Red and orange spray erupted from the muzzles and Phillip went over backward. He saw Teresa on the floor, her body looking like a broken rag doll, stained bright red. He looked down at his chest. Nothing registered. Not pain. He wasn't certain what had happened. A shadow fell across him and he looked up to see a man with a gun standing over him. The man lifted the gun and aimed it right at his face. A thousand regrets rushed through his mind, the main one Eloisa.
He was a selfish man, a womanizer, and the shadows represented a way for him to carry out his affairs. He'd never once been decent to Eloisa. He knew what she went through, she'd tried to open up to him, tried to make their marriage real, but he had only thought about the fun he could have. Even after they lost their son, Ettore, and Eloisa had needed him, he had turned away from her. He regretted that. He regretted so many things.
I'm dead and I never told her I loved her. He attempted to rise, but he couldn't feel his legs or arms. He could only watch as the man slowly squeezed the trigger and then there was nothing.
The party was in full swing at the Windship Club, one of the most prestigious in Chicago. The event was all about wining and dining the local celebrities so they'd write fat checks for the latest charity Windship was backing. Taviano and Giovanni Ferraro knew it really was about the women, drugs and drink. Vittorio lay in a hospital bed, cut up all to hell, and they were supposed to be snorting coke off a woman's belly, drinking champagne and taking the women into the next room for a quick blow job, or worse, having one crawl under the table and go for it right there in the plush lounge.
Harvey Windship was a sick prick with far too much money. Taviano had never liked the man and Giovanni had a terrible aversion to him. More than once throughout the last hour, Taviano had to be the one to restrain his brother when Giovanni wanted to kick Harvey's ass – and Taviano was known for his bad temper. He couldn't wait to see his brothers and point out just which Ferraro had had to be the peacekeeper.
Laughter erupted all around them and Taviano made certain to put a fake smile on his face. He was good at that. All the Ferraros were. They played out their lives in front of the paparazzi. Very early they learned the art of smiling at parties they didn't enjoy, surrounded by people who weren't their friends.
Harvey flung his cut crystal glass into the fireplace and laughed loudly as it shattered, the remaining alcohol making the flames flare for just a moment. "Gina, get over here," he called.
His wife giggled drunkenly and obeyed, her stiletto heels clicking loudly on the marble floor. She teetered and then fell into her husband's lap when he grabbed her wrist and yanked her down to him. "Having a good time, honey?" he asked, nuzzling her neck.
Harvey was a drunk. He liked his booze, and the more he drank the more amorous he got. He thought of himself as a player, although Taviano knew he genuinely loved his wife. It was his one saving grace. He put on lavish parties and raised millions of dollars for charity, so he wasn't all bad. It was just that his parties were … disgusting. Everyone attended of course. The cream of Chicago. Mostly, Taviano was certain, to see what Harvey would do next.
This party was the most garish of all. His wife liked furs so, to thumb his nose at those protecting wildlife, he had decorated the entire club in big-game trophies and real fur rugs and throws. It turned Taviano's stomach just a little, and when Harvey suggested to one of the girls to "do Giovanni" on the leopard skin rug in front of the fireplace, he almost let Gee hit the man. Instead, both laughed, playing their roles for the press. Giovanni declined and they wandered away to give themselves a respite from the man.
Now they were back in the lounge, once again seated in the plush chairs. "Have to go, Harv," Giovanni said. "Vittorio is in the hospital and we're each taking shifts with him." That was a lie and then it wasn't.
Stefano never left the hospital and wouldn't until Vittorio was completely out of danger, but the others came and went. They took care of business while Stefano and Vittorio were out of commission. Still, it was a good excuse and one Harvey would accept. The man was just drunk enough that he might make a scene, and that was the last thing either of the Ferraro brothers wanted.
Both men stood and Harvey tried to get to his feet, too, pushing his wife off his lap. She fell on the floor, landing on her butt. Harvey laughed, subsiding in his chair, his eyes on his wife as she struggled into a full sitting position, her legs sprawled out in front of her. She glared at her husband, who pointed and laughed more.