A Falling Star

I bring my cupped hands closer to my face and blow lightly on the freezing fingers. My lips silently curse the cold.

Of course I’d rather be home. The armchair by my fireplace is the coziest place on a night like this. Or at least a chair close to the kitchen stove with something hot burbling inside. My thoughts veer towards the roasted goose leftovers in my fridge. Enough for a filling supper.

I snap back to the reality at hand and take one last look around. The factory looks properly deserted, as it should be. Even my sharp eyes haven’t spotted any guards outside. Still crouching close to the perimeter fence, I grab my cutter. Time to have a peek inside.

How did I end up here on this cold December evening? Well, the usual way. Padre summoned me last night. A professional like me cannot count on ordinary working hours.

The summons wasn’t that much of a surprise after the last months’ developments: big shipments getting stolen, important people disappearing, associates suddenly reluctant to do what they were told. The word on the street was that the Fortino family were recovering under a new boss, however unlikely it might sound. I could swear we wiped them out last year. Our soldiers did most of the work but the bullets that turned Papa Fortino’s forehead into mush came from my trusted P229 Legion. See, I am not your typical professional. So much so that hardly anyone in the Family is aware of the full extent of my skills. Padre calls me his secret weapon.

My business is about weapons of all kinds: guns, knives, explosives, you name it. Especially explosives. A hidden storeroom only I know how to access contains enough to flatten this entire city. Mechanical and chemical, organic and inorganic, my stash has everything from plain old TNT to some experimental compounds I like to come up with in my spare time. I call them my matchsticks. No atomics yet… but I’m working on it.

A five feet tall woman with a willowy frame is not usually suspected of being an expert in what I do. In fact, a woman in my line of business is unheard of within the macho structures of the Family. This is part of why I am so effective. Plus I definitely don’t mind being unique. When push comes to shove, what are these tough guys good for? They cower, whimper and call for a woman to clean up their own mess.

Padre looked grim behind his mahogany desk when I entered his study. Wasting no time for pleasantries, he unfolded a map.

‘There is a rumour that the Fortinos are putting this old car factory into operation, but not to make cars this time. Go and check if it’s true. Whatever it is they do there, I want to know about it.’

‘The source of the rumour?’

‘Trustworthy.’

I sighed.

‘Is anyone these days?’

Padre frowned and pursed his lips.

‘Whatever you find…’ Padre’s frown deepened. ‘If it can harm the Family, destroy it. I trust your judgement.’

I nodded slowly.

He sighed. The tension of last months had started to show on his face.

‘Be careful. I have a bad feeling.’

‘Yes, Padre.’

I am always careful.

Now that I’m on the other side of the fence, I finally spot a guard slumped inside the little gatehouse. He is snoring. I briefly consider stabbing him, but the rumour can still turn out to be false. Better not to leave any traces. I proceed silently like a ghost.

I get to the window I have chosen as my entrance. Closed, but not quite. The frame juts out from the wall almost imperceptibly. Someone must have been lax in their duties. These things happen if a factory has been out of business for ten years. I like to think that the Fortinos would provide better security if they really used this place. Still, better not become too relaxed.

My rucksack makes the tiniest of sounds when is scratches the wall and I freeze, but the night is silent. No movement in the vicinity, no glint of a weapon. A quick dash, and I’m inside. A storeroom. Lots of shelves full of cardboard boxes loom in the darkness. I look inside a few of the boxes. Empty.

I grab a thin stick from one of my vest pockets and bend it. Weak yellow light reveals more shelves, more boxes. A distant wall. A door. Locked, but my tools solve this problem quickly.

The corridor is also dark and smells of dust. There are other doors: some locked, some not. All empty. No living soul. I’m starting to think that Padre’s source might be not that trustworthy after all. Remembering the factory plans I have spent the whole day memorising, I proceed towards the production area. The glowing stick goes back to the pocket. There is a gun in my hand now.

The air inside the factory feels even colder than outside – if this is even possible. I can see my breath. One dark corridor leads to another, until I finally reach an open area. It is easier to feel it in front of me than to actually see it, but I don’t dare use the glowing stick again. Instead, I push myself closer to a wall, careful not to scratch it with my rucksack full of dangerous things.

The production line looks empty too. My eyes adjust and different shades of darkness become metal fences, wide pipes high above, and metal arms of abandoned assembly robots standing in neat rows like sentinels on duty.

Once again, I’m on the move. A shadow among the shadows, a black silhouette against the blackness. Every five steps or so I take cover behind one of the robots and assess the surroundings. Something in this hall makes me uneasy. I can’t put my finger on it, but tiny prickles at the base of my neck and an unexpected knot in my stomach won’t go away. Am I being watched? Every time I stop, the hall spreads around me as dark and abandoned as before.

I reach the other end of the hall unimpeded. Then, a flicker off to the side catches my eye. Slowly, carefully, I look into yet another corridor. The light is coming from its far end.

My steps make no sound as I reach the slightly ajar door and put my eye to the crack. Crates. No people in sight. Silence. The dim light comes from above but the ceiling is too high for me to see it.

I hesitate. It looks too much like a trap. The tension in my muscles is so great that I no longer feel the cold. The first impulse is to flee as far as possible from the only lit room in this place. But how can I? What would I tell Padre? No. Time to go inside.

I burst into the room hunched, almost crouching, gun at the ready. Check left, right. Have the room mapped in a fraction of a second. The place is empty. My body relaxes. It’s not time for me to die. Not yet.

Stacks of crates are everywhere. An old, dirty lamp hangs from the centre of a high ceiling. No windows. The only door is the one I came through. The sense of being trapped intensifies. I better be quick.

So I tiptoe towards the crates and try to lift one of the lids. It sits tight. To hell with my small stature and womanly strength. When the lid finally slides to the side, sleek rows of machine guns seem to be laughing in my face. I take a step back. Flee! It’s a trap! My heart is pounding but I need to know more. This is why I open another crate at random. Guns again. Another one: dynamite. Enough to blow up this entire factory. Sweat makes my forehead itchy.

There is no sound, but a sudden impulse makes me turn. Too late. A shadow moves at the edge of my field of vision. My finger starts squeezing the trigger when something collides with my head with the power of a speeding car.

Awareness returns gradually. First, there is the rhythmic pounding of a hammer. It takes a while to understand that the hammer is my heartbeat. The pungency of blood in my mouth comes along with a wave of pain.

Then comes the cold. My body is freezing.

I open my eyes reluctantly. The blur of lights and shadows makes my head spin. Then things slowly come into focus and I can see I’m still in the same room. My rucksack is gone, as is my vest. Trouser pockets are empty. No gun in my hand, of course. Even the knife has disappeared from its pocket in my left sock. I sit on the cold concrete floor with my back slumped against a wall, hands cuffed behind my back, my feet tied together with a plastic cord.

A shadow looms over me and I struggle to move my head. Looking up hurts.

‘Hello, darling.’

Do I know that voice? For some reason, my heart skips a beat. The mist in my eyes clears somewhat and I can see a tall silhouette of a man in a thick fur coat. There are other men behind him. They hold automatic guns.

He waves his hand and the men leave through the only door in the room. Then he leans forward so that I can see his face. I gasp.

Tony J. Grannino, better known as ‘Granny’. Padre’s most trusted Consigliere. The very reason why we started the war against the Fortinos last year.

The love of my life.

‘Granny? You’re dead!’

‘Not as dead as you thought, babe.’

My thoughts are spinning. Memories spill out all at once. His infectious smile. Callous hands surprisingly gentle on my skin. Trips to the beach, candlelit dinners, champagne. Fresh roses in my bedroom every morning. The charred remains of a body in the burnt wreck of a car, the smell of soot and petrol clinging to my hair.

‘You’re thinking about that little accident of mine? Anyone can die in a car, you know. You should never be that certain if the only ID you can get is a signet.’

He raises his hand and something glints in the light. ‘I had to have another one made.’

My lips feel stiff like wood in the cold but I manage to ask:

‘Why?’

He chuckles softly.

‘I’m going up in the world, darling.’

The realisation hits me. All the puzzle pieces suddenly fall into place.

‘It’s been you all the time? Taking out our people, stealing our shipments? You?’

He spreads his hands and doesn’t even try to look embarrassed.

‘The Fortinos have lost a lot in that explosion you have manufactured so professionally. We’re only taking back what’s ours, babe.’

‘Ours?’ The truth is still hard to believe. “You are the new Fortino boss? How?’

He crouches in front of me but beyond the reach of my bound feet. He smiles and lowers his voice.

‘My father’s grandmother back in Sardinia was a Fortino. A tiny little secret of mine.’

I can feel my jaw dropping open. All these crates around me, the guns, the explosives. The Fortinos have prepared themselves well. My Family is doomed unless I do something.

‘How long have you been planning all this?’

He gives me the lopsided grin I know so well and says nothing. The rage inside me feels hot enough to ignite the world. He stands up.

‘I wish I could have you by my side again, darling.’ His eyes look so sad now that I almost believe him. ‘But… I have an understanding with Clara. I’m sorry, babe, but you cannot live.’

Clara? Does he mean Clara Fortino, old Papa’s daughter?

‘I’ll kill that bitch!’

‘No, you won’t…’ He shakes his head. ‘See, this is exactly what she expected you to say. I’m sure you can see her point.’

My rage turns into an ice cold fury. With the first shock gone, my mind feels clearer than ever. Have I really been stripped of all my weapons? My cold fingers bend and probe. There are no guns, no knife. The belt… gone. Of course. Granny would have known about the explosives in my belt. I can only think of one secret hiding place he may be unaware of. My last chance.

‘Can I have some water?’

‘There is no need, babe. It’s better to die on an empty stomach.’

I fumble with the hem of the back of my shirt, the movement disguised with a slight shift of my body as if I’m trying to find a more comfortable position. There is no flicker of triumph in my eyes when my freezing fingers close on the vials in a pocket sewn into the cotton fabric. One, two, three little sticks land in the palm of my hand.

‘Are you going to kill me, Tony? Really? With your own gun?’

‘Darling, I would never kill you. How could I?’ His puppy eyes drive me mad.

‘I have men for this,’ he says.

The sticks will explode on impact. Is he standing close enough? With my hands handcuffed, I have to aim high so that at least one vial can gather enough speed. The crates with the dynamite are not that far. I check discretely if I’m able to flick my wrist. Maybe if I lean to the side like this… It’s one of those days when small hands are an asset.

Granny moves as if he was about to turn away. I can’t let him leave.

‘Have you ever loved me, Tony?’

He laughs and my stomach heaves. Have I ever felt so used before? I allow myself a momentary pang of disdain towards all men, especially those who have sent me into the cold while they stay comfortable in their warm homes. But the most important thing is that Granny takes a step forward and crouches to look me in the eyes.

‘Let’s not get too soppy, darling. You know how it is. Priorities.’ He shrugs. ‘But I will miss you, honey, be sure I will.’

He stands up again and turns away from me. At the same moment, I flick my wrist and time almost freezes. Three vials fly upwards in slow motion, one higher than others. As it's reaching the highest point of its ascent, the lamplight shines through it, making it sparkle like a star. The star starts falling behind the man’s back. He will never see how bright it shines.

No, Granny. I won’t let you go and call your men. One spark from my matchsticks, and this place will light up like a fucking Christmas tree. You’re not leaving me here to die.

We will go up together.