by Tami Lund
“Yes, you were. You’re thinking you’ll go to the cops after we’re done here. And I’m telling you, no. It’s a death sentence. Tell her, Margot.”
“He’s right,” Margot affirmed. “I hate it, too, but honestly, you can’t go up against Gino. No one can.”
“Hell, we’ll be lucky if this works and we get out alive. It’s the best we can hope for,” Antonio added.
He relaxed his hold and Phoebe snatched her hand away before leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms, making it clear that her acceptance of their decision was grudging.
Apparently satisfied with her response, Antonio snagged a clean napkin, wrote GINOISABASTARD!#123 on it, and slid it across the table to Margot. “That’s the password to my laptop.”
She smiled.
“The user ID is capital I-wishiwerenotasarvilli. Don’t write that down; just memorize it.”
Margot nodded.
“Then there’ll be a pop-up, requiring you to input a series of numbers from this grid.” He held up his phone. “Take a picture and save it in your favorites.” He waited for her to comply. “The required numbers change every time, so you need the grid handy.”
Margot fiddled with her phone.
“Okay, the trickiest part: waiting for Gino to finally get sick of keeping Nina. Truthfully, I’m surprised he’s held onto her this long. You haven’t done anything all week, have you?”
Margot shook her head. “Other than hanging out with Phoebe at her place or mine, all I’ve done is go to the grocery store.”
He frowned. “I’ll head over there, see if I can figure out what he’s up to. Just in case, have yours and Nina’s bags packed by tomorrow. Don’t alert your landlord or the bank or anything. We’re walking away from everything, even our phones, so he can’t trace us.”
Which meant Phoebe would never be able to reach him, even if she suddenly had a change of heart.
Which she wouldn’t.
She’d thought long and hard, had talked it over with Margot, and the conclusion hadn’t changed. Yes, she’d fallen for Antonio, and, okay, maybe he wasn’t a bad guy, technically speaking. But the facts were, he’d laundered his brother’s dirty money for two decades and had been at least somewhat aware of where that money came from for the majority of that time. And he’d done nothing. He’d let it happen.
Just like you are now, Phoebs.
Crap. Her inner voice was right. She was going along with this plan, even if she wasn’t literally going with them. She was accepting that they could do nothing about the past, only the future. All those people Gino had allegedly killed—their families would never see justice. And Phoebe wasn’t doing a damn thing to change Antonio’s and Margot’s minds.
She abruptly stood and began clearing the table. Antonio closed his laptop and slid it into its bag before climbing to his feet. She glanced over her shoulder and noted that he’d left the bag hanging on the back of the chair and started walking toward the sink, so she whipped back around and focused on rinsing dishes and loading them into the dishwasher.
Margot cleared her throat. “If you guys don’t mind, I’m going to go take a shower.”
Neither of them said anything as she left the room, although Phoebe’s shoulders tensed. She wasn’t prepared to be alone with Antonio. What was she supposed to do, to say? Thanks for everything; have a nice life?
I hope you make it out alive?
Oh God, this was so far out of her comfort zone, all she wanted to do was rush from the house and lock herself in her own apartment until she finally woke up and realized this was all a bad dream.
Which, of course, couldn’t happen. Damn, she was good at wishing for things that couldn’t come true.
“I’m sorry,” Antonio said, close enough that she could feel his breath on the back of her neck, yet he wasn’t touching her. “I wish…”
“Me too,” she admitted without turning around.
Silence fell and stretched on and on.
“I need to get over to Gino’s, figure out why he isn’t returning Margot’s calls,” he finally said.
“Okay.”
More silence. She stood there with her hands immersed in soapy water, fighting the urge to turn around and beg him to…what? He couldn’t stay, not at this point. And she sure as hell couldn’t go with him.
Look at everything she would give up. A career she loved. A potential promotion. Everything she’d ever wanted.
Except him.
But was he worth giving up…everything else?
“Well, good-bye.”
“’Bye.” She bowed her head and didn’t turn around.
After a few minutes she felt cool air against her back. And then the door opened and closed.
And then he was gone.
Out of her life.
Forever.
Chapter Thirteen
ALL PLANS GO AWRY…
Since Gino wasn’t expecting him, when Antonio arrived at his house, he went straight to Nina’s bedroom. She wasn’t there. Zelda wasn’t in the attached suite, either. That was a little odd, since it was past Nina’s bedtime, but he doubted Zelda was the sort of nanny who actually adhered to routines.
But a board game was set up on the floor, which looked as though it had been abandoned in the middle of play. And there was a single green barrette lying on the rug. He’d bet the partner was in Nina’s hair.
That damn ulcer was flaring again.
Shaking his head, he strode through the maze of halls to Gino’s office, where he knocked and waited for his brother to answer. If he wasn’t fucking hookers, he was in command central, managing his empire, even on a Sunday evening. It’s what Gino did.
The door opened, and Antonio stepped inside. Three goons to his left, plus the one who’d opened the door. Gino wasn’t behind his desk as usual, but rather over by the wet bar, making himself a drink.
“You never make your own drink,” Antonio blurted.
Gino glanced over his shoulder and arched one eyebrow. “You offering?”
“Uh…”
“Good of you to come to me without being summoned, by the way,” Gino said, his back to Antonio while he finished mixing whatever concoction he was currently in the mood to ingest.
Go for I-don’t-know-what-the-fuck-is-going-on. “I figured if you still have Nina, I’d take her off your hands, give her something to do.”
“Like what? Visit her mother?”
Cold sweat instantly coated Antonio’s brow. Oh fuck. Oh fuck. “Uh…”
Gino finally turned around. He was dressed in a tailor-made, navy pinstriped suit with a pale blue tie. His hair was slicked away from his forehead, accentuating his widow’s peak, and his face, other than the goatee, was freshly shaven.
“You like?” he asked, smoothing his hand down the front of his suit coat.
“Your suit? Sure, I guess.”
Gino shook his head and addressed the guy to Antonio’s right. “What do women see in him? He doesn’t even notice the haircut. Or the new shoes.”
The goon shrugged. “I like the hair. And those shoes are killer.”
What’s different about the hair? “Uh, it’s nice,” Antonio added.
Gino patted his slicked back ’do while he thrust out his bottom lip. “You can’t even tell I went to the barber today.”
“Well, to be honest, you’re right,” Antonio admitted. “You haven’t changed your cut and style in fifteen years at least.”
The guy next to him cringed. Antonio furrowed his brows. “What? Seriously. If you look at every picture of him since he was twenty-five, he looks exactly the same.”
Gino’s face brightened. “You think I still look twenty-five?”
Antonio rolled his eyes.
“Okay, fine,” Gino said, flapping his hand dismissively while sipping at his drink. “Let’s talk about my lovely ex-wife. Tell me, is she getting a bit worked up? I’ve been avoiding her calls all weekend.”
Antonio ran a shaky hand through his own hair, which, in fact, was
due for a trim. “Well, since you apparently had me followed, you know the last time I took Nina to see her was Wednesday.”
“True,” Gino agreed amicably enough. “And then after you brought my daughter back here, you went to the jogger’s apartment, and so did Margot, and then you proceeded to get into an argument on her front stoop. Is that about how it went down?”
Holy fuck, how had he convinced himself he could outsmart his brother?
He was a dead man. And Margot and Phoebe were dead women. What the hell was going to happen to Nina? Surely, Gino wouldn’t kill his daughter because the adults in her life were idiots.
He cleared his throat. Too bad he wasn’t ballsy enough to walk over there and make himself a damn drink. Probably be the last one he ever consumed. “Yeah, that pretty much sums it up.”
Gino chuckled. The sardonic sound morphed into a full-blown laugh, carrying on until there were tears in his eyes.
Antonio glanced at the guy to his right. “What’s so funny?”
“I don’t think he expected you to be honest.”
Antonio shrugged. “What have I got to lose at this point?”
“Fair.”
Gino’s phone rattled against his desk, but he ignored it. As soon as it stopped, Marcus’s phone started ringing. He pulled it out of his pocket and glanced at the screen. “It’s Zelda, boss.”
Jesus, was she on speed dial for every guy on Gino’s payroll?
Gino waved and Marcus answered the call. After listening for a few seconds, he looked up at his boss and said, “She got pulled over by the cops and they’re accusing her of kidnapping the kid.” He winced. “She’s pretty hysterical.”
Gino glared at Antonio. “What cop?”
“I don’t—” Antonio started to protest, but Marcus talked over him.
“Detective Proctor.”
“What?” Antonio blurted, while Gino cursed under his breath. Fucking A, what was that asshole detective doing now?
Gino threw his drink and everyone in the room ducked as the glass shattered against the wall. Then he motioned at his men and said, “Grab him.” Two of them wrapped their beefy hands around each of Antonio’s arms, holding them at his sides.
“I didn’t have anything to do with this,” Antonio blurted, struggling pointlessly.
Gino stepped closer until he was practically nose to nose with Antonio and snarled, “First, you fuck with my ex-wife behind my back—”
“I didn’t. I swear. I’d never do that. Margot’s like a sister to me,” Antonio protested, but Gino either didn’t listen or didn’t care.
“Now you’re working with the cops?”
“I’m no—”
All the air whooshed out of Antonio’s lungs as he fell forward, staying upright only because of the goons holding his arms. He hadn’t even seen Gino’s fist coming.
“Uh, what do you want me to tell Zelda?” Marcus asked.
“Tell her to blow him or fuck him—whatever the hell she has to in order to get that cop off her back, and then get back here with my kid. Fucking bitch.” He drilled his fist into Antonio’s kidney this time.
“Jesus, Gino,” Antonio said on a gasp. “Not skimping on the upper body workouts, are you?”
Gino grinned. “You noticed.”
“Kind of hard to miss in this position.”
Gino grabbed him by the hair and lifted his head, forcing eye contact. “You’re in the wrong business to be so goddamn saintly, Antonio.”
“Never been accused of that before.”
Gino shook his head. “Anyone else with your talent would’ve been skimming off the top. But not you. I had someone check. You took your salary and that’s it. Every single penny you ever made me is in my accounts. Who the fuck does that?”
“Me, apparently.”
“Well, you’re an idiot.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“And now I’m going to kill you.”
So this was it. He’d finally had hope, had finally thought he’d be able to get out. He’d thought Margot, Nina, and Phoebe would all be safe. Sure, there was the niggling guilt that he wasn’t doing anything about Gino’s past transgressions, but at least he’d planned to ensure his brother’s business empire crumbled, hopefully keeping the man from destroying any more lives.
Pipe dreams. All of it.
Neither Phoebe nor Margot deserved to go down in flames along with him, yet that was exactly what was about to happen. The worst part was, Margot had been young and stupid and not strong enough to resist when Gino decided he wanted her, and Phoebe—hell, Phoebe had simply been a Good Samaritan.
And she was going to die because of it.
No, she was gonna die because Antonio hadn’t been able to resist getting to know her. If he’d only done his job and walked away, she’d be okay right now. But he’d gone and fallen for her, and what was her reward?
Very likely a long, drawn out, painful death at the hands of one of Gino’s goons.
I’m so sorry, Phoebe. I’m so fucking sorry.
“Hey. Hey. I’m over here.”
Fingers snapped in front of Antonio’s face.
“What?” he asked.
“Do you have a preference?” Gino asked casually.
“For what?”
“How you want to die. Usually, I don’t give my marks the choice. I like to make it for them. But you, well, you’re family. I figure it’s the least I can do.”
“The least you can do is not kill me.”
“Not an option. So, what’ll it be?”
Seriously? Gino wanted Antonio to tell him how to kill him? His brother had not only gone off the deep end, he’d taken a flying leap into it.
“Just fucking do it already,” he rasped.
Gino stepped away on his apparently brand-new two-thousand-dollar loafers. “Hey, cut me a break,” he said, spreading his arms wide. “This is hard on me, too, you know. You’re my brother, for Christ’s sake.”
“Not that it’s gonna stop you from killing me.”
“True. But I’d also like to point out that you made your choices.”
Yeah, he did.
“And they were the wrong ones, clearly.”
No, they weren’t. But Gino would never understand that. As much as he hated that dick cop, Proctor, Antonio equally hoped like hell the guy’s obsession with Gino would finally pay off and maybe he could save Margot and Phoebe before Gino got to them. He could put them into witness protection or something. And then Margot could testify against Gino and put him behind bars forever, and she and Phoebe could live out their lives in peace.
Phoebe could marry some good guy and have his babies and live happily ever after. Exactly what she deserved.
“Listen, Antonio, I know you think this is my fault. But the truth is—”
Whatever bullshit Gino was about to spew was cut off as the door burst open and a flood of cops poured into the room.
“Freeze,” came the universal announcement that the law was in the house. Frankie tried to make a run for it and was promptly tackled by half a dozen boys in blue. The guys holding Antonio’s arms released him so they could throw their hands in the air, and since he wasn’t expecting it, he fell to the floor, knees first.
“Holy hell,” he ground out, rolling onto his back and holding his bruised kneecaps. From this vantage point, he watched a swarm of cops flood into the room, all wearing riot gear, with really big guns in their hands.
A lot more cops than goons, that’s for damn sure.
Wait. What the fuck were cops doing in Gino’s mansion?
Every non-cop in the room had his hands thrust into the air, and one by one, they were being cuffed and read their rights.
“This is all a big misunderstanding,” Gino protested. “Let’s talk about this. Who’s in charge?”
A dark-haired guy wearing a short-sleeved, plaid, button-down shirt under his bulletproof vest stepped forward.
“Proctor?” Antonio blurted, his eyes widening.
�
��Ah hell,” Gino muttered.
“You sure picked the wrong time to stop by to mooch money off your brother, Sarvilli.” The cop paused and cocked his head while studying Antonio, who still lay on the floor. “What are you doing down there?”
“Bad knees.”
Proctor rolled his eyes then let out a shrill whistle and waved his hand. “Paramedics. Over here.”
Two guys in navy uniforms with patches on the sleeves hurried into the room, guiding a stretcher between them. One of them crouched next to Antonio and flashed a light into his eyes while the other checked his pulse and blood pressure before they helped him onto a stretcher. He probably could have walked out by that point, but if he showed that ability, Proctor might not let him leave, so he didn’t protest.
“Hey,” Gino said, “I’m not done with him.”
The lead paramedic paused and glanced back, and Antonio pointed down the hall. “Go, go, go!” The guy at Antonio’s head shrugged and they pushed the cart forward, through the house, and out the front door.
Holy fuck, he’d managed to survive, not unscathed but definitely alive.
“I got this one,” a female voice said, and the stretcher stopped moving. “Why don’t you go make sure no one else needs medical assistance?”
A body came into view beside him. Even though her hair was pulled back into a bun at the nape of her neck and she wore a baseball cap tugged low over her brow, he still recognized her. The most beautiful face he’d ever seen.
“Phoebe?”
Even if she was dressed in a paramedic’s uniform.
“What the hell? You’re a paramedic?” Wait, that wasn’t right.
“Nope. I just play one on TV.” She deftly unhooked the straps that kept him on the gurney.
“You’re seriously cracking jokes right now?” he asked.
“Wrap your arm around my shoulders.” When he didn’t move, she grabbed his hand and tugged.
“I’m okay,” he said, trying to roll off the stretcher without falling and damaging his knees further. “What are you doing?”
“Trying to get you out of here. Or do you want to go to the hospital and wait to see if they’re going to arrest you too? Because as I understand it, you’re the moneyman of this operation, and even if you give the cops what they need to put Gino away, I’m pretty confident you’ll do time too.”
