Unforgivable Ties

Chapter 4

Vincenzo

I watched Stephanie over the next few days. She had a pretty normal routine—school Monday to Thursday from six am to three thirty. On the weekends, she would head to the library or stay home and study. She spent time with a girl who had curly dark hair, and they would often go out for coffee together.

The important thing was that she didn’t go to the police. Even though I had interrogated her and broke into her house, she had kept her mouth shut. I was pretty impressed. Almost any other person would have gone to the cops after what had happened to them.

But I always caught her glancing over her shoulder, looking for me in every shadow. It was almost as if she could sense my presence, even when I was very careful to remain hidden.

The ping of my phone broke the silence of the inside of my car, and I read the text message. Finally, I knew exactly what I needed Stephanie for.

I put the car in drive and started towards her house. It was seven pm on a Monday, so she would be home, and probably be in the middle of making dinner. As I passed by the warehouses, each one near identical to the next, I rehearsed the plan in my head. I wasn’t sure why, but my heart pounded noticeably and I felt the anticipation building as I got closer. I had killed and beaten high ranking dangerous criminals, but for some reason, this had me more nervous.

I parked my Audi on the street just far enough away so she wouldn’t be able to see it if she looked out her window. The living room light was casting a soft glow from behind Stephanie’s curtains. I couldn’t see any signs of movement from the outside, but I knew she was inside.

Stealthily, I made my way across the parking lot and to the stairs. This building was such a piece of shit—part of a stair cracked underneath my foot as I made my way up.

I gave her a chance to open the door willingly. “Stephanie,” I said, knocking on the door. “Open up.”

No response. But I knew she was in there. So, I knocked again, this time more assertively. “If you don’t let me in, we’re doing this the hard way.”

Still nothing. I should just kick the goddamn door in—it looked like it was about to fall off of the hinges anyway—but I doubted she could afford to fix it. I rolled my eyes with a sigh and reached into my pocket for the lock pick set I always carried. The lock was a simple one, made for privacy rather than protection. It took me just under a minute to get it open and within a moment I was inside.

She was crouched behind her sofa, her head just peeking around the side. Her brown eyes widened in shock as I came in, and I heard her curse as she ducked back behind the sofa.

“Did you really think you could keep me out?” I deadpanned.

“No,” she said, standing up from behind the couch. “But I had to try.”

“There’s always something to be said for trying,” I replied, my tone dripping with sarcasm.

Stephanie stood there, studying me with a determined expression, as if trying to ready herself for whatever might happen next. Her auburn hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail and she wore an apron stained with what looked to be pasta sauce.

She looked cute, in a frazzled, about-to-be-confronted-by-a-remorseless-assassin kind of way.

“Whatever,” she grumbled, walking towards the kitchen. “I need to finish my dinner.”

“Didn’t make me any?” I asked, and she shot me a glare over her shoulder. The fact that she couldn’t stand me only made this whole situation more entertaining.

“It’s always hard to tell when a six and a half foot criminal will show up on my doorstep,” she retorted, but I watched her toss more pasta in the boiling water.

“6’7”, actually.”

“My mistake.” Stephanie vigorously stirred the pasta with a wooden spoon, causing some boiling water to spill over the edges of the pot. “Why are you here?”

“Need your help.”

“My help? Tsk.” I couldn’t see her face, but I was almost certain she was rolling her eyes. “I can’t exactly traffic drugs or get into shootouts, so I don’t think I’ll be of much help to you.”

“No, you’d suck at that. I need your medical skills, Doc.”

She stopped stirring the pasta and turned to face me. Her eyes were narrowed, in stark contrast to the fear I had seen when we first met.

“If one of your buddies is bleeding out, you need to figure it out yourself,” she said, tossing the wooden spoon to the side. “And I told you, I’m not a doctor!”

“Well, think of this as an internship…”

The urgent text I had received earlier was from Cesare. He told Ettore and I that he was drowning in a sea of unending work, and wouldn’t be able to keep up with everything. His duties of tending to our injured men and extracting organs from lifeless bodies had left him overwhelmed and in desperate need of additional help.

In this moment of urgent need, we found ourselves with no trusted medical contacts. The only person who was remotely able to help us was Stephanie. Although inexperienced, she was capable, and she could step up while we searched for a more suitable option.

So, I told her this. But, I neglected to mention the organ harvesting part, because she would definitely say no. I’d leave that to Cesare.

“Are you insane?” she asked, her voice teetering on the edge of fury. She abandoned her pot of boiling pasta altogether now, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring at me with a ferocity that made me internally laugh. “No! Just what kind of criminal are you?”

“I’m a Capo,” I stated matter-of-factly, my gaze unwavering.

“Why are you talking about musical instruments?” she asked, curling her fists in frustration. “Don’t change the subject!”

I sighed, rubbing my temple. I’d have to remember she knew nothing about our world. “I’m a high-ranking member of the mafia. And right now, we need a medic. Desperately.”

Stephanie laughed, a harsh sound that bounced off the kitchen tiles and echoed around the room. “Is that supposed to make me more likely to help? The fact that you’re a ‘high-ranking’ member?”

She was hot when she was pissed off. The fire in her eyes matched the anger in her voice as she fearlessly stood before me, unbothered by my job or the gun holstered at my side.

“Hm, no. But I’ll pay for your schooling.”

When I had been looking into Stephanie, I had learned her family was from Wisconsin and they weren’t very well off. She got through undergrad on scholarships, and she had a few more for med school, but they didn’t come close to covering the tuition. She paid over $100,000 a year to go to college. A small sum for me, but a staggering amount for her.

“Or I can kill you,” I said, giving her a second option.

“Pay for schooling…” She acted as if she didn’t even hear the second option I had suggested, instead focusing solely on the first one.

The sound of the pot boiling over snapped her out of her thoughts, and she quickly went to lower the heat. The pasta must have been done cooking, so she grabbed a strainer from the sink and moved the pot over to drain it.

“What do I have to do?” she asked, opting not to look me in the eye and instead pour the pasta and sauce back into the pot.

“Same thing you helped me with. If it’s slow, you can probably just sit around and study.”

“And there’s an actual doctor there, too? Not just me?”

“Absolutely,” I assured her, not missing a beat. “Cesare will be there. He’s been doing this for thirty years.”

Stephanie turned to face me, her gaze pensive as she considered my proposition. She clutched the wooden spoon she’d been using to stir her pasta tightly in her hand; her knuckles going white under the strain.

“You know my tuition is $100,000 a year, right?”

“That’s not a lot of money to us,” I casually replied, leaning against the kitchen counter and crossing my arms over my chest.

I could see the cogs turning in her head, weighing the pros and cons of the situation. Ridding herself of student loan debt was an offer that was too good to pass up.

“Well…fine. But only until you find someone else!”

“Great,” I said, pulling my phone out of my pocket and sending her a text. “I just sent you a text so you have my number.”

“What? How did you get my number?” she replied, her eyes widened with curiosity.

“I have my ways,” I said nonchalantly.

“Whatever,” she mumbled.

She turned back to the steaming pot of freshly cooked pasta and carefully scooped out two servings into bowls. As she handed me my bowl, I couldn’t help but notice the way her delicate fingers held it with care, as if she was afraid the fragile china might shatter at a sudden movement.

“Oh, I didn’t actually want any,” I said, walking out of the kitchen and back to the front door. “Who the fuck eats canned spaghetti sauce?”

She shot me a glare and I could see the fire raging in her eyes. “Why, you—”

I didn’t hear her finish her sentence as I slammed the door shut behind me.