Standing over Marco’s ghostly pale form, I point my weapon at his head. I’m not going to pull the trigger yet, but damn am I infuriated. This isn’t how this was supposed to end. I was supposed to get the man behind the curtain, and now I’m settling for the man with my frame, and I don’t see Isabella anywhere.
‘Where is she!’ I scream again, launching another kick to his gut. The frame stays firmly fixed to his hands, as if he’s glued it to his palms to ensure he doesn’t lose it.
‘Fuck you, Costa…’ Marco spits out blood. It runs down the canvas and across the frame, dropping to the ground between his knees. Maybe he doesn’t realize that I know the painting is a forgery, but he seems to think I won’t shoot him. ‘Go to hell.’
The blood on the seat—the way it’s smeared across the leather, staining the beige like an irreversible mistake—I can’t stop looking at it. It cuts through me in a way I don’t expect. I’ve always prided myself on being detached, cold, capable of seeing through things without flinching. But this? This pulls at something raw in me that I thought was buried long ago.
Fear radiates off him in waves but he acts like a badass, like he’s got something to prove. I can applaud a man who stares death in the eyes and doesn’t back down, but I’m not interested in heroics. I stoop and peek into the back of the car, but it’s too dark to see inside. She has to be in there, and I have to get to her, but if I take my attention off this asshole, he’ll vanish into the night.
I glance back toward the car. The collision left Gerard knocked out, slumped over the airbag. Rocco is God only knows where, still enroute, and I’m alone with the man who took the woman I love.
‘Did you kill her?’ I ask him, kicking away the weapon lying at my feet, probably his gun tossed out the back window when the car flipped.
‘This painting isn’t even yours. Do you know who it does belong to?’ Marco clutches it to his chest as he dips his mouth to his shoulder to wipe away blood. He has to know I’m going to kill him. I’m not interested in a history lesson from him. I want Isabella, and then I want what is rightfully mine. I stoop again, squinting into the darkness as I keep the gun trained on him.
‘The documents to authenticate it are located inside the frame with my diamonds.’ I inch closer to the car, catching a whiff of the fumes. Gas leaks from the tank, draining down across the body to puddle next to the car. One good spark and the whole thing will explode along with whoever is inside.
‘And those documents will lead you to the real owners—the same men who owned the diamonds that are now in this frame.’ Marco spits again, dousing the canvas in more blood spatter. He could care less because he knows it’s a forgery, just as I assumed. ‘And when I get the real Raphael—’
‘You aren’t walking out of this,’ I tell him, taking a shot at him. The round ricochets off the pavement and lodges in the brick of the nearby building. He jumps, using the painting as a shield as if it will save him. He thinks I won’t shoot him.
‘You know, fuck you!’ he screeches, and the fear in his voice makes it crack. ‘I’ll tell you where she is…’ He’s trembling, pleading now. It’s like he thinks I’m going to negotiate with him. ‘Her life for the painting.’
Whoever is squeezing him must have something really bad on him—a parent or sibling. Or maybe a child. A good cop doesn’t go bad for no reason.
‘She’s in the car, isn’t she?’ I ask him, creeping closer to the stench of fuel. ‘And you don’t want me to know it.’ I crouch again, gun aimed at him, and he starts to stand. My finger is itching to put him out of his misery. I launch a few more rounds in his direction, purposefully missing him as I stand up again.
‘I’ll tell you, okay! I’ll tell you what you want to know… Just let me go…’ Sniveling will do him no good. He shakes like a leaf as I take a step closer.
‘Tell me what?’ For months I’ve wanted to know the full truth, what is in that frame, where it leads, what the two frames together might tell me. Something tells me Marco knows it all and that’s why someone has leveraged him. They know they can make him do their bidding to save his own life, and in some way, they’ll use that information too.
‘Everything, I swear.’ Like a blubbering fool he shakes his head, holding the painting up higher. ‘The diamonds… They’re spoils from—’ I shoot again, just missing his ear, and he jerks and tenses. ‘I swear!’
‘I know that part. Skip ahead.’ My gun is still aimed at him, and I’ve counted nine shots total tonight. It means I have six left.
‘The map on the frames will lead you to information about war crimes… some done by high-ranking officials, some by your extended family, things your grandfather and father paid for with their reputations. It’s evidence to clear them all. The man’ —he shakes his head— ‘I don’t know his name. He wants it to keep you under his thumb. I swear. They’re going to keep coming after you, Costa. I just want my life back.’
My mind reels over this truth—proof that my family isn’t who people say they are. The fight my father went through to come back from the sins of his past, the things men said about him. The way he had to build our current businesses to claw his way out of those debts… It all could’ve been avoided.
‘They’ll destroy it, don’t you see? They’ll find it and destroy it, and keep your whole family under their thumb, but I can help.’ I hate the way he begs and shakes. He’s on the verge of shitting himself, his skin so pale he looks like he’s crossed over already. I don’t need his help to clear my family’s name, and now I know why my father wants it so desperately. Why he said it was the way to set my future on the right trajectory.
I even understand why he kept it from me—the secrecy of it all. Shame controls him, makes him want to finish what he started years ago when I was just a boy and they let him out of prison. He’s been a puppet on a string for so long now, and all he wanted was what I want now, to make things right. To do things above the table.
‘Where is she?’ I demand again, and this time I’m not messing around. I would even give up the future I know I can have, trade my entire life for hers. I don’t need that future, and I don’t want it without her. There is no point in chasing anymore if I don’t have someone to share a future with.
‘Victor,’ I hear, and I see her hand squeeze out the busted back window.
A sensation of relief washes over me so overwhelming, I almost forget the evil of the man kneeling before me. She’s alive, and she’s here, and she’s calling my name.
‘You’re not getting away from this, Costa. They’ve been hunting for this longer than your father has. They’ll catch up to you and they’ll crush you like the fucking insect you are and—’
I pull the trigger and watch his body jerk.
One time, two times, three times the rounds punch his chest, jolting him. They slice through the canvas, splashing more blood on the frame and ground around him. He gasps and drops the painting, clutching at his chest as he falls, and I move closer, pointing my gun at his chest.
‘They… won’t…. stop…’ he chokes out. His eyes are wide as he stares up at me. I fire another round into him, then another. It’s overkill. He’s going to bleed out, but it’s satisfying knowing the man who’s been terrifying Isabella for months isn’t going to see sunrise.
‘Victor,’ I hear again, this time louder, and in the distance I hear the wail of sirens.
One more time, I pull the trigger, and the resulting boom satisfies the urge. The slide locks in place, announcing the clip is empty, and I finally lift my head. Cars line the street, but there are no drivers or passengers. It’s like a ghost town except for the movement at the back of the car where Isabella is crawling out of the shattered back windscreen.
I move toward her as realization dawns on me. We have to get out of here or I’m going to go to prison for murder.
I reach her as she clears the broken glass and gets to her knees, but I don’t wait for her to stand. Shoving the weapon in my waistband, I lift her up and cradle her as I rush back to the car where Gerard is finally gaining consciousness. My phone is buzzing in the back seat, lit up with Rocco’s face and caller ID.
I stash Isabella on the back seat next to it and push Gerard to the side as I get into the driver’s seat. He slumps against the passenger door and I start the car, praying the engine doesn’t overheat and blow before we get away from here. Rocco’s call will have to wait. I have to get to safety and make sure Isabella is okay before I worry about witnesses or cleaners. I just pray she wasn’t injured badly.
