14. NIGHT OF CHANGE
GIOELE
Grief and fear for my family amalgamate into a whole new purpose. It throbs in my pulse. I recognize what I’m doing as I call my father, call Felix, ask him to relocate the hired troops to the Nascimbeni home in Hidden Hills. I know who I am as I call Gabriela’s phone, over and over, and only ever reach her voicemail.
Isaias is with Tatiana. There’s no need for our loyals to know what she does. All they needed was to trust her because they trust me, and it worked.
In the van, our roles are clear: Fritz’ job is to get us on the backroad to Hidden Hills as quickly as possible. I conduct all phone preps, while Bully counts our remaining ammunition and loads our guns. We have half a dozen hand grenades, but my chest pangs just thinking of using them near my childhood home.
“There’s no way they’ll get into the bunker,” I say out loud. Fritz and Bully have both been there, but they entered blindfolded like everyone else. “The first door requires a digital fingerprint of a grown Nascimbeni famiglia member. The second, an iris scan. There simply is no way.”
Bully grunts out his agreement.
Felix needs to keep the bastards out of Hidden Hills. I can’t even imagine the repercussions, the worldwide news feed it would instigate, on top of the tragedy it would be for us if we can’t; the place is home to Hollywood celebrity, and over the decade and a half we’ve lived there, my father has managed to keep all mafia business out of the area.
For a second, as we enter Hidden Hills, I allow myself the luxury of doubt. What if the Santa Colombini are inside already? What if they’ve found a way to track down the bunker and aren’t merely having fun blowing up our house?
I shake my head, jangling the thought out of my brain. It’s me leading these guys. Me, telling Isaias’ men to follow us to Hidden Hills now that they’ve left him with Tatiana. I’ll need to stand side by side with my father who set this pandemonium in motion. Violent, cruel, merciless as he is, Il Lince still loves his family. But I wasn’t old when I understood that business, pride, and vendetta always come first.
Silvina’s name enters my bloodstream. I turn on the radio and drift between stations until “Houndstooth” by Atomic Bitchwax rages out through the speakers. Howling guitars, ruthless drums, and lyrics to hunt by. It’s what I need to stay focused while I haul ass toward her.
I’m almost there. No one will get to my girl before me.
At the backside of Hidden Hills, we meet Felix’ guys. I count a dozen Harleys and a handful of vehicles, some vans, some cars. Felix is there, raising a hand in greeting. We speed up the incline until we tip over and look straight down at our ranch.
I see Ma’s streetlamps down there. They move?
No, that’s cars. They stop!
I call Il Lince. He doesn’t pick up. I call his right hand, Moroder. When he doesn’t answer either, I know they have their hands full.
“We’re coming,” I mutter. “Fritz. Fucking floor it. They’re there. You see it?
“I do.”
“Load every semi, every Glock.”
“Done.”
“Get out the hand grenades,” I huff out.
“The hand grenades too?”
I aim a glare at Bully in the backseat. “The Santa Colombini will not get out unscathed.”
SILVINA
We’re in this together. I’m not the only one who loves someone out there fiercely, and we don’t have a way of getting in contact with them. These minutes, these hours that barely snail by. They’re hard for all of us.
But it’s my father out there. Isaias. Gabriela, who has yet to return from San Francisco. And above it all, it’s Gioele. His absence sucks the air out of my bones.
I calm my heart with the sight of the twins and my mother. I sneak stares at Zia Carola. Each time I do, something in me vibrates. It’s the slow arc of her brow, the fine wrinkles at the corner of her eyes, the pink protrusion at the center of her upper lip. Ah, I am grateful she keeps a piece of him around. She does it without thinking, so effortlessly just by being her.
The little ones go to sleep late this first night in the bunker. In a festa for everyone, we smile, sing, and dance to old Italian songs. We’re seasoned at this, at making our day special, at boosting the minute until it gleams sun-bright, like death couldn’t be taking its toll somewhere unnamed above our ceiling.
We forge our babies’ bliss while their fathers bleed in their absence. But would it help them to fear when their padri could return whole yet another time?
Like during our Christmas events, the babies get soda even though it’s bad for their teeth. We stuff ourselves with Italian cookies without thinking about diets and workout regimens, and the alcohol we open is of the type that fizzes with hope.
But now the daylight lamps have dimmed, and the babies are asleep in their cribs. The women who know and the teenagers who’d rather forget remain awake. Outlander runs on the flat-screen, because focusing on its fantasy world siphons anxiety from our own lives. We huddle close on the couches, in need of comfort, of the warmth of anxious skin and the calming buzz of alcohol. Even the twins are poured more wine.
We chat about what happens in the series. Until Zia Carola comes over, lowers herself next to me, and folds me in against her chest.
“I’m sorry,” she says, kissing the top of my head, and it’s what she doesn’t say that makes my tears leak out. Maybe I’m reading her wrong. Maybe she isn’t telling me she understands. Maybe her hug is for my father, for Gabriela, for our family in general. But right now, with every cell she affords around me, I suck in an approval Gioele and I have never before received.
You learn early that triggering mass panic isn’t something you can afford in a lockdown. So I turn my face against my aunt’s throat in the dusk of our TV night, and silently, I let my panic out in a trickle of salt and water.
“It’ll all be fine. Before you know it, Gioele and you can visit the family in Lake Como again. Wouldn’t that be nice? It’s been years since the last time you went.”
“Five years.” I swallow and swallow. “It would be awesome.”
Zia Carola lowers her voice until it’s nothing but a whisper. “Don’t think the worst. I know you are, and I’ve been there, but they need all our good vibes right now. They’re outside fighting for us, while we’re safe in here. Okay?”
“Are we?” I choke out. There’s this feeling in the pit of my stomach.
Her slight movements stop. “What do you mean?”
That feeling in my stomach solidifies. It’s a knot, as if I’m stirring some nightmare to life by confessing my worry. My chin trembles when I try to say more, try to ask if we really are safe. No one knows where we are, they say, and if they knew, they’d have no way to get in. It’s infallible. Fool proof. There’s no way to enter.
We’re so far below the ground, there could be a nuclear war happening above us and it wouldn’t reach us. So why do I hear sounds beyond the kitchen, behind the walls of the entrance with the eye scanner?
“Did you hear that?” I manage. “Are they back already?”
She does hear it. I can see it. I want her eyes to shine with relief, but they don’t.
“Girls,” she calls quietly to the women still in the room. Some are sleepy, on couches and chairs. Others are in various degrees of getting ready for bed. They look up, the traces of sleep dissipating from their features as they focus on my aunt. They do because her voice doesn’t promise more cookies.
“Someone is coming. It’s probably just our men, but we haven’t done this in a while, and it’s time; we’re going through The Drill. Gather your babies and your pets, nothing else. Run to the bomb shelter immediately and lock the door. Clem, you’ll be our door woman. Once you’ve locked, no one enters the bomb shelter without the password.
“What’s the password?” A mother with a little boy asks.
Zia Carola sends her a stare that says, You should know your homework. Then, she says, “Sempre Insieme.”
I cover my mouth to keep my emotions under control; our password is a reminder of what we mean to each other.
“Wanda, you’re in charge of the guns. The lock to the cabinet opens with my firstborn’s birth date.” She scans her friend with the resolute stare of a matriarch. Zia Carola has all her men on the outside. She could be losing them all in this minute, but here she is, giving us strength and purpose.
“Run!” she barks. “I won’t be happy unless you’re all in the bomb shelter in one minute flat. Silvina: time them.”
Fumbling, I grab my phone. I click the timer and lift it high in the air. “Starting now!”
In seconds, the living room empties. My mother sends me a brittle look before she swoops the twins along. Ariadna scurries ahead of them with Hyacinth in her arms.
Once we’re alone in the TV room, I meet Zia Carola’s gaze. Fear finally shines through in it, and it’s making me queasy.
“Go after them,” she whispers. She straightens, and in this moment, she’s the strongest woman I’ve ever known. She’s ready. She’ll go down like a queen if she must.
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m using the peephole to the mudroom.”
“No, you can’t! That sound was the stairs. You know how the steel echoes when we walk on it. They’ll be right outside the door in no time.”
She strokes my shoulder. “It’s okay, baby girl. With ninety-nine percent certainty, it’s Evodio or the boys. Maybe it’s your father. I just want to make sure this really is just a drill.”
I nod. “Then, I’m coming with you.”
We have no time to lose, so I run ahead of her before she can object. “Silvina-baby. Per favore,” she still tries.
In the hallway, rows of hangers hold winter jackets and some old dresses. When Il Lince had the peephole installed, he put it at the top of the right side of the wall instead of in the door, and from the outside it’s so small it’s impossible to see.
To get to it, I wedge my body in behind the row of jackets. Then, I get up on the stepladder until I’m high enough to latch onto the periscope and place my eye against it. A gasp of horror rushes out of me.
“What do you see?”
“A bunch of guys I’ve never seen before, and they’re struggling with someone in the stairs. Wait. The person’s on the floor, now, trying to kick themselves free. The man at the front seems to be in charge. He’s short, dark-haired, and— Oh, God. He has a scar that runs diagonally across his face.”
“Randolfo Santa Colombini,” Zia Carola whispers. “The Lord have mercy on us.”
GIOELE
My home looks eerily untouched. We drive up the pepper-tree alley to the backside, where unbidden vans have been parked in a hurry. I can’t see my father’s car anywhere. That doesn’t necessarily mean anything, though. He could’ve parked it in the garage.
A handful of Colombini bikers jump away from the wall and aim their guns at us. We shoot first. I clip one of them, Bully the second.
“Grenade?” he asks.
“No. Keep shooting. Fritz, drive down the walkway and get us to the backside of the house.” Our van is too big. Faintly, I register how it’s mauling my mother’s rosebushes. We stop. Jump out. Two guys follow us, but Felix’ crew pops them from the front of the house in streaks of yellow light.
We run along the west wall and curve around the waterfall. I catch movement at the opposite side. If I had the manpower, I’d send someone after it, but it’s unassuming and disappears fast. Behind the cascading water, the AstroTurf is tossed to the side. The trapdoor is wide open?
Silvina!
With my Glock holstered against my ribs, I clench the AK-47 and run down the stairs with Fritz and Bully right behind.
I call Felix. Tell him where to go. It’s all I have time for before I hit the mudroom shooting. Fuck, and I’m storming in with only two guys.
SILVINA
“Go, Silvina. Hide.” Zia Carola’s breathing is fast. Sometimes you just know, and my aunt is more afraid for me than for herself.
“No, I’m here with you. What’s the plan?”
“To take down as many as we can before they get to the bomb shelter.”
“Our weapons?” My brain is sluggish with fear.
“Dining room. Chest of drawers. Here.” She hands me the key and climbs up on the stepladder I just abandoned.
The dining room is to the left of the kitchen. It’s big, made for dozens of diners. The chest of drawers is on my side, thank God. In the top drawer, I find what we need.
Growled shouts filter in from the mudroom when I return. My aunt’s eyes are glassy. She blinks the horror away as she waves me toward her, and I hand off two handguns and keep two for myself. Like a pro, she tucks one in the back of her pants and cocks the other.
“Did you see who they brought?” I huff out.
“Yes. Listen, darling girl,” she whispers as she takes the last steps down to the ground from the stepladder. “Ti amo tanto, tanto, sai?”
I nod.
“I have to tell you something. Everything’s going to be okay, but I need you to be prepared: they brought Gabriela. She’s right there, and they’ll force her to lend her eye to the scanner.”
I inhale so sharply I choke halfway through. On instinct, I press my ear to the wall in hopes of a connection through the thick mud. I hear her, my brave sister, and she’s wailing. Desperate, she howls. “No, no, stop!”
A hiccough surges from the bottom of my stomach. She knows we’re here, and like every Nascimbeni, she’d give her life to keep us safe. Just, it wouldn’t help if she did. They’d use her either way, her dead eye, her dead iris, and my sister’s aware. I hate the sound of her anguish.
I cock my gun, steady on my feet by the door. My aunt wants me to step aside, but I shake my head. “I want to see her first.”
“Remember”—Zia Carola leans close, whispering the words against my ear—“Gabriela is your height. Every man out there is at least half a head taller.”
I tip my gun upward, aiming at the part of the door that will slide open first.
“Esattamente. Aim above her head, and you can shoot as many as you want. Remember, you have eight rounds in your gun.”
I bob my head.
“You can do a lot of damage with eight. I can do a lot of damage with eight. We have another eight each in the second gun.”
“Okay.”
“We need to make them count, because the Colombini won’t give us time to reload.”
“Got it.”
The door breaks open, and Gabriela flies inward. I don’t have time to study her. She slams down, and above her head are forehead-shaped targets. I blast them with steady hands, work fast before shock can eat at me—one, two. I get three with ear-numbing explosions.
Men fall over the stairway banister. I can’t hear them, but their expressions shout, surprise, horror, sweat, blood. My aunt’s plan is suddenly clear as day: she’s taking out the newcomers, leaving the intruders to me.
My sister’s at my feet. Face down, she’s writhing. I shoot tumbling devils, big, gross, sticky bodies that bury her. I want to pull her free, but I don’t have time. I need to shoot, shoot— My gun has lived its life.
A merciless fist grabs me, but I get the owner’s temple with my empty weapon, using all the force I have. He shouts, grip leaving my arm. I pull the other gun out, cock it— I cock it with my breath hissing in my lungs.
“Fucking stop them, morons!” someone roars. “It’s just two Nascimbeni bitches. How are you dropping like flies?”
They’re determined beasts now that our advantage of surprise is gone. I have time to clip down a last Colombini before I’m punched in the face. My knees fold under me. I fall awkwardly. Landing on my side, I get a desperate glimpse of Gabriela, who’s squirming under the bodies I’ve dropped.
I sob, the physical pain tripling with my barrenness; my gun. It’s gone, and my hope disappears with it.
Slow motion is a strange thing. It’s on films, but it also happens when life goes too fast. I see it now, how they point their guns at me and say my name. Why do they say my name?
It’s her, Silvina di Nascimbeni!
My arms are spread on the floor. Like wings, they’re spread, and I feel it, with one finger, the cool steel of my gun. I can’t pick it up.
My sister lifts her gaze and meets mine. With my eyes, I say the most important thing there is: ti amo, carina sorella. Then, with the flick of a finger, I send the gun beneath her shoulder.
“Destroy this place!”
They crowd us.
“Erase every damn sign of its existence!”
They’re so many.
Our guns have stopped firing. I don’t know how many men Zia Carola and I have wounded. It doesn’t matter. I’m lifted to my feet as Zia Carola cries out behind me. A searing pain goes off in my head. Bam.