Sons of Thunder (13 page)

“No.
I
nearly killed me. You were right, Sofia. I do have blackness inside me. I let it in, feasted on it, thinking it would make me strong, but it’s only—it’s only confused me.”

She stared at him, something new in her eyes. Not fear, not anger…

“I don’t know what to do, Sof. We’re trapped, and I don’t know how to get us out of here.”

She leaned close, clamped her hand over his mouth, put her mouth to his ear. “I do.” Her eyes darted to the door. “I know where Jimmy keeps his protection money.”

He almost didn’t recognize her, the way she morphed into a moll right before his eyes.

“Sofia—no. If he caught us—”

“I can’t watch him kill you, Markos. I have some money saved, but it’s not enough to get us away.”

And he had none. In fact, Jimmy owned him further out into the future than he could see.

“He has a compartment in his desk where he hides his money. I saw it once, when I delivered his lunch to him. He didn’t know I saw him—I came in without knocking, then ducked back out. But he keeps his stash there before he puts it in his safe. We could sneak in, take it, be away before—”

“Shh. Listen to yourself. We can’t steal from Uncle Jimmy—”

“Markos—he’s been stealing from us since the day we arrived here! You work every day in his kitchen, every night you drove for his floozy.” She cut her voice again low. “Dino’s scrubbed every surface of the restaurant day in and day out, and…”

“And—what?” He pushed himself up on his elbows, gasping at the claw of pain, not caring. “Sofia, what has Uncle Jimmy done to you?”

“Nothing—nothing, Markos.” She pushed on his shoulders. “Lay back. I’m fine. I just don’t think that taking what’s due us is stealing.”

“He’ll kill us if he catches us.”

“He’ll probably get us killed if we stay here.”

Markos collapsed into the pillow, hitching his breath.

“He’ll find us. You don’t understand, Sof. He’s got long arms. It’s not just Jimmy’s gang, it’s Joe’s—he’ll put the entire Ghenna family after us. And then there are the cops. Half of the Chicago fuzz is on the dole. We won’t be able to hide.”

“So, we’ll leave. We’ll run. You’re smart, Markos. You’ll keep us safe.”

He stared at the ceiling. Judging by the shadows that reached into the room, he guessed he’d spent another full day in bed. “I can’t, Sofia. I’m in way over my head—I feel like I’m drowning.”

Sofia hitched a hip onto the side of his bed, touching his hair. “I like it without the Brylcreem in it. Reminds me of when you’d return from fishing, your hair tangled by the wind.” She ran her finger under his chin. “I miss your tan, though. And the way you would stand at the rudder, guiding in your boat. You loved the sea—I saw it on your face.”

“You were watching?”

“I was always watching. When you were at sea, you weren’t afraid. You had a strength about you, an energy. You were invincible.”

“That’s because I knew the sea, Sofia. I knew the currents and the beauties. I could read its moods, and even its fury. I felt at home in the sea.”

He let the memory of it pour over him, the peace that soaked through him when he surrendered to the waves. “I’m lost here.”

“Then ask for help.” She leaned forward, and sweetly, probably so as not to hurt him, brushed her lips across his. He slipped his hand around her neck, drew her closer, kissed her like he’d longed to, not caring about his bruised lips. She tasted sweet, and smelled so good—fresh and clean, and the way she caught her breath and moved into his kiss made him want to weep.
Sofia.

He pulled away, held her face in his hands, kissed her cheeks, her forehead, finally met her eyes. “You’re so beautiful, you know that? I can’t even remember when I started to love you. You’ve always been there, inside of me.” He ran his thumb over her soft lips.

A tentative smile tipped under his touch. “You’re still the Markos I know.”

Her words sent a wash of heat in his eyes. “I don’t feel like it.”

“I’m still watching you, Markos Stavros. I see that you’re a good man.”

And of course, then he was crying. No longer twenty-eight, not even eighteen, but probably eight, as he gulped in her words. Her hand touched his cheek, soft, thumbing away his tears.

She touched her forehead to his. “You don’t have to do this alone. Let us help, Markos.” She cut her voice to a whisper. “Dino and me—we’ve got a plan. It’ll work, Markos. But you gotta trust us.”

The look in her eyes had the power to reach through him, untangle the clog in his chest. “I don’t know—are you sure we won’t get caught?” His voice hitched. “I can’t watch him beat you, Sofia.”

A knock at the door jerked her away.

Uncle Jimmy stood in the doorway. “Fifi. It’s time to go.”

Sofia ducked her head, moving away from him—
No, Sofia, don’t go!
—even as Jimmy walked over, patted Markos on the cheek. “Feeling better, boy?”

Pain speared through Markos’s skull. “I’m glad to see you’re on the mend. The family needs your help, kiddo.” He smiled, like a shark.

No one leaves Jimmy the Greek.

Jimmy tugged Sofia from the room. But at the door, she looked back at Markos and winked.

And that’s what scared him most of all.

CHAPTER 9

The last time Markos had stood on the steps of a Greek Orthodox Church, it had been the day of Theo’s wedding, the hot sun winking off the cobblestones of the courtyard, Sofia walking toward him, glowing as if she might be the bride.

How he missed the sun. The March wind still contained the lick of winter, slicking under the neck of his father’s coat. He shivered, thankful it no longer scoured up a wince. Apparently his bones had healed, although in the crisp mornings, sometimes the frost still pressed him into his bed, aging him a century. Today, cold pressed clear through him, rattling his teeth, his bones, made worse by the fog that slinked in from Lake Michigan. It seemed that even the skies mourned Hedy’s death—it had poured down sorrow nearly every day for two weeks since Markos finally pried himself out of bed and back into the life Jimmy required of him.

Namely, guarding Sofia. Perhaps Jimmy thought that he’d beaten enough fear into Markos to keep him from stealing Sofia away into the night.

Or maybe he just meant to grind defeat into his bones, because Uncle Jimmy barely left Sofia’s side, his hand always on her arm, the small of her back, breathing his stench into her neck. Markos watched from the front seat, his hands white on the steering wheel, trying not to retch. He spent most nights—and days—chauffeuring Jimmy through
the streets of Chicago in his new Model A town car, shadowed by a group of Jimmy’s boys in his old Model T.

Parishioners began to trickle out of the church into the wet twilight, dragging with them the smell of incense, the mourn of the organ. Markos gripped the umbrella, watching the rain dribble off the sides, averting his eyes from the faces that passed. Probably they could see his guilt—even if he’d managed to justify it with Sofia’s words.
It’s not stealing.

It felt like stealing. The way he and Sofia slunk into Uncle Jimmy’s office—she’d actually picked it with a lock pick set she’d purchased—another skill he regretted Chicago teaching her. Inside the desk lay the stash of dough from Uncle Jimmy’s daily racket earnings. He felt like a criminal the way he’d shoved the cash into a paper bag, hidden it in his coat, left in its place a Michigan bankroll—a wad of paper wrapped in a hundred-dollar bill. He kept glancing at the coupe, flinching when he heard Jimmy’s voice greet the priest.

Markos caught Dino’s gaze on him.
Did you get it?

Markos gave barely a nod.

He already hates me, Dino. If he catches someone—it’s going to be me.
Yes, he’d won their argument, in hushed, angry tones, waged over the past two weeks. No need to bloody Dino’s hands too. If Markos wanted God to deliver them, he needed to ensure at least one merited the Divine’s protection.

Dino flashed a quick smile, handed Uncle Jimmy his fedora. Sofia emerged behind them both, waif-thin in a black dress and raccoon wrap coat, nicer than the one Markos had purchased for her. Of course.

Markos moved in beside Uncle Jimmy, angled the umbrella over his head. “On to Tony’s, Uncle?”

“I need to stop by Zante’s first, Markos. Pick up a package.” He held out his elbow for Sofia, who slipped her gloved hand into it. She
glanced at Markos, fear in her pursed lips. Markos gave a tiny shake of his head.

Probably he’d lose himself right there.

If Jimmy returned to the office to get his
package
, well, he’d find it missing. Mostly because it was currently wrapped inside Markos’s blanket in the trunk of the coupe.

“Are you sure you don’t wanna go straight to Tony’s, Uncle Jimmy? I gotta practice.” Sofia cozied up to Jimmy as Markos ground his molars to a fine powder.

Since when did Jimmy go home after mass? Of course, in the past Markos had usually delivered him to Hedy’s, probably for a different kind of nourishment, while Markos sat outside on the street, trying to sound out the newspaper, blocking from his mind the silhouettes in Hedy’s window.

So far, Uncle Jimmy hadn’t turned his more intimate charms on Sofia. So far…

“Well, that’s a tempting offer, doll.” Jimmy slung his arm around her, pulled her tight to himself.

Dino shot him a look. Markos took a breath.

“But I gotta do some work. You wait for me, I’ll make it up to you.”

Sofia giggled, and Markos thought he might be ill.

Markos opened the door for them, and Sofia climbed in without meeting his eyes. Dino slid into the front seat while Markos stowed the umbrella in the trunk.

Jimmy appeared behind him. “It’s cold today. Hand me that blanket for Sofia.”

Markos froze. “Uh—okay.” He barely stilled his hands as he reached in, tried to shake out the package from the blanket before he handed it over. But he’d wrapped it too tight. Uncle Jimmy took it, slid in beside
Sofia. Markos held his breath even as he crossed to the driver’s side, waiting to hear Uncle Jimmy roar, to feel the press of a gun’s barrel to the base of his head.

“There you go, doll. Nice and warm.” Jimmy had spread the blanket over her lap.

As Markos got in, Sofia gave him cool, unfazed eyes.

He barely drew a breath as he drove them through the north side of town back to Zante’s. He stopped in the alleyway, got out to open Jimmy’s door.

Jimmy pressed him back with two fingers to his sternum. “You stay here, wait for your brother.” He jerked his head at Dino. “Hurry up.”

Sofia climbed out of the car, leaned into Markos. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I’ll be there. I promise.”

There.
At Union Station in Chicago. The 10:40 p.m. train, Burlington to Minneapolis. Markos touched her hand as she slipped past him. She gestured with her chin behind her, directing Markos’s gaze inside the passenger compartment. On the floor, under the blanket, where she’d hidden it with her feet, lay Uncle Jimmy’s roll of cash.

When the back door of Zante’s clicked shut, he swiped up the money and pocketed it.

He could taste his heartbeat.

He stood for a long moment, letting the rain run down his collar, cooling him. Then he got in and braced his hands on the steering wheel.

Blew out a breath.

Oh, God, please deliver—

“Move it, Markos.” Dino slammed into the car, his face white, holding a suitcase.
Markos’s
suitcase, the one he’d packed and slid under his bed.

“What are you doing? Did he see you—”

“He knows.” Dino shook his head, his voice odd, high-pitched. “He put a bomb in here.”

Markos stared at the suitcase. “Is it…”

“Yes. He broke the glass, the fuse is already burning. We—we have an address. It’s Kazolas, Markos. Peter Kazolas.”

Heat, what little he had, drained from Markos. He stared at the suitcase. At Dino.

“How much time do we have?”

Dino stared at the case. “I don’t know. Maybe twenty minutes.”

Markos slammed his hand into the steering wheel. “He knew this—knew we wouldn’t let him hurt old man Kazalos.”

Dino stared at him. “We can’t stay here. Uncle Jimmy’s waiting for us to leave…if it goes off, Sofia will be killed.”

“Give me the case.”

“What are you doing?”

“Get out, Dino. Get out and go to the train station.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Get out and run, Dino.
Now
!”
For once, please, Dino, listen—

Dino’s jaw tightened. Pulsed. “You’d better be there. You’d better
be there
!” He put the case on the floorboard and got out.

“Run, Dino.
Run
.”

Dino disappeared down the alleyway.

Why would Uncle Jimmy want to kill Peter Kazalos?

To hurt Dino? Or force Markos to choose?

Markos grabbed the suitcase, got out. Stood in the alleyway. The rain bulleted him as his heart thundered.
Please God, deliver us.

Walking over to Jimmy’s basement entrance, he heaved open the door and stumbled down the steps. Then, without turning on the light—he didn’t need light to trace every inch of the dark folds of the
room—he took the pineapple and wedged it behind the gas line to the building.