Chapter 106: Chapter One Hundred and Six

"Damn, I think you've finally met your match, Frank," Accardi said, his voice low.

“She won’t do it,” Conor said, his rifle trained out the window.

Frankie continued to struggle in Leo’s hold. The sound of his harsh breathing against Leo’s palm was the only noise within the kitchen. He narrowed his eyes at Leo and kicked, only for Leo to avoid the hit. Accardi cocked his rifle.

“What’s going on?” Marge asked, twisting her fingers together.

“They’re deciding,” Accardi said softly.

“Deciding what?” Marge asked.

“The same thing we are,” Conor said.

“If she really has the nerve to do it.”

There was one person in the room who knew. He knew her more than anyone on the planet. He also knew the Rubanov family and the men’s devotion to their Pakhan. He knew this would only end one way. Frankie had to act. He tried again to clock Leo in the nuts. He had learned from the last three attempts exactly how he would move to counter. As Leo shifted, Frankie shoved against the motion. Leo’s eyes widened as Frankie got enough space to reach the knife secured to his chest. He pulled it away, flipped it in his hand and plunged it into Leo’s abdomen, away from any vital organs. Leo grunted. Frankie cocked his fist back and slammed it into Leo’s face before kicking him in the gut to make sure he stayed down long enough.

Frankie didn’t waste time he knew he didn’t have. He took the few steps toward the window. He deflected Conor’s unpracticed jabs, caught him twice in the abdomen with his fists, pulled the rifle and its strap over his head as he was bent over and plowed the butt of it into his nose when he dared look back up. Frankie raised the rifle and stared down the sight at the spot between Accardi’s eyes. Accardi didn’t get in the way though. He merely stepped aside, allowing Frankie the space to pivot, aim and fire.

“Down!” Accardi yelled a moment before a hailstorm of gunfire peppered the house.

The windows shattered. Glass rained down on the linoleum. Marge screamed as Frank Senior shielded her head. Frankie Junior, however, didn’t cower. He was far too furious for that. He threw the door open, raised the rifle to his shoulder and started firing.

“Cover him!” Accardi’s voice came over the melee.

Frankie walked across the porch, taking down each person his sight settled on with two shots to the chest and one to the head. He didn’t notice the reinforcements had arrived. He didn’t notice they were swarming the backyard, taking out snipers and setting up a perimeter. He didn’t hear his father calling out for Frankie to get down. His focus was singular: the woman he’d shot in the leg two minutes earlier, reaching for her gun.

The rifle in his arm clicked. He snarled and threw it aside. He pulled two handguns from his holsters and started taking out two men at once. Gloria looked up. Her eyes widened at his expression. She scooted back away from his wrath. Frankie raised the gun in his right hand and fired into the grass behind her, stalling her movement. She raised her bloody hands in the air, and he felt the grip on his gun tighten to the point where the metal cut into his palm. By the time he reached her, he needed more ammunition, so he threw those two guns aside as well. With his left hand, he reached for his third handgun while his right reached down, grabbed a fistful of her dress and hauled her up.

Bullets whizzed past his head as he lifted her to his eye level. He wanted to scream in her face. He wanted to shake her. He wanted to put another bullet in her so she would learn her fucking lesson. The emotion in his throat prevented the first thing. The adrenaline pumping through his veins along with the stress on his bones from his muscles being clamped tight prevented the second. The lack of ammunition remaining on his person prevented the third idea. So instead, he released her. Gloria dropped to the ground. He bent at the waist, wrapped an arm around her legs and threw her over his shoulder.

Gloria cried out as his fingers dug into the through and through bullet wound he’d put in her thigh. Rather than move his hand, he gripped tighter to drive the point home. Then Frankie pivoted, raised his gun up and started back toward the house. A moment later his father ran past him, no doubt to grab Nora from the ground. Frankie didn’t look. His eyes were busy maneuvering the yard, separating friend from foe and eliminating the latter with proficiency and a deadly dissociation that came from working this job for too many years.

Conor had the door open for him before he could reach it. Blood trailed down over his lips but his eyes were cast around the yard, taking in the scene. Frankie walked through the door and yelled that he needed more ammunition.

“I need someone up front!” Accardi yelled.

Leo threw Frankie a box of ammo. Frankie didn’t break stride. He walked through the hallway toward the front of the house. At the first of two doors leading into the living room, he stepped inside, dropped Gloria on the couch and strode toward the window beside Accardi. Frank Senior shouted as he ran through the house toward the dining room on the other side of the hallway. The out-of-place sound of an M1 Garand ricocheted through the house. Frankie placed the box of bullets on the table beside him, reloaded and took aim.

“I got the ones to the right!” Frank Senior bellowed.

“What does it look like back there?” Accardi asked over the ringing in his ears.

Frankie didn’t answer. He was focused on his breathing. Inhale: two, three, four, five, six, seven shots. Exhale two, three, four, five, six, seven shots. Inhale: drop magazine, reload. Exhale: shove magazine back in, take aim. Inhale: two, three, four, five, six, seven shots.

“Frankie!” Accardi shouted.

Exhale: two, three, four, five, six, seven shots. Inhale: drop magazine, reload. Exhale: shove magazine back in, take aim. Inhale: two, three, four, five, six, seven shots.

“Frankie!” Accardi yelled, knocking him on the shoulder.

Inhale: pivot, put finger on the trigger.

Accardi knocked Frankie’s hand and a single round hit the ceiling. Pain scorched across Frankie’s face and he hit the ground hard. The ringing in his ears changed in pitch. He blinked up at the Don wavering above him. Leo came up then, bleeding from multiple orifices. He spat blood on the ground near Frankie’s face.

If you’d waited two more seconds, I would have given him his just desserts, Leo mouthed.

If I’d waited two more seconds, our own men would have started dropping and they’d be without a Don, Accardi mouthed in response.

The fuck is wrong with him? Conor’s lips moved.

Got too focused, Accardi mouthed, putting his hands on hips and shaking his head. Happens to him sometimes in the heat of the moment. Never had to knock him out of it before, though.

That’s usually my job, Leo informed Conor.

How long is he going to lie there like that? Conor asked.

Leo shrugged. Usually takes a few minutes. Been getting worse and worse though. Too many knocks to the head. Let’s see how out of it he really was… Leo knelt down. I’m going to fuck you up for stabbing me, asshole. Frankie raised a shaky finger to flick him off. Leo smirked. What’s the count, Frank?

He still does that? Conor asked.

What count? Frank Senior asked, stepping up to the circle of men staring down at him.

Frankie smirked, raised his hands and made the ASL sign for ‘thirty-eight.’

Leo scoffed and Frankie realized the ringing in his ears was dulling. “Thirty-eight my ass,” Leo said, Frankie able to hear the latter part of.

Frankie readjusted his jaw. Leo stood and Accardi held his hand down to help him up. “Is it done?” Frankie asked, stumbling slightly. Accardi wrapped an arm under him and deposited him into the closest armchair.

“Yeah, our guys are rounding up the Russians that have surrendered,” Accardi said, clicking his tongue as he noticed the blood soaking into Frankie’s clothing.

Sirens wailed in the distance, telling him the cops were able to move inward and it was safe enough for emergency vehicles. Accardi would be shelling out a pretty penny to keep the media quiet. Accardi pulled off Frankie’s vest and took the knife Leo offered to split Frankie’s shirt open. Frankie hissed while Conor and Leo made faces of sympathetic pain.

“Jesus, son,” Frank Senior said, his face looking pale as his gaze looked over the exposed skin.

“What?” Frankie asked.

“Thirty-eight is impressive. Not as much as four…”

“Six. Look at his leg,” Leo added helpfully.

“Six bullet holes,” Accardi finished.

“What? No,” Frankie guffawed, until he looked down. “Oh, shit.”

“You don’t feel that?” Conor asked, poking one of the holes in Frankie’s arm.

Frankie hissed through clenched teeth and swatted Conor’s hand away, which only made him wince worse as the adrenaline slowly faded.

“I must admit, I’ve never seen you that focused,” Accardi remarked.

“You did good, Frankie J,” Frank Senior said, propping himself up with his gun.

“I didn’t have much of a choice, now did I?” Frankie asked, for the first time glancing over to the couch where a pale Gloria returned his look of hatred tenfold.