Chapter Twenty-Two
Olivia
Mom and I stayed up late last night, waiting for men with guns to arrive. Too late. Though we’re in a tense situation, I actually had fun with her. It’s like she’s a different person. She’s not agitated, twiddling her thumbs so hard she might wear them to the bone. No, she’s calm. I guess the threat she’s anticipated for years is finally here. It must be a relief. Last night, I howled with laughter while she practiced the various lines she’d use on Vince.
“Eat lead, asshole.”
“Welcome to your nightmare.”
“Say goodbye to your head.”
I couldn’t decide which one I liked best. I laughed so hard at her serious face while she clutched the gun I had perpetual tears in my eyes. For a few hours there, I’d forgotten the grim nature of our reality. The wine helped with that too.
I’ve been exhausted all day. I walk around the house like a zombie, helping Mom cook and clean and load her guns. I can’t sit still. When I do, my eyes close on their own accord, I drift off to sleep, and dream of him.
I’ve concluded that the best outcome is if I never see Bruno again. I hope he doesn’t show up with his mafia friends, and my mom blows his head off. I hope his mafia friends don’t blow his head off for helping me escape. They might threaten to kill him if he doesn’t tell them my location. If that’s the case, I hope Bruno gives me up. We’re ready.
But I know he won’t. I can see him now, stoically refusing to talk, even when faced with certain death.
I’m cleaning the dishes left from lunch when Mom comes into the kitchen. She’s just gotten up from a nap, and her eyes squint in the light. She lays a gentle hand on my arm.
“Get some rest. I can finish up here,” she says.
I shake my head vigorously. “No. I got it.”
“You need to rest, Olivia. I can’t have you sleep deprived. We both need to be alert.”
I rest my arms against the edge of the sink, watching the soapy water sprinkle from my fingertips. She’s right, I shouldn’t stay in this depleted state. I have to stay sharp. But I don’t want to fall asleep. Bruno will come to me in my dream. My subconscious won’t let me forget about him.
But how can I tell that to Mom, that I’m nurturing a broken heart over the man who abducted me, held me hostage in his apartment, and was prepared to hand me over to a madman? I know there’s more to it than that, but could she understand? She’s spent her life hiding from an abusive mafia boss. She’d think I’m an idiot, or completely deranged.
“I’ll just go watch some TV,” I say, leaving my post at the sink.
In the living room, I flip on the TV, trying to find the loudest, most distracting show. If I fall asleep with that on in the background, maybe it will keep my mind from turning to Bruno.
I find what I’m looking for in a talk show that’s examining people’s phobias. The guests scream and run when presented with ordinary things like a jar of olives, mustard, and sunflowers. The host tries to appear sympathetic, but he knows what he’s doing; exploiting these people’s disorders for hoots and jeers from the crowd.
Not long after I sit down, my eyes fall closed, and I feel myself drifting off into sleep. Just for a few minutes, I tell myself.
The next thing I know, there’s a loud, assertive knocking at the door, followed by violent kicking. I jerk straight up. I’m still on the couch. The show I was watching is over. Now, a well coifed man is extolling the virtues of a strange looking cooking contraption.
“Open up,” yells a male voice.
I don’t recognize it. It’s not Bruno. Is he with them?
Mom comes barreling into the living room carrying a shot gun and .38 caliber pistol.
“Show time,” she says, tossing the shot gun to me.
I catch it by the barrel, almost dropping it. Is this really happening? Is this a dream? Mom crouches behind a chair, her gun aimed at the door, ready to shoot. Up until now, all of Mom’s grandstanding had seemed like an act, a joke, even. Now, with her eyebrows furrowed in concentration, I see how serious she is. I make myself stand, and go crouch down next to her.
My breath echoes in my ears. The infomercial continues on annoyingly in the background. The man behind the door keeps ordering for it to be opened. Mom and I sit and wait.
There’s a gunshot. The door swings open. They’ve shot off the handle. In the next split second, I get a glimpse of them. It’s Snake, another man I don’t recognize, and behind them, the strong, hulking shoulders of Bruno.
I’m about to call to him, when Mom fires her gun. The bullet comes close to taking off the ear of the unknown man, but hits the doorframe instead.
“Is that how you treat guests?” the man says. “Put the gun down.”
Mom pauses for a moment to look them over. Her face falls in disappointment.
“Where’s Vince?” she asks. “Where’s my dirtbag husband?”
The man walks further into the room, followed by Snake and Bruno. Snake holds his own hunk of deadly metal by his side, but he doesn’t aim it at us. Mom has the upper hand here.
The man smiles. It sends a chill down my spine. I realize he looks familiar, like I’ve seen him before, but I can’t place him.
“I’m going to tell you one last time,” he says, calmly. “Put the gun down.”
Mom turns up her nose. “Who are you? Vince’s foot soldiers? Will he be pissed if I kill you? Or will he even notice?”
The man’s smile disappears as his upper lips curls. I shiver again. I look to Bruno. He’s staring right at me. His eyes are deep pools of emotions. It seems like he’s trying to communicate something to me. He’s not armed. Why is he here?
Mom turns her gun right on Bruno. “You first,” she says.
I don’t think. I just react. “No,” I shout, lunging at Mom and grabbing her arm. When she pulls the trigger, the bullet fires into the ceiling. The shotgun I was holding drops to my feet.
“Olivia,” Mom yells, desperately. “What are you doing?”
In the second that she’s distracted, the man rushes over and grabs me, while Snake raises his gun at my mom. She puts her hands up, though she’s still holding the gun.
I’m forced to my feet. The man’s arms are tight around my waist and shoulders. I struggle to get away, but it’s no use. Bruno rushes over to me, his eyes full of venom.
“Don’t fucking hurt her, Sal,” Bruno says, his voice thick with testosterone.
Sal looks at Snake. “I told you to fucking kill him.”
Snake taps Bruno on the shoulder, telling him to get back. Bruno stays where he is, not taking his eyes off of me.
“Put the gun down, lady,” Snake says.
Mom shakes her head. “Let my daughter go.”
Snake thumbs his nose, then points the gun at my head. My body convulses with terror. It doesn’t seem real. It’s like a movie. Bruno starts for him, but Snake lifts his hand, stopping him.
“I’ll fucking shoot her,” Snake says to Bruno, then looks to my mom with a warning look.
Mom’s expression hardens. She places the pistol on the floor in front of her.
“That’s good,” Snake says. “Now stand up, step away from it.”
Mom does as he says. Snake walks up to her quickly, hooking his arm around her chest, and pressing the gun to her head.
“You’re coming too,” Snake says.
“What the fuck?” I hear Bruno say.
“Extra leverage,” Snake explains. “In case Vince tries to pull something.”
I stop struggling against the man they called Sal, resigned to my fate. They have us, both of us, and they’re going to give us to Vince. Sal and Snake drag us out of the house. Bruno tries to get next to me. I hear him talking to me. “I’m sorry, Olivia. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Sal gets fed up, and pulls a gun on him.
“Get him out of here, Snake,” Sal says. “Before I kill him myself.”
I look at Bruno, imploring him with my eyes to do as this man says.
“I’ll give the ladies a ride,” Sal says, gesturing to a black car parked on the curb.
“The fuck you will,” Bruno says.
“Easy, Beast,” Snake says. “We’re all going to the same place. You’re with me.”
Exhaustion overtakes me as our hands are zip tied and we’re shoved inside the back of that man’s car. Sal gets in the driver’s seat, and speeds forward. I get the feeling we’re hurtling towards certain death.