Lombardi must have some decent stamina, the fucking prick, staying up in that apartment for so long. I don’t know him well, but I’ve seen him around town a few times. He’s a stocky guy, on the short side, with dark hair and an ugly beard. He likes baggy jeans and polo shirts, and looks like he’s twenty, when he’s really in his forties. And he knows Santoro better than anyone else.
Rumors say Lombardi got involved with Santoro when they were both up in Canada. That puts Lombardi on the ground floor of Santoro’s rise. If he’s as vicious as I think he is, this won’t be an easy fight, but we’ve got him on the damn ropes already, and all we have to do is bring it home.
Lombardi gets in his car and pulls out. I wait for him to drive past before falling in to tail him, but I can’t get too close. There’s not much traffic out this time of night and we’re on quiet, residential streets. I stay way back so he doesn’t get suspicious, and I switch out with Bruno at least once.
But something feels off from the second I start moving. I expected Lombardi to head back downtown, but instead he’s driving south, away from the city. What the hell does he want out in the suburbs? I know Santoro’s got businesses and clubs on the fringes of Chicago, but none of them are important, and I can’t imagine Lombardi would want to visit those backwoods places this late at night. Unless Santoro’s been staying out here.
I glance at the clock. It’s late and I haven’t heard from Stefania in a little while. I hope that she’s curled up under the covers and sleeping soundly, because I don’t want her waiting up, worried out of her mind. I know how she feels about this, and I hate it so much. If I could turn around and give up on this entire game, I’d do it in a heartbeat, but it’s like every nerve in me is bent toward revenge.
Only there’s another piece of me, another voice that’s been whispering in my head for a while now. It’s Stefania’s voice telling me that I can be more than a killer for my family, that I can be more than a man defined by his past. It’s Stefania’s kiss, her laughter, the way she hunches over her plate when she eats, the way she brews coffee, the way she dries her hair, the way she puckers in the mirror before brushing her teeth, the way she grabs my hand in the morning and throws her leg over my hip and says good morning, dummy.
I can see myself with her. Not the way we are now, but normal. The way we could be if I turned this car around and went home. Catching Lombardi is important but killing him won’t make my life better. Getting revenge on Santoro won’t take away the hurt I still feel. I can’t forget the smoke and the fire, the bars of my cage, the stiff skin and fried nerves in my hand. But Stefania can make all that bearable.