Chapter One Hundred and Nineteen

Chapter One Hundred and Nineteen
The sound of her name seemed to reignite a flicker of life in the woman. Chains rattled as she turned her body and head to look up at them. Her green eyes, normally bright enough to be compared to emeralds, were now dulled to the green sludge that stuck to the sides of forgotten boats. 

“Oh my God,” Gloria gasped, shoving past Frankie to go inside. 

“Don’t help her,” Accardi snarled. “After what she did, she deserves…”

“Shut the fuck up,” Gloria growled, kneeling protectively over the woman. “You have no idea why she did what she did, do you?”

Frankie balked at the tone of his Vixen’s voice. Not even two months ago, she despised the woman and had to learn in her own way that appearances were not always what they seemed. Now, she defended the woman against one of the most powerful men in the country. It never failed to surprise him how quickly someone learned to swim in this environment if they didn’t immediately drown. 

“Look at her,” Gloria whispered. “She’s been beaten, branded, cut… This was my father.” She glared up at Accardi. “Does this look like someone who willingly aided in helping him escape?”

“Watch it,” Accardi warned, his voice deadly. 

Frankie knew, more so than anyone present, how often the man had been betrayed over the last year. He saw things in black and white. Gen was the one who helped him see the grey and she was over seven hundred miles away. The Don had every reason not to be in the mood to hear excuses from someone who allowed his men to be killed, sabotaged his business, and led to all of… this.

“Alright, there’s no time to whip our dicks out and measure them,” Frankie said, standing between his two bosses: one old, one new. “We have work to do. Gloria, why don’t you take June upstairs and look her over? Conor will help you carry her. The rest of us can stay down here and look after the man really responsible for what happened at the Box.”

A fire gleamed in Accardi’s eyes. He was ready to take his pound of flesh from the man Frankie had identified in the security footage. Frankie glanced down at Gloria, who was busy unshackling Juniper’s wrists.

“Gloria?”

“Fine, that’s fine,” Gloria agreed. 

“Good,” Frankie exhaled. He’d gotten way too used to negotiating between mafia lords. “Conor.”

“Got it. Jesus fuck, is there a way to carry her without making it worse?”

“Doesn’t look like it,” Gloria surmised. “Best to do it quickly, though. The sooner we get her upstairs, and I can start working, the sooner she can start healing.”

Conor bent down and scooped Juniper up in his arms. Though his lifting her must have been excruciating, the poor girl’s head merely lulled backward. She almost looked like a corpse as her eyes were open, but nothing else moved. As Gloria passed, Frankie caught her wrist. She looked up expectantly.

“Once I’m done here, I’ll come and find you. If you get done before I do, though, I want you to rest while you can. Things are only going to get worse.”

Gloria nodded and closed her eyes as Frankie kissed her forehead. She quickly caught up to Conor in the hallway and overtook him so she could lead the way to the infirmary. 

“Alright then,” Frankie said, shaking off his discomfort with ease. He looked through the doorway again to Leo, who continued to keep a firm hold of Asher. “Your turn.”

Leo shoved Asher forward. It was a miracle the man didn’t fall to his knees with the force of the push. He stumbled into the room, maintaining his dignity as he walked toward the chair Palladino scraped across the floor for him to sit in. Raphael tied his arms to the chair while Leo took care of his legs. Meanwhile, Frankie and Accardi surveyed the tools at their disposal. 

“Hm,” Accardi said, a note of disappointment in that singular syllable.

“What?” Frankie asked as he flipped open a leather roll-up pouch that housed multiple sharp instruments normally used for intricate woodworking projects.

“Everything is pristine.”

“And you’re… disappointed?”

“I prefer something dull and rusted, you know that.”

Frankie chuckled as he plucked out various scalpels from a metal cup. “He’s expecting you to break his bones, Matteo. With a man like this, you need to use more finesse.”

“Who gives a fuck what he needs. This is for me,” Accardi announced, measuring the balance of a mallet in his hands. 

Frankie turned back to Asher, who looked more hurt than frightened. “What’s the matter, Ash? Angry that Sergei hasn’t come for you yet?”

Asher laughed once through his nose and shook his head. “You don’t get it, do you? He’s not…”

Bone cracked and Asher yelled as Accardi brought the mallet he’d chosen against his left knee. Asher doubled over and gagged as Accardi stepped back and ran his fingers through his hair. His chest rose and fell sharply as though he’d just run ten miles while his grin was big enough to attract moths in a dark room. 

“Seriously?” Frankie asked, gesturing with a hand in irritation. 

Accardi shrugged and dropped the mallet. “Now I can think straight. Go ahead,” he said, using the same gesture to tell Frankie to continue as he perched himself on a table in the back. Frankie rolled his eyes and shook his head as he looked back at Asher. Leo stuck him with a shot of adrenaline to keep him awake and talking. It took a few minutes for the drug to take effect, but eventually Asher’s head lifted.

“Why don’t you save us some time and unnecessary bloodshed by telling us where Sergei is hiding out?” Frankie asked, setting his tools down. “For old times’ sake, just tell me, and I’ll make this quick.”

“Old times’ sake, huh?” Asher asked, looking up. His normally impeccable hair was falling down over his eyes, and he smiled. “This coming from a guy who told me two hours ago that I was taking advantage of him in prison.”

“You were,” Frankie growled. 

“I loved you, Frankie. And you loved me too. A part of you still does. Why else would I be here, hm? You kept me alive in that hotel when the Frankie I know? The Frankie they know would have said fuck it to the old times and shot me in the fucking face.”

“Would have saved some headache,” Leo agreed.

“It would have started a war,” Frankie argued, glaring back at Leo, who shrugged.

“Started one anyway,” Leo pointed out. 

“In fact, you’ve made a few questionable decisions, haven’t you? Sergei told me he was right in front of you in your apartment lobby. He’d killed your guards and fucking stood there with his hands in his pockets, but you let him go?” Asher scoffed.

“You did?” Palladino asked.

“There’s more to it than…”

“Then, you’re at Ivan’s compound, again literally right there with a gun to the fucker’s head,” Asher continued. 

“Stop it,” Frankie hissed.

“Ivan told me everything! He said you could have done it. You should have done it, but…”

“Gloria wanted…”

“Gloria,” Asher agreed. “That’s the commonality. Each and every time you were there, ready to be the Frankie you’ve had to become. Frankie Donati who parts crowds, scares children, and gets the job done. Each time you balked. The cunning Frankie Donati, the one who saw everything? He’s gone. Because of her. And now? Now you all are going to die because of her too.”

“What are you talking about?” Frankie asked, his voice low with dread.

Asher laughed. “You said so yourself in the club, Frank. Why would Sergei leave only me and five guys to take you out in a planned trap? Why make this big show to draw you into the club in the first place? Why hide out in Chicago? Why leave me, his supposed lover and weakness, behind for you to take and use against him?”

“He’s in the tunnels,” Accardi answered.

Asher looked at Accardi and nodded as he licked his lips. 

“My men have been searching the tunnels for weeks,” Accardi continued. “Haven’t found any…”

Asher laughed. “Do you know how many tunnel systems are under Chicago? There’s the Pedway System for pedestrians, the subterranean streets for freight transport and utility vehicles, the abandoned freight tunnels, the Deep Tunnel, the…”

“Get to the fucking point,” Palladino sighed, bored of the conversation. 

“There are also the tunnels built by private citizens. The rich, the well-connected who wish to skip the traffic of surface streets or maybe avoid areas that might get their head blown off by assassins.” Asher’s regard focused solely on Frankie. “Tunnels that lead directly from their house into the heart of Chicago.”

Frankie whipped around and headed for the door. 

“Donati!” Accardi called. 

Frankie ignored him. As he walked through the hall, he spotted a few of Gloria’s men. He snagged one by the shirt sleeve and pulled him along as he continued to walk. 

“Ivan Rubanov’s office. Where is it?”

“Uh, first level, I think, down by the…”

“Just shut up and take me,” Frankie ordered. 

The man led him up the stairs and through the kitchen to a corridor that opened up into an office bigger than that of the sitting American president. Frankie stalked to the desk and started pulling out drawers. 

“What are you looking for?” Accardi asked above him, having apparently followed him to the office. 

“Blueprints.”

“Of the tunnels? We have…”

“Not the ones listed in public records or by sleazy politicians. I want the blueprints to this house and, knowing Ivan, they’re in here.”

“Like these?” Conor asked, a sandwich in one hand while his other hand pointed to a large picture frame by the door.

“Where’s Gloria?” Frankie asked as he practically jogged and ripped the frame off the wall. 

“She got Juniper taken care of… Well, as much as she could. So she went upstairs to take a shower. What’s happening?”

“Asher said something.”

“He can still talk? Losing your edge, Donati?” Conor joked as he shoved half the sandwich in his mouth. 

Frankie glared back at him before refocusing. The picture showcased in the frame was the blueprint of the house… but only the first floor. He raised the frame up and brought it down on the desk. Glass shattered and rained across the floor, but instead of worrying about that, Frankie ripped the paper from the frame and found exactly what he’d been looking for: Blueprints of all four levels, top floor, first floor, basement and…

“Holy shit,” Accardi said, his voice practically a whisper. “There are tunnels under the house.”

A flood of Italian floated through the corridor behind them as their eyes scanned the various entry points and where the tunnels led into the city. As the voices grew louder, Frankie spun around. 

“What the hell is it now?” he yelled.

Palladino gave him a look of insulted disbelief that Frankie cordially ignored. One of Palladino’s men continued to ramble until the Don threw up his hand, and the soldier’s mouth snapped shut. Then he gestured forward, and the soldier ran up to Frankie. 

“My men have been arming the house,” Palladino explained as his man held out the device like a delicate, rare flower in his palms for Frankie to inspect. “It turns out, we aren’t the first ones to do so.”

Frankie carefully picked up the intricate explosive with steady hands. He turned it over and over, and a pit in his stomach opened up. He recognized it as one commonly traded by an arms dealer he was very familiar with. An arms dealer tied up downstairs with a mangled leg. Asher was right. They were all going to die. But, it wasn’t Gloria’s fault. It was Frankie’s. Because he was stupid enough to fall straight into Vasiliev’s trap, just not the one he’d been expecting.

“Where exactly is Gloria?” Frankie asked carefully.