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  “Shit,” Carlo sighed. He had the guns on him. He didn’t need any fucking trouble to get between him and the next flight.

  “American has a flight that leaves at ten tonight. They have two seats left. You would have to book with them directly, sir.”

  “Thank you,” he said and walked away. As soon as he headed away the two security officers approached.

  “Sir, can you step aside.” One of the security officers said.

  Carlo nodded. He cut his gaze to the runt who was watching him from a safe distance.

  “Problemo?” he asked.

  “This man said you threatened him?”

  Carlo dropped his bags. He prayed he didn’t suffer a search.

  “I Sicilian, bad English. Apologies,” Carlo said with as thick of an accent that he could manage. The officers exchanged looks. One rolled his eyes.

  “Fine. Fine. Keep it civil, buddy. Wait your turn. Okay?”

  “Grazie! Tante grazie!” Carlo said.

  The security officers left. He picked up his bags. He had to stay focused. He had to stay in control. Carlo waited in line at the next terminal. When he reached the counter he booked a flight. He then took the ticket and went to the bathroom. He found an empty stall. Behind the closed doors he removed the two guns. He dipped them in water and used tissue to clean them of fingerprints. He then used the tissue to hold the weapons and placed them behind the toilets. He tried to conceal them. It didn't work. If the guns were found before he got on the plane, it could shut down the airport. Carlo reached into his bag and got out a pair of boxers. He wrapped the guns in them and then left the stall to drop them in the trash. It was the best he could do.

  For the next eight hours he sat in the airport waiting to board his flight. He kept replaying the last time he saw Shae in his head. What he said. What she said. What he did. What she did. It made him jumpy, angry, paranoid. Twice he shouted at a person to step away when they got close to the seat next to him. His temper was running his blood cold. He needed to keep his head clear of dark thoughts. He got up from the seat and walked the terminal. He found a shop that sold portable CD players. He plucked one and then looked for music selections. He grabbed R. Kelly’s ’12 Play’, and Luther Vandross’s Greatest Hits CDs. Both of them Shae’s favorite. To remain calm, he listened to their song and waited for the flight. It was as if she were speaking to him. The song ‘A House is Not a Home,' was one he played over and over again.

  Eventually, he boarded the flight. He put on the headphones and let Luther Vandross put him at ease. He found enough peace to sleep. He woke and deplaned with his luggage. He found the first cab and hopped in.

  “Where to?”

  Carlo removed the paper. He couldn’t read the numbers. It dawned on him that he wore his sunglasses the entire day, never taking them off his eyes. He removed them and read the address. “Take me to South 71st Street. A company called Uncle Bob’s.”

  “Uncle Bob’s is closed.” The man said.

  "Take me anyway," he said. Carlo checked his watch. It was two in the morning. He'd never been to Chicago; he had no idea where to start the search. Maybe seeing the place would help. Shae spoke of her life on the Southside.

  “Where is the Southside?” he asked.

  “You’re headed there,” the driver told him. Carlo nodded and stared out the window at the city at night. It wasn’t what he expected. As the man said, the storage company was indeed closed. Carlo got out of the car. He walked up to the door and looked at the time. It wouldn’t open until eight in the morning. Carlo looked around. There were a few buildings, but nothing distinctive to him. He returned to the cab.

  “I need a hostel. Something close.”

  “Hostel?”

  “Hotel,” Carlo corrected himself.

  “There’s a Best Western not far from here.”

  “A car, how do I get a car? Something I can drive.”

  “You can rent one. There’s a Hertz near the hotel.”

  “Grazie.”

  Carlo was dropped off. He went to the front desk and asked for a smoking room. He then bought a pack of cigarettes from a machine and checked into a small, smelly room. The air-conditioning unit leaked into the carpet, and it reeked of mildew and old cigarette smoke. It was a stark difference to what he was used to. He sat on the edge of the bed and opened the pack of cigarettes. The room provided an ashtray and book of matches. He fired up the first cigarette and inhaled deeply. He dropped back on the bed and stared up at the stained ceiling. He tried to gather his thoughts. From the moment he found out she left him he hadn't really stopped running. The adrenaline fueling his anger and despair had left him physically drained. He needed sleep. Without Shae, he knew it would be impossible. Every time he lost someone he loved the nightmares came. Hardcore nightmares of blood and suffering. He was afraid to close his eyes. He smoked his cigarettes and envisioned nasty things with his eyes open. Carlo smashed his cigarette in the ashtray. Carlo picked up the phone and dialed zero. He asked to make a collect call.

  The phone rang.

  “Pronto?”

  “Marietta?” Carlo said.

  “Carlo?”

  “Did I wake you?”

  “No. What’s wrong?”

  “Do you know where she is?” he asked.

  Marietta sighed. “I only know that she left. She wouldn’t tell me where she was going. She’s mad at me too, and I didn’t do anything to her. Did you two fight?”

  “Did you talk to her?” he asked.

  “She called me to make sure I looked after you. That was all.”

  “I need to talk to her.”

  “She doesn’t want to see you, Carlo. She’s a wreck. It’s best you come home. Lorenzo is pissed at me. Why did you tell him that I sent you to Vegas?”

  “Where is she?”

  “Where are you? Vegas?”

  “Chicago.”

  “What? Why are you in Chicago?”

  “Her things were to be sent here. So she’s here.”

  “No, Carlo. That’s home. Shae is running from home, remember?”

  “Tell me how to find her.”

  “Who told you she went to Chicago?”

  “Did she?” he asked.

  “Carlo? No. She’s not in Chicago.”

  “Are you sure?” he asked.

  “Just come home. Let her go.”

  “Where is she?”

  “What are you going to do? Fly all around America looking for her?”

  “If I fucking have to. I’ve never asked you for anything Marietta. Tell me where she went.”

  Marietta sighed. “She wouldn’t go back to Chicago. She’s too hurt. She’s probably in Vegas somewhere crashing at one of her friend’s places.”

  “No. She left, I’m sure of it.”

  “She has an ex-boyfriend who owns a chain of grocery stores. It’s in Reno, Carlo. But I doubt she went there. I say she’s still in Vegas.”

  “What is this ex-boyfriend’s name? I’ll kill him.”

  “Are you seriously going to fly back to Nevada to kill a man you don’t even know?”

  “Why do you ask me this? You know what she means to me.”

  “No. Actually, I don’t. Hell you wouldn’t have gone to America to see her if I didn’t tell you to.”

  “Stop saying it! You don’t control me. None of you do! I love her, period. Understood?”

  “Fine!” Marietta said.

  Carlo put his face in his hands. “Help me, Marietta. Help me find her.”

  “By the time you get back to Nevada, she could be already gone.”

  “Tell me.”

  “You two are crazy. His name is Edward Stein. Stein Fresh Market is the name of the stores. I don’t think she went to him.”

  Carlo hung up the phone. He decided to check out of the hotel and to fly back into Nevada. Exhausted or not he wasn’t done looking for her.

  Epilogue

  Carlo’s search had come to an end. It took him a week to find her. Reno
was a dead end. Marietta was right. Shae didn’t go to her ex-boyfriend. Carlo spent an evening terrorizing the man and his family until he was satisfied they hadn’t seen her. He returned to Vegas and enlisted Dino’s help. And it was Dino who found the young girl who used to work for Shae named Sweetie. Carlo convinced Sweetie that he loved Shae and didn’t want to harm her. Sweetie told him she only had a number for Shae. Dino used his contacts with the phone company to trace it. Shae was in Houston, Texas.

  After an exhaustive week, he found her. He thought of knocking on the door once he found the house. He thought of waiting until she left the house and ambushing her. He had a week to cool off and really think it through. He’d have to approach her when she least expected it. Take her by surprise so she wouldn’t turn him away. That’s the way his mind reasoned it. It was also the way he avoided his biggest fear. Rejection.

  He sat outside of a three story, flat roof house that was located in a pretty banged up neighborhood. He’d watched drug dealers, pimps, prostitutes, and homeless men and women roam the streets at night. Why would Shae come to a place like this? On the second night of waiting for her she emerged. She walked outside with a garbage bag. Her hair was tied up in a scarf. She wore a long patterned skirt and a cut off white shirt. She headed around to the side of the house. Carlo got out of his car and went after her. Shae was at the dumpster pushing the trash inside. When she turned, she gasped but did not scream. She looked at him with stark disbelief. Carlo hadn’t shaved in over a week. He only bathed because he knew he’d eventually see her. Instead of eating, he drank most days and nights and smoked cigarettes. He must have looked scary to her in the shadows, so he stepped forward. The alarm on her face didn’t lessen.

  “Carlo? What are you doing here?” she asked.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “How did you find me?” she looked around.

  Something in him snapped. It wasn’t the rational side of his brain. The rational side of his brain would never behave so crazily. It was another side of him. A side of him that he couldn’t control. He grabbed Shae. She yelped but froze when he put her over his shoulder and carried her from the side of the house to his car. Either she didn’t want to alert the people in the house, or she didn't want to fight him. Shae, who was a born fighter, put up little resistance. He was grateful. He didn't know what he might have done if she did. At the car, he forced her inside and then slammed the car door shut. He walked around and got in on the other side.

  It was her tears that sobered the crazy side of his brain. Shae wept.

  Carlo looked at her and realized he was the cause of her fear. Well good. She had scared the hell out of him, too.

  “Please don’t do this, Carlo.”

  “Why did you leave me?” he asked.

  “I left you a note,” she said weakly.

  “Fuck a note! A note! You tell me to my face. Why did you leave me?” he shouted. “You said you would marry me, and then the next morning you left me a fucking note!”

  Shae shook her head sadly. “I’m sorry.”

  “Why?” he punched the steering wheel so hard the horn stuck for a few minutes. “Answer me, Shae!”

  “Because I was scared. I was scared that you would hate me. I didn’t want you to hate me.”

  “That’s crazy. I asked you to marry me, and you think I hate you?”

  “No.” She wiped her tears. “You’ll hate me because I can’t marry you.”

  “You said yes.”

  “I know, I’m sorry. I was scared to say no.”

  Carlo closed his eyes. “Shae? Don’t do this to me. Don’t leave me like this. Tell me what you need me to do. Leave la Camorra? Okay. I’m already missing. Do you want to stay in America? Okay. I’ll stay. Just tell me what you want.”

  “I love you. I swear I do. But I can’t be in your life.”

  “So you come here? To this shit hole? That’s an improvement over me?”

  “I can’t be what you need,” she said. “I’m trying to be what I need. This place helps me.”

  “Look at me.”

  She wouldn’t.

  “Look at me, damn it!” he shouted.

  She eventually did.

  “Name anywhere in the world, and we’ll go, tonight. Name it!”

  “You leave the Battaglias, and they will kill you. Carlo, you have to go home.”

  “I can take care of you. I can fix you; I can fix all of this. Give me a chance,” Carlo’s voice broke with emotion. “I’ll get on my knees again. I’ll ask it the right way this time. Give me a chance to fix it. I can do it.”

  “Omigod!” She put her face in her hands. “I can’t do this!”

  Carlo started the car. Shae shook her head. “Let me go. I’m begging you.”

  “No! No! No! No! No!” He punched the dashboard repeatedly until the vents popped out and his knuckles bled.

  “I’m broken!” she shouted back at him. “I’m broken, and everything I’ve ever done has been to cover it up, pretend I’m normal. I’m not! Everything I’ve ever wanted has turned to shit, including my love for you! Do you understand? I close my eyes at night and I see those girls. I close my eyes, and I see myself. I'm back there. Hearing them crying and screaming. And it never ends! For any of them. For me. If I can't love myself, how the hell can I love you, Carlo? I can't be with you; I can't! I don't want to be with you! Do you get it? Damn it! You want me to say it. I don’t want you!”

  Carlo wiped his tears. “Get out,” he said softly.

  “Carlo, please forgive me.”

  “Get the fuck out!” He got out of the car and went around to her side. He snatched open her door and yanked her out. Shae dropped her head crying. She stumbled back in the street. The boys hanging on the corner all paused to watch the scene.

  “I hate you. Satisfied now, Shae? Do you want me to say it in Italian so you can believe me? Ti odio! Ti odio! Ti odio!” he shouted at her.

  Shae stumbled back crying. She never took her face from her hands. More people came closer to watch.

  “I’m good at hate, Shae. Better at it than your father, than my father. Really good at it. You’re just like all the rest of them. I was a fucking idiot to think you were worth my time. You win, bambina. I fucking hate you!”

  Shae broke down in tears. He went around the car and got behind the wheel. He sped off so fast he nearly ran down several people in the street. He was pissed that he missed them. He spun the wheel and cut the corner too sharply, and hit a mailbox, knocking it down. The fender on the right side of the car was damaged. Yet the car kept moving. Carlo pressed down on the gas until the needle went past red.

  He should close his eyes and let go of the wheel. He should let go and end it all. He wanted death more than he wanted her at that moment. He just wanted to be dead. Yelling at the top of his lungs he slammed on the brakes. The car went into a fishtail spin and nearly flipped over. It came to a stop. He dropped his head on the steering wheel and cried. He hadn’t cried that hard since the day they put him in jail at the age of 15, with hardened criminals. Every day he had to fight to stay alive. He was tortured beaten, and almost raped in prison, but he fought hard thanks to his dad seasoning him for a life of shit. He found a way to make his anger work for him. He’d take the pain of losing her and turn it into anger. It was the best survival defense. This was the first time he trusted in love. He gambled. And he lost. It occurred to him that he had never won.

  “Shae!” he screamed.

  The next morning —

  Carlo woke in his car. The buzzing of his pager was his alarm clock. Lorenzo was sending another red alert page to him. Carlo had been off the grid for almost two weeks. Soon men, the ones he called brothers, would board a plane to come after him. He didn’t fucking care. He sat up and looked at the damaged, crumpled hood of the rental. The stale taste of alcohol was on his tongue and burned his throat. He found a liquor store and bought as many bottles of whiskey as he could carry. A boy on the street corner sold him a gun for
a hundred dollars. Drinking and driving, he kept the gun on his lap. He didn’t know why he bought it. He just did. He felt better having it. Dark thoughts surfaced. The kind of darkness that made him good at his job. And then his pain turned off his rational mind. He began to conjure all kinds of reasons for Shae’s rejection. He finally settled on it being another man. He was going to find that man and kill him. He’d make Shae watch.

  Carlo started the car. He drove out into the street and tried to remember the way back to where Shae lived. After a ten-minute search he returned to her street. He parked outside of her house once again. He picked up the gun and checked the chamber for bullets.

  “E' proprio un merdoso! He’s with my woman!” he slurred. In his mind the man who took her was doing all the things he loved to do to her body. He was laughing at him. Telling her that she didn’t need him. “Che minchia hai fatto? I’ll show him! Motherfucker!”

  Someone tapped on his window. Carlo looked up. A skinny man with sunken eyes and chapped lips tapped again. Carlo turned on the car and lowered the window.

  “Mister, got a dollar? Man I ain’t ate in a week!” The man said.

  The stench of his breath and skin almost made Carlo vomit. “No! Fuck off!” Carlo said.

  The homeless man backed away. And then Carlo thought to call him back. “Wait! Come here!”

  The man walked toward the car with his hands up. Carlo realized he still had the gun in his hand.

  “I don’t want any trouble, mister.”

  “Who is the man that lives there?” Carlo demanded.

  The derelict looked across the street at the three story house, then to Carlo. “Sheeeet! No man lives there. That's the home for them, whores."

  “A whorehouse?”

  “No. You know. The safe place. Where they run to hide from the guys or the system. What you a pimp? You here to go in and take one of them? Cause I can help. They got guns in there, too. Them bitches in there are really jumpy. They shoot first and ask questions last. They expect trouble. But I know how to get you in for ten dollars.”