Chapter 73: Chapter Seventy-Three

Frankie’s phone buzzed and lit up on the nightstand beside him. Gloria stirred. She sighed and stretched her arms and legs, curling her naked body further into him. He reached for his phone as she rubbed her cheek against his pec. The phone screen blinded him as he opened the message.

Accardi: Got your man. Meet me at the Box. Now.

Frankie sighed, lifting Gloria’s body upward with his breath. He sent Matteo a thumbs-up before setting the phone back down on the nightstand. Frankie ran the tips of his fingers along her bare arm and watched, mesmerized, as goosebumps followed in their wake. He carefully maneuvered her body so he could get out from under her. She mumbled under her breath in Russian as she curled back into the pillow he used to replace his body. He dressed quickly and left a note on the nightstand for her to find. He kissed her forehead and got ready to go to work.

Before he left the apartment, he visited his own version of Accardi’s Box. He undid the locks and swung the door open. The shrimp tied to the chair lifted his head with great difficulty. Frankie leaned his shoulder against the door jamb and crossed his arms. He’d learned his lesson with the last man he’d left tied up in his room for over a week. An IV was inserted into this one’s arm, keeping him alive… but barely.

“How are you feeling, cupcake?” Frankie asked.

The twig of a man sighed and dropped his head down.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Frankie said, pushing off the door jamb and taking a few steps forward. “You know, it intrigued me how you were the one to knock her around. All those beefcakes and yet you got the upper hand?”

“Leave me alone,” the boy said weakly.

“Not a chance, cupcake. You hit my woman. I’m nowhere near done with you. Now, don’t interrupt me again or you’ll regret it, mmkay?” Frankie waited to see if he would give him the pleasure of making good on his threat. “Anyway, your bravado struck a chord with me. None of Sergei’s men were dumb enough to lay a hand on her, why would you?”

The boy lifted his head, and Frankie watched his jaw tick in aggravation. It was clear he was having a hard time keeping his mouth shut. Knowing who he was now, it made sense. He wasn’t used to being talked down to, but he knew enough not to talk back to Frankie Donati.

“Then it hit me.” Frankie leaned forward so he was only a few inches from the whelp. “Because you’re not one of Sergei’s men… Are you?” The boy kept his lips sealed, but Frankie could hear the grinding of his teeth, signalling the growing irritation festering under the surface. Frankie chuckled. “That’s alright you don’t need to say anything. I know you aren’t. Neither is your father.”

The boy’s dark eyes cut to him. “You don’t know shit.”

Frankie laughed through his nose. “I know your father is Aleksander Gromov.” The boy’s pupils dilated and his breathing stalled. “That got your attention, didn’t it?”

“Congratulations,” the boy spat. “You have a brain cell. The information does no good, anyway. He won’t ransom me. He won’t give a shit.”

“You have so little faith in your old man, Dimitry?” Frankie asked.

Dimitry sat straighter in his seat, trying and failing to show bravado.

“I don’t. In fact, I think if he were to find out his only son had gotten himself into trouble, he’d go to the ends of the earth to find him and bring him home to rest easy against his mother’s bosom.”

Dimitry rotated his shoulders to hide his unease.

“Do you know how I know that, Dimitry?” Frankie taunted. Those dark eyes swiveled to him. “Cause he did travel to the ends of the earth and fell right into the lap of the most dangerous Don in the country. And now? Now it’s time for a little family reunion.”

Frankie reached forward, gripped the IV, and yanked. As Dimitry gasped in pain, Frankie cocked his fist back and slammed it against the fucker’s jaw, knocking him unconscious. Frankie looked down at the useless boy, barely eighteen, who looked even younger passed out, and shook his head. He undid the restraints and threw Dimitry onto a rolling cart that he normally used to haul equipment up from his car. He whistled to himself as he wheeled the body-laden cart to the elevator. In the lobby, he threw a distracted wave at Juniper whose widened eyes followed him toward the elevator that would take him down to the garage. It was far from the worst thing she’d witnessed Frankie wheeling out of his apartment in the middle of the night.

Nearly twenty minutes later, Frankie pulled up in front of the Box where Leo, Thomas and Don were waiting for him, smoking cigarettes.

“Heyo, boys,” Frankie greeted as he slammed the door shut. “Grab the body and bring it inside, would you, Tommy?” Thomas flicked his cigarette away and went for the car door. Frankie gripped his shoulder before he could open it. “Don’t bring it in until I give the signal.” He patted Thomas one time on the back before walking inside.

He found Accardi lounging on the couch in the back room with his eyes closed and the arm not bound in a sling stretched across the backrest. His fingers tapped against the fabric, and his knuckles were freshly bruised and bleeding.

“I thought I asked you to leave him for me?” Frankie said with a chuckle as he kicked Accardi’s Italian loafers.

The fingers dancing along the couch did not stop. “I haven’t had nicotine in eleven days and the fucker asked for a damn cigarette.” Accardi’s eyes peeled open and his head fell forward. “He’s lucky to still be breathing.”

“You understand that puts a wrinkle in my plans?” Frankie asked, going to the monitor that displayed the man inside the deep freezer.

“Excuse me?” Accardi growled, his annoyance palpable.

“Easy, big fella,” Frankie said, turning to watch the Don try to get up off the couch with one arm bound. “It’s a joke.”

“I’m not fucking laughing.”

“Jesus Christ, man, get a fucking patch or something.”

Accardi’s eyes narrowed impossibly further as he pulled up his sleeve, exposing not one, but five nicotine patches.

Frankie couldn’t help it, a laugh burst through his lips. “That’s what you get for smoking more than a chimney at a wood-fired pizza joint.”

“Do you ever shut up?” Matteo growled as his brow pinched together in obvious discomfort.

“Not when it gets me this kind of reaction.”

“Can we get this over with?”

“Where’s Conor?” Frankie asked as they both walked toward the freezer door.

“Few minutes out.”

Accardi opened the door and Aleksander Gromov glared at them through one swollen eye and one cut eyelid. Aleksander took no time spitting at Frankie’s feet.

“YA dolzhen byl dogadat'sya, chto za etim stoish' ty, ital'yanskiy pos! –I should have known you were behind this, you Italian bastard!–” Aleksander hissed.

“Priyatno videt' vas snova, Gromov. –It’s nice to see you again, Gromov.–” Frankie said, widening his stance and crossing his arms over his chest.

“YA skazal Ivan, chto on dolzhen byl tebya ubit'. –I told Ivan he should have killed you.–” Gromov spat.

“Zhal' yego. No eto blago dlya yego docheri. –Pity for him. Blessing for his daughter.–” Frankie said with a proud grin.

Gromov sneered at him. “On znayet, chto ty nadelal. Na etot raz tebe ne udastsya legko otdelat'sya. Osobenno posle smerti Ana. –He knows what you’ve done. You won’t get off easy this time. Not with Ana dead.–”

“Mne uzhe ne chetyrnadtsat' let. Na etot raz mne ne ponadobitsya angel-khranitel'. Osobenno s takoy krasotkoy ryadom. –I’m not fourteen anymore. I won’t need my guardian angel this time. Not with a vixen on my arm.–” Frankie said with a smirk that made Gromov’s eyes narrow and a brow lift.

The door opened behind them, and they all looked at the newcomer. Conor nodded as he stepped inside, carrying a small briefcase.

“This the guy?” he asked with a nod toward Gromov as he set the briefcase down on the metal table.

“Conor Galante, Aleksander Gromov, Ivan Rubanov’s enforcer and good ole boy,” Frankie said, making introductions. “He’s not the one we’ll be injecting today, though.”

Frankie looked up at the camera, raised his hand, and gestured forward with his fingers. A moment later the door opened again, and Thomas unceremoniously dumped Dimitry’s body on the floor. Gromov flinched in his chair at the sight of his son beaten unconscious and wasting away.

“I didn’t recognize him at first,” Frankie said, kicking Dimitry slightly as though he were a sack of flour. “Of course, the last time I saw him he was, what, six months old?”

“YA tebya, blyat', ub'yu. –I’ll fucking kill you!–” Gromov threatened with a hiss.

Both Conor and Matteo snickered, the first sign that either understood what the Russian said.

“Vstan'te v ochered'. –Get in line.–” Matteo chuckled.

“Odnako preduprezhdayem, pered vami mnogo lyudey. –We’ll warn you though, there are a lot of people in front of you.–” Conor added, holding up the device Frankie had requested with a pair of tweezers.

“Is that it?” Frankie asked, stepping up beside Conor to get a better look at the device. Conor pursed his lips and nodded. “Shiny.”

Conor’s lips pulled upward into a sinister smile. “Not for long.”

“A tracker? Really? What the fuck do you plan to do with that?” Gromov asked.

“It’s no tracker,” Frankie assured him. “It’s a new little device my friend, Conor here, has developed, and it’s going to take its maiden voyage in your boy’s bloodstream.” Frankie illustrated by taking the device from Conor and gliding it through the air in slow, even strokes while trilling air through his lips as though he were a five-year-old playing with his first paper airplane.

“Give me that, are you insane? Do you want it to go off in your hand?” Conor asked, carefully taking the device back with a steady hand and a pair of tweezers.

“What are you up to, Donati?” Gromov asked, his bravado diminishing. “I won’t help you. I won’t go against my boss.”

“I think you will,” Frankie said, stepping forward and placing his palms on the two armrests of the decommissioned electric chair Gromov was strapped to. “I think you’re one of the few men in this industry who still puts his own family over his boss' ambitions. I think you’ll do exactly as I say.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Cause if you don’t…” Frankie said, stepping back so Gromov could watch Conor place the device in a syringe and fill the syringe with saline solution. Then they all watched as Conor squatted down and inserted the syringe into the unconscious boy’s neck. Conor gave Frankie a nod that it was done. He then stood and handed a small object that looked similar to a key fob to Frankie. The fob blinked a slow red, indicating the device had been activated. Frankie looked back at Gromov. He held the fob up between his thumb and index finger. “I press this and end your little boy’s life.”

Gromov’s tongue snaked out and wet his lips. His eyes jerked to Conor, whose back was turned as he looked for something else in his briefcase.

“You’re bluffing,” Gromov hissed.

“Conor? I think Mr. Gromov needs a demonstration,” Frankie mused.

Conor lifted another device, a replica of the first. He placed it on the table, grabbed his briefcase, and took a few steps back. He held up a secondary fob and clicked it. Less than a second later, the small device exploded. It wasn’t anything impressive. It didn’t shake the walls or make anyone cover their eyes and ears. But it was enough to leave a ring of soot along the table. Enough to cause serious damage if someone were deranged enough to insert it into some poor bastard’s bloodstream. Gromov looked down at his son.

Gromov sat back in his chair, squaring his shoulders and jaw. He looked up at Frankie and let out a lungful of air. “What do you want?”