by Tami Lund
“All right, ladies, is it movie time?” he asked a short time later. The girls, curled up on the couch in their pajamas, both clapped as he carried a giant bowl of popcorn into the living room.
“Yeah,” they said in unison, Nina reaching for the snack.
RJ plopped down on the armchair and grabbed the remote. A scene from the second Godfather movie popped onto the screen, Michael Corleone spouting one of a thousand awesome quotes from that show. The Godfather flicks were high on RJ’s list of all-time greatest movies, but they weren’t appropriate for young ears, so he quickly pressed the button to pull up the on-demand service.
Nina giggled and told Hillary, “Uncle Antonio says my dad only wishes he could be half as awesome as that guy.”
“What does that mean?” Hill asked.
RJ searched through the list of Disney princess movies, unabashedly eavesdropping.
Nina shrugged. “That guy is my dad’s hero. That’s what Uncle Antonio says.”
Hero? The character played by Al Pacino was brilliantly done, but he was a psychopath. Hero seemed an odd way to explain someone’s preference for the movie.
Unless…unless the hero-worshiper was a criminal.
He shouldn’t go there. He’d speculated plenty about Margot’s ex, had wondered if the man had been behind Nina’s kidnapping and that was why he didn’t have visitation. That would explain why the incident hadn’t shown up when RJ ran a Google search. If it had been a domestic dispute settled in court, well, that probably hadn’t been terribly newsworthy.
No. Don’t think about it.
This thing he had with Margot, it was pretty damn awesome. Better than even the best moments he’d shared with Jessica. He was already halfway to I do in his mind, and he didn’t want thoughts to intrude that might put a damper on the little fantasies.
At the girls’ insistence, he called up The Princess and the Frog. But he paused it before the opening scene could start.
“Hey, Nina, where’s your dad live?”
Oh, hell. Why did he ask? What was that saying about letting sleeping dogs lie?
The little girl shoved a handful of popcorn into her mouth and then said, “I’m not supposed to tell.”
“Why not?”
“He’s a bad man. If he finds us, he’ll take me away.”
Hill’s eyes grew round and wide as saucers. Shit. He shouldn’t have asked. But now he was even more curious than before. Was his hunch about Margot’s ex being involved in the kidnapping correct?
Seemed pretty obvious.
What about Phoebe and Antonio? How do they fit into the equation? Plenty of women escaped toxic relationships and started new lives, but how many dragged along a sister and the sister’s significant other?
And what would normally be a minor detail stuck out in RJ’s mind. Antonio and Phoebe hadn’t gotten married until after they’d settled here. Didn’t Antonio have his own family? Had he walked away from a promising career? Margot had mentioned he was a financial planner, so supposedly. he could get a job anywhere, even in a small town like Sleepyville. And if he was good at that sort of thing, he probably already had a decent nest egg built up.
That’s some serious love to be willing to move away from your life for your fiancée and her sister.
Damn, he had a lot of questions, but the last thing RJ should do was grill an eight-year-old over her past. He needed to let Margot tell him her story when she was ready.
Besides, all this wondering was probably shooting his normally stable blood pressure into the stratosphere. He needed to stop, let go of the niggling doubts in the back of his mind. Hell, everybody had some skeletons in their closet, right? And as much as RJ hated that Margot and Nina had gone through a traumatic experience in their past, at least they were safe now.
“Play the movie, Dad!”
“Yes, ma’am.”
He’d tucked them into bed hours ago, yet Hill and Nina were still up, still whispering in the dark. He’d let them go for a while, but it was time to sleep. He didn’t want to send a grumpy Nina home to her mom.
He climbed off the couch and headed down the hall, reaching for the doorknob and freezing when he heard Hillary’s voice drift through the hollow wood. “What did you mean when you said your dad is a bad man?”
Other than the divorce, his daughter had had pretty much an idealistic life thus far. RJ and Jessica didn’t let her watch R-rated movies, and they made sure they knew all her friends’ parents before they could hang out together. So yeah, she was sheltered. Whatever Nina was about to say would likely rock her world, would lead to a million questions, and, worst of all, if she told her mom, RJ wouldn’t hear the end of it. He should cut this off before Nina could answer.
“He’s mean. He yells at people and tells them he’ll kill them.”
He imagined his daughter’s eyes were huge in the darkness right now, as her sharp little mind tried to process this information. He should open the door before Nina said anything else.
“And Uncle Antonio says he’s not joking when he says it. My dad beat up Uncle Antonio really bad the night we left. Aunt Phoebe was so worried, she went and rescued him, and then we drove away in a motorhome and went on vacation for a long time until we moved here.”
Oh shit.
“Where did you move from?” Hill asked in a hushed tone.
“I’m not supposed to tell.”
“I’m not an adult. I won’t tell anyone. I swear.”
“Promise?”
RJ held his breath while they giggled and Hill said, “Pinky promise.” They were probably twining their little fingers at that very moment.
And then Nina’s voice drifted through the door, so quiet he had to strain to hear. But the word she said was crystal clear.
“Detroit.”
Fuck.
RJ’s entire body jerked when Pete dropped a hand onto his shoulder. He’d been so intent upon what he was reading on his computer screen, he hadn’t heard his colleague step up behind him.
Some detective he was.
“What are you doing here? Isn’t this your day off?” Pete asked, leaning down to peer at the online article from the Detroit Free Press. “And why so interested in Detroit drama?”
Cops were so damn nosy. And Detroit drama was right. He’d dropped Nina off this morning without even escorting her inside, and then he’d taken Hill to her mother and headed straight to the station.
He’d Googled “Nina Swanson kidnapping Detroit,” and nothing popped. Nothing specific to a Nina Swanson, anyway.
But something else had. A bunch of headlines from two years ago.
Local Dry Cleaning King Gino Sarvilli’s Child Kidnapped
Sarvilli Heiress Kidnapped
Police Suspect Gino Sarvilli Kidnapped Own Daughter
The last article indicated the daughter’s name was Nina. Parents were divorced. A Good Samaritan witnessed the kidnapping, was quoted as saying a guy who looked like he worked for the mob had taken the child.
The mother’s name was Margot Sarvilli.
Her ex, Gino, had long been suspected of money laundering, was also a suspect in a slew of missing persons cases, but despite one Detective Joseph Proctor’s insistence, there had never been proof of wrongdoing.
Oh shit.
Nina and Margot weren’t exactly common names. And the timeline fit. Margot said she was from the Midwest, and Detroit definitely qualified.
Son of a bitch.
RJ rubbed his eyes. “Does the name Gino Sarvilli ring a bell?” he asked his coworker.
“Yep.” Pete shoved half a donut into his mouth and talked around the sugar and fat coating his mouth. “Mob boss from Detroit. His front was dry cleaners, but his specialty allegedly was offing people for money. A lot of money. Except he was so good at it, the cops could never pin anything on him. Before he was finally arrested, they had almost eighty open missing persons files.”
“Holy shit. How do you know so much about it?” RJ asked.
Pet
e shrugged. “I have a cousin who lives in the Detroit area. He and his wife spent Thanksgiving with us that year. It was all they talked about. Local cops had been trying to pin something on Sarvilli for a decade, and out of nowhere they got handed the man on a silver platter. Well, sort of. They had a taped confession from his ex-wife, but then she disappeared.”
His ex-wife. Oh hell…
“They never found her,” Pete continued, “so she couldn’t testify in person, which meant the tape was worthless. In fact, they couldn’t pin any of the murders on him. I think one guy rolled on him, but then ended up dead before he could testify. In the end, all they could get him on was tax evasion, and even then, it was only on what they could prove he’d made through the dry cleaners.”
Pete motioned at the screen with his coffee mug. The article RJ had pulled up was titled “Police Try to Figure Out How to Charge Sarvilli Boss.”
“All the dirty money he supposedly made disappeared, along with his ex and kid.”
“And sister and brother-in-law,” RJ muttered, staring at the words without really seeing them.
“Yeah,” Pete said. “There was a brother, and you’re right, he disappeared, too, I think. But he wasn’t really significant to the case, from what I recall. Yeah, I remember now. The local lead detective thought he was a mooch, living off Sarvilli. He probably took off to Mexico or some shit.” He snorted. “I bet that’s exactly what happened. The brother changed his name, got a tan, and is working at a resort as a bartender right now. Livin’ the life.”
“Wait.” RJ looked up at his friend, who shoveled more donut into his mouth. “I’m talking about the ex-wife’s sister’s husband. Who are you talking about?”
Pete pointed at the picture of Gino Sarvilli that accompanied the article RJ had pulled up. “Gino Sarvilli. His younger brother.” He snapped his fingers a couple of times. “Can’t remember his name. Like I said, he was a layabout. Insignificant. But the cops wanted to question him because when they busted Gino, he was in the process of beating the shit out of his brother.”
“My dad beat up Uncle Antonio really bad the night we left.”
“No way,” RJ said, practically breathing the words as he typed “Antonio Sarvilli” into the search engine.
A grainy picture opened on his screen—Gino Sarvilli, accompanied by another guy wearing sunglasses and a baseball cap, jeans, and a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up over his forearms. RJ couldn’t see the guy’s face, but he had the same build as Antonio.
Scrolling down, he spotted a high school yearbook picture of one Antonio Sarvilli. He was skinnier, didn’t have facial hair, and had the same floppy hairdo as practically every guy who graduated in the late nineties, but there was a strong resemblance to the man who shared a home with the woman RJ was pretty sure he loved.
“I actually dated his brother. That’s how he and I became friends.”
Half-truths, all of it. Had she been honest with him at all?
He ran a background check on Margot Sarvilli.
“Some believe Sarvilli had his wife and kid killed,” Pete added. “But just as many in the area believe she set him up and then took off with the kid and money.” He shrugged. “No one except Sarvilli and the ex has a clue what really happened, and neither one of them is talking.”
Yeah, Margot sure as hell wasn’t talking, if the woman he knew was in fact Gino Sarvilli’s ex-wife. Even knowing RJ had once worked for the FBI, she hadn’t trusted him enough to be honest.
Unless it wasn’t her. Unless RJ was getting worked up for nothing. Unless…
Words began scrolling on the screen. A whole lot of information RJ really didn’t care about. And a few tidbits he did.
Like the fact that Margot Sarvilli was an only child.
And her identity had not had any activity—no credit card use, no loans, no new cars, not even an iTunes purchase—in two years.
6
All Good Things Must Come To An End
Margot stared at her image in the mirror. She wore a slinky, red, wrap-around dress. A single ruby, shaped like a teardrop, hung from a gold chain around her neck, and matching earrings dangled from her ears. Her lips and nails matched the outfit. The red, high-heeled sandals she already knew RJ loved were downstairs by the door.
She was ready for their date.
Which wasn’t really a date, per say. She was heading over to RJ’s apartment, and they’d probably be naked within ten minutes of her arrival. Which was perfectly fine with her.
After yesterday, she was desperate for some alone time with the man. In fact, she planned to surprise him tonight by informing him that she was spending the night. Their first sleepover. She’d told Nina that’s what she was doing, too, but that she’d be home in time to get her up and ready for school in the morning.
They weren’t hiding their relationship anymore, and it was so refreshing.
“Such a big family,” she murmured to her reflection. “And I love it.”
Not that she didn’t also appreciate spending quality time alone with RJ. No reason she couldn’t have both, right?
No reason at all. Gino was out of her life, and Antonio would make sure he stayed that way. She’d finally found happiness. How ironic that it was in the arms of a cop. Although, truth be known, her life had never taken what could be called a normal path, so why start now?
“I can’t believe I wasted so much time trying to tamp down my attraction to RJ,” she said with a shake of her head. “No more. Gino no longer has control over my life.”
Just saying the words sent tingles through her body, but it was a good shiver. An anticipatory shiver. Tonight felt significant. Maybe because she’d met RJ’s family. Maybe because they’d told their daughters they were dating and the girls had been thrilled. Maybe because she was looking forward to spending all night in RJ’s bed.
Maybe all of the above.
With one last approving look in the mirror, she patted her hair, snagged her small overnight bag, and headed down the stairs, ready to head over to RJ’s apartment.
She’d already said goodbye to Nina, who was playing in her bedroom. Antonio was probably in his office, playing with numbers, making money grow like he always did. Phoebe was either in the kitchen making dinner or out in the yard, tending to her flowers.
So domestic. So perfect.
Thank God Antonio was so good at what he did. As long as he kept Gino’s money hidden, their lives would stay this way. She could actually have a real, legitimate, happy relationship. Oh, and that earth-shattering sex she’d been craving since she figured out what sex was.
Life was pretty darn grand right now.
Phoebe burst through the front door. Her blonde hair was in a lopsided ponytail on her head, and her T-shirt and shorts were smudged with dirt. She peeled off her gardening gloves, her mouth pinched, her gaze darting immediately to Antonio’s office.
“What’s wrong?” Margot asked.
“I don’t know,” Phoebe said. “Antonio just rapped on the window and motioned for me to come inside. But he looked really nervous.”
“Uh-oh.” Without another word, both women hurried into his office. The room was tucked into the corner off the foyer, with a fireplace built into one wall and Antonio’s desk overlooking Phoebe’s flowerbeds in the side yard. There were papers strewn all over the wooden surface, a laptop computer was open in the middle of it all. Antonio sat in front of it, his eyes huge, his complexion ashen, face glistening with sweat.
“The money,” he said. “It’s gone.”
“What?” Margot said, striding up to stand directly behind him. “What do you mean, gone? All of it?”
“All of it,” he repeated.
“How?” Phoebe asked.
“Someone took it.”
“That’s impossible,” Phoebe said. “You’re the best. No one can hack into your accounts. No one can even find them.”
“Apparently I was wrong.” He raked his hand through his hair and then cupped the bac
k of his neck. Phoebe rushed up and placed her hand on his shoulder. Margot stared at the computer screen, at the bottom row of the spreadsheet, at the words, “Ending balance” and the number “$0.”
“What are we going to do?” Phoebe whispered.
“We have my salary, everything I saved from working for Gino,” Antonio said. “That’s all separate. But that’s not the point. This is Gino’s. The money I’ve been holding hostage to ensure he can’t come after us.”
“Oh shit,” Phoebe said.
She could say that again.
Antonio’s gaze caught Margot’s. “Somebody knows where we are.”
No! No, no, no. Not now. Not now that she had met RJ, had experienced a taste of freedom. Of happiness.
Of…heck, she didn’t even know what it was. She’d never truly been in love before, but she sure as hell was suspicious of all those butterflies that erupted in her stomach every time she thought about RJ. She’d been getting used to the sensation. Was hoping it might last for, well, a really, really long time. Maybe forever.
Antonio’s phone was sitting on the desk next to his laptop. It pinged and lit up. All three of them leaned over to read the banner from the Detroit Free Press, flashing on the screen.
“Mob Boss Gino Sarvilli Granted Parole. Released from Prison on Friday With Little Fanfare.”
7
Talk About Conflicted
RJ got the text while he was still at the station. He and Margot hadn’t made any specific plans, only that she’d head over to his place and they’d work it out from there. Whether they went to the movies or stayed in and got naked, it hadn’t mattered so long as they were together.
He slipped his phone from his pocket and swiped the screen to read the text Margot sent.
I’m so sorry, but this isn’t going to work. We can’t see each other again. I hope you find happiness someday. You deserve it.
