Cease (Bayonet Scars Book 7) (11 page)

A subtle tingle starts in my toes and works its way up through my legs to my torso and finally my arms. As it travels, it feels less like a tingle and more like a buzzing, but then a heaviness takes over me and it feels so right and perfect that I welcome it. Mike's image slowly fades from my mind, but before it disappears completely, I relive the worst moment of my entire life as Mike's blade pierces Ian's flesh. Blood spills from his small, frightened face, mixing with tears that stream his cheeks. Not my boy. Not Ian.

"No, Mike. No," I whisper to myself, knowing Jim can hear me and he's going to ask questions. I just can't stop myself. This moment still haunts me, despite the passage of time, it doesn't cease to hurt.

"Who the fuck is Mike and what did he do to you?"

When the fog lifts and it's just me and Jim once again, I stiffen in his arms. He's asking questions and demanding answers. Answers I don't want to give, moments I don't want to relive. But I have to. Because Jim doesn't want me and the only way to convince him of that is to tell him the truth about the woman he calls his girl.

"Won't ask again, babe."

"No," I say firmly. Once I tell him, this is all over, and he doesn't get to dictate my pain. "I'll tell you when I'm ready and I'm not ready now. You don't have to like it, but you do have to deal with it."

"Just tell me," he says softly and it breaks down my walls just a bit. "I want to know you. Every broken little part of you."

"Why?" I can't think of a single reason.

"I can't put you back together if I don't know where you're broken."

Sucking in a deep breath, I force myself to speak the words I never have before. Not to anyone.

CHAPTER 11

Mike Mancuso

Brooklyn, New York

November 12, 1994

There are some things no mother should ever have to experience, and the loss of her child is right there at the fucking top. If I'm not careful, my self-loathing is going to shine through my carefully crafted demeanor.
There's still time to back out
, I tell myself. But one look to my right, at my wife, and I know that the only way out of this situation is with a bullet between my ears.

"Roll up the window, Carlo," Esmeralda says. Her voice is tinged with an irritation I almost never hear. I give it a minute before complying, letting the drops of rain hit my forehead and cheeks, bathing me in a kind of clarity I'm sorely lacking. My wife--my dear, sweet, quiet Esmeralda--refuses to use my preferred name. "Mike" isn't a boss's name, in her opinion. "Carlo" commands respect, and I'm the son of the boss, so I better be fucking respected. Not that it matters. If my men knew what I'm about to do, they wouldn't respect me. They might fear me as their
capo
, and they might do as they're told, but that's not respect. Fear doesn't buy loyalty--only respect does that.

Esmeralda clears her throat, and because I can't handle a disagreement about getting rain on the fucking leather of a car she didn't work to buy and doesn't even drive, I press the button, effectively cutting myself off from the outside world. A world where most people make it through their entire lives without getting blood on their hands. Inside this car, though, the world is a very different place. It's no place for children.

"What are you thinking?" Her voice is back to being soft and careful, as if I'm going to punish her for speaking.

"We could turn around," I say. My voice is even and cool, as if I don't care. It's a lie. I care too much.

"Nonsense, honey. We're going to pick up our babies. You still want them, don't you?"

A disgusted laugh escapes me at the sound of the bullshit flying out of her mouth right now.

"It doesn't matter what I want."

"That's not true. We made a deal. I get Michael and Alexandra for my own in exchange for my acceptance."

Sliding over the seat, I sidle up to the woman I swore to love, honor, and protect, but I feel like doing none of that shit right now. "Acceptance?"

"I accept that, no matter how much I love you, we both know you married the wrong sister."

I turn my body toward her and drag my hand up the tops of her thighs, over her flat, barren stomach, between her breasts, and to her neck. My hand clamps down and squeezes until she gasps for air. My nose skims across her cheek, and I position my mouth near her ear.

"I do this for you, and you learn to keep your mouth shut. You are my wife, my property, not my fucking equal. This is my penance for liking the feel of your sister's pussy more than yours, but don't mistake this gift for anything more than it is. If I had my way, we'd forget your bitch sister exists."

I push her away and ignore her panicked gasping for breath as I slide back to my original position and roll my window down again.

"We are forgetting her. After this, she's gone," she says softly, almost fearfully. "It'll just be you and me and our babies."

"If you want those little complications to see their first birthday, I suggest you don't leave them alone with me. Accidents happen, especially at their age. I'd hate for your niece and nephew to drown during bath time."

"My son and daughter, Carlo," she snaps loudly and with an anger she's never exhibited before. "Those babies belong to me, not that bitch. You demand my submission, but you don't have the courtesy to respect what you're given. You want me to learn my role, well, daddy, you need to learn yours."

The driver pulls us up to the curb of a cheap motel and stops the car. I feel vaguely ill at what I just said but push it down. There's no room for weakness in my world, especially now. So I get out of the car, ignoring Esmeralda as she climbs out the other side.

We didn't always used to be like this. I met Ruby first, and then I met my wife. One pursued me, and the other had to be chased. Twins, but so very different. Nearly identical in everything but their coloring and demeanor, Ruby is pure fire and Esmeralda is icy cool. Ruby is loud and insufferably opinionated, while Esmeralda is what my father calls "the perfect Mafioso wife." The woman I married was perfect. At first. Once I'd resigned myself to taking Esmeralda as my wife, I reveled in her quiet power. The gentle way she would ask for things, the manner in which she supported my choices while still giving her opinion. She never once argued with me or fought for something if I'd already said no. Not until she found out about Michael and Alexandra, at least. I should have been pleased that she finally found something to fight for, but not this. This, she should have let go. But she didn't, and here we are.

I right my shoulders, straighten my back, and button the jacket of my suit. The motel before me is run down with chipping paint and crumbling plaster. Ruby didn't have to live like this. She had plenty of choices, but she didn't take any of them. I wish she'd just done as she was told to begin with. We could've had our family without me losing my marriage.

"She brought this on herself," I mutter to myself. Not quietly enough, though, and Esmeralda's jaw ticks when she hears it, but she says nothing. I take a look at my wife, the last look of her that I afford myself before I ascend the concrete steps up to Room 201 and become the man my father already thinks I am.

When I'm in front of the door, I stand and wait for my man, Benny, to come up with the key. The motel clerk wasn't hard to shake down. A couple rocks and he was giving her up. Personally, I hate drugs--they turn loyal men into rats--but that's the way the market's going, so the Mancuso organization has to evolve, or we'll get left behind.

Benny makes his way up the stairs. Stomping. He's slamming his feet down on the cement like we got nothing to lose here. This shit gets out of hand, and Benny--as much as I like the guy--might end up in a place his mother will never find him. As much as I'd hate to do it, I'd have to. My father would insist upon it. My wife would drive me crazy until I fixed it. Hell, even my mother would nag me to fucking death until I handled my shit. But Benny isn't thinking about the position he's putting me in. I don't say anything, though. He makes enough noise, pisses Ruby off, and maybe she'll shoot him for me. Only problem is I'd have to shoot her, then, and I'd prefer not to have to do that. What we're doing here is already bad enough.

I'm on autopilot as Benny starts talking to me about how we're going to play this out. We got my driver down by the street, keeping an eye out for trouble. We got one of Benny's soldiers in the office with the day clerk. Ruby has nowhere to run, is likely unarmed, and has three kids with her. She's not as much of a threat as Benny seems to think she is, but I let him keep yapping until he's satisfied we've handled all our shit. I sense Esmeralda about to open her mouth a few times, but a slight shake of my head ensures her silence.

"Open the door, Benedict." I wave an arm at the closed door. Benny takes his time inserting the key and turning the lock. My eyes fall closed, and I give myself this moment. I don't think about the first time I met Ruby or the way she looked at me. I don't indulge in all the memories I shouldn't hold close but do anyway. Instead, I focus on the last time I saw her and the hate that filled her eyes and her words. She promised to destroy me if I took the twins. She said she would kill me with her bare hands. I'm not supposed to show weakness, I'm not supposed to be afraid, but I was then and I am now. Ruby is tough. She knows how to survive.

I open my eyes and give my wife a look. She is stone-faced, callous even. I don't know how twin sisters could end up being so different, but I don't dwell on it. I let my hate for the woman at my side settle and burn in my chest. I let it consume me until all I can think of is making my life bearable once again. I loathe the man I see in the mirror, but I hate the woman in my bed even more. There is no divorce, no getting out. There is only one way to make this end, and that's by doing exactly what my family expects of me--by getting rid of the woman I love.

I kick open the door so hard that it bounces off the wall behind it. The room is small, with a variety of cheap pieces of luggage strewn about atop the old, worn furniture. A secondhand stroller sits between the bed and the wall. It's clean but a total piece of shit. I hate the idea of my children riding in that thing. On the other side of the bed is a sizable pile of plastic bags filled with a bunch of baby shit. Judging by Esmeralda's recent shopping trips, babies are expensive and need a lot of things. I wouldn't be surprised if the money I gave Ruby is almost out by now. She won't be able to support three kids for much longer anyway.

"Ruby," I shout. "I know you're here."

Esmeralda takes a step forward, but I put up an arm to block her movements. Benny keeps guard at the door, knowing better than to move. Having both my wife and my soldier in place, I move deeper into the room. I should draw my gun, but I don't. Maybe if Ruby shoots me, she'll put me out of my misery.

At the back of the room is a bathroom sink and mirror affixed to the wall. To left is a small closet that blocks the rest of the bathroom from view. It's a typical motel room setup, which is good, because there's only one place she could be hiding.

"We could make this easy, Ruby," I say with ease, taking a few more steps toward the bathroom. Still, she says nothing. Just when I'm doubtful that she really is here, I remind myself of the stroller. The twins are only a few weeks old. She can't get around without the stroller, especially with her son Ian in tow.

"Come out, Ruby. I won't hurt you."

A few more steps toward the bathroom and I stop. I crane my neck and open my ears as much as I can. Soft whispers are coming from the bathroom, followed by the choked sobs of a child. I walk as delicately as I can around the closet and focus in on the closed bathroom door. I can hear him much better from here. Ian is whispering to his mom, telling her everything is okay and he'll protect her. My stomach sinks.

I have to do this.

"Ian, dude. It's Uncle Mike," I say in my best kind voice. He's a little boy and he trusts me. I've known him since he was just a toddler, and we've always gotten along. Hell, I even like the kid.

"Mommy, it's okay. It's Uncle Mike." His little boy exuberance is almost too much to take. Despite his excitement and relief, Ruby lets out a frustrated sob.

"No, baby, no," she says.

"I'm here, buddy. Let me in."

"We're safe. Uncle Mike will make it better," Ian says. His little feet thump against the wall while he goes about talking to his mom. Soft baby whimpers quickly turn to loud screams. One baby at first and then two. They're in there. Right on the other side of the closed door. I just need Ian to open it for me. Even if Ruby does have a weapon, she won't use it with Ian in the way.

The knob turns, and then the door opens slowly. Ian's small, pale face peeks out from the crack. There's a hopeful smile at play. When I smile back, he throws the door open and rushes toward me. I welcome him into a hug, lifting him up and holding his small body against me.

The door creeps open. And there they are. My family. Ruby's wide brown eyes stare up at me from beneath a thick head of reddish-brown hair. Her cheeks are red and splotchy with fallen tears. She visibly swallows and clenches her jaw. Her body tenses as the cries from our children deepen and grow more concerning. Esmeralda's read up on babies in preparation for this day. She says a mother knows her baby's cries. Does Ruby know why they're crying?