The Last Stand

Candice's P.O.V.

The bunker had shattered, and we were hodlings in the dust and ash, and the sheriff was coughing, and we could drag him out into the pure mountain air, where the dust and ash fell in torrents, and his wrists were zip-tied, and his costly suit was torn and dirty, but still his eyes showed that evolutionary cold, calculating hatred, which had driven this whole war, and Mantovani pushed him against the side of an SUV, pushing the muzzle of his gun beneath the chin of the sheriff, voice low and le The second time I dialed the number of the dad, my hands shook, and the ringing in my ear after the third unanswered call was tearing the blade of a knife further into my heart, the familiar feeling of panic at loss of the parent who had always been there, always been good, and threatening to sink me into the earth entire.

Mom was at my elbow, with her arm around my waist, and her own face flushed with dirt, but whispering, "He is alright; he must be, but her voice broke on the last word, the passion she still had in her heart at Dad--lost under years and new life, and now surging to the surface as of a tide. Sanna stumped in, wincing with his burns, and grabbed the phone out of my trembling fingers, placing it on speaker and the ringing would go on until at last it swivelled to voicemail and the voice of a familiar, kind voice, that of my dad, came on: This is Richard, leave a message and I will get back to you. The quiet was stifling, the harshness of the war was at its highest, and I felt my knees giving way, and Mantovani held me ere I fell, his arms tough and stalwart, and pulled me to his bosom, growling at the sheriff, I want you to give me ten seconds to know where he is, or I will begin to lop pieces out of you.

The smile went out of the sheriff and was replaced with a computing expression and he shook his head, and nodding to the phone in Sanna's hand said, Text the number I give you; my men will send verification of life, but only on condition of a bargain. The suspense of the negotiation was sour in the air and the air, and Mantovani seemed to be gripping me tighter with every passing moment and his body trembling with the bitter frustration of having to restrain himself and the anger of his family--of me, of father, of the narrow truce we had so nearly reached-burning in his eyes as he moved even closer nearer, and his voice flinty with suppressed anger, "Talk fast." The sheriff clanged up a number, Sanna typed it with fingers that were steady, and in thirty seconds he had a new picture, the still bound dad, conscious, sitting in what appeared to be an empty warehouse, a guard standing behind him with a rifle, time-stamped only a few minutes ago, and it was such a relief that it hurt.

Mom gave a sob of relief, and her hand went to her mouth and I held onto Mantovani, whispering, he is alive, we can get him back, and the human need to feel connected with one another was surpassing the bullet and treachery and reminder that love, with all its tangle and complexity and perseverance, was more powerful than bullets and betrayal. Sanna dealt with the conditions in cold blood: trade the sheriff off to Dad at some neutral ground somewhere off New York in twelve hours, no gimmicks, no reinforcement, and the sheriff's daughter--the one of whom Ryan had betrayed--would be the next victim, and her whereabouts were already in the possession of our New York friends. The sheriff turned pale and the tables turned and he was his vendetta leaving under the dust of his own pennant the threat to his own blood and he nodded, his voice cracked, "Deal; but cross my back--

Mantovani stopped him with a blow that jerked his head laterally and sprinkled the blood, "You have no position to threaten, bear that in mind." We put the sheriff into the back of an armored SUV, blindfolded and gagged, and took off to the closest airstrip, the jet was already fueled and ready to go, and we all climbed in, Mom insisting on being with us, her glare fierce, and no one was saying to her to leave, the hysteria of reuniting and rescue and redemption cementing us all the more. Mantovani sat next to me, and his hand had never left mine, and his thumb multiplied comforting circles on my wrist, and he leaned into my ear, saying, We are getting him back, piccola; then we have done with this forever, his voice deep with fatigue and passion, and the closeness of his body to mine was reminding me that even during the bad times we were together.

The journey to New York was nervous, hours were like the wire and I was unable to sleep, my thoughts going round and round the war the burning of the villa, Conti bleeding, the betrayal of Aston, the bunker falling, the sex in his words creating pictures of the ordinary life we both so desperately needed. Mom and Sanna were sitting opposite each other, and their silent conversation was a gentle foil to the hum of the engine, and I stood there and observed them, with the familiarity of the old truth that all too often second chances come with anarchy.

We came to a small landing field on the outskirts of the city, it was cold and gray at dawn, and we drove into the agreed meeting place, a deserted warehouse district at the docks, my tongue still bitter at the irony of it all. Our men stood on roofs and in the shade, and the snipers were on the alert, and we waited, the sheriff in the back-seat, and he was not saying anything, but was concentrating on what might happen next. Just as it was noon, two black SUVs arrived, the windows smoked, and then first came Dad, pushed through by two guards, bruised on the face, but alive, and his eyes looked wildly about until they caught sight of me, and joy shot through his face as he said my name.

Mantovani waved, and we drove the sheriff out, and his stuff taken off his head, so he might see his daughter was not here,--our bluff working, as yet. It was a narrow companionship, with guns on both sides, the air reeking of treachery, but Dad walked slowly forward, guards retiring, and I bounded up at full speed, throwing my arms round his neck, and sobbing on his shoulder, and he embraced me and muttered something, saying, I knew you would, princess; and I never thought you wouldn't. Mom came in, with a fumbling, though heartfelt embrace of dad, the three of us standing round, as of love, that had endured it all, the savagery of the war unable to sever what was best and dearest.

We were covered by Mantovani, with his gun drawn, as the sheriff men retreated, but just as the SUVs drove off, the sheriff leaned out the window, smiling vilely, "This is not the end, yet you have the location of my daughter, but I have something better in the end, you have all the secrets, all the pasts, in those files will be released to the public in twenty-four hours unless you turn in the empire. The cars drove away, and we were left in dumb silence, the mystery bursting the last time as we saw that the war was not being fought out with guns, but with revelation, scandal, and loss of all we had created in the shadows.

What empire, what empire, you know, said dad, who was puzzled, and yet stable. and Mantovani looked up at me, and the excitement and the fright were reflected in his eyes, and Sanna heard the phone, and a new message announced, and our names and our sin, our family secrets were being exposed to the open air of the world.