Synarchy Book 2: The Ascension (8 page)

“
Do you know how they got
there?” Simone looked over at him.

Lucien slowly shook his head. “I wish I
did.”

The Past

"You grit your teeth, and
you bear it.

Because you are a Terenzio
first."

-Liliana Terenzio

Chapter 4

“
There’s little difference
in my world between business and personal;

just levels of disclosure.”

-Stefano Vasco Terenzio

August 23, 1927 - 10:10 AM

Boston, MA

Coffee House

I hear police are going to be doubled
at the execution.”

Stefano Vasco Terenzio, Crime Boss of
the Terenzio Family, lifted cold gray eyes to Ciro Anatoli, his
closest friend and former bodyguard. Ciro primarily guarded
Stefano’s wife, because Stefano had lost him to her in a bet. For
this particular assignment, Ciro was on loan. “It doesn’t change
what needs to be done. They are better off working for me than
dead. And I want to catch the eye of the Galleanists.” Nicola Sacco
and Bartolomeo Vanzetti were Italian immigrants falsely convicted
on charges of robbery and murder. They were also members of the
Galleanists, a militant Italian-American anarchist group. They were
set to be executed tomorrow.

Ciro nodded, crushing out his cigarette
in the small round ashtray on the wrought iron table. “Just letting
you know. Hey, where’s Nina?” Nina was the new bodyguard that
Stefano frequently went without.

Stefano leaned back in his chair,
bringing the small coffee cup with him. “She’ll be arriving later
this afternoon with Lil and Zhane.”

“
Who’s Zhane?”

“
New guy. Primarily Air
Force, but I needed the extra hands and want to see what he can
handle.” Stefano raised the rim of the coffee mug to his mouth,
swallowing down the caffeine boost.

“
How’s Lil doing?” Ciro
asked as he slung his arm over the back of his chair. He turned
slightly to watch all the legs that walked by the outdoor
café.

“
She’ll be fine. She usually
is, even when she doesn’t think so.”

Ciro chuckled. “You shoulda been a
philosopher or some shit, Stef.”

The flicker of amusement softened
Stefano’s face. He opened his mouth to respond, but something
struck him mute. Through the thin crowd of people that moved down
the street, he caught sight of a young man; a young man with a head
full of black hair, his mother’s strong aristocratic features, and
as he came closer Stefano saw, piercing gray eyes.

“
Stef?” Ciro looked at his
friend curiously.

“
Stay here,” Stefano said as
he nearly dropped his coffee mug on the table. Standing quickly, he
hopped over the small railing that separated the café from the
sidewalk and pursued the young target. A block later, the
opportunity Stefano was looking for came. He bumped into the young
man and kept his head lowered. His deft, thieving fingers pulled
the young man’s wallet from the inside of his coat. Stefano’s
target never noticed; he simply continued on his way.

Stefano did not pursue him any father.
He walked back the way he’d come, and flipped open the wallet,
looking down at the photo identification inside. It was the name
that made his steps suddenly halt.

Marcello Adams.

The address below confirmed what he
already knew and thrust Stefano back into a piece of his past that
he rarely thought about anymore. It was the now, and more
importantly the future, that most concerned him. The past was full
of memories of his abusive father, of doing what he could to
protect Lil from the bastard, of teaching himself the ways of the
world; and how to manipulate it.

But there had been moments, though few,
which reminded him of his humanity.

“
If we ever have a son,
let’s name him Marcello.” She propped her head in her hand to look
up at him, tracing idle patterns over his chest.

He couldn’t help but be
amused at her gentle naïveté. She wouldn’t last a day in his world.
“Let’s try to get through the week, first.”

“
We will,” she said. “They
won’t find me here. And I hope they never do.”

He knew better. They would
find her, eventually, and even if her grandparents didn’t track her
down, he would never let her stay. There were different
levels—depths—to innocence. He had already taken one from her. He
wouldn’t take any more. He framed her face in his hands, guiding
her up to his waiting mouth. “For once, Miss Adams, I don’t want to
think about the future.”

“
You suddenly had the desire
to steal someone’s wallet?” Ciro asked in a highly amused tone when
Stefano came back.

His friend’s voice snapped Stefano back
to the present. He removed the photo ID, and dropped the wallet and
a few a few silver dollars on the table. “Let’s go.”

§

August 30, 1927 - 12:21 AM

St. Martin Parish, Louisiana

Blackwood Swamps

Stefano walked into the dimly lit
cottage, nestled among the swamp. She was sitting by the window,
talking to herself, which was nothing unusual for Gypsy. Seth, his
cousin and her husband, was not home, yet. Stefano tossed the photo
identification onto the table in front of her.

“
Tell me, Gypsy.”

She looked down at the picture, then
back up at Stefano and giggled. “You know.”

He did know, but confirmation forced
the heavy breath from his lungs. His son. “Can he be my
heir?”

She canted her head at him, almost
curiously. “Can he?”

It required a great deal of patience to
pull information from Gypsy’s brilliant, but utterly crazy, mind;
the price she paid for knowing what she did he supposed. Not that
he cared, so long as he got the information. “If I continue on this
path, will he accept my invitation?”

She focused on him in a moment of great
clarity and said, very seriously: “Only if you are not on that
path, Stefano.” Just as quickly as the moment came it was gone,
lost by the noise of another boat approaching. Gypsy smiled. “Seth
Frost is home!” She jumped out of her chair and scrambled to the
door, launching herself at it just as it opened. Thankfully, his
reflexes were quick. It also helped that he had learned to expect
it. Seth (last name not Frost but the reason she called him that
was another story entirely) wrapped his arms tightly around
her.

Stefano remained standing,
lost in his own thoughts.
Only if he
wasn’t on that path
. This meant he could
finish with the foundation. Line up the pieces where he wanted
them. Then, let his family, his son, take the next step.

Without him.

Stefano lifted his hands, the fingers
of one twisting the wedding band on the other. His only regret
would be leaving her.

§

November 17, 1935 - 11:11 AM

New Orleans, LA

SVT Securities Office

“
I need a favor, Alexandro.”
Stefano stood in front of the glass windows overlooking the Central
Business District of New Orleans.

“
I’m listening.” Louisiana
Governor Alexandro DeMarco sat at the conference table. Older,
sharp blue eyes watched Stefano as the scented smoke from Alex’s
cigar slithered into the air. The DeMarcos were longtime friends of
the Terenzios. For Stefano and his wife, intimately so. Alexandro
looked like a southern politician with short, salt and pepper hair
combed neatly back, wearing his favorite dark blue, three piece,
pinstriped suit. The watch his wife, Mona, had given him for his
fiftieth birthday sat on a gold chain in his vest pocket underneath
the suit jacket. Despite the fact that certain areas of law
enforcement and business were manipulated to make it easier for his
brother Antonio, the current Don of the DeMarco crime family, to do
business, Alexandro was a well-liked governor. He’d beaten Huey P.
Long for the spot without tampering with the votes.

“
I love my family, like you
love yours. It’s time I stepped back from things. I’m being hunted,
and I don’t want the cross hairs to fall on the wrong
people.”

For a few silent moments, Alexandro
studied Stefano’s back. “This conversation is over, Stefano, until
you’re ready to cease with the bullshit.”

Amusement flickered across Stefano’s
face as he turned away from the window, looking at Alexandro. “You
know, I’ve always said if there was a better man, and meant it, it
would be you.”

Alexandro was not phased by the
compliment. “Both in and out of your bedroom. Let’s have
it.”

A smirk settled over Stefano’s lips as
he walked around the table and settled into one of the leather
chairs. “You know about the sensitive nature of the weapon I
acquired?”

“
Si.”

“
I need you to hold onto it
until after the transition. You’ll know when it’s time to return it
to my family.”

Alexandro studied him in silence, and
then finally asked: “Why, Stefano?” He was not referring to the
weapons.

“
Because it’s
time.”

“
You are more of a bastard
than I gave you credit for. You know the state you will leave her
in with this move.”

Stefano’s eyes narrowed. “She will go
there whether I am around or not. We both know that.”

Alexandro cocked his head. “You’ll give
up everything, purely for ego?”

Stefano shot up out of his chair,
stabbing his index finger towards the table. “I will die to see my
will done. And it will be done.” He took a step closer to the man
he considered a friend. “And do not presume I take anything
lightly, or that I don’t love her more than this game. This is
bigger than me, bigger than us. If it doesn’t play out to our
advantage, neither of our families will be left
standing.”

Alexandro stared at him in thoughtful
silence. He nodded, almost imperceptibly. “We will safeguard the
weapon for you. Until it’s time.”

Stefano nodded once. “Thank you,
Alexandro.”

§

For two days, Stefano remained locked
away in the SVT Building. As the sun began to set over the Big
Easy, it was finished. He could do no more. He drew a tired hand
over his unshaven jaw and closed the leather bound journal. The
letter was tucked into the envelope and placed inside. His journal,
along with two other letters, would be delivered at a later date.
Now, he was going home to his wife to face that beautiful wrath he
was sure to get for being unavailable for the last forty-eight
hours.

Stefano collected his suit jacket and
fedora off the back of the door. He set the hat on his head and
flicked off lights as he left. He slid on the suit jacket as he got
into the elevator, stabbed the button for the ground floor, and
pulled out his Marlboros. He shook one out and set it between his
lips, the sterling Dunhill lighter he’d stolen from his wife
cradled in his palm as he waited for the ding.

When he stepped into the lobby that was
surrounded by glass doors Stefano paused. For several moments, he
simply stood there, watching the light crowd pass by. Eventually,
he brought the flame to life and lit the cigarette. A long,
satisfying pull was drawn in as he tucked the lighter back into his
pocket. He straightened the sleeves of his suit jacket. Then, he
walked outside.

A nondescript, average man came through
the crowd of harmless people walking down the street and stumbled
right into Terenzio. The assassin’s hand came out of his pocket, a
.22 held expertly in his palm. The muzzle came up with unerring
speed, pressed at Terenzio’s chest. The next sound was that of a
gunshot.

Stefano could have prevented it. He
could have not walked outside. He could have let Seth take him out
weeks ago when he had been spotted.

Only if you are not on that
path, Stefano.

He didn’t fight it. The sharp, echoing
boom that startled the unknowing sheep on the street brought forth
a sudden heat, and then searing, debilitating pain. Stefano’s hands
shot up, fingers clutching the front of the assassin’s shirt as he
met the eyes of his murderer and whispered: “I know.”

Two strong arms caught the staggering
Terenzio, the gun gone as quickly as it had appeared. The assassin
even managed to paint an expression of concern on his face, though
when his eyes caught and locked with Stefano's, they were laughing.
How hard the mighty fall. It didn’t matter if Terenzio knew; he was
still going to die. The assassin stepped backwards as Stefano
toppled to the pavement. As the crowd began to gather around the
dying man, he melted into it, thinking how pleased Mrs. Adams would
be.

Stefano couldn’t get his
breath.
No, no
. It
was too soon. He had promised himself that he wouldn’t leave, not
until he saw her. His vision became fuzzy, darkness rapidly
crawling from the edges. The shouts of the crowd around him faded
until there was nothing but silence. His arms shook, the strength
to hold his weight failing.

It was one fight Stefano would not
win.