Page 26 of Dangerous Games

NANETTE

Isit on a bench surrounded by flowers, wisteria in bloom dangling from the arbor, peonies and lilies cloaking the small garden oasis in bright colors and scents. But I’m tormented. Dominic has no idea what he’s done to me, what he opened up when he stole my power from me. I’ve barely slept. I haven’t eaten a bite. Nightmares keep me awake at night, and flashbacks keep me terrified during the day.

I stare into the fountain, water splashing at my feet occasionally as the breeze picks it up and tosses it at me. I’m numb, paralyzed with the same emotion I learned to stuff away more than a decade ago, but it’s all back now. Like he uncorked a bottle of champagne after having shaken it up. Nothing is safe, not even sleep anymore. And Jimmy… I’ve asked Dominic several times how my brother is, but he doesn’t answer. It’s like he’s trying to forget where I came from. Like he’s traded me and my trauma for his mother and hers. I am now a substitute for the pain he endured in his life, and he controls everything I do in the hopes that he can stop something from happening to me.

All he did was make it worse. I was fine. I was coping without his interference, and now because he knows, because he’s had the gall to announce his knowledge of my past, I’m trapped.

I close my eyes, trying to push away the racing thoughts, but as I do I see red. Only red. The blood pours from Jimmy’s chest. It’s on his hands, on his clothing. It streams down around him into a puddle of more blood on the carpet beneath him, his life force slowly soaking into the Berber of Gallagher’s office. I hover over him, also caked in blood, screaming his name.

“Jimmy! Please, someone!” I cradle his head, watching him bleed out. He’s here in my arms but I feel lost, like he’s going to die and there is nothing I can do to save him. Gallagher stands over me with a gun in hand, still smoking.

“Your brother got a little too feisty, Nanette. You need to warn him of what I’m capable of doing to him. My sort of money and power don’t come cheap and I make friends too, lots of them. Jimmy is going to regret this.” He holds his cheek, right where Jimmy punched him.

I feel such unchecked hatred wash over me. I want to rip Gallagher apart with my hands, making him pay for the crime he committed against Jimmy. However, there's nothing I can do; no matter how hard I try, there's no way around his strength and power.

The room is spattered with blood. Jimmy is slumped on the floor, a pool of red forming around his chest wound. I squeeze my pocket handkerchief in my clenched fist as I crouch by him and press the fabric onto the wound, but it does nothing; it only soaks up the scarlet liquid within seconds. I'm shaking, breaths coming out in sharp pants as I frantically search for a way to save Jimmy, yet all options seem lost.

Gallagher stands there with a twisted smile, taking delight in my desperation and misery. I open my mouth for an angry retort—pleading for his mercy—but abruptly stop myself; he has already made up his mind, and death was what awaited Jimmy regardless of anything else. He wants Jimmy to suffer.

“You monster!” I scream at Gallagher. I hate him. I hate his office; I hate his face. I want him to die, not Jimmy. I glare at Gallagher, his face twisted in a contemptuous sneer, as if he's relishing this moment. I can't bring myself to speak, my anger pulsing through me like electricity, and my body shaking with rage.

He calls someone on his phone, mumbles something into the receiver and leaves. I sit there, naked, with Gallagher’s body fluid still leaking out of me, while Jimmy is dying. I sob harder, wishing I could stop this. My brother needs me. He tried to defend my honor, protect me from this sick bastard, and this is what happened? Yes, Jimmy had a knife, but he didn’t use it. He only punched the man, and now he could die.

“Please help!” It seems like hours pass. I have no concept of time. I only watch the blood pool grow, spreading beneath both of us now. There is a hole in Jimmy’s stomach. I plug it with my finger. “Please, Jimmy, don’t leave me.” I plead with him to stay, even as his eyes flutter shut. Mom and Dad left; he’s all I have. I can’t lose him.

“Nanette?” I hear Dominic’s voice call me and instantly I sober. I wipe my eyes, hoping he hasn’t seen me crying, and I sit straighter on the stone bench. The garden has been my refuge for the past few days rain or shine. He knows I’m here; he’s the one who told me to come here. He said it helps him think straight. All it’s done for me is to remind me of how much I want to leave this place, find Jimmy, be safe again.

“Nan?”

“Here,” I call, squirming. I sniffle quietly and wipe my eyes one more time just as Dominic rounds the corner.

He pauses, watching me. A look of angst crosses his features, disapproval maybe or perhaps frustration? He can’t possibly think I’m okay, not with what he knows about me. Not after he stole my power. I explained this to him, but he still expects me to swallow the trauma and be alright, or maybe he just doesn’t know how to help. Maybe watching his mother suffer for so long before she killed herself left him feeling as powerless to help me as I feel about helping myself.

He walks over and sits on the bench next to me, staring at the fountain. The small cherubs out of whose mouths the water flows seem to taunt us, provoking memories I don’t want, though I can’t speak for Dominic.

“Jimmy discovered the person who is at the heart of this attack on my life. I have to play my cards right, or rather he does.” He talks to me as if I’m his confidant, someone he can place trust in. This is new to me. “He says it’s one of two people, and I have a feeling I know who.”

“What are you going to do?” I ask, keeping my gaze trained on the water-spewing cherubs. Their white stone eyes penetrate my thoughts, prying me apart as if inside of me I hold the key to making them alive.

“I’m going to find out who it is and I’m going to kill them.”

I look away from the fountain, turning to Dominic who keeps his eyes facing forward. “It is what I have to do.”

I swallow hard. I knew he was a killer; I just didn’t think he would be so open to confess to me. Maybe it’s because I’ve seen him, the room, his scar. He feels vulnerable with me too. It makes me wonder what the hell is happening. Why is the most powerful man in organized crime confiding in me? Who am I to him?

“How can you be so cold, so calculated?”

His eyes turn to meet mine and he stares at me, a haunting, empty stare. All I see is anger and pain in those eyes. They’ve witnessed things, done unspeakable atrocities, and yet I’m not afraid now.

“Someone raped my mother, Nanette.” His jaw clenches and his nostrils flare. Then he continues. “I tried to stop them. I did what I could, but I was only a boy. The scar… he did that to me.”

I remember the scar on his chest. It looked like whoever had cut him had nearly sawn him in half. It is an awful wound, and I can only imagine how badly it hurt, how much blood there was. It looked far worse than the wound Jimmy got. I say nothing and he continues his story.

“Months went by, and she never left her room. Months turned into years. Her pain was too much, too great. The attack was retribution from one of my father’s enemies, or so I was told. Until recently I still believed that. I was ruthless, watching over the family business to ensure we buried any of our enemies who rose up.” His head drops and I look away, ashamed to witness his grief like this.

“She killed herself, Nanette. The torment of what happened was too much. She couldn’t process it. And I am the one who found her there. I used to go read to her, magazines, stories, even medical journals. Then she was gone, and I was alone.” Dominic stands and walks across the path, gently touching a vine of wisteria.

“I’m sorry that happened.” I don’t know what else to say. I know the pain his mother endured. I live it out every night in my nightmares, worse now than before I met him, but every night all the same. I’ve watched him agonize for several days now, tormented by the revelation he has now shared with me, that he may know who is behind his mother’s attack and the one planned for him. I understand that torture, and something inside of me drives me to my feet. I walk over to him and stand next to him, watching the bees flutter around the violet-colored flowers.

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