Page 7 of They Found Us

I feel our little one turn and see what I think is their bottom protrude through the front of my stomach. I stand to take a look at myself through the full-length mirror on the wall, turning from side to side and lifting my top to see the shape of my bump. It’s dropped. I smile and rub my tummy excitedly,feeling calmer. The pains I have been experiencing must be our baby turning and getting ready for their arrival next month.

After watching two episodes, I’m falling asleep, so I take myself off to bed. I fall asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow.

At 5:00 a.m., I am woken by high-pitched screams.

Leo

I move the overgrown shrubs and vines that conceal the underground entrance to the Guerra property. After lifting the steel door and climbing down the first few steps on the ladders, I carefully close myself in, hardly making a sound. It’s pitch-black until I reach the ground beneath me.

Dim lights illuminate my path as I walk through the tunnel. The stench almost makes me gag, but I focus on the path in front of me, avoiding puddles of shit and dead animals. It takes me around fifteen minutes to quickly walk the length of the tunnel. I’m relieved when I see the ladders leading to the opening in the grounds. It brings me out at a concealed hatch by the swimming pool. Once I have checked the coast is clear I climb out, brush my suit down, and tighten my tie.

Holding my gun at the ready, I move through the grounds, hiding myself as much as possible behind shrubbery and garden walls. It’s quiet. Too quiet. I hope I’m not too late. As I get closer to the house, the ground is covered with bodies of Martelé men. Kicking their limbs as I pass to check that they are in fact dead, I carefully manoeuvre between the blood and guts staining the once white porcelain footpaths.

As I enter through the back door of the property, I instantly hear the sound of voices. The kitchen no longer lookslike part of a home. Every surface is covered with weapons and ammunition. I put my handgun back in its holster at my back and pick up a loaded machine gun. Following the sound of the voices, I step carefully through to the front of the house. After checking each room I pass, I reach the room where the commotion is coming from.

Peering through the crack by the hinges in the door, I see Marco and Van tied to chairs to the left. Martelé men stand to the right. I’m furious to see my men being held hostage by Martelé on Guerra soil. I plan my careful retaliation, but then lose my head when I hear the words of the Martelé.

“Here, today, you will witness the death of the last Guerra. After this moment, I do not want that name to ever be said again. The Guerra name dies with him.”

I see red. My body burns and pulsates with fury. Without thinking, I fire the machine gun through the door in the direction of the Martelé. They return fire in my direction. Bullets shoot through the walls, narrowly missing my head. I step back, shielding myself behind a marble cabinet in the hallway. I return fire again, holding my arm up in their direction until their retaliation comes to an end.

Leaving it a moment, I wait in my retreat for any indication of survivors. I light a cigar and take a long drag to calm my nerves. When I don’t hear a sound, I approach the door. Peering through the opening, I see the lifeless Martelé bodies on the floor. I’m relieved to see Marco and Van looking at each other in disbelief. A rush of exhilaration shoots through my body. It’s a welcome euphoria I hadn’t realised I had missed until now.

Entering through the doorway, I take another drag of my cigar, feeling smug as I watch the expressions on Van’s and Marco’s faces.

Van bursts into laughter. “What took you so long?”

Van was the one who called me and asked for help. I had guessed he had done this without Marco’s knowledge. And from the look on Marco’s face right now, I definitely guessed correctly.

“Aren’t you supposed to be fucking dead?” Marco booms.

“Had to come and save your sorry ass, didn’t I?” I reply as I untie Van, who is still finding the situation hilarious, unlike Marco, who is furious I have intervened.

“What have you fucking done! You died so you and your wife could live. Now you have just put another bounty on both your heads!”

He is pissing me off now. Does he think I don’t know what I risked to come here? I stand in front of him, looking him in the eyes. “Marco. My sole purpose has always been to protect my family. You are my family. I wouldn’t even be alive now if it wasn’t for the many times you have saved my life. Now, don’t ever question my judgement again.”

As I release Marco from his restraints, he tries to stand up. But as he does, he falls. I just about support his heavy frame. When I look down, I see the reason for his unsteadiness. “Shit, look at the state of you.”

Blood soaks his ankles and pools around his feet. Once I’ve sat him back down, I take a closer look. His heels have been shot. It’s a mess. He will be lucky to walk again. Infuriated, I wish the Martelé weren’t dead so I could kill them again, much slower.

After instructing Van to arrange confidential emergency treatment with the best surgeon money can buy, I bandage Marco’s wounds up the best I can. Van pulls the car as close to the front door as possible. I’m worried about Marco. He is in a bad way. He dozes in and out of consciousness as we carry him to the car. We need to get him medical attention soon, or we are going to lose him.

We get Marco to the medical centre in record time. The Guerra have their own private entrance, with minimal staff who are on our payroll.

Once Marco is in good hands, I ask Van to explain the Guerra’s situation. “I want to know everything. Leave nothing out. From the moment I left three years ago until now.”

The hours while Marco is in surgery pass by quickly. I pace up and down the room, listening to the turmoil the Guerra organisation has now become.

“The damage began when Mia disappeared,” Van explains.

But he is wrong. The destruction started when I faked my own death. I left Marco on his own. He had no elders to guide him, no one on his level for support. Van is a number-one man, but he is not a Guerra. He does not share the same blood. The situation is far worse than I first thought. The whole existence of the Guerra is at stake.

When Marco’s surgery is complete, he is brought into the room with Van and me. The surgeon is pleased with how the operation went, the damage wasn’t as severe as first expected.

“He needs rest and time to heal,” the surgeon explains without making eye contact.

“Thank you, Doctor. Unfortunately that’s easier said than done with this one,” I reply as I look at my strong number one lying unconscious and helpless in his bed.