“What?” Enzo asked, the corners of his eyes trained on Michelle as he started to reach for his gun once more. Michelle made no effort stop him, and Angelo’s recovered stance slumped slowly even as he spoke fast.
“I… oh, God. How could I…?”
“Pop, why don’t you want me to go back to the restaurant?”
Michelle tensed as Angelo looked from between Enzo and Frankie and finally settled on his daughter’s gaze.
“Because the whole place is about to be torched,” Angelo confessed. “I wanted you home, so you’d be out of harm’s away.”
“Pop, are you serious?”
“It’s for the insurance money,” he admitted. “We’ll get our cut. Most of it will go to Fiorenza.”
And this was her father? Michelle could hardly comprehend what was happening, and she suddenly, fully understood why he called her home. He wanted her out of the kitchen before the big bang, and it would be a noble move were it not for…
“But Rodolfo is still there!”
Michelle could think of nothing else as she charged out of the apartment and took the stairs two at a time. She nearly made her way back to the street, debating the merits of another subway trip or a cab ride when she felt a familiar hand on her arm. Enzo.
“Why the hell are you still here?” she snapped. She saw Enzo starting to explain himself when she flicked his hand away. “No. You thought I was complicit.”
“I… maybe I was wrong.”
“Maybe?”
“Fine. I was wrong. But if anything, what your father is saying it’s true.”
“No, I think it’s all true.”
“Okay,” Enzo said, seemingly trying to calm her with the sound of his voice. “So, let me come with you so I can help.”
Only a few hours ago, she would have wanted no one else at her side for the war ahead. But he had expressed his doubts. He had shown his true colors in disquieting chromatics.
“I’m better off on my own,” she said, managing to hail a cab and leave his side. Her only thought was getting back to the restaurant before the worst came to pass.
9
Michelle told the cabbie to step on it as she reached for her phone and franticly tried to contact Rodolfo. She immediately doubted her decision to take a cab instead of the subway. Too late now. Her call went straight to voicemail, and she resorted to texting, calling a second time, another series of texts.
Nothing.
Would he be aware of the fire before it started to engulf the restaurant? Maybe he would have stepped outside for a break. Seeing trouble, he would take off and try to find the nearest cop on a beat.
No.
Knowing Rodolfo through the years, she thought that he would be more than likely to fight the fire with a fling of the cloth usually pressed over his shoulder and pots of cold water flung in the direction of the flames. Would he succeed in stopping the blaze? Was that much even possible?
Or did someone shadowy already slip through the backdoor and knock him out cold before the gasoline was spilled every which way and the match was struck? That scenario chilled her, and she tried calling him again when the cabbie arrived at the appointed destination in record time.
“Here we are,” the mustached man said in a lazy voice. “That’ll be—”
“Thanks,” Michelle said, reaching into her pocket for a twenty-dollar-bill and pressing it into the driver’s meaty hand. “Keep the change.”
She hardly heard the cabbie thank her as she raced toward the restaurant. To her relief, the structure still stood, and there was no smoke drifting through the windows. Maybe she still had enough time to warn her friend of the danger, and she burst through the back door. Her eyes furiously scanned the kitchen, and she called out for Rodolfo…
…only to be met by silence.
“Rodolfo!”
Still nothing. Michelle noticed empty pans sitting atop the range and saw a cutting board covered by an onion not yet fully chopped. Her attention turned to a knife left discarded on the ground, and she moved fast to retrieve the weapon, tensing as she ventured toward the back office. She could hear someone stirring within, and she gripped the handle tighter, and figuratively kicked herself. Had she been somewhat stealthier upon entering, she might have had the element of surprise on her side. Lacking that, the only choice left was to burst through the door, which she did with the knife raised and ready to slash.
“Rodolfo?”
She found her sous chef bound, gagged, and on the ground. His eyes went wide at the sight of her.
Falling to her knees, Michelle used the knife to slash his bonds, and she carefully helped him back to his feet.
“Mich,” he started, coughing before he could spit the rest of his words out. “There’s trouble. The place is about to go up in smoke. I…”
He started hacking again.
“I know,” she assured him. “Come on. We have to get out of—”
“They caught me by surprise,” Rodolfo choked out. “I could hear them…”
His voice gave out again as Michelle led him back to the kitchen. Nothing looked disturbed. Maybe the plan was to leave Rodolfo and then come back to light the torches. She had no desire to wait and find out when the stove started to spark, followed by the refrigerator and the overhead lights.
“Son of a bitch,” she hissed.
“They… they said they were going to do something with the wiring,” Rodolfo said. “Mich, I’m sorry that I—”
“It’s not your fault. Just keep moving.”
She nearly had him out the backdoor when they were met in the alleyway by two men, one wearing a telltale eyepatch.
“Joey Lupo,” Michelle said, keeping the knife close to her side.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he asked. “Your Pop was supposed to get you out of town.”
“What?” Rodolfo asked, his breath giving out again before he had no choice but to lean against Michelle to keep from falling. “What is he talking about, Mich?
She looked to her sous chef, her friend, and confessed in a low whisper, “He’s not lying. My dad okayed this.”
She watched Rodolfo process the information and wondered if he would turn away from her and lash out… because her father’s cowardice had nearly gotten him killed.
“Why did you even come back?”
Those words came from Lupo. Another spark fired from inside the restaurant, and Michelle started to lead Rodolfo away from the threat when Lupo pulled out his gun.
“Guess it’s because you’re even a bigger fool than he is,” Lupo said with a smirk. “I think you best both get back inside.”
“Why?” Michelle asked.
“Ashes don’t tell tales,” Lupo said. “Now get back inside.”
She held her breath and waited until Lupo was close enough to smell. Only then did she pull her knife out to charge at him, her first thought to go for his good eye and blind him for good and all.
“You little…!”
Michelle got one slash in across the man’s cheek when he took hold of her wrist and started to wrestle her to the ground.
“Don’t!”
She struggled to keep the knife in her hand as Lupo lowered her to the ground. He wrestled the knife out of her grasp, which he proceeded to point right between her eyes.