Blood and Bonds

Chapter 4: The Choice

The same day, Naples Train Station

Santino's lungs burned as he ran through the crowded station. People pushed past him. Suitcases rolled as Voices echoed off the high ceiling.

Behind him, he could hear the sirens getting closer.

He'd escaped the alley. Barely. When Officer Rossi had reached for his nightstick, Santino had moved first. The knife had found its mark. Not deep enough to kill. Just deep enough to run.

Now he was bleeding too. A cut on his arm from where the younger cop had grabbed him. His shirt was torn. His face was dirty.

He looked like exactly what he was. A street kid running from the law.

Santino ducked behind a newspaper stand. Through the glass, he watched police officers flood the main entrance. They were searching faces. Looking for him.

"Santino?" He spun around. A boy about his age stood there. Thin but Well-dressed. 

"Salvatore?" Santino couldn't believe it. "What are you doing here?"

"My family's moving to France. My father got a job there." Salvatore looked at Santino's torn clothes. At the blood on his arm. "What happened to you?"

"Nothing. Just"

"The cops are looking for you." It wasn't a question.

Santino said nothing. "Come on." Salvatore grabbed his arm. "This way."

He led Santino through the crowd. Away from the main entrance. Toward the platforms where the trains waited.

"Where are we going?" Santino asked. "Platform 7. My family's train doesn't leave for an hour."

They walked quickly. Salvatore moved like he belonged here. Like he had every right to be in this place.

Santino felt different. Out of place. Dirty. "Here." Salvatore stopped beside an empty bench. "Sit down. You're bleeding."

Santino sat. Salvatore pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. It was Clean, White and looked Expensive.

"Let me see your arm." Santino rolled up his sleeve. The cut wasn't deep but it was long and Still bleeding.

Salvatore wrapped the handkerchief around it. "This will have to do for now."

"Why are you helping me?"

"We were friends. Remember?" They had been. When they were younger. Before Salvatore's family moved to the better part of town. Before the distance between their worlds became too big to cross.

"That was a long time ago," Santino said.

"Not that long." A train whistle blew. Somewhere in the distance.

"Tell me what happened," Salvatore said.

Santino hesitated. Then he told him. About the pharmacy. About Sofia. About the cops in the alley.

Salvatore listened without interrupting. "So they wanted information about your father," he said when Santino finished.

"Yeah."

"What kind of information?"

"I don't know. Something about a deal he was setting up." Salvatore was quiet for a moment. "My father knew your father. Did business with him sometimes."

Santino looked at him. "Your father's a teacher."

"My father's a lot of things." Another train whistle. Closer this time.

"What does that mean?" Santino asked. "It means maybe I can help you."

"How?" Salvatore reached into his jacket. Pulled out something wrapped in cloth.

"What is that?"

"Insurance." Salvatore unwrapped it. Inside was a gun. Small. Black. Deadly.

Santino stared at it. "Where did you get that?"

"My father. He's been teaching me things. Important things."

"Like what?"

"Like how this world really works. Like who has power and who doesn't. Like what you have to do to survive."

Santino's mouth was dry. "Why are you showing me this?"

"Because you need to understand something. The cops who want you? They're not going to stop. Someone sent them. Someone important."

"Who?"

"I don't know. But I know what they want."

"What?"

"They want to know what your father knew. What he was planning. Who he was working with."Santino touched the bandage on his arm. It was already soaking through with blood.

"And if I can't tell them?"

"Then you're useless to them. And useless people..." Salvatore shrugged. "They disappear."

A man in a conductor's uniform walked past them. Checking his watch. Looking at the trains.

"So what do I do?" Santino asked. Salvatore held out the gun. "You learn to protect yourself."

Santino stared at it. The metal was cold. Heavy. "I can't take this."

"You have to."

"It's not mine."

"Nothing is ever really ours, Santino. We just borrow it until someone stronger takes it away." Santino's hand moved toward the gun.  "My father always said"

"Your father's dead," Salvatore interrupted. "His rules don't work anymore."

The train whistle blew again. Much closer now.

"That's my train," Salvatore said. "I have to go."Santino still hadn't touched the gun.

"Take it," Salvatore said again.

"And then what?"

"And then you decide. Do you want to keep running? Keep hiding? Keep being afraid?"

"Or?"

"Or you stop being the victim." Santino could hear his father's voice. No mercy. No weakness. Kill or be killed.

Maybe his father was right after all.

Santino picked up the gun. It felt heavier than he'd expected. "Good," Salvatore said. He stood up. "There's something else."

"What?"

"The cop who followed you. Rossi."

"What about him?"

"He works for the Torrino family."

Santino's blood went cold. The same family that had killed his father.

"They sent him to find you. To make you tell them what your father knew."

"And if I don't?" Salvatore looked at him seriously. "Then they'll keep sending people until you're dead. Or until you make them stop."

The train was pulling into the station now. Steam and smoke. The screech of metal on metal.

"Remember what I said," Salvatore called over the noise. "Kill or die, Santino. There's no third option."

He walked away toward the train. Toward his family. Toward his new life.

Santino sat alone on the bench. The gun heavy in his hands.

Around him, people rushed to catch their trains. Going to new places. New lives. New chances.

But Santino wasn't going anywhere. He was staying right here. In this city. In this life.

And he was going to make them pay. All of them.

Starting with Rossi.