“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said. “Granny Abelli is a night owl; she never goes to bed until after three. Besides, she’s been begging for me to stop by—she’ll be overjoyed to see us.”
I felt my little heart trying to beat its way from my chest. Granny Abelli? Granny Abelli! I remember reading all about her when I did my high school paper on “the family” for my history class. The theme was Organized Crime and Its Impact on Modern Society. Most of the kids chose to write about prohibition or organized crime in New York—everyone loved The Sopranos and Boardwalk Empire—but I chose the infamous Abelli family. Granny Abelli’s husband had been the ringleader in supplying Nazi Germany with hard-to-come-by Western products ranging from American sodas and candy to car parts and ammo. After the war, members of the family went on trial, but every prosecutor who took on the case mysteriously ended up dead. Then in the ’90s, there had been several articles posted about their alleged involvement in brokering deals with terrorists for atomic bomb parts.
Convicted or not, these were not nice people. Of course, Granny Abelli had to be ninety-something by now, but even at her nonthreatening age, I so did not want to be there.
“I really don’t think this is a good idea—”
“I see. You think my grandmother is some criminal. Well, you of all people should know that you can’t believe everything you read. You’re a reporter. You know the newspapers will print anything.”
“Yeah, but—”
“My grandmother wouldn’t hurt a fly. Yes, I won’t deny that my grandfather—when he lived—and some of the other men in my family aren’t upstanding citizens, but not all of the Abellis are Mafia. Least of all my grandmother.”
Horse seemed genuinely offended that I would dare to think badly about his granny, and part of me felt guilty. I got the whole “loving your shady family” thing.
Regardless, the iron gates opened, and I knew I was not going to win this battle. We were going in.
Okay. How bad can it be? She’s an old woman. A really, really shady old woman, but it’s not like she’s going to pull a gun on me.
“Does she live alone?” I asked.
“Yes. That’s why I come by as often as I can.”
The car pulled around back of the three-story, huge frigging home with terra-cotta exterior covered in sprawling ivy, and a red tile roof. It was dark out, obviously, so I couldn’t see much else besides the illuminated front and the acres of green lawn surrounding the place.
As soon as we stepped out of the car onto the gravel driveway, a frail-looking woman with short white hair, wearing a red robe, came from the back door, hands raised in the air, practically sprinting toward Horse for a hug.
“Holy crap, your grandma can move. How old is she?”
“Ninety-two.”
Horse walked over, and she gripped him in a bear hug. Horse grunted.
Man, she looks strong. Then I realized that she was Paolo’s grandma, too. It was strange trying to imagine him as a child playing at this house with his brother and cousins, running on the giant lawn, being bear-hugged by this crazy woman.
The woman released Horse and then looked at me and rattled away in Italian.
He shook his head and answered whatever question she’d asked.
“What’s she saying?” I asked.
“She asked who you are and why you’re so skinny.”
I laughed. “Sorry?”
“She thinks no one loves you because you don’t have any meat on your bones.”
Well, that was a first. For the record, I’d never been called skinny. I had an average build, average height, and average curves.
“Uh, thanks?” I said.
The woman reached for my hand and pulled me inside as she rambled at Horse. I guessed it was some lecture about settling down or visiting more often—typical grandma stuff. It was sweet enough to almost make me drop my guard. Almost. That said, I had to do my best to remember where I was and get the hell out of there quickly.
When we entered the home, the smell of garlic and onions and something delicious instantly hit me.
“Welcome to my grandma’s kitchen,” said Horse. The room was enormous—two industrial-size stainless steel refrigerators, two dishwashers, two banks of ovens, a brick pizza oven, and an enormous cooktop in the center island. “She really loves to cook, and with a family our size there’s always someone to feed.”
Horse chatted a bit with his grandma and then turned to me. “She says she made some fresh meatballs this morning, but she’s got to heat them up. Why don’t I show you around while she does that?”
I wanted to tell him we really should leave, but again, I thought about making a scene. Not a good idea. “Sure. Thanks.” I smiled at the old woman. “Grazie.”
She dipped her head and waved us off.
Horse led me out into a very large, formal dining room with a long, dark cherrywood table in the middle big enough to seat about forty people. The chairs were upholstered with shiny gold brocade, and two enormous crystal chandeliers hung from the gold-trimmed ceiling.
Seeing me take it all in with a sort of disgusted fascination, Horse said, “My grandmother is old school when it comes to decorating.”
I tried to mask my judgmental thoughts with a cool smile and a shrug. “Grandmothers.”
Horse then showed me the theater, living room, library, and a few guest rooms. The place smelled like a museum and looked like a shrine to their heresy, including a mug-shot wall and news-clippings wall—arrests and murders and such.
Horse must’ve noticed my eyes popping from my head, because he said, “It’s not what you think. She likes to show them as reminders to everyone, especially her grandchildren, of what will happen if they go back to the old ways.”
“Old ways?”
“Let’s just say there’ve been a lot of changes in the family businesses over the past few years.”
I really didn’t want to know details, so I nodded politely.
“And this is the game room.” Horse pushed open a set of double doors. Inside were about twenty men of various ages, mostly plump, all smoking cigars, sitting around a large poker table. In the center of the table was a pile of cash mixed with chips and some guns.
Crap, is that a brick of coke? It sure the hell looked like it.
I tried to hide my fear slash shock, but it wasn’t easy; I think my eyes naturally wanted to jump out of my head.
Horse immediately pushed his hand behind my back to reassure me. “Is it poker night?” he said in English, seeming genuinely shocked.
“I thought you said she lived alone?” I whispered to Horse.
“She does,” he whispered back, “but they play here once a month to keep her company.”
The man farthest from us, with a very robust figure, a balding head of salt-and-pepper hair, and gripping cards, looked at me over his reading glasses. He then jerked his head and barked at Horse in Italian.
I guessed he said something like, “What the fuck is she doing here?”
Whatever reply Horse gave, it must’ve been a gem, because the man then smiled, stood and walked around the table, stopping directly in front of me. “Ah. So you came to sample my mother’s cooking before you leave?” His accent was by far the toughest thing I’d heard the whole trip.
I stuck out my hand. “Yep. Horse says she makes the best meatballs. Ever.”
He took my hand and kissed it. “I am Giuseppe Abelli.”
Giuseppe Abelli. Giuseppe Abelli. Oh fuck. Giuseppe Abelli is holding my hand. He was not only Paolo’s father and the head of the “famiglia” but, if my memory served, he had recently been indicted on charges of multiple homicides.
I giggled nervously, praying I didn’t pee myself. “Leah.” I had actually forgotten my last name, so I hoped he didn’t ask.
He lifted his head and stared for a moment. “Have we met before?”
I shook my head. “No. And I’m sure I’d remember meeting you. Not that I mean anything rude by that. It’
s just…it’s just you’re so handsome.” He was uglier than sin, actually, with stained teeth and a deep scar on his brow.
I guess Paolo got his looks from his mother.
One of the men at the table—thin, short black hair, a cigar hanging from his mouth—barked at Giuseppe.
“Ah. So sorry,” he said to me. “I must return to my game.”
“No problem. Nice meeting you all.” I slowly backed out of the room, praying to God that I could make it out of there in one piece. I mean, what if they recognized me? According to my father, my picture had been circulated all over the Internet. Where, specifically? I didn’t know. I imagined that the despicable people of the world had their version of Craigslist or maybe they used Facebook. Who knew?
Horse and I turned back to the kitchen. “Sorry about that,” he said. “I had no idea they’d be here.”
“I really think we should leave.”
Oh God. Oh God. That room had been filled with cutthroat thugs, and I was a delicious piece of fresh meat—my father’s daughter.
Horse looked at me. “Are you all right, princess?”
“Sure. What could possibly be wrong?”
He pointed over his shoulder as we walked. “You don’t think anyone here would hurt you?”
“No.” I shook my head. “Why would I think that?”
“Good. Because that’s not how my family is.”
“Yeah. Sure. Whatever.” I couldn’t believe how incredibly casual Horse was being about this. Like, “Oh hey, look! It’s my murdering uncle. Let me introduce you.” My only conclusion was that he was used to it.
Horse must’ve sensed my discomfort, because he said, “All right. I’ll take you to your hotel, but let me tell my grandmother you’re not feeling well. I’m sure she’ll understand.”
“Sure. Sounds good,” I said calmly, trying to regain my composure. But as badly as I wanted to bolt off to the limo, I had to pee. Seemed that Bob had finally caught up with me, and meeting the infamous Giuseppe hadn’t helped.
I think I might be sick, too.
“Can I use the restroom?” I asked.
“Sure, it’s down this hall to your right. I’ll see you back in the kitchen.”
I thanked him and rushed off to the ode-to-all-things-gold-plated bathroom. When I emerged, after freeing my bladder and splashing cold water on my face, that gross skinny guy who’d yelled at Giuseppe to get on with the game was standing right outside the door. He wore a white button-down shirt with one too many buttons missing at the top, exposing the forest-like black hairs on his chest. His greasy face and bloodshot eyes screamed drunk and down on his luck.
“Well, hello there.” He pushed me back inside the bathroom. I was about to scream, but he cupped his foul-smelling, cigar-smoke-covered hand over my mouth, and backed me against the golden counter.
My body bowed back, pushing my hips into him, but it also gave me something to grab onto: the edge of the counter.
I thrust forward with my chest and shoulders, pushing him back long enough to scream, “Get away from me!” I then grabbed a square glass vase sitting next to the sink. I swung, but missed when he dipped his head to the side. The vase crashed to the floor and the door flew open. I expected to see Horse, but those dark, pissed-as-hell eyes greeted me instead.
Felix. I had no idea what he was doing there or how he knew to find me in the bathroom, but the moment skinny greaseball saw him, he let go of me. And whatever seething threat Felix made worked. The man raised his palms in surrender before sliding out of the room past Felix.
“Fuck.” I bent over to catch my breath.
“Are you all right?” he asked, trying to help me stand up straight.
“Yeah.” I nodded frantically. “I think so.” I stood and blew out a breath.
“I’m sorry about that. Uncle Alberto just got out of jail, and he’s drunk.”
Like that was an excuse? And, holy shit. Who let him out?
I was about to say it was fine and that I just wanted to leave, but when I looked into Felix’s dark eyes, there was an undeniable possessiveness I’d seen in Paolo’s eyes the day he shot my “English teacher” who’d kidnapped me. Paolo’s expression was identical, like he wanted to kill the man all over again for touching me.
My mouth dropped open. “It is you,” I whispered. How the hell was he fooling his entire family? Or his father, for that matter?
Look at your own dad, Dakota. Think if you had a twin, he could tell you apart? It was true, I didn’t see him that often, so I supposed a child could fool a parent. Still, that would be a seriously ballsy move.
He blinked a few times and then frowned as if trying to get into character.
“Don’t,” I growled. “Don’t you fucking dare, Paolo. I know it’s you.”
“Again, crazy American, you’ve got it all wrong.”
I know that people think girls cry for no reason at all or only when they’re sad, but some of us are wired differently. For whatever reason, my tear ducts were connected to the angry, frustrated, and overwhelmed emotions, too. And right now, I felt all three.
The tears welled in my eyes. “Please don’t do this, Paolo. I know you think you’re protecting me from something, but you’re not.”
He looked away, his jaw clenching angrily.
“Please, just tell me why you left. Tell me what you’re doing here, and I’ll go home. I’ll never see you again or try to talk to you. I’ll slip away and disappear from your life forever. Just…tell me the truth.”
With his chest heaving and fists clenched, he held his gaze away.
“Look at me, goddammit. Fucking look at me!” I reached for him, and he caught my wrist.
Rage poured from his eyes. “Go. The. Fuck. Home. You crazy American bitch.”
His words were a knife right through my chest. “Fine. But I want you to know that whatever this is, whatever you think you’re doing, it’s a mistake. Because someday it will be over, and you’ll wonder how you ended up alone.”
“Leah! What the fuck?” Horse stood in the doorway, obviously wondering what happened and likely assuming Felix had done it.
I marched out of the bathroom past Horse. “Just take me to my hotel.”
“Sure. Okay,” he said.
I heard soft mumbles as Horse and “Felix” exchanged words, but I didn’t stop until I got outside to the awaiting limo.
The driver popped out, but I’d already opened the door and slid inside. Horse showed up moments later. “What the hell happened in the bathroom?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Did Felix touch you? Because I swear—”
“Nope. I’m good.”
Horse stared at me for a long moment and then told the driver to go.
After a few minutes of seething quietly, Horse finally said, “Fuck. I’m so sorry, Leah. I know that must have scared you, but they are not as bad as you think. Most of what you hear is media gossip, a leftover from the old days.”
I knew that Horse genuinely regretted bringing me to his grandmother’s house, but I didn’t care. Because now I knew for certain that was Paolo masquerading as Felix and every interaction we’d had was meant to drive me away. Whatever was going on with him, he felt it was more important than me or my heart. I’m just glad I didn’t marry him.
I glanced over at Horse, who looked pissed as hell.
“I’m fine. I promise,” I said. But I wasn’t. I was hurt and confused and pissed off. What the fuck, Paolo!
“But you don’t believe me.”
“About what?” Was he irritated with me? With me?
“My family.”
He seemed concerned about what I thought, which was odd, but he was right; I didn’t believe for a second that any of those men were nice people. Especially Uncle Alberto and Giuseppe. And if Granny was so sweet, why in the world was she allowing all of those shady men in her home with guns and coke and whatever the hell else they’d had on that table? I mean, come on. She had to know. It wasn’
t like they were hiding the stuff.
“I think you’re lying to yourself,” I said bluntly, “because some people can’t help who they are.” Complete assholes. Like Paolo. Sonofabitch…
“What does that mean?” Horse asked.
I turned to him and saw a tormented look in his eyes that reminded me of Paolo. It was like he was fighting with himself inside his head. Suddenly, I felt sorry for Horse. He couldn’t help the family he’d been born into, and clearly he was trying to make the best of his world.
And here I was taking out my anger on the poor guy.
I sighed. “It means you’re a nice person. That’s all.”
Horse mumbled in Italian and looked away.
“Can I ask why you work for Nikki and not your family?”
He shrugged. “I want to start my own celebrity security service, and working for Nikki is good experience.”
“Why not work for Giuseppe?”
He looked at me strangely. “What is your point, princess?”
I wasn’t sure. I guess I wanted to know if he realized that he wasn’t cut from their same criminal fabric.
Just like…Paolo?
Hmph. Shut up, Dakota. This was no time to start putting Paolo up on a pedestal or trying to come up with some reason that justified whatever it was he’d done to me.
“Never mind. No point,” I said.
When the limo pulled up to my dive-palace, I didn’t wait for the driver to open the door.
“Leah!” Horse called out, following behind me.
I turned and looked up at him.
“Am I ever going to see you again?” he asked.
I was about to say no, but honestly, I didn’t want to sound like a complete bitch. “Uh. Sure. Next time you’re in the States.”
He dug his cell from his pocket. “What’s your number?”
Dangit. I didn’t really have one. “I lost it.”
He gave me a look. “You lost your number?”
I shook my head. “No, I mean, I lost my phone. I’ll have to get a replacement when I get home and—”
“If you don’t want me to call you, say so.”
I blew out a breath. “I…I…”
He reached for my hand, yanked me forward and planted his lips on my mouth. He slid his arm to the small of my back and held me to his lean frame. I was shocked at first, but then all of those sorry, sad, twisting emotions from what had just happened with Paolo hit hard. I needed something to…I didn’t know. Maybe bury myself in. I slid my hand to the nape of his neck and kissed him back. His tongue expertly stroked the inside of my mouth, and I felt him relaxing against me as if slipping away to that place where you go when you lose yourself in a person. I’d been to that place so many damned times with Paolo, but I wouldn’t be going there now.
Fate Book Two Page 9
