Accardi (Genevieve and Matteo) by Allison Franklin novel Chapter 142

Chapter One Hundred and Forty-Two

“Remember, let him swing first,” Leo instructed while Gen tried to keep her breathing steady, an act much easier said than done. “Let him throw all his energy into it and…

“Move?” she asked. He nodded, his face grave.

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She watched Alessio walk around the warehouse, checking to make sure there weren’t any random lookie-lous or hidden weapons. He was on the phone, speaking in low tones to someone and shooting her glances every minute or so. Alessio pocketed his phone and started toward her. She took in a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“It’s time,” Alessio told her.

T

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Gen nodded quickly and took the bat from Leo’s hands. She turned to see Michele and Maisy walking back toward them. Her face seemed smug, as if he’d told her some grand

secret during their little powwow.

“You know the rules but I’ll repeat them for our new guest,” Alessio began. “Once I say so

you will…”

“Fight,” Maisy finished, crossing her arms. “Pretty self explanatory.”

Alessio sighed, the sound heavy with annoyance. “Only death can end an apology.” His eyes held Gen’s in a way that made her start to shake. “Not gravely injured, not after submission… death.” Gen nodded and swallowed hard. “Step to the painted lines and wait

for my call.”

Gen stopped the trembling of her fingers by gripping the bat with all of her might. Michele made sure his toes were square on the neon green spray painted line and she did the same. He smiled over at her, his dark eyes holding a depth she could not, nor would

ever see the bottom of.

“Ready, Mrs. Accardi?” Michele asked.

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“No,” she answered honestly.

“I’ll visit your husband tomorrow if you’d like. Deliver him the news that his wife and

unborn child are dead. Would you like that?”

“What I would like is to beat your face in with this bat,” Gen told him.

“I’ll count down from five,” Alessio informed the bickering pair.

Gen raised the bat over her shoulder. She twisted her grip, making sure the bat handle

was secure in her hands.

“Five,” Alessio began. “Four, three, two, one. Go.”

Go. It seemed so anticlimactic. Go. Not, ‘off to the races!’? Not ‘Get ‘er done!!’? Not even a

‘Fight!’? Go? Maybe that’s why neither of them moved. It didn’t seem resounding enough

to set homicide into motion. Michele jerked forward a foot, expecting Gen to balk. She

remained rooted, waiting. He laughed and lowered his bat. He took a few steps toward her, out of striking range, but close enough to show he wasn’t afraid of her. She kept her bat raised, knowing full well he was just waiting for her to relax.

“Why’d you choose bats?” Michele pondered, inspecting his own.

Gen didn’t answer. She waited.

“I suppose Conor told you not to pick a gun,” Michele mused. “He’s smart enough to do that. I would have thought you’d choose something that could be thrown from a distance to give you an edge. Then again…” His eyes flicked up to meet hers. “I’d win either way.”

He moved. Gen braced as Michele did a half-spin and whipped his bat through the air. He missed the first swing. Before she had a chance to retaliate, he went again. Rather than swinging it, he grabbed either end of the bat and knocked her. Gen was surprised at his strength. His hit caused her to stumble and fall backward. She quickly rolled, avoiding a violent swing downward. The aluminum bat pinged as it made contact with the ground.

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Gen got back to her feet and raised her bat again. Michele ran at her. Gen bounced on the balls of her feet. Air left her mouth in short, rhythmic bursts. When he was within distance, she ducked and swung. Her bat collided with his gut, knocking the wind out of

him.

What she considered a small victory was quickly overshadowed when, still in his crouched position, he brought the handle end of his bat sharply upward. The round end hit her in the cheek bone. Gen gasped as the pain shot through her bones. The collision sent her reeling. She fell back and the ground helped to knock out the rest of the air from her lungs. She inhaled sharply, trying to draw breath when Michele’s face suddenly appeared above her. He smiled down at her, his hair falling disheveled around his face. He sniffled and wiped his bleeding nose before he squatted down. He took the bat in both hands,

forming a bar and placed it over her throat.

Michele applied enough pressure to cut off her airway. She pushed against the bat, trying to break his hold so she could take in a breath. She kicked her feet, tried to knee him. She twisted, turned, rolled. Gen released the bat and stuck her thumbs into his eye sockets, hoping to either gouge his eyes out or make him pull away.

“Die, you fucking bitch,” Michele hissed between his teeth.

Gen stopped trying for his eyes. Her bat was just out of reach. She fought to reach with her fingertips. Her vision was tunneling. She closed her eyes and stretched further. She finally managed to grab the bat. She brought it up and then smacked it against the

concrete ground as hard as she could.

The next second a high caliber gunshot echoed through the empty space. Michele cried out and fell forward. His bat dropped to the floor with several pronounced clangs. Gen rolled away and got to her hands and knees so she could suck in air like her life depended on it. Michele clutched the back of his knee where the gun shot had entered. Three more shots rang out and Gen covered her ears to dull the sound. Her head whipped in the direction that the bullets had made impact. There were three holes approximately six feet

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high up the outer wall where the exit was. She spun to try to figure out where the shots

came from.

“What the fuck is happening?!” Michele yelled.

“Sto finendo questo,” a honey-like Italian-American voice said from the warehouse

doorway.

Gen sat back on her knees. She looked toward the door and let out a choked breath of

relief when she saw her husband walking toward her. He’d made it. Her eyes ate up his

appearance as though she’d needed to see him as badly as she’d needed the oxygen she’d

just gulped down. He’d let his beard grow out in prison and while he’d donned his

trademark suit and looked ready to lead a boardroom meeting, his hair remained long and

unkempt, emphasizing that he was more than just a businessman. His gaze was roaming

her as well. His eyes locked on her cheek where her skin felt as though it were on fire and

lower still to her throat where she knew there would be bruises from being choked. She

smiled just as his eyes widened.

“Gen! Down!”

She listened. Gen ducked just in time to avoid an aluminum bat whistling through the air.

Gen rolled and got to her feet to face the threat… Maisy.

“Get up, Galante!” Maisy ordered.

“I was shot in the fucking knee!”

“I don’t give a fuck! You made promises, you worthless piece of shit.”

Though Maisy was verbally fighting with her father, physically, she was after Gen. The bat whipped through the air again and Gen buckled her knees to avoid it.

“I can’t believe you people made me come in without my gun!” Maisy yelled, stalking

closer for an easier target.

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“Maisy, stop this. This isn’t your fight,” Gen reasoned.

“Wrong,” Maisy hissed. Again Gen avoided another hit.

“Someone fucking shoot this bitch!” Gen yelled, her body starting to protest the

continued fighting response.

“I don’t have a shot!” Matteo called. “Frankie!”

The sound of a high-powered rifle hit Gen’s ears a moment before the bullet ricocheted

off Michele’s bat and embedded in Maisy’s shoulder. She cried out and lurched back due

to the impact. Maisy laughed to herself. She smiled up at Gen before she hauled herself

up to her feet. She picked up the bat with her good arm and screamed as she brandished

it at Gen.

“Stop this,” Gen begged.

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She avoided another strike, rolled and recovered her own bat. As Maisy came at her, Gen

stood her ground and met the force of Maisy’s swing with one of her own. The two bats

collided and the vibration carried through Gen’s arms. The magnitude of the strike forced

Maisy to drop her weapon.

“No!”

Maisy reached for the bat again. Gen raised her own and brought it down. Maisy cried out

and landed hard on the concrete floor. Gen brought the bat down again and again, a

primal scream echoing through the warehouse with each strike. Blood splattered up from

the carnage, coating Gen’s face and arms. She heard a decisive crack and Maisy stopped

moving. But Gen couldn’t. When she brought the bat down for the umpteenth time, a hand gripped her shoulder, stalling her downward motion. Gen reeled around, prepared

for the next threat to her and her baby’s life. Matteo caught the end of the bat as it

neared his head.

“Weakness, stop now. It’s done. It’s done. You can stop,” he whispered.

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Accardi