Page 24 of Hostile Bond
“So, he likes to blow shit up?”
“He’s not the only one.”
Frothy foam leaves white tracks in the calm ocean as Sapori’s boat picks up speed. That's what men like that do. They unsettle the equilibrium of beautiful things.
“Fancy a helicopter ride, brother?” I reposition my sunglasses to shade my eyes.
Giovanni chuckles darkly. “I was hoping you’d ask.”
“An eye for a fucking eye.”
9
SINÉAD
Thirty minutes after Frankie had landed on the island, he was climbing on board the outbound speedboat again.
He no longer walks the same piece of land as us, taking his threats with him as he goes.
I’d watched the interaction from our balcony, noting how André couldn’t tolerate being near him. If he’d given me a gun like I’d asked for, I would have fired a few bullets at Frankie myself.
Now his speed boat cuts through the tranquil sea like a skimming stone, and André still hasn’t come to find me. He leaves the orchid fringed terrace near the shore. Rather than head to the villa, he stalks the length of an oblong swimming pool, in the opposite direction.
The peacefulness that comes with paradise is hacked to pieces by whipping blades and a helicopter motor. I lean over the balcony not letting him out of my sight, to get a better view of André and his twin brother as they march toward a waiting chopper, their self-assured strides confident. Two men on a mission. Identical in height, but with different motives for war.
My knees go weak while they talk to the pilot. He’s leaving? An awful dread fills me. Is he returning to Miami to face the men who’d planted the bomb? Could he really disappear without talking to me first—without saying goodbye?
I freeze when he climbs into the chopper and Giovanni follows. The second it rises into the wispy sky, I unstick my bare feet, turn into the suite, and start to run. I dart around the grand four-poster bed he’d tied my wrists and ankles to last night, bolt into the sunlit labyrinthine corridor, descend the carpeted sweeping staircase, and land on the stone-colored marble tiles with a thud.
I don’t stop running, not even when I break out into the late afternoon sun. Warm grass pricks the soles of my feet. The hazy heat causes sweat to gather on my scalp and coats my skin in a salty mist. My lungs tighten and my stomach cramps when the helicopter swoops across the ocean, its thunderous mechanical roar fading the farther away it flies.
When I reach the powdery beach, panting and furious, Matheus waves to me from the wooden jetty. He beckons for me to join him and Tomás, both of them facing the horizon where Frankie’s yacht is anchored in a glittering azure ocean, framed by a hazy pink sky.
But I can’t move. My toes dig into warm fine grains as my heart pounds out a rhythm of frustration and sorrow.
My eyes settle on Frankie’s speedboat as it finally reaches his yacht, thankful he’s far away from our shores. I can barely make him out as it bobs on a slow approach. But the minute he climbs on board, a second boat appears from behind the stern. It bumps over V-shaped waves, zooming toward dry land—heading straight for us.
It’s at that moment when the helicopter changes direction and does a swift one-eighty, soaring through the air like a missile.
Goosebumps pepper my bare arms, and the hairs on my scalp lift to attention. Anxiety grips my chest. Something isn’t right. I look over at Matheus and Tomás, who appear unperturbed by the arrival of the second boat, or that André’s helicopter hovers near Frankie's yacht. Its predatory presence fills the heavens like a vulture.
Then everything slows to a creeping lull. The briny breeze stills and the hungry birds cease to squawk. I’m aware of my shallow breathing and how my pulse thunders. I continue to watch as the passenger door of the chopper opens and a rocket launches into the air upon an apocalyptic flight path.
A sonic boom ruptures paradise, followed by a splintering crack. Burning boat debris pelts disturbed waves and raging flames engulf what's left of the yacht. Although one rocket isn’t deemed enough. Another obliterates the hull, and a third fractures the ship into an irreparable wreck.
There’s no surviving an attack of that magnitude. Not even a mayday call could save Frankie and his team from the destruction my husband unleashed.
I’ve known André to be thoughtful and loving. Yet I’ve witnessed the flip side to his lawless persona. The part of him that possesses the spirit of a warlord. Discord and murder are second nature to the Souzas.
Dazed by the carnage, I blink it all in. From the thick swirling smoke to the hovering aircraft. Broken parts of the yacht gradually sink out of sight, submerging into the unknown as a final resting place, never to be recovered. A fuel slick ring of fire burns on the disturbed surface acting as a cage to imprison evil.
I should care about the loss of life. But I don’t.
Instead, I’m numb. My emotions are glacial, and any inkling of compassion had long ago been wiped out. Frankie and I had shared DNA and nothing more. Two strangers. One who tried to cash in on a pedigree lineage. The other doesn’t give a fuck about that side of the family tree.
As the helicopter does a final lap of victory, I start to shake. André had done exactly what he said he would do—but what about Mammy?
I stay standing on the shore of this isolated island, hearing waves crash, and the noise of thwapping blades growing louder. My heart rate takes off at the thought of Frankie’s threat, and what my mother might face in the aftermath. The more I think about it, the quicker panic sets in. This isn’t really a paradise, it's a fortress for lawless criminals who follow their own rules.
