Free The Wolf by Lorenzo Carcaterra Page B

his scope, and now it would not only cost him his life, but the lives of many innocent people, those he had been sent there to save.
    Remi tossed the box to the ground, pulled his gun and aimed it at the overweight man in the blue smock.
    He never got a chance to fire off a round.
    The explosion was powerful, shattering glass and bodies as one, bringing an end to hundreds of lives on a sun-drenched day in Rome.

Chapter 11
    Bridgehampton, New York
    I walked with my son Jack along the shoreline of a quiet beach, the two of us lost in thought, ocean waves lapping at our bare feet. He was still reeling from the loss we had suffered together, and he would for years, I knew. Even so, he did his best to hide his pain.
    “I’m sorry I haven’t been around these last few days,” I said. “There were a few things I had to do.”
    Jack nodded, eyes gazing at the rocks that dotted the shoreline. “Are you going to get them?” he asked, barely above a whisper.
    I placed an arm around his shoulder and felt him ease in closer to me. “As many of them as I can,” I said.
    “Do you know who did it?” he asked.
    I shook my head. “I need time to narrow it down.”
    “I miss them, Dad,” he said, his voice walking the rope that separated childhood and puberty. “The other day, I thought I smelled Mom’s sauce. I ran into the kitchen—”
    “I miss them, too,” I said, the words barely there.
    I hadn’t yet been able to allow my emotions to show, but I was close now to cracking. Exhausted as I was, I could not even think of sleep and played the pictures of what I imagined their final moments to be over and over in my mind, a torturous unending loop. I felt myself spiraling downward at a time when I needed to be at my best. I shunned my security detail, much to my uncle’s dismay, spending time alone, planning a war and mourning a loss too unbearable to contemplate.
    Yet at the same time, I had to ensure Jack’s safety. As much disregard as I had for my own life, I made doubly sure to place my son in as contained and secure an environment as possible. He lived at the compound, which was manned by high-tech security cameras and armed personnel situated throughout the nine-acre property. He spent the bulk of his time with Uncle Carlo, still the most feared mob boss in the country. They ate meals together, played board games, went sailing on the Sound and fishing in the deep ocean, a small armada of bodyguards always nearby.
    “Do you think it’s your fault?” Jack asked.
    I never hid who I was or what I did from my family. I didn’t advertise it or go to lengths to explain it, but I didn’t need to. They saw the guards stationed outside the house and on the perimeter of the property. They took note of my long absences and knew I was not a businessman out on the road. They didn’t need to grasp the full weight of my work to figure it was outside the norm. Their understanding of my way of life was not based on anything I said or any action they witnessed. They just knew.
    “Yes, “I said. “But I would feel that way no matter who I was or what I did for a living. Just like any husband or father. It’s not my job that causes me guilt. It’s that I wasn’t there to prevent it.”
    Jack was twelve and tall for his age. He was a good student, a better athlete. He loved sports of all kind except for golf. He was a fanatical baseball fan, absorbed in the most mundane statistical details, able to recite the hitting and pitching numbers of any player in either major league, from star to spot starter. He liked to read and it pleased me to see him go beyond class requirements and seek out the books I absorbed as a child, finding in them as much pleasure as I once had. He also loved chess, as I did.
    “Mom always worried about you,” Jack said. “She never said anything, but I could tell.”
    That casual comment caught me off guard. I stopped and turned to face the ocean, waves still roiling from a storm. I was so focused on