Laura Caldwell - Red, White & Dead

That stopped Ransom in his tracks. He frowned a little with confusion.

“Let’s go in another room.” I made my voice sound like someone defeated.

Ransom’s face brightened, but the dude wasn’t stupid. He shook his head and kept moving toward me.

“I’m not kidding,” I said, my face growing more stern. “You want at me, I’ll let you, but only if we go in another room. So let’s go.” I took a step toward him. “Let’s just go.”

His eyes dodged to Charlie and then my mom to see if he could read their expressions, and I took that moment to do something, thinking, Please don’t let this be the most stupid thing I’ve ever done. Instead of walking slowly toward Ransom, I shot forward and dove at him. He must have been caught off guard, because he stumbled and fell backward, the two of us crumpling to the ground.

But then he was on top of me, easily pinning my arms. I could smell him-a stale, sweet sort of smell, as if something had rotted deep inside him. I struggled against him, but it was impossible. He raised his fist, and I knew he was going to hit me. Hard. I glued my eyes shut, but before I felt the punch I heard a crack of a gunshot.

Ransom jumped off me and spun around. He hadn’t been hit.

But my mother-my mother!-was holding his gun. And then Charlie, maybe motivated by his female family members, charged at Ransom, and the two of them dropped to the ground.

The door banged open and my father rushed inside. His gray hair pushed every which way, his shirt was un-tucked and ripped, his eyes wild.

He paused for a minute, as if struck dumb by the sight of his son and Ransom tussling on the floor. Ransom was on his knees first, and he drew his fist back, ready to pound my brother, but before I knew it, my dad was at Ransom’s side, throwing him off. Ransom managed to jump to his feet. He spun around, launching his arm in a swift arc toward my father, who dodged the punch so that it landed on his shoulder.

I grabbed Charlie’s arm and pulled him away as my dad stepped back toward Ransom, hitting the big guy with the base of his hand, ramming that hand up into Ransom’s nose. Ransom reacted momentarily with one hand to his face, and my father took the moment to hit him in the eye with a left, then into his ribs with a right. Something snapped. It sounded like a tree splitting. Ransom grabbed at his ribs. My father jacked him in the side of the head and Ransom went limp, crumpling to the floor, his head lolling.

My father leaned over him, panting like an animal and snarling for more.

“Christopher,” my mother said, her voice sharp.

He turned and saw my mother standing there with a gun. And with that the fight drained out of him, as if another presence had inhabited him for a moment and was now quickly leaving.

He looked down at Ransom. “Charlie,” he said. “Hold him down.”

Charlie tentatively walked toward my father and Ransom’s bulky, unmoving form.

“It’s okay,” my dad said in a voice you might use when coaxing a child to pet a horse. “Here you go.” He took Charlie’s hands and guided him into a kneel. “Put your forearm here.” He positioned Charlie’s forearm over Ransom’s throat. “Now kneel on his chest in case he starts to move.”

Charlie followed his instructions.

“Good, good.” My father slowly reached into Ransom’s front jeans pocket and withdrew a pair of tiny keys, using them to unlock the cuff on his one hand. “Okay,” he said, letting the cuff fall to the floor, as if he’d barely noticed.

“ Victoria,” he said, standing. “Do you want me to take that?” He pointed toward the gun.

She looked down at it, unsure. Then she looked at me as if to say, Can we trust him? It was so sad, that look.

I nodded. “It’s okay, Mom. But here, let me take it.”

She glanced again at the gun in her hands and held it out to me, but before I could reach it, I heard the sound of the door opening behind me and a voice saying my name.

Ee-sabel, it sounded like.

I turned. Had I heard that right?

“Elena?” my mom said.

She looked so different than she had on the plane. My aunt Elena now wore dark blue jeans, a black T-shirt and a fitted black jacket, her dark hair pulled into a tight ponytail. She held herself differently, too-like a snake coiled but ready. The only familiar thing was those sunglasses with the silver braided arms, pushed onto the top of her head.

Elena held a small gun that was silver on the top, black on the bottom. That gun looked as if it belonged in her hands, as if she had carried it all her life.

She pointed the gun at Ransom. “Is he out?”

“Elena, what are you…?”

“Is he out?” she demanded.

“For now,” my father said, “but what…?” He peered at her.

“Christopher,” Elena said simply. “Nothing else.”

My father inhaled sharply. “My God, you’re the top,” my dad said, looking at Elena. “You are the top of the System, not Maurizio.”

“Really?” I said, and I couldn’t help the surprise in my voice.

My aunt glanced at me with no expression, then looked back at my father.

His mouth opened, as if he were about to say something, but he paused and I could see him working through something in his head. “You’re the reason why we could never take down the Camorra.”

My aunt gave him a chagrined smile. “No, Christopher, you’re the reason. Everything you’ve told me allowed me to keep my clans just in front of your men for years.”

“Unbelievable.”

Aunt Elena gave the grand Italian shrug. “You chose to fight them. I chose another way.”

“To join them?” my father said incredulously.

She nodded. “And to rule them, to feed off them, to have the life I wanted because of them.”

“Was it worth it?”

“Was your choice worth it?” Her gun still out, now pointed at my dad, she took in all of us with her eyes. “Was it worth it to give them up?”

Neither my father nor aunt said anything for a moment. Then my father dropped his head. “No,” he said a moment later. “No.”

Another moment of silence before my dad raised his head. He appeared weary from his admission. “And now?” he said, gesturing at us. “Now you’re going to kill your niece, your nephew, your brother, his only love?”

I glanced at my mom when he said that and saw her eyes open wider, staring at my dad.

“No,” Elena said. “I’m going to save you.”

She raised her gun then, pointed it at Ransom and fired a shot into his head.

“Aunt Elena!” I said.

She fired another shot, this time into his groin, and blood spurted into the air, a few drops splashing onto my shirt.

“Jesus!” Charlie yelled.

“Oh, Lord,” my mother whispered.

Elena lowered her gun. Her eyes darted to me. “He would have killed you. And worse.” There was little emotion in her voice, just someone delivering the facts.

My hand over my mouth, I glanced down at Ransom. A different smell rose from him now-that blood smell. The blood pooled, dark and thick.

“Now you know who is at the top of the System,” Elena said to my dad. “But you will not turn in your sister. I know that. I know you well, Christopher, and now that Izzy has found you, you are done living this life of secrecy.”

My father looked at Ransom, then back at her. “And you aren’t?” His voice was incredulous again.

She shook her head. “I enjoy my life. Most of it. And the parts I don’t enjoy?” A glance at Ransom. “Well…” Another shrug. “Like most people I manage those parts. I do what needs to be done.”

“What about Maurizio? Did he know of your position?”

A wave of pain seemed to ripple through her features. She gave a single nod. “Sí. Of course. He and Paulo. But they didn’t know about you being alive. No one did. Twenty-two years ago, I used the secret of you being an FBI agent to rise to the top of the System. But then I helped you plan your demise-your fake demise-and I kept your existence secret all these years. But Maurizio must have heard me talking to Isabel in Ischia about you.”