Page 93 of Vicious Impulses (The Capo and Ballerina)
She’s gone. My angel is gone.
Ms. Poitier frowns as if reading my thoughts. “C, we’ll get her back. It’s more important right now that you let Tulio treat you.”
Distantly, between the debilitating bursts of pain, I recognize she’s right. My giant, muscular husk of a body falls still. Dr. Tulio cautiously approaches the exam table I’m lying on inside his office.
“No sleep,” I grunt. “I don’t want to fucking sleep through this. Just treat me, then numb me. I’ve got to get Nevi.”
“But, Mr. Ziccardi, the treatment will work better—”
“DO IT!” I roar, and he jumps like a frightened mouse.
There are no more protests. Dr. Tulio seems to realize that I’m too thick-skulled for him to get through to, so he falls silent and works away. Needles pierce my skin. Pain radiates through me. Breaths become a luxury.
I grit my teeth and bear it.
An eternity seemingly passes by before Dr. Tulio has administered the treatment beginning to end and is stepping back. He rolls off his latex gloves and turns to admire the EKG machine beside the exam table.
“You’re steadying out,” he says. His tone holds a note of somberness and disapproval. “But please keep in mind any exertion may—”
“I’ve got to go,” I interrupt, swinging my legs over the side of the table. I wrench away the electrode pads and wires that have been connected to me and barrel out of the room with more force than a canon.
It’s how I crash down the halls too. I’m on a rampage as I bark at my men to assemble and get ready to launch our mission. We’re about to track down Carmelo and his men and massacre every last one of them. No mercy. No survivors. Only barbaric bloodshed and the sweetest revenge.
Ms. Poitier reaches me one last time at the door to plead with me. Worry glosses her eyes in the form of tears as she tells me I’m not strong enough.
“Get out of the way,” I growl, strapped down with weapons and ammunition.
“C, don’t you realize how insane you’re being? This won’t end well!”
“I don’t give a fuck!” I snarl in her face. Ferocity deepens my voice beyond its usual rough and low sound.
Ms. Poitier doesn’t dare challenge me again.
With an incline of my head, I motion to my men that it’s time to go.
* * *
We comb the city for Carmelo. Any location where he could’ve takenmia bella ballerina. Starting with his home, we tear the place to shreds and shoot up any of his men that attempt to interfere. His business operation meets the same fate. Then we turn our ire to Nero and the Vorones and begin picking off whatever locations Nevaeh could’ve been transported to.
Matteo is the one with a spark of genius. It’s as we’ve massacred the men at Vecoli that he turns to me with his head tilted and a befuddled look on his face. “What if they’ve taken her to the theater? That’s where she was signed with the dance company, right? Wouldn’t that be where Nero wanted her to return?”
Though I have no way of knowing if his theory is correct, it makes enough sense that I round up my crew and tell them it’s where we’re headed next.
We pull up to the Dresden Performing Arts Theater in a matter of minutes. From the moment that we do, I’m aware it’s the correct place—a long line of Vorone vehicles are parked in the curved valet section.
Several of his men take notice and migrate toward the stone steps of the theater. I’m holding nothing back in this moment. The fun and games are over. All chances for negotiations and civilized discussion have passed.
I hold up my semiautomatic rifle and open fire on the men. They’re sprayed with so many bullets their bodies convulse while they’re still on their feet. The bullets running through various parts of them won’t allow anything less. Only after me and my men have shot them a dozen-odd times each do they flop to the floor in crimson pools.
We rush past them without a second glance back. Entering through the front doors of the theater, we’re like any SWAT team invading a territory in search of our perpetrator. The difference being this perpetrator happens to be even more powerful than we are.
Nero has to have heard the commotion outside the theater. It wouldn’t surprise me if this has been set up as some sort of elaborate trap.
I keep my eyes peeled, my weapon pointed, moving carefully through the theater lobby. Around me, my men fan out and check the different sections of the building.
Pain twinges through me. Remnants from my earlier episode. I push on from sheer willpower alone. If I die tonight, I’ll die knowing I went out in a blood-soaked massacre, taking back what’s mine.
Mia bella ballerina.