“And? What are we going to do about it?”
Turning off the tap, I step out of the shower stall and grab the edge of the sink. Handling the Calogero issue is long overdue, but I wasn’t willing to risk an open confrontation with Vasilisa in my home. I guess I don’t have to worry about that anymore since she’s leaving. Unless . . . unless she decides to come back.
The mirror over the sink is completely fogged up, blurring my reflection. I wipe the condensation off with my palm and stare at the monstrous visage looking back at me. Yeah, as if a beauty like Vasilisa would ever choose to spend her life with a beast like me.
Throwing all my strength behind it, I hit the mirror with my fist. It shatters into jagged pieces. Blood gushes from my split knuckles, crimson dripping to the reflective fragments, seeping into the cracks and edges of the remnants below. It reminds me of me, that fucking broken mirror. A multitude of messed-up shards, just like my currently splintered soul. And all that red—the tears of my bleeding heart.
I snatch the towel off the hanger and open the bathroom door.
“Gather twenty men,” I say as I wrap the towel around my waist. “I want everyone armed and ready to go in thirty minutes.”
“Go where?”
“To burn every damn building that bastard bought.”
“Now? In the middle of the day? Why not wait till nightfall?”
“Because if I don’t wreck something right the fuck now, I’ll kill the first asshole who crosses my path!” I snarl. “Is that enough of a reason for you?”
“Quite a solid one. I’ll go gather our men.”
* * *
I light a cigarette, then nod at Otto who’s directing men with jerricans of gasoline. “Keep away from the trees, I don’t want them damaged.”
“Sure, boss.” He returns the nod and heads toward the top of a hill where the one-story modern villa is surrounded by a much older but well-tended orchard, its trees heavy with fruit.
“I think you should reconsider,” Guido says next to me. “Burning Calogero’s properties on our turf is one thing, but this is a completely different matter.”
“I know.” I take a long drag of a cigarette and eye the luxurious mansion. It’s my godfather’s favorite getaway. He likes to bring his business partners here so they can enjoy the beautiful scenery of the western part of Sicily while having drinks on the spacious, shaded terrace.
It’s also where he took his vows when he became the don. Earlier today, when I torched the two warehouses he bought outside Messina, that was a simple statement. But this? This is a declaration of war.
“There’s no turning back after this, Rafael. You know that, right?”
“Yes.”
“And what are we going to do with his men?”
I look at the four men kneeling by the greenhouse, their hands tied behind their backs. The bastards managed to shoot one of my guys while we stormed the place. I reach into my jacket, pull out my gun, and aim at the first dickhead in the line. The sound of my 9mm splits the air.
The other three men look at the body splayed before them, then start fidgeting, trying to get to their feet. I send two more bullets flying. One hits its target in the head, the other, in the neck. The last of Calogero’s men was able to stagger to his feet, but now he’s just standing there, staring at his dead buddies.
I holster my gun and set off across the lawn. With my peripheral vision, I spot Otto in front of the main house, motioning to my men to get outside. He’s holding a Molotov cocktail in his hand. I stop in front of Calogero’s surviving goon and pin him with my gaze. “Turn around.”
The man swallows and follows the order. His bound hands are shaking behind his back.
“You’re going to deliver a message to your don.” I cut the zip tie at his wrists.
For a few heartbeats, he remains rooted to the spot with his back to me, then, he chances a glance over his shoulder. “What’s the message?”
“Everybody clear!” Otto’s voice thunders from the driveway, followed by the sound of shattering glass.
Orange flames quickly engulf the interior of the house, climbing the walls to the outside and licking up the terrace posts. Dark smoke rises into the sky, spooking a flock of birds in the orchard. En masse, they take flight, their frantic cries mixing with the sound of crackling wood.
“That’s the message.” I nod toward the burning building, then turn around and head toward my SUV where Guido is leaning against the grill, watching the raging fire.
“Now what?” he asks when I approach.
“Recall every team from our European bases. We’ll need the manpower.”
“Already did. They’ll be here in the morning.”
“Good. Have them deployed at all the likely places where Calogero may hit us back. He’ll need a few days to regroup before he makes his move, so we have a brief window of time to prepare.” I get behind the wheel and pull out my phone. “And up the security on the house. I have to drop by Catania, and it’ll be a few hours before I get home.”
“Let me guess. Another visit to that jeweler?”
“Maybe.”
“You just started the damn war, but instead of helping me coordinate our men and make plans, you’re heading off to shop for trinkets for your Russian princess?”
“Exactly.” I hit the gas.
* * *
All the lights except for two sconces on the landing are off, shrouding the hallway in darkness as I walk toward my bedroom. I stop in front of the door and listen, but I can’t hear anything. Without making a sound, I turn the handle and slip inside.
The reading lamp over the headboard is lit, illuminating the bed. The neatly made and empty bed. Vasilisa is on the couch by the fireplace. Asleep.
