Witness Protection 9: S.N.A.F.U.

by Holly Copella

  “You’ve made that perfectly clear numerous times, Sal,” Holden replied with little emotion. “We can keep playing that game, if you’d like. I’ll admit; I’m more comfortable with plausible deniability.”

  Giovanni chuckled lowly in his throat. “He sounds like one of us,” the man teased.

  Holden cast a look at the notorious mobster. He obviously wasn’t happy with the comparison. Sal drew a deep breath, casually leaned back in his chair, and cast a look at Giovanni.

  “Maybe, just this once, you’d like to trust the feds,” Sal insisted, then shrugged. “I’ll leave that up to you.”

  Giovanni frowned and appeared uncomfortable. He folded his hands together and leaned on the table, looking a little too “Godfather” for Holden’s liking, and met the fed’s gaze.

  “The other families are blaming my son,” Giovanni informed him. “They think Marco’s the one killing their men.”

  “Why?” Holden asked.

  “Because of what happened at his wedding on my island,” Giovanni replied.

  Holden shifted uncomfortably and sat up straight. Apparently, he remembered the aftermath a little too well, despite not having been there, but that was another story.

  “Whoever is killing them has working knowledge of each of the families,” Giovanni continued. “It’s how he gets so close and what put the million-dollar bounty on my boy’s head.”

  “One million dollars?” Holden suddenly stiffened. “That would mean--”

  “Yes, every hitman and bounty hunter on the entire West Coast is searching for my son. Dead or alive,” he reported.

  “I don’t understand how they’ve concluded that it was your son,” Holden insisted and shook his head. “The attacks I’ve seen could easily have been committed by anyone on the streets.”

  Giovanni groaned softly and shook his head. “Those are the ones that have been reported,” he informed him. “I’m talking about the rest of them.”

  “The rest?” Holden asked and appeared interested.

  “The hits happening at their homes and private businesses,” Giovanni replied without taking his eyes off Holden. “The ones where they don’t call the local law in to investigate.”

  “How--?”

  “There are enough people on the take to forge death certificates, Agent Falcone,” Giovanni insisted while showing little emotion.

  “Why are you telling me this?” Holden then asked while processing the information. “Sounds to me as if this will cost you if your people find out.”

  “I’m already caught in the crosshairs,” Giovanni informed him. “I want my son back alive. I want you to conduct a fair investigation and not just assume my son is responsible. I don’t want you building a case around him because you’ll find more than enough evidence against him. You need to investigate from a different perspective. Eliminate him as the prime suspect and start looking at who else has motive.”

  “I’m willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, especially since I haven’t even compiled a list of suspects yet,” Holden replied. “But I’m going to need a starting point. Who are some of these ‘other’ deaths that haven’t been reported?”

  “We both need to tread very lightly, Agent Falcone,” Giovanni insisted. “If it’s a starting point you want, I can suggest you begin with Vinnie Scartelli.”

  “Vinnie ‘the knife’ Scartelli?” Holden remarked while raising his brow. He snorted a soft laugh and shook his head. “There’s a venomous snake.”

  “Vinnie’s about seventy years old. He’s been out of the game for over a decade,” Giovanni informed him. “His grandson died last week. The grandson that lived with him. Ruled an ‘in-home’ accident. Happened at his estate. He wanted to call some homicide detectives, but his other grandson convinced him they’d handle it ‘in-house’.” Giovanni leaned back in his chair. “Now that the dust has settled, his remaining grandson is back to disowning the old man again. He might be willing to talk to you, but you’ll need to remain discreet and not involve anyone else in the Bureau. Some of your own ranks can’t be trusted.”

  “Does he have a security detail?” Holden asked.

  Giovanni suddenly chuckled. “Some very devoted, old dogs who’d do anything for the old man,” he reported.

  “Sounds as if I’ll be shot before I ring the bell,” Holden muttered.

  “I advise showing up within the next hour. He doesn’t like being disturbed after eight,” Giovanni informed him. “Tell the guard at the gate that you brought Vinnie his favorite white German chocolate. They’re his weakness, and it’s also code for a visit from an old acquaintance.” Giovanni’s brows rose commandingly. “Very important. Make sure you actually have a box of white German chocolate.” He chuckled softly. “If you say you have it and don’t produce it, he’ll probably slit your throat.”

  “That’s pleasant,” Holden muttered, then shifted in his chair. “Where do I find this white German chocolate he likes so much?”

  “Germany,” Giovanni replied while grinning, then cast a look at Sal.

  Sal suddenly groaned and glared at Giovanni. “You were snooping in my office, weren’t you?”

  “Old habits,” Giovanni replied.

  “I bought that for my daughter’s birthday,” Sal insisted.

  “I’ll order you a case of the stuff. He doesn’t have a month to wait for that particular order to arrive from overseas,” Giovanni remarked then indicated Holden. “Give the fed the chocolates. Help out your old friend.”

  “Fine,” Sal moaned. “First my cheesecake and now my chocolates.” He stood. “It’s as if you’re all secretly working with Rosa to keep me on my diet.”

  Chapter 11

  Vinnie Scartelli’s estate was showing signs of neglect. The long, concrete driveway leading up to the old mansion had numerous cracks, the lawn possibly hadn’t been mowed since the end of summer, and vines were growing up the side of the building. The mansion itself needed a fresh coat of paint, now looking more like a haunted house. It was possible that the sheer size of the mansion and estate was more than the older man could handle. Perhaps his source of revenue was no longer flowing his way either. By the looks of the outside, it was safe to assume the interior wasn’t much better. Within the house, the lounge to the rear of the mansion hadn’t seen its glory days in decades. Dark wood throughout the room was in serious need of polishing, cobwebs had formed in the tall corners of the ceiling, and most of the antique furniture hadn’t been used or properly cleaned in many months.

  A man in his early seventies sat in a plush, antique chair. Despite his age, Vinnie Scartelli remained a force with which to be reckoned. He was tall and lean, but it was an athletic lean. He had a head full of thick, gray hair and his fair share of wrinkles, but there was a lot of fight beyond his tired, blue eyes. To most, he remained a frightening man with an extremely bloody reputation. Vinnie stared at an elegantly framed photo of his son, daughter-in-law, and his two grandsons when they were just teenage boys. While stranded in his thoughts, he heard a commotion that seemed to start in the foyer and carried over into the grand hallway. Vinnie set down the picture, casually leaned back in his plush chair, and removed an impressive .357 Magnum from a cleverly hidden holster built into the arm of the chair. He had just enough time to open his book and lay it across his lap, concealing the weapon beneath it, before the lounge door was thrown open.

  Vinnie’s grandson, Vincent Scartelli III, entered the room and paused just within the doorway. Vincent was six-foot-one with broad shoulders and an athletic build. Much like his grandfather, the man in his early thirties was somewhat imposing at first sight. He had lush, dark hair with captivating blue eyes, much like his grandfather. He was as handsome as he was villainous. Vincent was accompanied by three intimidating-looking men who worked for him. His own private mercenaries for hire. The first man, Bart, was over six-foot-two and built like a professional wrestler. He had a massive upper body with an incredibly thick neck. The man in his late thirties was not parti
cularly attractive, but his muscle mass seemed to be his selling feature. Since he had been losing his hair, he kept it buzzed short, matching his thick, facial stubble. Although he wasn’t the smartest man, he was a skilled fighter, making him the perfect soldier, but certainly not a leader.

  The second man, Detrick, had an impressive build, although not nearly as muscular as his counterpart. Detrick was as bald as a cue ball and as thick as a brick house. He stood over six-foot-two with enough muscle mass to back up his tough boy attitude. The man in his mid-thirties had a steely-eyed gaze that conveyed his uncaring attitude. Despite being an attractive man, most women took one look at him and turned and ran the other way. He was frightening at best. Years in the military made him a dangerous mercenary. The third and last man, Carter, had just enough muscle mass behind him to be noticeable without being excessively muscular. Carter was the brains of the operation as well as a skilled fighter. The man in his mid-thirties was as handsome as he was deadly. Standing over six-foot and built athletic leaning toward muscular, he was an impressive sight. His sandy blonde hair was kept short and business-like, and his blue eyes were captivating. Despite his charm and appeal, he was a dangerous man. More dangerous than his pretty-boy looks suggested.

  Vinnie stared at his grandson and the smug sneer on his youthful face. The older man raised his brows and didn’t seem impressed by his grandson.

  “You could have tried knocking,” Vinnie remarked with little emotion.

  “Would you have let me in?” Vincent asked while maintaining his arrogant look.

  “You know, Vinnie--” Vinnie began but was interrupted by the arrogant young man.

  “It’s Vincent, Grandfather,” Vincent insisted with a mildly irritated sneer.

  The young, angry man didn’t want anyone comparing him to his father or his grandfather. Refusing to go by Vinnie was the first step in securing his own legacy. Vinnie frowned and shook his head at the arrogance of his surviving grandson.

  “I was going to make a point on respect and a certain code of ethics,” Vinnie remarked then sighed, “but it would only be wasted on your entire whoring generation.”

  Vincent snorted a laugh and smirked his irritation. “My younger brother was brutally murdered, and you want to preach about how, back in your day, you had honor.” His smirk turned into a sneer. “Your generation was no better than mine, except my generation has the guts to do what yours wouldn’t. You let some ridiculous code cloud your better judgment. You raised my father to be a weak man, and it got him killed. Then you took my brother in and turned him into another weak man, which also got him killed.”

  “And your arrogance is what’s going to get you killed,” Vinnie insisted with a sneer, although he refused to raise his voice. “There was a time that I would have struck you down where you stood. It would have been considered a mercy killing. Obviously, there’s no hope for you. You’ll never be half the man your father was.”

  Vincent sneered at his grandfather. “Tread lightly, old man,” he snarled and flashed his weapon in his shoulder holster as a shallow attempt at intimidation. “You may be my grandfather, but that doesn’t mean I won’t kill you.”

  “If you’re going to make those kinds of threats, why don’t you just do it?” Vinnie snarled, then reeled in his hostility and again resumed his calm demeanor. “Let’s see how that ends for you.”

  Vinnie’s finger tightened on the trigger of his carefully hidden Magnum aimed directly at his grandson across the room. The younger Vincent seemed to think better of it and allowed his jacket to fall back over his shoulder holster. Vinnie’s finger loosened on the hidden weapon’s trigger.

  “You’re in no position to make threats, old man,” Vincent scoffed back. “Your attack dogs are completely useless. Not sure why you keep a couple of old guys like that around in the first place.”

  “Of course you wouldn’t,” Vinnie casually replied. “You don’t understand loyalty because your men only respond to money. They’d turn on you and each other in a heartbeat. My men, who you probably should have killed when you had the chance, aren’t hired goons like “The Three Stooges” you have there. I keep my men around because they’re loyal. They’ve stood by me for more than just a paycheck.” He considered the comment and then shrugged. “Okay, so maybe they’re not as young and intimidating as your strike team there, but we’ve been together a long time. So long, in fact, that they’ve learned to read my mind.” A tiny smile crossed Vinnie’s face. “Take now, for instance.”

  Bart and Detrick were suddenly struck in the back of the heads with the stocks of two rifles. As Carter turned, both of Vinnie’s older guards aimed their rifles at his head.

  “See,” Vinnie announced and seemed pleased with himself. “With anyone else, they would have pulled the trigger, but they know I don’t want a war with my only living grandson, no matter how despicable he’s become.” Vinnie casually removed the Magnum from under his book and laid it across this lap. His humor was short-lived. “What brought you charging into my home uninvited, Vinnie?”

  “I’m here to collect my brother’s belongings,” Vincent informed him.

  Vinnie shook his head with little reaction. “You aren’t entitled to anything that belonged to your brother,” the older man announced. “You turned your back on him when he was alive. You don’t get to mourn him now that he’s dead.” He then straightened proudly in his chair. “Of course, we both know what you really came here for.”

  Vincent turned angry while glaring at his grandfather and took a quick step toward him. Vinnie sneered and aimed the Magnum revolver at his grandson. “If you so much as twitch, I’ll put a very large bullet in that very tiny brain of yours.”

  “I want what is rightfully mine,” Vincent snarled despite heeding his grandfather’s threat.

  “Your brother’s insurance policy?” Vinnie just about teased then grinned. “Your brother held onto that to keep you in line. Now that he’s dead, I’ll just hang onto that. The safety deposit box key is safely hidden.” Vinnie then leaned forward without lowering the large weapon. “And if anything should happen to me, it’ll be in the hands of the FBI.” Vinnie casually sat back in his chair while smirking. “You may want to pray that I don’t die before you. There’s no statute of limitation on murder.”

  Vincent’s eyes narrowed in anger. “Everything you’ve done,” he snarled, “all the people you’ve killed. How can you justify holding something like this over me all these years?”

  “It goes back to that moral code thing that you don’t understand,” Vinnie informed him. “You can kill your enemies, but you don’t kill their families. As long as I have that insurance policy, you’ll never kill another innocent person again.” Vinnie then sneered and waved his gun. “Now take your henchmen and get out of my sight.”

  “We can do this the easy way or the hard way,” Vincent insisted.

  Vinnie raised a brow and smirked. “We’re already doing this the easy way,” he replied. “Get out, or I’ll forget that you’re my own flesh and blood and blow your fucking head off.”

  Vincent’s two henchmen, who had been knocked to the floor, slowly recovered while holding their heads. Bart and Detrick appeared angry and ready to fight the men who had struck them, but they were at a serious disadvantage without their weapons.

  “This isn’t over, Grandfather,” Vincent insisted.

  “Oh, that’s where you’re wrong,” Vinnie replied while showing no emotion. “But, you know where to find me if you ever want to take another swing at me.”

  Chapter 12

  Holden’s black blazer pulled up to Scartelli’s estate around seven-thirty that evening. The gate was open, and there appeared to be no one manning it. He looked up at the camera aimed squarely at the entrance. It was recently busted. Holden tensed slightly. Giovanni was adamant that Holden go alone without additional agents as back-up, but it was starting to feel a bit like an ambush. Sal seemed to trust Giovanni and would undoubtedly warn Holden if he thought his friend
was setting him up. That didn’t seem to put Holden at ease any though. Holden cautiously drove through the open gate and proceeded up the long driveway, keeping watch on his surroundings. It was still light enough that he could see the entire grounds. As he pulled up to the estate, despite the large garage in the back, Holden noted several cars parked out front. That in itself seemed odd.

  Since his retirement, Vinnie was a refuted recluse. Apart from his grandson, a few guards, and some staff, he didn’t entertain. Holden pulled up closer to the front of the mansion and eyed the parked cars, assessing the situation. There was a fine line when dealing with someone like Vinnie. A show of trust was critical, yet that trust, when misplaced, would get a man killed. Holden needed to walk that fine line. After sitting in his vehicle for several minutes scanning the surrounding area, he finally grabbed the box of white German chocolate and got out of his car. He cast several looks around as he approached the steps to the mansion. When he heard a car door shut, Holden spun, instinctively reaching for his weapon, but somehow resisted drawing it despite every fiber of his being telling him that he should. Holden stared with some surprise and allowed his hand to relax on the grip of his holstered weapon. Gil, who was dressed in a freshly pressed black suit and tie, casually approached Holden with a sly sort of smirk on his face.

  “You certainly are jumpy tonight,” Gil announced, finding humor in Holden’s twitchiness.

  “Gil? Where did you come from?” Holden just about demanded then eyed the suit he wore. It wasn’t often any of the guys dressed up. Explaining blood to the dry cleaners was difficult. “What are you doing here?”

  “I was staking out the place for a few minutes before you arrived. Sal called Jackie and told her you were about to do something stupid,” Gil replied, then shrugged. “So she sent me to cover your back.”