This was…
“Greyson, tell the rest of the men to be fully armed but on standby at Ballico.” Calliope’s voice traveled down the hall gently. Glancing to my left, she stood at the end of the hall, now changed into black jeans, boots, and a dark black sweater. She held a double barrel AR-15 machine gun in one hand and her machete in the other. Apparently, you couldn’t take the assassin out of her. It was broad daylight and she looked like she was ready to go fight alongside the Terminator. How the fuck did she change so quickly, anyway?
Greyson looked at me, eyebrow raised. I nodded for him to go. As he walked over to her, he looked her over, perplexed. But then shook off whatever he was thinking, walking back down the stairs.
“Nice outfit, Lara Croft,” I said.
“Firstly, I look better,” she replied without smiling. “Secondly, I am not in the mood for jokes. Nor do I want you to be calm right now. And I don’t need you to go to some little room like the rest of your family to talk about counterattacks. All they are going to do is waste time yelling how dare anyone fire at your precious family house.”
“Well thank you for that list. How about you tell me what you need, then?”
“Take the gun and get in the fucking car with me,” she said, handing me the machine gun.
“You of all people want to move without a plan?”
“I had a plan. It was a very good plan. I woke up early this morning for it. I made donuts for it. It came with pretty speeches and a very cute outfit. Then some little wannabe gangster fucks thought they could shoot up this house to prove themselves. So now I am upset and I will think of a new plan on the way.”
“Calliope, we have people who could handle this—”
She stepped closer, staring me down. “You are upset, too. So upset that you do not want anyone else to handle this. That is why you took our daughter to a safe room. You want to feel their blood on your hands for this.”
She was right.
This had crossed a line.
I was pissed.
“So, are we going, or do you need the rest of your family to annoy you with opinions you don’t need and won’t listen to first?”
“You’re condescending when you are upset; you’re aware of that, right?” I replied.
“Yes. I know. Now, let’s go. Every second we waste is a second they have to hide.”
“There is no place to hide on scorched earth,” I said, walking in front of her and down the hall. This was some shit. This wasn’t a coordinated attack. This wasn’t planned. This was punks trying to use the current chaotic state of the city to prove they were tough, to prove they were big, bad, and fearless. That they could hit this family and walk away unscathed. It was like slapping God to them.
And now, they would see what happened when God slapped back.
He left nothing standing.
CALLIOPE
“Whe
n I came here, I knew bullets would start flying and blood would start flowing…but I had no idea it would happen before I got to eat, what I suffered to make,” I muttered, looking out the window as he drove, noticing the sixth cop in less than five minutes. Something was off. They couldn’t all be his people, either. He didn’t have all of the Chicago P.D. on the bankroll.
I would worry about that later. I thought about putting up my sweater sleeves. The bright sunlight glaring down on everything made my chest hot. Black was good for dark nights, not for sunny days, but it was the only thing I had ready and could change into quickly. This whole day was dog shit. I wanted a do-over.
“Calliope, are you going to sulk about this breakfast all morning?” he muttered as he got on the highway.
“Do you know how long it takes to make bombolinis for your big ass family?”
He opened his mouth to answer but I cut him off before he pissed me off more. “3 hours! You need to knead them by hand for a couple of minutes first, then place the dough in a large, lightly oiled bowl, cover with plastic wrap, and allow to rise in a warm place for at least 2 hours until tripled in size…when you fry them, you can only do a few at a time, making sure to not crowd the pan and for 3 minutes on each side. That is just for some damn bombolinis!”
“No one forced you to do that, you were showing off—”
“I will cut you, Ethan, I swear to fucking God!” Again, fuck me for trying to be fucking nice to his fucking family. “Next time I’ll just poison them and not worry about it.”
“Didn’t you do that already?”