by Tami Lund
But was all of it?
Call her naïve, but she didn’t believe the affection he showed was fake. And while his motives were wrong, the things he did, said, the way he acted…yeah, she was a fool, because despite what she now knew about him, she didn’t hate him.
She wasn’t ever going to talk to him again, of course, but she didn’t hate him. Like Margot, he’d made a few poor decisions that had landed him in a situation—a life—he could not break free from. They would both be tied to Gino Sarvilli until they died.
Phoebe surely wasn’t off base assuming Antonio would go straight if he could only get out from under his brother’s thumb. Margot had even said the same thing.
Not that it mattered. Not to Phoebe.
She continued jogging, pushing through the burning in her legs. Maybe she could run away from all the memories.
If Phoebe hadn’t told the bride when the groom propositioned her, the young lady in white would have been oblivious as she stood next to him and swore to love a cheater til death do they part.
But she still married him, despite Phoebe’s information.
And three months later, the groom had died in an automobile accident, making her a widow at twenty-four.
Gino Sarvilli had been at that wedding. Margot said he was an associate, not a family friend.
Was it possible the groom’s death was linked to him?
Phoebe stopped running and bent at the waist, gasping for breath.
Was it? Had the bride—or her mother—realized Phoebe had been right and gone to Antonio’s brother for a solution to their problem? Had they decided a supposed accidental death was better for their reputations than admitting the groom was a dirty cheater and the wedding never should have happened?
She turned around and started jogging back toward her apartment. And then she kept going, down to the gas station, where she hung a left and then turned right onto the dirt drive leading to Margot’s cottage.
When Margot opened the door, she said, “The world really isn’t black and white, is it?”
Chapter Eleven
WHEN THE CARDS ARE ON THE TABLE…
Antonio holed up in his condo for the rest of the week. He had nowhere else to be, anyway. Nina might miss him, but she’d get over it, because soon, hopefully, Gino would send her home to her mother and she’d forget all about the fun she had with her uncle Antonio.
And all he needed to do his job was his laptop and a secure internet connection. So he worked. It was better than sitting around feeling sorry for himself.
Yet all he was doing was breaking more laws and making Gino more money. Pretending he wasn’t a terrible person because it wasn’t Antonio who ordered the hits. Pretending it didn’t matter that he knew and did nothing, because what the fuck was he supposed to do about it?
All he was doing was exactly what made Phoebe look at him like he was dog shit on the bottom of her shoe.
She loathed him. Hell, he was half surprised the cops hadn’t come knocking on his door with a search warrant. She was just good and pure enough to turn someone like him in.
And he totally deserved it.
He rubbed at his chest and clicked the mouse, earning another cool mil. All in a day’s work.
Where did that original twenty k come from, Antonio? Who paid Gino to make yet another person disappear? Had they really done something so terrible it warranted death?
No, not death. Murder.
“Fuck.” He shoved away from the computer desk and headed to the kitchen in search of booze. Who the hell cared that it was nine o’clock on Sunday morning?
He drank mid-level bourbon out of a glass tumbler he’d purchased at Target and stared at the rows and rows of numbers on the screen.
If he were remotely the decent human being he had pretended he was when he was with Phoebe, he would rat out his brother. Give Proctor the proof he needed to finally put Gino behind bars.
Except Antonio would go to prison too. If he wasn’t offed first.
That aspect of this life was black and white. There were no rats because Gino did not tolerate them. There had been that one guy in the early years, Harry or Henry or something. Hell, Antonio couldn’t remember his name anymore. He’d been young and eager and supposedly willing to do whatever the hell Gino asked. Except he thought his new job and new boss were so cool, he bragged about it at the bar one evening.
The next morning, he was dead, found in his own apartment, an empty bottle of pills and half a bottle of whiskey next to his lifeless hand. It was ruled a suicide, even though the guy had never taken medications before, wasn’t even known to be a whiskey drinker, let alone had ever exhibited any signs of depression or mental health issues or whatever might push someone to take their own life.
But everyone inside Gino’s organization knew what really happened. Even Antonio heard whisperings, as much as he tried to stay out of the front end of the business, even back then.
It was one of the few hits Gino actually did himself.
And it was—so far—the last he had to.
So yeah, rolling on his brother meant Antonio was a dead man. His only two options, if he wanted to see his thirty-sixth birthday, were to stay put and continue along with his head in the sand or to disappear.
Which was impossible. Not that it stopped the want. The desire, the urge to be free, to live a completely average life that didn’t involve murder and millions of dollars and the inability to trust anyone he came into contact with.
The ironic part was, even if he could achieve the impossible, what would he gain? Phoebe would never speak to him again because she was a good girl and good girls didn’t date criminals. Not once they knew the guy was a crook, anyway. There was nothing he could do to win her back. So if he got out, he’d be alone.
The numbers spun before his eyes, racking up the profit. The impossible. No one could make money like he could. No one. It was impossible.
Leaving was impossible.
Wasn’t it?
He sipped bourbon and kept watching the screen.
Wasn’t it?
Break it down, Antonio.
What made Gino so powerful? His intimidation tactics, sure, but ultimately, it was the money. He could buy anything, anyone he wanted. Money was power, and Antonio had essentially turned Gino into a god.
What if he took the money away?
Gino would have nothing. No one would be willing to kill for him if there wasn’t profit involved. People who murdered for a living didn’t do it out of the goodness of their heart.
Could Antonio really make the money disappear? Hell yeah, he could. Reaching out, he tapped a few keys on the keyboard, and one of the figures on the screen dropped by half a million dollars.
Oh yeah, he could. Quickly, he tapped a few more keys, and the numbers started spinning, and the half mil was back, plus interest.
He could really fucking do this. Holy shit, he could get out. He could disappear. But it had to be quick. He had to make the money vanish, make sure everyone remotely connected to Gino knew it was gone, then, while Gino’s world spun out of control, Antonio could slip away, change his identity, and start over. Free.
It was possible.
But what about Nina and Margot? He’d told Margot if he ever figured out a way, he’d take them with him. But how?
And what about Phoebe? She’d told him about her mother, who was living in Arizona and with whom she barely had a relationship. She’d never met her biological father. There were no siblings, no other family she was close to.
She had only recently switched careers, started a job she loved, and she was already up for a promotion. Despite the lack of family support, her life was finally on the track she had dreamed about for as long as she could recall.
Her boss sounded pretty cool. And her co-workers didn’t seem like the assholes Antonio originally thought they were. They were her friends, her support network.
Yeah, sure, he wished…well, he wished she could be part of his life. But that cou
ldn’t be so. Even if she forgave him for the person he was, she wouldn’t disappear with him.
Would she?
No. No, she wouldn’t. And he’d never ask. Because she had her life here, and she deserved to live it, to be happy, to leave behind everything she’d learned about the world thanks to Antonio’s inability to stop seeing her long after he knew better.
Once he was gone, her only barrier to having the perfect life was money.
And that was something he could easily remedy.
He placed his drink on the coaster next to the keyboard and began furiously typing, clicking link after link, filling in all the necessary information, until he pressed that final key, sat back in his chair, and swiped the bourbon off the desk.
He sipped and waited for the confirmation email.
There it was.
Now, Phoebe would be taken care of as well. And she’d never know it was him, because he’d set it up so that the trust fund looked as though it came from her father, a man she’d never known, a man he’d arranged to look as if he’d died and left her everything to his name.
This unknown dad left her a hell of a lot of money. Enough that she no longer had to worry that her career choice was seasonal. She could move out of her apartment and buy a house with a huge yard, so she could plant all the flowers her heart ever desired. And while she did it, she’d forget all about Antonio.
Like he’d never been part of her life at all.
He drained the glass, resisted the urge to slam it down on the table.
And then he set to work on the next part of his new plan.
Figuring out how to get Margot and Nina out, too.
***
He spent the rest of the day going over the plan in his head, over and over and over again, until he was certain he’d figured out every loophole, every possible crack, every scenario.
And yeah, he took a little time to fantasize about one particular scenario, in which Phoebe disappeared with him and Margot and Nina, which he knew was truly a fantasy. Not that the knowledge stopped him from wishing.
He was good at wishing for things that couldn’t ever come true.
Around dinnertime, he snagged his phone and shot off a text to Margot.
I need to talk to you. It’s about what we discussed the other day.
I’m home. Here’s my address, was her reply.
He was at her door thirty minutes later. When she invited him inside, he said, “Nina home yet?”
“Nope. And he won’t respond to my texts or calls, either. I’m half tempted to sic Proctor on him again.”
“Don’t,” Antonio said, striding into the kitchen and coming to a stuttering halt.
Phoebe stood at the counter, dumping scrambled eggs from a pan into a bowl. Her hair was in a braid draped over her shoulder, she wore a pair of yoga pants and a T-shirt, and her cheeks turned a dusky pink as she glanced up at him and quickly averted her gaze.
“Hey,” he said, failing miserably at acting cool. “Wasn’t expecting you to be here.”
She shrugged, still without looking at him. “Spent the day hanging out with Margot. Decided to stay for dinner.”
“That looks like breakfast.”
She shrugged again. Had she decided to stay because Margot told her he was coming over?
Nah. No reason to get carried away.
Shaking his head, Antonio tugged his laptop out of the computer bag hanging from his shoulder and slid into a chair at the kitchen table. “Okay, look, I’m going to be completely straight here. I think I have a way out.”
“Out?” Margot parroted, placing plates and flatware on the table.
He nodded. “Out of Gino’s world.” He glanced at Phoebe. “It’s probably best if you aren’t here for this conversation.”
“Why not?” she asked.
“The less you know, the safer you are.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“You don’t know who you’re dealing with,” he said, but Margot interrupted before he could press further.
“Impossible,” she said as she poured juice into glasses while Phoebe brought the bowl of eggs as well as a platter of bacon to the table. Margot added a fruit salad and hash browns.
“Why are we eating breakfast at six o’clock at night?” Antonio asked, staring at the dishes assembled on the table.
“Who doesn’t love breakfast for dinner?” Phoebe said.
Margot shook her head. “We were hungry and looking for something quick and easy to make. And she’s right. Breakfast for dinner is great.”
Fair enough.
“Seriously, though, Phoebe. I think you should leave,” Antonio pressed again.
She glanced at Margot and then shook her head. “I’m staying.”
“Why?” he asked.
She pursed her lips. “Margot is my friend. I want to make sure she’s taken care of.”
What the hell did that mean?
“So, back to this being impossible,” Margot said.
Antonio sighed. He was surrounded by strong-willed women. If Phoebe didn’t want to leave, she damn well wouldn’t.
Although, it didn’t really matter. He’d taken care of her, unbeknownst to her, so when the time came to run, he could do so with a clear conscience.
“I thought getting out was impossible, too,” he said. “But this morning, I realized it was all about the money. And who controls Gino’s money?”
“You do.” There was a new tinge of excitement in Margot’s voice.
“I think I can create a smoke screen. It will be a short window, but if we’re prepared, we can disappear. You, me, Nina.” He glanced at Phoebe. “I figured you, um…you’re safe. He won’t come after you. Unless…”
She shook her head, and his heart plummeted to his feet. “I wholeheartedly support you getting Margot and Nina out, but I can’t go with you. To be honest, I thought about it. For a minute. But…I just can’t.”
“Why?” But he knew. Because of him. He’d lied, he’d destroyed her faith, and when all the chips were down, he was still a crook. He couldn’t change his past.
“I don’t…I can’t…” She stared at her juice glass. “This isn’t the life I want to live.”
“You’ll be safe,” Margot assured her. “You aren’t on Gino’s radar.”
Phoebe nodded and concentrated on stabbing her fork at the pile of scrambled eggs on her plate.
Antonio pushed through his disappointment. He’d known that would be her answer. Not that it didn’t hurt. Hell, if he thought he had a shot at her taking him back, he’d consider staying.
But he couldn’t. When Margot and Nina disappeared, he’d become Gino’s Enemy Numero Uno. And even if he did manage to get them out and divert blame from himself, he’d never, ever consider pulling Phoebe into his life.
The only solution here was for him to leave—and for her to stay here and get on with her life.
Freedom may finally be a possibility, but love just wasn’t in the cards for Antonio. Oh, the fucking irony that this life had begun when he’d become a card shark while he was still in elementary school. Hell, this wasn’t even Gino’s fault. Growing up poor was a pitiful excuse for turning to a life of crime. That decision hadn’t been his brother’s.
It was all on him.
He deserved Phoebe’s cold shoulder.
Still, he could at least do right by Margot and Nina.
“Okay, here’s what we need to do…”
Chapter Twelve
DECISIONS, DECISIONS, DECISIONS
“What about bringing him to justice?” Phoebe asked after Antonio laid out his plans.
He cleared his throat. “You mean Gino?”
“Of course I do,” she snapped. “I think it’s great you’re trying to get Margot and Nina out of his clutches, but what about justice for all those people he apparently killed? He should be in prison.”
Was she seriously having this conversation? A week ago, Phoebe’s biggest concern had been whether she could tuck
away enough funds to get her through the winter months, and if not, what sort of temporary part-time job she could pick up until spring came and she could return to landscaping.
Now she was dealing with the mafia, murder, money laundering, kidnapped children, and the biggest frustration of them all: love.
What she wouldn’t give to return to Boring Town.
Margot spoke before Antonio could open his mouth. “Being in prison won’t stop him from continuing to manage his empire. If he’s even prosecuted. Which is a big if.”
“So you all just leave and he continues doing what he’s been doing for—how long?”
Antonio shook his head. “No. He’ll be cut off at the knees when I take away all the money.”
“What about everything he’s done to this point?” she demanded.
Margot tapped the tabletop with her pointer finger. “If we run, with Antonio’s plan, we stand a real chance of living out our lives, free of his control. If we involve the cops, we will die. It’s as simple as that. This plan should stop him from doing anything in the future, and that’s what we have to focus on.”
“So the families of those people who were killed will never see justice?” Phoebe could hear the frustration in her own voice. Damn it, it wasn’t fair. She wanted Margot and Nina—and yes, Antonio—to be free of this evil dictator who controlled their lives, but she wanted Gino to be brought to justice, too. Why couldn’t they have it all?
“Just trying to get out is risky enough,” Antonio said. When Phoebe opened her mouth, he added, “I told you, you should have left.”
She pursed her lips and glared at him.
“Gino is a monster and he deserves to be punished, but we can’t do it,” Margot said. “We aren’t strong enough. We don’t have the means.”
Phoebe furrowed her brow but didn’t speak, although she had plenty she wanted to say. Antonio dropped his hand over hers and squeezed. He held on when she tried to tug hers free of his grasp. “Don’t,” he warned. “He’ll kill you.”
“I wasn’t—”
