“Good question, but he is not a man, Mia Bella, he’s a rat, and this is how I handle those who betray me.”
The hairs on my arms stood on end. His harsh voice slashed the hostility that hung heavy in the air.
“You beat them? I never guessed you were a man that got his hands dirty.” My own hands shook. Their pale white, now, stained crimson with the stranger’s blood.
I locked eyes with the battered man, tied helpless to a chair. They bound each ankle to the legs of a wooden chair with his arms stretched behind him and secured to the bottom of the backrest. His face was beat beyond recognition. The blows broke his skin and his eyes were red and swollen over. Bloody spit drooled from his slacked jaws. “What could he have done?”
“Boss, we’re wasting time. Let me deal with this piece of shit.” Lorenzo raised a pistol tucked behind his back and cold cocked the man across the face shattering bone. Cries of agony escaped the man’s split lips as his head snapped to the left. The force of the blow knocked him to the floor with a heavy thud.
“Angelo, no! Is this necessary?” I pleaded, struggling to hide the tears that threatened to rush from my eyes. Although I already knew the answer. Rage flashed across his face. There was no reasoning with a man hell bent on revenge.
“Lorenzo, thank you for delivering this fucker to me, it’s a good way to repay my protection from your old crew but I will finish this when I am ready. I would like to hear what he has to say for himself.”
Franco stalked around the bloody scene and hoisted the man into an upright position. He removed the gag from his mouth.
“Mia Bella, he is the one responsible for keeping us apart for so long.”
“But we’re not apart any longer, Angelo. I am right here. You don’t have to do this.” Desperate to stop the madness, I held his hand in mine and leaned my head against his broad chest. The blood pounding in my ears drowned out his heartbeat.
He placed a gentle kiss on the top of my head and stepped away. He paced across the floor. “There has to be a price to pay. I can’t have my men or others like him thinking I’m weak, now can I? Did you mistake me for a weak man, Detective Conroy?”
Through the blood choking him he mumbled with a weak voice, “No. Mr. Deluca, I swear.”
His pleas fell on deaf ears. Angelo circled, waiving his revolver in the air. “Franco am I known for weakness?”
“Hell no,” he chimed in, “you’re the baddest mother fucker up and down the coast Boss.”
“Then why would this piece of shit think he could rat me out to the Feds and get away with it?” Setting his revolver on the desk he stalked toward Conroy and rained another blow upon his shattered face.
Coughing blood, he continued to beg, “I didn’t, please, you have the wrong guy.”
“And you, Mia Bella, do you think I am weak?”
“Angelo, please! You’re scaring me!”
“Answer me! Do you think I’m a weak man? Do you think there shouldn’t be a price to pay for separating me from what is mine?”
“No, of course not.” My voice scratched my dry throat. Knowing this man’s torture was because of Angelo’s misguided lust for me sent waves of fear rolling in my stomach. “Please, I don’t want to be a part of this. There has to be another way?”
“It’s too late for that. You are a part of this. There is only one ending fit for such betrayal. Pick up the gun, Mia Bella.”
“What?” my voice broke, “No.” The moment the word crossed my lips I regretted it.
Angelo was not a man who usually heard the word no. A man with his physical attributes and seductive looks had woman falling at his feet, I had been one. His smooth voice had an air of authority to it that earned him what he considered respect and when it wasn’t freely given, he commanded it through violence and ruthlessness.
My gasping breath caught in my throat when his men drew their guns in my direction.
My eyes pleaded with him attempting to lure out the chivalry his passion for me demanded earlier but there was no call to stand down, no order to treat me otherwise.
“Pick up the gun,” he demanded stalking toward me, out of his mind with fury.
“I can’t.”
As he closed in I reached out for the weapon. The steel barrel was cold under my fingertips. My trembling hands clenched the grip as if it might slip from my sweaty palms.
I had never handled a weapon before. The closest I had come to one, before staring down the chambers of the two pointed at me, was my father’s hunting rifle. As a child, I would watch him clean it and store it in a locked cabinet out the reach of little hands. I could still hear my mother’s voice imploring him to keep it in the garage. At thirteen, I joined him for my first and last deer hunt. The wind nipped at my face. My fingers numbed from the cold. The wide strap draped over my shoulder as he kneeled next to me. Together we aimed at the whitetail deer fifty feet in front of us. On his count I held my breath and braced for the shot. A shot I couldn’t take.
Angelo circled behind me, wrapping his arms around my torso. His strong hands clamped around mine, steadying the weight of the gun. “Two hands, arms strong, get up close right to the head. Do it. Do it now.”
The trigger bit into the pad of my first finger. Conroy’s face lost all expression blurring into a blank beige slate through the wall of tears faltering my vision. He made one last attempt to appeal his fate with the gun pointed in close range of his head. “It wasn’t me; it was….”
Angelo’s finger squeezed against mine. My arms went limp.
The sudden recoil thrust me tight against his chest. A deafening echo from the gunshot rung in my ears. The bullet punched through the man’s chest. His shirt filled with blood gushing from the wound and pooled onto the floor. Still images flashed through my mind overwhelming my senses; I saw Cal’s arctic blue eyes deep enough to swim in, my mother’s angelic smile pressed deep into the worn creases of her checks and my three-year-old self on the mantel. The images faded as fast as they rushed in.
The beige slate slumped before me changed to blue with the last twitches of life and both our souls drifted from our bodies. Leaving me a hollow shell of the woman, I had once thought I’d become. The beliefs and dreams bestowed upon me in my youth slipped away with his life.
Lorenzo and Franco holstered their weapons. After a short wordless exchange, Franco untied Conroy’s limp wrists sending him thudding onto the floor. The two kneeled at his side and cocooned the corpse into a plastic sheet.
Angelo’s arm wrapped around my chest pinning my back to his front as he walked us across the room. Keeping me upright with one arm, when my knees buckled underneath me he reached out with the other to open the cabinet doors. He spun the tumbler left and right, 15, 23, 38 as it made a series of low but audible clicks and pulled the lever releasing the heavy metal door. A silent whisper of satisfaction passed his lips as he let out a sigh and opened the safe. As if in slow motion he stretched out our arms and pried the gun from my clenched fingers.
“My men will dispose of the body. If the cops found it, forensics could match the bullet lodged in his chest to the gun. The gun with your fingerprints on the trigger. I wish you wouldn’t look at me like I’m the enemy here, Bella. Life is complicated, messy even, it can’t always be black and white. Think of this as safe keeping, for your own protection.”
He was right, there were many shades of gray between right and wrong but he operated so far behind the black door I doubted if he could even see past it.
It wasn’t about my protection, no, it was an insurance policy.
“You should get some rest. Ava will take you shopping for a wedding dress tomorrow. You belong to me and I expect you to take your place by my side, as my wife. Whether or not you want to accept it, we’re bound by the blood staining our hands.”
A sickness clawed at my insides from my stomach to my throat over what I had done; what he made me do. It burned its way through me, etching the beige-blue slate forever into my mind.
; Back in my room, steam filled the bathroom as I tried to wash the stains from my hands. Scrubbing and vomiting. Vomiting and scrubbing. Repeating the cycle until I could no longer tell if the water ran red from his blood or mine.
Chapter 14
Brie
The hours failed to pass. Each moment of this dreaded shopping trip ticked by slower and slower. The perfumed air in the upscale bridal boutique smelled of fresh lavender. Rows of beautiful gowns hung on padded hangers arranged by size and style. Soft music whispered through the speakers. Every girl dreams of this experience as they plan their walk down the aisle into the loving arms of prince charming but Angelo, was no prince, he was the devil disguised in Armani. Not everyone can live happily ever after some of us have to settle for simply living. I looked around the boutique at the many blushing brides laughing and smiling, sipping champagne, so carefree. Their emotions were draining.
Ava already handed the attendant four gowns to place in the dressing room while I fumbled through the racks pretending to study the different fabrics and textures. Even if I could bring myself to bask in the attention, I couldn’t pull my focus off the black SUV parked out front. I spotted them in the rear-view mirror as we crossed the bridge into the city, they put no effort into hiding the fact they were tailing us. Every fifteen minutes one man dropped quarters in the parking meter. I wondered how long I could stay there until they had to dig for pocket change. I was in no hurry to return to my prison.
With even more layers of satiny fabric draped over her arms, Ava’s baby blue eyes sparkled. “This is fun; I’m glad I could join you today. I’m sure there are others you’d rather have here with you.”
There were others, my mother, my best friend Bethany but that wouldn’t be possible. Besides, it wasn’t like I had a say in it and she knew that as much as anybody. “Nope, there’s no one. But I’m guessing you already know that.”
“I think we got off on the wrong foot. Angelo has certain expectations from the both of us but it would be nice if you thought of me as a friend instead of the enemy. When you grow up in and out of foster homes, it’s hard to cement solid relationships. I could use a friend here just as much as you.”
“It’s a little different for me, I didn’t choose this life but I can try. I suppose I should see if any of these fit.”
Ava settled into the plush velvet couch inside the dressing room lounge. Ohs and Ahs echoed through the space as the other brides-to-be twirled around in front of the three-sided mirrors.
Behind the pulled curtain, I resigned myself to accept my fate and unlaced the dress from the hanger. A fate sealed in the blood of Detective Conroy and insured by my fingerprints on the murder weapon.
I slipped the long and flowing silk fabric over my shoulders, the creamy sheets tingled my body like a soft, sensual kiss. Studying the sweetheart neckline, I imagined Cal waiting for me at the end of a rose-peddled aisle.
Neither Cal nor I would have ever opted for tradition. A glittery chapel in Las Vegas was more our style. I could picture him in his tight dark jeans, boots and a black leather jacket. A few of our closest friends by our side for a wild weekend of vows and gambling. But it wouldn’t be him.
“Ava, I think I need shoes. Would you find me something in a size 7?”
The dress fell around my waist to the floor. I slipped into my clothes and out from behind the fitting room curtain.
For a fleeting moment there was no one watching me, nothing standing in my way. Nothing expect the man leaning against the wall near the back of the store. The linen of his navy suit jacket draped over his shoulders and tapered as it narrowed towards his waist. While physically fit, he didn’t carry enough muscle on his slender frame to be one of Angelo’s men.
“Can I help you ma’am?”
I shifted my purse under my arm. “Just going to use the restroom.” I slid passed him and out the door underneath the emergency exit sign.
My breathing labored as I sprinted down the street behind the boutique. I made a left on Fortieth Street, right on Fifth Avenue as if being pulled through the crowd by invisible hands. I couldn’t allow myself to think about where I would go. I had no money, no Identification and no transportation but I could not return to the arms of the man who would imprison me.
I thought about Ava finding the dressing room empty and glanced over my shoulder. It was only then I realized someone was following me. I quickened my pace, weaving around the other pedestrians on the busy city sidewalk.
Out of breath, I crossed over Sixth Avenue, checking every couple of steps to see if I was still being followed. Buildings jetted up into the sky. In the afternoon sun they cast shadows large enough to blanket the street. I ducked into an office building for cover. My heart thudded in my chest, my palms soaked with my sweat as I watched from the large sheet of Plexiglas for the man following me. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up as the man from the boutique cleared the oncoming taxi cab mere inches from the bumper and continued toward me. My heart thudded even harder when he paused only a few feet away. My shoes clacked against the marble floor as I made my way through the lobby and onto Seventh Avenue.
The crowd moved like a river, swirling around each other as if they were mere obstacles threatening the others flow. I weaved in and out of the shadows and the thousand similar faces providing me anonymity. I stepped off the curb at the next intersection and the crowd masking my escape disappeared.
The black SUV squealed to a stop. Panic rose in my chest and a man exited the vehicle. “Ms. Morgan, get in.”
Before I could respond, a wave of claustrophobia overtook me. I found myself trapped between two bodies pressing me between them into the backseat. The door shut as a third man behind the wheel speed off before we exchanged another word.
“Ms. Morgan, we are detectives with the FBI and would like you to answer a few questions about Mr. Deluca’s activities since returning to the states.”
“I don’t understand. If you know who I am, you would know I’m not supposed to be here. I know nothing. Please help me.”
“Calm down, Ms. Morgan, take a deep breath. We can help you but first, we need you to help us.”
“Mr. Deluca is a Capo in the Bianchi Crime Family, they have their hands in several underground rackets throughout the Northeast.”
My eyes swept from seat to seat as the four detectives alternated plying information upon me.
“We believe Mr. Deluca is involved in money laundering, fencing of stolen vehicles and corruption in the local PD.”
“We have been investigating for years but haven’t been able to uncover anything that has a chance of sticking.”
“That’s where you come in. Our intel suggests you may have knowledge of the inner workings of his crew. Can you identify any of these individuals?”
My hands trembled as I flipped through the stack of photographs the detective handed me. They showed me a photograph of a chubby cheeked man about forty, with short hair and a six o’clock shadow. The man with the blank beige face, swollen eyes and bloodied lip took his true form before my eyes and I willed myself to keep quiet. Implicating Angelo in his murder also meant admitting my role. It was my fingerprints on the gun. The next photograph had me pausing on familiar eyes. “Him. I know him,” I said rubbing my fingertips against the glossy page, “Cal Carracci. Angelo killed him then he abducted me. You have to help me.”
“This man here?” One detective asked as they exchanged glances. The surprise on their faces confused me even more.
“How do you know this?”
“He told me, Angelo told me he killed him. He told me he would. I didn’t believe him and now... oh god.” Waves of emotions poured out of me as I drowned in the sea of blue staring back at me from within the photograph.
“Ms. Morgan, Bella, if I may, it’s extremely important for you to tell us if you recognize any of the others,” another detective asked.
“What? No, I don’t know these men and my name is not Bella. Its Brie Morgan. I’m from New
Haven, Connecticut. I just finished my senior year at the University of Boston. Why does everyone keep calling me Bella?” I hyperventilated.
One detective opened a laptop wedged between the seats and pecked at the keys. “According to the database, Brie Morgan, age 22 passed away in a fire last month. They identified a second body as Ellen Morgan age 63.”
My mother’s name on his tongue opened the floodgates to my tears. “The night Angelo murdered Cal, he came for me. After he… I didn’t know where he went, but he left. I climbed out the window and down the fire escape. It was late, but I made good time, about four hours. I was too late. The house was on fire and he was already there. That’s when he kidnapped me. I think he drugged me.”
The driver pulled to the curb and halted to a stop. “Ms. Morgan, we can look into these allegations but for now, go home. Keep your eyes and ears open and keep this conversation to yourself,” the man to my right said as he slid from the seat next to me.
“Go home? Where would that be? You can’t just leave me here. What if he kills me?”
“We have no reason to believe your life is in jeopardy. Mr. Deluca doesn’t have a history of killing women, not one he wants something from. Return to the estate, see what information you can get. I promise, we will be in touch.”
I exited the vehicle as they pulled away. I stood there listening only to the sound of my own breathing until I was washed away into the sea of pedestrians. Like a pebble caught up in a fast-flowing river I had no choice but to move forward. I placed one foot in front of the other, buildings blurred and faces trailed around me.
The world stopped moving when I collided with Lorenzo. “How far did you think you would get before we noticed you were missing?”
In a panic I turned to run only to find Gino’s black eyes behind me.
“Don’t make a scene or this won’t end well.” His hand squeezed around my arm as he led me across the street and shoved me into the backseat of a Black Chrysler 300C where Xander sat behind the wheel. Gino slid in the backseat next to me while Lorenzo climbed into the passenger seat. Xander merged into traffic and drove out of the city.
Resurrection (The Vendetta Series Book 1) Page 6
