The Mancini Saga (Book #1) I.O.U.

by April M. Reign

  She took a sip of her coffee as she contemplated how much she would tell the detective. Being a survivor of the cult meant that she had to keep a low profile. James would retaliate against those that posed a threat to his way of life.

  “She asked me to help her get a job as a waitress. That’s why she had my information.”

  “How’d you meet her?”

  “Through a friend,” Mia said evasively.

  “When was the last time you saw her?” he asked.

  “This morning.”

  Carlo raised his eyebrows at her short clipped answers. The more questions he asked, the briefer her answers got. He watched her movements and mannerisms. She was perfectly composed, polite, and confident. She sat with her legs crossed and her hands in her lap. The crossed legs let him know that she was a very private person, but the hands exposed in her lap gave him the impression that she wanted to help. Yet, he knew she was holding something back. “Do you know why someone would want to hurt her?”

  “Honestly, I don’t.” Mia reached up and twisted a piece of hair around her finger, a nervous habit she had developed years ago.

  When her eyes dashed up toward the ceiling, Carlo laid down his pen and notepad and crossed his arms over his chest. He caught her mixed-message mannerisms. She was lying, protecting someone or something. He could feel the anger begin to boil his Italian blood. He stood and started to pace, wanting to interrogate her in her own living room. That wasn’t permitted by police procedure, so he took a deep breath and unclenched his fists.

  “Someone hurt her?” Mia finally asked.

  Carlo narrowed his eyes at her, but did not respond.

  “Detective?”

  “Why would someone want to hurt her?” he demanded.

  “I don’t know. I-I didn’t know her that well.” Her heart started to race at his pressuring voice.

  “Yet, you were the last person to see her today.”

  “How would you know if I were the last person to see her? I saw her this morning. She could’ve seen anyone since then.” Mia was getting angrier by the second.

  He glanced around her living room. There were no pictures on the walls—they were completely bare. His arms remained locked across his chest while he stared at Mia intently.

  “Well, your friend won’t need a job. She’s dead,” he said bluntly, waiting to see her reaction. When she inhaled and covered her mouth with her hand, his body slightly relaxed.

  “Dead? How could she be dead? I just saw her.”

  He knew he was saying too much. They did not know if the woman had committed suicide or she was a victim of homicide. He watched her closely; his eyes bore into her, trying to read her expressions. He decided to lighten his tone. “We are investigating her death.”

  Mia watched his movements. He tried to calm his voice, but his body language spoke volumes. Her crushed heart ached for Denise. She could only figure that James had caught up with her. He was the one person that would want her dead, and when Miesha and Mia left her, she was alive and healthy.

  “What happened to her?”

  “I can’t tell you anything during the investigation.”

  Mia chose her words carefully and spoke slowly. “I only met her the one time. We had a brief conversation about her job search and I gave her my name and number.” She paused. “I hope that I am not a suspect.”

  “Why would you even wonder that?”

  “Well, I assumed something untoward happened to her that made you open an investigation. The only thing I can think of was that she alive this morning and now dead is that she was hit by a car or something. But an accidental death for which the cause is obvious doesn’t merit opening a police investigation.” She raised her eyebrows, waiting for him to fill in the details. He did not.

  “Have you lived here long?” he asked, evading her inquisitive tone. Two could play the evasive game.

  Mia did not like him standing over her with his arms crossed over his chest while he questioned her; he made her feel vulnerable. She put down her coffee cup and stood up as well, crossing her arms over her chest, matching his pose. “I’ve lived here for a couple years. Why? Are you planning on buying a place in this area?” she sarcastically asked.

  Carlo felt the anger in his blood start to fade. He laughed inwardly at the way she stood and mimicked him, and then tried to match him with her quick-witted words. He liked her bold ability to stand her ground and to equalize her actions to his. She was smart, very smart. He could feel his heart beating fast, a little too fast. He purposely removed the inward smile from reaching his face. “No, I apologize if I’ve intruded and made you uncomfortable. A woman died. Someone should care to find out why.”

  Mia felt ashamed. She was abrupt for no reason. For a moment, she felt threatened by Carlo’s menacing stare. A man standing over her with his authoritarian tone was exactly what she had left behind at the Compound. “I care.”

  Wow, her shortest sentence yet. He ran his hand through his hair. When his mind suddenly went back to the woman lying on the asphalt, he could feel anger creeping up again. His emotions were teetering between frustration and anger. Frustrated with Mia’s vagueness and angry that she was withholding information, what infuriated him the most was that he found her incredibly beautiful.

  “Ms. Baker, if that is all that you have for me, I’ll just leave you my card.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out his wallet, and handed her a business card. “Would you please call me if you think of anything else? If you can think of anything that will help us solve her death, call me.”

  She took the business card and stared at it for a moment.

  “Anything,” he repeated.

  “I will.” She purposefully walked him to the front door and watched as he walked toward the elevator. When he turned to look back, her face a mask of secrets, she closed the door and locked it with three definitive clicks, one for each deadbolt on the door.

  Inside her apartment, Mia spread her hand flat in the air and watched it shake. This had never happened before. He was definitely a distraction that she didn’t need right now.

  She tore up his business card, threw it in the garbage disposal, turned on the water and flipped the switch. She knew if she threw away his torn-up business card in the trashcan, that she would tape it back together by morning. All hell might break loose with her cult escape assistance if she ever spoke to Detective Mancini again. Then she was aghast that she remembered his name. Tearing up his business card did not erase that. Mia remembered everything.

  Her focus belonged to her family; she was determined to get them away from the Church of Biblical Truth. Even if her parents did not realize it yet, she would rescue them from themselves. It had been ten years since she had seen her parents or kissed her brother’s nose. She did not need someone or something distracting her from her goal.

  She called Miesha and left a message about Denise’s sudden death and the visit from the detective. Mia’s heart sank with the thought that James had possibly caught up with her through Denise. Had his people tried to get information from her when she died? She folded up her brother’s letter, poured a glass of water, and decided to curl up in bed. She knew what she would dream tonight—those dreams would include Carlo Mancini.

  ***

  Carlo stood at the elevator waiting for it to take him out of Mia’s apartment building. He could still smell the sweet aroma of her freshly peeled orange. Mia’s exotic beauty did not fool him. He knew she was hiding something or protecting someone. He was determined to find out who or what she was protecting.

  Tired of waiting for the elevator, he took the stairs. When his cellular phone rang, he quickly answered it.

  “What’s wrong with Aldabella?” he demanded. While he keenly listened to the caller, he ran down the stairs, two at a time.

  Chapter Four

  Carlo walked through his old high school, remembering a time when life seemed simpler. Silver, stacked lockers lined the hallways while homemade signs hung from
the walls, advertising the upcoming dance. The teenagers seemed much younger than they did when he went to high school. He walked, with purpose, to the administrative office and entered through the double doors. Frustrated, he stood in line behind two other parents.

  After what seemed like hours, a heavyset woman, behind the counter, greeted him. Her eyes stayed fixed on the papers in front of her as she impatiently called the next parent.

  “Good morning, I’m here to see my sister’s counselor.”

  In unison, every woman in the office looked up to see who stood at the counter with a rich, deep voice. Even the receptionist dropped her pencil and glanced up. Awestruck and nervous, she started shuffling papers. “Who’s your sister, sir?”

  “Aldabella Mancini, she’s in ninth grade.”

  “Yes, you have an appointment in ten minutes. Go ahead and have a seat over there and I’ll let her counselor know you’re here.”

  Carlo nodded, sweeping his eyes across the women in the office, each of them staring and smiling, hoping to gain his attention. He was not interested nor was he in the mood for gawking women. His sister was having problems in school, and he was there to address those issues.

  Carlo sat down on a cold, hard plastic chair. Without much thought, he pulled out his cellular phone to check for any missed calls or text messages. There was nothing. Truth be known, he was hoping that Mia would have taken him up on his vague invitation. Disappointment seemed to punch him in the gut. He had just met Mia, and already, he could not stop thinking about her smooth skin, and brown, bedroom eyes.

  Although the investigation of Denise Murphy’s death was still pending, Carlo had not brought Mia in for questioning because they had found another lead from a reliable source. An organization known as The Church of Biblical Truth that the dead woman had been involved with, had surfaced. They were following that lead. Though Mia was not a suspect in the case, he would still have to be careful with information if they were to see each other, especially socially.

  Carlo mentally shook his mind, knowing he needed to stay focused on the matter at hand. He picked up a flyer on the table next to him and read about the upcoming school news. Finally, Bella’s counselor invited him back to his office.

  “Mr. Mancini, thank you for coming. My name is Herb Crenshaw, and I asked you to come in today so we can talk about Bella’s behavior. I hope you don’t mind, but I called her out of class, so she can join us.”

  Carlo nodded. He disliked being in the school office discussing Bella’s behavior. He had no tolerance for juvenile delinquents, and if Bella thought she was going to run the streets and get in trouble, she was sadly mistaken. He would never let that happen.

  When Bella walked into the office with her arms crossed-over her chest, she took a quick seat on the chair next to her brother. Carlo eyed her up and down. Instantly, he became furious.

  “What are you wearing, Bella Mancini?”

  “What?” she sarcastically asked.

  “You are practically nude.” He removed his jacket and draped it around her shoulders. Her short skirt left nothing to the imagination, and her midriff blouse showed the belly button piercing that Carlo had known nothing about.

  He glanced at the counselor, “I apologize, sir. For her attire. I had no idea that she dressed like this for school. Or at any time.” He glared at his sister.

  Mr. Crenshaw pulled out Aldabella’s file. “The inappropriate clothes are a distraction but the behavior is what you are here for today. We are here to help Bella get an education, but she has been very defiant lately. Has something recently changed at home?”

  “I don’t think so, but then again, I don’t live at home with her. There is one thing, though: our brother, Giovanni, just went into the Marines. It was a big change for all of us.”

  “I remember him,” the counselor snickered. “The Marines will be good for Giovanni’s temper.” After thumbing through some papers in Bella’s file, Mr. Crenshaw continued, “Maybe she’s worried about Giovanni going to Iraq.”

  Bella inwardly chuckled. These two men were talking about her problems as if she were not in the room. Instead of asking her directly, they were making assumptions. As if Carlo read her mind, he directed his next question to her. She cringed when she saw him look at her with his questioning glare.

  “Bella, why are you behaving like this?”

  “Like what, Carlo?”

  “With this attitude of yours—you’ve been raised better than this.”

  “Why? Because you think you raised me?”

  “Bella, stop it.”

  “What? You think you are my father, but you’re not. We walk on eggshells around you.”

  “Who walks on eggshells around me? And why?”

  “Because Carlo, you can’t let go of the past. Mama has let go of it and so have we, so why won’t you?

  Carlo was confused. He went to the school to address Bella’s behavior. So why was he being scrutinized by her? The last thing he wanted was to discuss their personal issues in front of the counselor.

  “I know I’m not your father, but I’m the eldest man in this family, and you are my responsibility.”

  “You have to let me grow up, Carlo.”

  “I’m doing the best I can, Bella. I’m trying to help you avoid making the mistakes your brothers and I made.”

  “Let me make mistakes and learn from them. Just like you and our brothers.”

  He stared at her carefully. She had been four years old when Papa had died. Carlo knew he had to let her grow up, but he hoped that he could stop her from making the mistakes that most kids made. “I’ll let you make some of your own decisions, but I won’t stand by and let you make mistakes. Mistakes can land you in jail or worse—dead.”

  “You’re always so dramatic.” She draped her left leg over her right and threw her arms across her chest.

  The counselor interrupted. “Carlo, I know that Emilio is attending our school this year as a senior. And, of course, I was on staff when your brothers, Giovanni and Angelo, both graduated from here. We are willing to keep her in school if you agree to work with us in trying to find a solution to her disruptive behavior.”

  “Of course, you have my complete cooperation. We will get this under control, just give us some time.”

  “I understand,” he said closing her file. “Here are some assignments from her teachers.”

  Bella continued to sit with her arms across her chest. She had deliberately smacked her gum and rolled her eyes each time the two men mentioned her name.

  When they stood to leave, Carlo grabbed her arm and pulled her up to stand. “Spit it out,” he demanded as he opened his hand under her mouth. She released her gum and stormed out of the office.

  Carlo was doing everything in his power to curb his frustration. It took him four long strides to be at Bella’s side. He took deep breaths and calmly tried to talk with her—to find out what was really going on with her.

  “What is this about, Bella?”

  “What is what about?”

  “Why are you having problems in school?”

  “I don’t think I am.” She stopped and put her hands on her hips. “Listen, I know you’re my brother, but I’m tired of you guys all up in my business. Let me live my life, Carlo.”

  “You can do that when you’re eighteen.”

  “See, you want to control everything!” Her frustration was turning to anger. “At least my boyfriend treats me like an adult,” she said under her breath as she turned to leave the high school.

  Carlo’s hand flew forward and gripped her arm, whiplashing her back in front of him. His calm demeanor was gone. “What boyfriend?” he hissed through his teeth. “You are not allowed to date until you are seventeen. You know this, Bella.”

  She stood still, unsure where his temper might take him. He had never hit her, but she had never made him that angry. She could not find the words to put his mind at ease.

  “Let’s go home. We are going to take care of a few thi
ngs today.” His large hand remained firmly wrapped around her upper arm when they walked outside the school. He was almost dragging her toward his car. Then he saw a man quickly approaching, and Carlo slowed his pace. Bella’s eyes were staring toward the concrete ground.

  “Get your hands off my girlfriend, man.”

  When she heard the familiar voice, she quickly interjected. “Mitch, this is my brother.”

  “Your girlfriend?” Carlo grabbed the man by his shirt and shoved him into a large oak tree. “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-three, man. Get off of me.” He tried to move Carlo’s hands, but he could not match his strength.

  Carlo’s muscles were bulging from his shirt. Bella cried toward her brother, begging him to let Mitch go. He wrapped his hand firmly around the man’s throat and with precision, he said, “This girl is fourteen years old. If I ever see you near this school or her again, I will kill you, myself. Hai capito, bastardo? (Do you understand, bastard?)” he yelled at the man, pushing him harder against the tree.