Sempre (Forever Series #1)(153)

“But you’re gone, too,” Haven said. “I saw it. Frankie killed you in front of me.”

“Some things in life are worse than death,” Number 33 said, “and had I lived, those things would’ve happened to me. He took my life, but he didn’t break my spirit. No one did, and no one ever will. Don’t let them break you. Don’t let them win. Fight the fight. It’s the only way to be free.”

Haven was jolted roughly from behind then, everything going black. Someone shook her as pain swept through her body, and she forced her eyes open, seeing Ivan. His voice was muffled as if her ears were clogged. “What is the code at the DeMarco house?”

“What?” she mouthed, no sound carrying out. It burned, stabbing her throat.

“The code for the house,” he repeated. “If you do not want to die from dehydration, you will tell me what I want to know.”

She turned her head, wishing he would disappear. “Go away.”

Her disobedience sent him into a rage. He pulled out a knife as he grabbed her hand, twisting it violently. “Tell me the code, or I’ll cut off your finger.”

Every inch of her begged for relief. She squeezed her eyes shut, Dr. DeMarco flashing in her mind again. She could see his anger, but she couldn’t feel the fear anymore as he pressed the gun to her throat. She understood how he felt, and as she lay there in agony, she almost wished Dr. DeMarco really had pulled the trigger. “Do it.”

* * *

Night had fallen hours before, but Carmine no longer had any sense of time. He thought it was ten o’clock, maybe midnight, but it was nothing but a number to him now. He would simply go until he felt like he couldn’t go anymore, and then he would push himself just a little more. He had moved past exhaustion and now teetered on the brink of a nervous breakdown. Sleep only happened when his body gave out, periods of blackouts tucked into the frantic spells.

Carmine knew nothing about Giovanni, besides the fact that he was Sicilian and he broke the law. They had only met a handful of times, and Giovanni was never friendly, but Carmine had a newfound respect for the man. The two of them stood in the small office at Giovanni’s modest brick house, poring over a map of Chicago. They had been at it for so long that Carmine couldn’t read the small print anymore and counted on Giovanni to keep everything straight.

“Are you sure it’s this guy?” Carmine asked, picking up the small photograph. “He looks like someone’s grandfather.”

“I am certain,” Giovanni said. “Do not be fooled. Ivan Volkov is dangerous.”

Carmine stared at the photo, trying to focus. He remembered his father mentioning problems with the Russians months ago, but Carmine still didn’t understand what any of it had to do with them. Giovanni had tried to explain it more than once, but the point was lost somewhere between the man’s accent and Carmine’s exhausted mind.

He set the picture down and glanced at the map. Giovanni was on his laptop researching addresses associated with the Volkov family. The map was littered with writing, random circles splattered on it like polka dots.

Carmine stared at it, overwhelmed.

“I thought Doc microchipped the girl,” Giovanni said. “Why have you not found her that way?”

“We tried,” Carmine said. “The chip isn’t working.”

“And what does that mean?”

Carmine looked at Giovanni. “Means she’s probably underwater or in a windowless room.”

“So we should circle Lake Michigan also?”

Carmine felt like he had been punched at those words. “I refuse to think that.”

“I would not believe it, either,” Giovanni said. “Volkov would not take her just to kill her. And in good news, we can cross out everywhere with a lot of windows.”

“That’ll still leave a dozen properties,” Carmine said. “How do we know which one to go to?”

“We start at the top,” Giovanni said, pointing at a location in the north side of the city. “Work our way down until we find her.”

Sighing, Carmine ran his hands down his face in frustration. “Why are you helping me, anyway? Everyone else said it was a waste of time, that it was a suicide mission.”

“They do not understand.” Giovanni’s voice was quiet as he sat down near Carmine. “I warned them the Russians would make a move, but they did not listen. The Russians invade our streets, and Sal does nothing. They harass our people, and Sal does nothing. They turn our people against us, and Sal does nothing. Now they kidnap a girl, and what does Sal do?”

“Nothing,” Carmine said. “He doesn’t do a damn thing.”

Giovanni nodded. “If somebody does not do something, they will kill our people next. I, for one, cannot sit back and allow them to.”

* * *

The day of the hearing, Vincent’s stress level was at an all-time high. The U.S. Marshals drove him and Corrado in separate cars to the Dirksen Federal Building a few blocks away. Their team of lawyers waited when they walked into the courtroom, taking seats at the defendants’ table. Corrado appeared calm and confident in his black Armani suit, the complete opposite of how Vincent felt. While it was a relief to be out of the prison attire, his button-up shirt choked him.

The government seemed confident, their lackadaisical attitudes making Vincent more nervous. A prosecutor stood, casually fixing his tie as he addressed the court. “Your Honor, we’re talking about racketeering, gambling, extortion, fraud, and conspiracy to commit murder. Each defendant is facing thirty-five counts. Releasing them would be potentially unleashing more of this onto the community. The evidence clearly suggests neither man intends to stop.”