(sunday_reveries) - Vendetta
"Love makes hunters of us all."
-Gregory Maguire
Mario Falcone
Batman
2,041 words
“Eleanor Thorne.”
“El. Where are you?”
“Like you don’t know.”
“Are Aprile and Mesiti there?”
“Where else would they be?”
“I’m not taking any chances.”
“You’re paranoid.”
“You’re safe.”
“And you?”
“I’ll come by tonight. This ends now.”
“Mario.”
“I promise.”
Mario Falcone closed his cellphone before the woman on the other end could answer. He pocketed it and retrieved his carton of Black Russian cigarettes. He tapped the case against his palm before he pulled out a cigarette. The taste of tobacco was something of a relief even as he held it between his teeth. After getting out his lighter, Mario took a long drag of his cigarette.
Three breaths later, a car pulled up to the curb. The black, four-door sedan idled as Mario knelt down. He put the cigarette out on the pavement before he flicked the long butt into the gutter. A waste, he thought, but business called. He opened the back driver’s seat door and climbed in. Two men waited in the front seats.
“Boss,” the driver said in greeting. “Piece and package are under the seat.”
“Grazie.”
“Package?” The other passenger turned to look at the driver.
“Not your business, Portella,” the driver replied.
“How does it look, Zeno? Everything in place?” Mario reached under Zeno’s seat to retrieve the items.
“All set. Ray’s got Lucano, Campi, and their squads ready. Just need your call.”
Mario nodded. If Ray and Zeno were sure, he was sure. He admired the gun Zeno had gotten him. The sleek .22 already had the silencer attached. This was to be quick and silent. He set the gun aside, running his finger over where the serial number had been filed off. He picked up the small, long black box that had been with the gun. He touched the gold chain carefully. Four round diamonds, two on either side of the center broach, were flanked by small gold flowers. In the center was a gold rose, roughly the size of a woman’s fingertip. Another diamond, as large as the flower, hung from it. It was a marquise cut. Satisfied, Mario closed the box and set it aside.
“You should’ve left this to me and Zeno, Boss,” Portella said. “It’s gonna get ugly.”
“You think he don’t know that?” Zeno answered. “Who the hell do you think you’re talking to?”
“I’m just-”
“You’re just shuttin’ up.”
Mario was silent while they talked, but then he chuckled. “Thanks, Zeno, but it’s fine. He has a point.”
“You don’t ask a don to explain himself,” Zeno muttered.
“I let my friends handle my business affairs,” Mario replied, as if he had not heard Zeno. “This is business, but it’s also personal.” He touched the grip of the handgun. “I made a promise. Taken me a year to make good-”
“You had to wait. Let ‘em lower their guard.” Zeno met Mario’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “You were smart.”
Mario bowed his head at the older man’s words. “he’s had a year, but that son of a bitch is going to pay. Tonight.”
“Damn right,” Zeno agreed.
Portella cocked his head. “You’d you promise, Boss?”
Zeno made an aggravated sound.
Mario smile, the expression a mix of grief and indulgence. “I promised Eleanor that Alberto would be avenger before her mourning was over.”
He closed his eyes. Even the day after Alberto had been gunned down, Eleanor had been composed. Her wide brown eyes had been bloodshot, and tears had stood in them. Even so, she hadn’t cried in front of anyone. Three days later, she’d stayed at the cemetery after others had gone to the wake. Mario had stayed behind, having caught her eye during the service.
She’d held his gaze and put her hand on Alberto’s tombstone. Mario followed suit after taking a moment to look at her engagement ring on her other hand. He remembered Alberto’s grin when he’d talked about proposing.
‘Mario Falcone.’ She’d been so grave, so Sicilian-in spirit if not in blood. ‘Will you swear to me, on your brother’s grave, that you will take justice for Alberto?’
Mario had never cared for Italian women on the whole. Eleanor’s maternal grandmother had been Italian, and it showed in her dark coloring. Still, seeing her so angry, hurt, and determined, Mario understood exactly why his brother had loved her.
‘I swear.’
“Tonight,” Mario said aloud.
“Boss?” Portella glanced back.
“I’m going to keep my promise. Tonight.”
A Falcone man prided himself on keeping his word. It was a family tenant, impressed into every son of every generation. And a promise to a brother’s fidanzata? Especially made on a grave? That was sacred and unbreakable.
“Riso left a car for you, Boss,” Zeno said as he turned onto a side street. “Gray Buick. Keys are in the console.”
“Perfect.” Mario held out his hand. “Phone?”
Zeno handed him a cheap, disposable phone. Portella watched the exchange, and Mario smiled at him.
The sedan rolled into the parking garage. Zeno flashed the security guard a glimpse of the gun at his side, and the man raised the barrier.
Mario tapped Zeno on the shoulder, and the driver stopped when Mario’s window was even with the guard’s station. Mario rolled his window down slightly. He spoke calmly, “He who is deaf, blind, and silent will live a hundred years in peace.”
Zeno drove further into the garage. He parked on the third floor, the highest level available. The three riders left the car, and Mario tucked his handgun inside his jacket. He led the way to the connecting hallway.
“The elevator goes up to the tenth floor,” Mario said. “Most of Piazza’s men will be out, but he’ll still have some bodyguards there. Twelfth floor is where Piazza should be. His wife’s away with their daughter, so his mistress might be there.” He gave Zeno and Portella a hard look. “She is not to be harmed. At all.”
“Got it, Boss,” Zeno replied. Portella nodded.
Mario dialed a number on the cheap phone. When he heard the ringing stop, he said, “Go.” He clicked the phone off and gave it to Zeno before the group entered the building. They walked down the service hallway, and the maids all looked down. None of them wanted to be the one to claim she’d seen the strangers.
The trek to the tenth floor was uneventful, but Mario remained alert. He had not expected trouble, but the emptiness made him cautious. No one was out, going about their lives. He frowned but touched the grip of his gun to reassure himself. It was too late to go back now. His captains and their squads were striking at Piazza’s captains. A retreat now would be cowardice.
“We’re walking into an ambush,” Mario said as they reached the penthouse door.
“How would they know?” Zeno asked. Mario appreciated the fury in his eyes. It made things easier.
Mario drew his gun and turned. He fired two rounds into Portella’s head. As the body fell and blood pooled on the ground, Mario said, “Only idiots and rats ask that many questions.”
Zeno shook his head. “Shit. And I vouched for him.”
“Honest mistake,” Mario muttered. “Now. What do we do?” He didn’t wait to be answered, and the body on the ground wasn’t given another glance. “We’re facing ten, maybe more. They won’t have automatics, too loud.” He gave a humorless laugh. “What else can we do but go in with a bang?”
“Stay back,” Zeno said. He stepped forward and positioned himself by the door. Mario stood beside it, his back against the wall. Zeno used three kicked to break down the door. As it fell in, Zeno threw himself against the opposite side of the doorway.
Gunshots rang out, but the bullets buried into the wall. Mario and Zeno exchanged glanced as the pace of the rounds slowed.
Mario nodded. They moved together and peered around the door. Each man fired four rounds before they fell back into their positions. One of the men inside reloaded.
“Only six. Piazza was counting on having his rat shoot us in the back,” Mario muttered. “I took out one.”
“I clipped another,” Zeno replied.
Mario readied his gun. Now that Piazza’s men knew their strategy, they’d conserve their bullets. On the don’s signal, Zeno moved with him, and the pair opened fire again.
“Three more down,” Mario said when they fell back again. His breathing was heavy, and he touched his lower left arm. His hand came away wet and red.
“Boss, get out of here. I can handle the bastards.”
Mario smiled despite the pain. “Piazza’s mine.” He launched out of hiding, and Zeno followed. A steady stream of bullets took the last two bodyguards out. They fell, dead before they hit the ground. Mario’s arm ached, but he knew his task wasn’t finished.
He mounted the stairs, taking a breath with every step. A bullet just missed him from the top of the stairs. Mario fired three rounds, saving his last two bullets.
When Mario reached the top of the stairs, he turned to see Piazza standing down the hall, in the bedroom door. Both men held their guns at the ready and stared, waiting for a sign of weakness from the other.
“Your rat’s dead, and two men killed all your guards.” Mario cocked his head. “Your wife and daughter will be fine.”
“You think you’ve killed me already.” Piazza chuckled. “The young prince is becoming a don, but you’re still green. Coming to a job like this?”
“This isn’t just a job.”
Piazza grinned. “Sentimental too. That was your father’s mistake. Didn’t Sicily teach you anything?”
Mario’s finger applied faint pressure to the trigger. “My father ruled this city.”
“But he was too sentimental, and he had the skills to make up for it.” Piazza smirked, obviously savoring every word. “You claim to be a don, but you’re little more than a glorified thug.”
Mario fired his last two bullets just as Piazza let off a round. Mario felt his left shoulder burn as Piazza fell, blood and brains spattered on the door.
“Riposa in pace, Alberto,” Mario said as he crossed himself.
He went back down the stairs and caught Zeno’s eye.
“I’ll clean up,” Zeno muttered. “Get to Henson.”
Mario gave a casual salute with his good arm before he left the bloody penthouse. He headed for the garage, planning the rest of his evening.
“You didn’t keep your promise.” Eleanor let Mario into her apartment as the bodyguards he’d assigned to her left.
“What?”
Her pale lips quirked into a faint smile at his expression. “You promised you’d come by tonight.”
Mario glanced at the clock and smiled. “Semantics.”
By the time he’d made it to her apartment after seeing Dr. Henson about the two bullets in his arm, it was after one in the morning.
Eleanor gave Mario a sisterly kiss on the cheek. “Zeno called.”
“It had to be done.”
“You got hurt.” She touched the sling on Mario’s left arm.
Mario shrugged and winced.
“Sit down,” Eleanor finally offered. “Do you want something to eat? Drink?”
“Something alcoholic?”
When Eleanor went into the kitchen, Mario settled onto the couch. She returned with a tumbler of scotch, and he took it gratefully.
“You’re a saint among sinners, El,” he said.
Eleanor rolled her eyes. “You can turn off the charm, Romeo.” Even as she said it, she laughed softly.
“More,” Mario went on, grinning. “An angel among devils.”
“Oh, just drink.”
“You don’t believe me?”
“You don’t believe yourself,” Eleanor teased.
Mario took a long drink of scotch. He sighed. “It’s over. This part, at least.”
Eleanor touched his hand. “They’d be proud of you, Mario.”
“There’s still a lot to do. My father’s death-”
“Everything really came crashing down.”
“If I want to fix things-”
“You will.”
“I have a lot to do.”
“You’re a Falcone.”
Mario smiled and kissed her cheek. He handed over his glass. “I have to go, manage the fallout. Take care.”
“You too.”
Mario watched Eleanor as she took the glass into the kitchen. He rose and turned. Before he left, he set the jewelry box on the coffee table.
(This story is strictly AU, applicable only to some posts at sixwordstories.)
-Gregory Maguire
Mario Falcone
Batman
2,041 words
“Eleanor Thorne.”
“El. Where are you?”
“Like you don’t know.”
“Are Aprile and Mesiti there?”
“Where else would they be?”
“I’m not taking any chances.”
“You’re paranoid.”
“You’re safe.”
“And you?”
“I’ll come by tonight. This ends now.”
“Mario.”
“I promise.”
Mario Falcone closed his cellphone before the woman on the other end could answer. He pocketed it and retrieved his carton of Black Russian cigarettes. He tapped the case against his palm before he pulled out a cigarette. The taste of tobacco was something of a relief even as he held it between his teeth. After getting out his lighter, Mario took a long drag of his cigarette.
Three breaths later, a car pulled up to the curb. The black, four-door sedan idled as Mario knelt down. He put the cigarette out on the pavement before he flicked the long butt into the gutter. A waste, he thought, but business called. He opened the back driver’s seat door and climbed in. Two men waited in the front seats.
“Boss,” the driver said in greeting. “Piece and package are under the seat.”
“Grazie.”
“Package?” The other passenger turned to look at the driver.
“Not your business, Portella,” the driver replied.
“How does it look, Zeno? Everything in place?” Mario reached under Zeno’s seat to retrieve the items.
“All set. Ray’s got Lucano, Campi, and their squads ready. Just need your call.”
Mario nodded. If Ray and Zeno were sure, he was sure. He admired the gun Zeno had gotten him. The sleek .22 already had the silencer attached. This was to be quick and silent. He set the gun aside, running his finger over where the serial number had been filed off. He picked up the small, long black box that had been with the gun. He touched the gold chain carefully. Four round diamonds, two on either side of the center broach, were flanked by small gold flowers. In the center was a gold rose, roughly the size of a woman’s fingertip. Another diamond, as large as the flower, hung from it. It was a marquise cut. Satisfied, Mario closed the box and set it aside.
“You should’ve left this to me and Zeno, Boss,” Portella said. “It’s gonna get ugly.”
“You think he don’t know that?” Zeno answered. “Who the hell do you think you’re talking to?”
“I’m just-”
“You’re just shuttin’ up.”
Mario was silent while they talked, but then he chuckled. “Thanks, Zeno, but it’s fine. He has a point.”
“You don’t ask a don to explain himself,” Zeno muttered.
“I let my friends handle my business affairs,” Mario replied, as if he had not heard Zeno. “This is business, but it’s also personal.” He touched the grip of the handgun. “I made a promise. Taken me a year to make good-”
“You had to wait. Let ‘em lower their guard.” Zeno met Mario’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “You were smart.”
Mario bowed his head at the older man’s words. “he’s had a year, but that son of a bitch is going to pay. Tonight.”
“Damn right,” Zeno agreed.
Portella cocked his head. “You’d you promise, Boss?”
Zeno made an aggravated sound.
Mario smile, the expression a mix of grief and indulgence. “I promised Eleanor that Alberto would be avenger before her mourning was over.”
He closed his eyes. Even the day after Alberto had been gunned down, Eleanor had been composed. Her wide brown eyes had been bloodshot, and tears had stood in them. Even so, she hadn’t cried in front of anyone. Three days later, she’d stayed at the cemetery after others had gone to the wake. Mario had stayed behind, having caught her eye during the service.
She’d held his gaze and put her hand on Alberto’s tombstone. Mario followed suit after taking a moment to look at her engagement ring on her other hand. He remembered Alberto’s grin when he’d talked about proposing.
‘Mario Falcone.’ She’d been so grave, so Sicilian-in spirit if not in blood. ‘Will you swear to me, on your brother’s grave, that you will take justice for Alberto?’
Mario had never cared for Italian women on the whole. Eleanor’s maternal grandmother had been Italian, and it showed in her dark coloring. Still, seeing her so angry, hurt, and determined, Mario understood exactly why his brother had loved her.
‘I swear.’
“Tonight,” Mario said aloud.
“Boss?” Portella glanced back.
“I’m going to keep my promise. Tonight.”
A Falcone man prided himself on keeping his word. It was a family tenant, impressed into every son of every generation. And a promise to a brother’s fidanzata? Especially made on a grave? That was sacred and unbreakable.
“Riso left a car for you, Boss,” Zeno said as he turned onto a side street. “Gray Buick. Keys are in the console.”
“Perfect.” Mario held out his hand. “Phone?”
Zeno handed him a cheap, disposable phone. Portella watched the exchange, and Mario smiled at him.
The sedan rolled into the parking garage. Zeno flashed the security guard a glimpse of the gun at his side, and the man raised the barrier.
Mario tapped Zeno on the shoulder, and the driver stopped when Mario’s window was even with the guard’s station. Mario rolled his window down slightly. He spoke calmly, “He who is deaf, blind, and silent will live a hundred years in peace.”
Zeno drove further into the garage. He parked on the third floor, the highest level available. The three riders left the car, and Mario tucked his handgun inside his jacket. He led the way to the connecting hallway.
“The elevator goes up to the tenth floor,” Mario said. “Most of Piazza’s men will be out, but he’ll still have some bodyguards there. Twelfth floor is where Piazza should be. His wife’s away with their daughter, so his mistress might be there.” He gave Zeno and Portella a hard look. “She is not to be harmed. At all.”
“Got it, Boss,” Zeno replied. Portella nodded.
Mario dialed a number on the cheap phone. When he heard the ringing stop, he said, “Go.” He clicked the phone off and gave it to Zeno before the group entered the building. They walked down the service hallway, and the maids all looked down. None of them wanted to be the one to claim she’d seen the strangers.
The trek to the tenth floor was uneventful, but Mario remained alert. He had not expected trouble, but the emptiness made him cautious. No one was out, going about their lives. He frowned but touched the grip of his gun to reassure himself. It was too late to go back now. His captains and their squads were striking at Piazza’s captains. A retreat now would be cowardice.
“We’re walking into an ambush,” Mario said as they reached the penthouse door.
“How would they know?” Zeno asked. Mario appreciated the fury in his eyes. It made things easier.
Mario drew his gun and turned. He fired two rounds into Portella’s head. As the body fell and blood pooled on the ground, Mario said, “Only idiots and rats ask that many questions.”
Zeno shook his head. “Shit. And I vouched for him.”
“Honest mistake,” Mario muttered. “Now. What do we do?” He didn’t wait to be answered, and the body on the ground wasn’t given another glance. “We’re facing ten, maybe more. They won’t have automatics, too loud.” He gave a humorless laugh. “What else can we do but go in with a bang?”
“Stay back,” Zeno said. He stepped forward and positioned himself by the door. Mario stood beside it, his back against the wall. Zeno used three kicked to break down the door. As it fell in, Zeno threw himself against the opposite side of the doorway.
Gunshots rang out, but the bullets buried into the wall. Mario and Zeno exchanged glanced as the pace of the rounds slowed.
Mario nodded. They moved together and peered around the door. Each man fired four rounds before they fell back into their positions. One of the men inside reloaded.
“Only six. Piazza was counting on having his rat shoot us in the back,” Mario muttered. “I took out one.”
“I clipped another,” Zeno replied.
Mario readied his gun. Now that Piazza’s men knew their strategy, they’d conserve their bullets. On the don’s signal, Zeno moved with him, and the pair opened fire again.
“Three more down,” Mario said when they fell back again. His breathing was heavy, and he touched his lower left arm. His hand came away wet and red.
“Boss, get out of here. I can handle the bastards.”
Mario smiled despite the pain. “Piazza’s mine.” He launched out of hiding, and Zeno followed. A steady stream of bullets took the last two bodyguards out. They fell, dead before they hit the ground. Mario’s arm ached, but he knew his task wasn’t finished.
He mounted the stairs, taking a breath with every step. A bullet just missed him from the top of the stairs. Mario fired three rounds, saving his last two bullets.
When Mario reached the top of the stairs, he turned to see Piazza standing down the hall, in the bedroom door. Both men held their guns at the ready and stared, waiting for a sign of weakness from the other.
“Your rat’s dead, and two men killed all your guards.” Mario cocked his head. “Your wife and daughter will be fine.”
“You think you’ve killed me already.” Piazza chuckled. “The young prince is becoming a don, but you’re still green. Coming to a job like this?”
“This isn’t just a job.”
Piazza grinned. “Sentimental too. That was your father’s mistake. Didn’t Sicily teach you anything?”
Mario’s finger applied faint pressure to the trigger. “My father ruled this city.”
“But he was too sentimental, and he had the skills to make up for it.” Piazza smirked, obviously savoring every word. “You claim to be a don, but you’re little more than a glorified thug.”
Mario fired his last two bullets just as Piazza let off a round. Mario felt his left shoulder burn as Piazza fell, blood and brains spattered on the door.
“Riposa in pace, Alberto,” Mario said as he crossed himself.
He went back down the stairs and caught Zeno’s eye.
“I’ll clean up,” Zeno muttered. “Get to Henson.”
Mario gave a casual salute with his good arm before he left the bloody penthouse. He headed for the garage, planning the rest of his evening.
“You didn’t keep your promise.” Eleanor let Mario into her apartment as the bodyguards he’d assigned to her left.
“What?”
Her pale lips quirked into a faint smile at his expression. “You promised you’d come by tonight.”
Mario glanced at the clock and smiled. “Semantics.”
By the time he’d made it to her apartment after seeing Dr. Henson about the two bullets in his arm, it was after one in the morning.
Eleanor gave Mario a sisterly kiss on the cheek. “Zeno called.”
“It had to be done.”
“You got hurt.” She touched the sling on Mario’s left arm.
Mario shrugged and winced.
“Sit down,” Eleanor finally offered. “Do you want something to eat? Drink?”
“Something alcoholic?”
When Eleanor went into the kitchen, Mario settled onto the couch. She returned with a tumbler of scotch, and he took it gratefully.
“You’re a saint among sinners, El,” he said.
Eleanor rolled her eyes. “You can turn off the charm, Romeo.” Even as she said it, she laughed softly.
“More,” Mario went on, grinning. “An angel among devils.”
“Oh, just drink.”
“You don’t believe me?”
“You don’t believe yourself,” Eleanor teased.
Mario took a long drink of scotch. He sighed. “It’s over. This part, at least.”
Eleanor touched his hand. “They’d be proud of you, Mario.”
“There’s still a lot to do. My father’s death-”
“Everything really came crashing down.”
“If I want to fix things-”
“You will.”
“I have a lot to do.”
“You’re a Falcone.”
Mario smiled and kissed her cheek. He handed over his glass. “I have to go, manage the fallout. Take care.”
“You too.”
Mario watched Eleanor as she took the glass into the kitchen. He rose and turned. Before he left, he set the jewelry box on the coffee table.
(This story is strictly AU, applicable only to some posts at sixwordstories.)