Page 633 of Not Over You

Those were the last words I heard as I hustled to get outside of the building. Sebastiano was still on the ground, but Norah was gone. All that was left of her was a blood stain where she’d been. I turned the corner and headed toward the door. It was open, and three of the fires were already blazing. They lit the inside of the room with a hellish glow. The fourth one, big enough to fit a person, was out.

My wife sat in a wooden chair, blood streaming from the front of her head. It ran down her face and into her half-opened eyes. It mixed with the sweat that was making her hair stick to her skin. The temperature matched the hellish glow. Her hands were bound behind her back, and her feet were tied. Tape was over her mouth.

“She fell into the bricks,” The Head said, pointing his gun at me, a clear message to stop where I was. “Isn’t that unfortunate?” He ticked his mouth.

Gallo stood with his back to the wall, arms crossed. “Nice place, but it really needs an updated look. A little insurance money would fix that. I mean, with all these ovens and all, there’s bound to be a fire…” He smirked at me. “You got the proof?”

A man stepped out of the darkness from the corner. One of Gallo’s crew. No doubt a few of them waited down the street in cars. Ready to roll at the command.

“Set your gun down,” he said. “Kick it toward me.”

After he got my piece, he started patting me down. Satisfied I had nothing else, he moved closer to Gallo.

“This is between us. My wife has no reason to be here.”

“Hey, Head, his wife has no reason to be here. You hear that?”

“I heard that,” The Head said. He tucked the barrel of the gun under Lucila’s chin, making her head rise. “You hear that sweetheart? Your husband says you have no reason to be here. When he’s the reason you’re here.”

She moved her face, like a woman does when she doesn’t want a man to kiss her. The disrespect was clear. The look on his face changed at once. He dug the barrel into her skin, forcing her chin up even higher.

When I moved, Gallo snapped at his trigger man, “Step away, Head.”

“Whatever you want, Boss.” He smiled, doing as he was told.

“The proof, Shadow Man,” Gallo said, standing straight. “Now.”

“You talk to Shawna about the proof?”

“Yeah, she said to talk to you. You had it. And if we killed her or her sister, you’d take it live. To that bitch who works for Vice.” He laughed. “I knew better. About you taking it to her. You wouldn’t do something like that. You had the proof before?” He shrugged. “Messina would already have it and I’d be dead. I don’t plan on dying, so give it to me, or you’ll be scraping your wife’s ashes out of the oven and putting them in a jar.”

“Even if I have it, you’re not getting it,” I said. “Not until you let my wife go.” I was fuckin’ around with him until I could get them in position for Michele to start shooting. There was no way he was considering letting either of us go. And after he was done with us, he’d move on to Michele.

“You makin’ demands? Head!”

The Head picked Lucila up and slid her into the oven like she weighed nothing. Gallo moved closer to the wall that controlled the fires.

“You fuckin’ bum!” I yelled, rushing toward him.

The place erupted into gunfire. Gallo and the third man started shooting, but their shots were going wild. They hadn’t expected Michele to start shooting from the steps. A third shooter had come in from the door outside. Aren. His head was wrapped in a bloody bandage.

Bags of sugar and flour were exploding, the flour dusting the air, coating everything. It was getting into my eyes as I hit The Head with enough speed to send us into the bricks. Bullets seemed like they were whistling past, coming out of the darkness, pinging against everything.

“Light her up!” Gallo screamed, trying to take cover behind some racks. Racks that were closer to the door.

We’d hit the floor and were rolling, equally matched in strength. When I got on top of him again, I took him by the shirt and slammed his head into the floor. But I had no idea where the third shooter was, or if Gallo was going to try to light the big oven himself. Leaving The Head on the floor, I went to move toward Lucila, but he got back up and jumped on my back. He got me around the throat with his arm. I kept moving, refusing to stop.

Her cries were muffled from under the tape, and she was kicking, trying to wiggle her way out of the oven. I took her by the feet and yanked her out just as the fires came to life around her in a whoosh! that felt like it singed my face and hair. I dropped her to the floor, my vision starting to get blurry. I teetered like a drunk, until I slammed my back against the wall, hitting him repeatedly.

Finally, he let go some and I was able to slam my head back and catch him in the face. On instinct, he went to reach for his nose. I spun around, took him by the hair, and slammed his head into the wall. Over and over, until a hand squeezed my shoulder.

“It’s done,” Aren said. “Let him go.”

Reality set back in then. The air had cleared. My wife was on the floor, sitting up, her eyes wide, looking straight at me. Michele held on to the steps, blood running down his shoulder, the flour absorbing it. We were all coated in it. It was sticking to all our wounds.

The third man was down. The Head was down. Gallo was gone. The place was dead silent, except for the hiss of the flames.

Lucila made a noise in her throat, half whimper, half sob, and I went to her, falling on my knees in front of her.

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