Marauder (Gangsters of New York Book 2)

by Bella Di Corte

I thought back to Mari, Keely’s friend, and her fiancé, Macchiavello. They were due to marry shortly, and with him in Italy, I wondered if there was going to be a break for the Scarpones and their goods.

  Someone had been stealing their shit from right underneath their noses.

  I couldn’t have done a better job myself. I was able to steal petty shipments lately, but nothing that would really cripple them. If Mac was the person I suspected him to be, he had every right to destroy them. Here was the problem, though—he was a ghost.

  Vittorio Scarpone, known back in the day as the Pretty Boy Prince of New York, had been killed. Throat slashed and body dumped in the Hudson for the fish to feast on. The hit ordered by his very own father.

  I’d never met Vittorio, only heard stories about how ruthless he was, and when I tried to do some research, it seemed the only thing left of him was speculation. Not even a photograph. I reached out to the older men in the neighborhood who were connected at one time, to get a clear picture of the man, not the ghost.

  “Not a man to be fucked with” was the general consensus.

  It made sense if he was the one who’d killed Lee Grady’s old man, Cormick. Lee would become suspicious of who’d done it. He wouldn’t expect the Scarpones at first, but if the shipments kept disappearing, he’d start to wonder why.

  His father gone.

  His shipments gone.

  Who had he been working closely with?

  The Scarpones.

  If the Scarpones eliminated Lee Grady next, that would give them one hundred percent of the profit, and a shot at claiming Hell’s Kitchen as part of their territory.

  Relationships were under a massive amount of strain because of the current unrest, which was why Lee Grady got a little testy with my wife at the political event.

  I held a finger up to Raff. I got Susan on the line. “My wife,” I said to her when she answered. She huffed but connected me.

  A few seconds later, the archer picked up. She sounded out of breath.

  “Darlin’,” I said.

  “Hold on.” I heard things clanking in the background. “What?”

  Raff laughed at her tone. I opened my drawer, stuck my hand in, then a second later, pulled it out, giving him the bird.

  “Lunch,” I said. “You and me. Sullivan’s.”

  “Can’t,” she said. “I’m busy. And besides, you just got to work. On a Sunday.”

  “We eat together,” I said, reminding her.

  “Not every meal. Dinner.”

  “I changed my mind.”

  “Too late. Gotta go.”

  “Keely,” I said, catching her a second before she hung up. “What are you doing, darlin’?”

  “Wouldn’t you love to know.” Then she hung up on me.

  Raff snorted. “Jessica Rabbit is a fucking spitfire. I like the fox’s moxie.”

  “Jessica Rabbit,” I said, looking up at him.

  “Your girl. She has red hair and a body that could kill, so…”

  The paperweight that used to sit on my old man’s desk sat on mine. Too quick for him to dodge, I threw it at Raff’s head. His head went back with the impact and it fell to the floor with a clang. It hit him in the spot right above his eyes.

  “Next time my wife’s body comes to your mind, remember that to fucking knock it out.” What the fuck was wrong with this guy? Better yet, what the fuck was wrong with me? I’d just hit my cousin with a metal weight because he’d been thinking about mine.

  “You’re a fucking asshole, Cash,” he said, rubbing the spot. It was already swelling. “Back to business. Our community is growing by the second.”

  Fucking grand. The hit had knocked some sense into him. He was back on track. When he said “our community,” he meant the men who’d decided to join us.

  “John Gerald’s son in?” I said. “Martin?”

  “Clean now.” Raff nodded. “And working for you.”

  “Grady’s going to start hitting us even harder since we’re growing.”

  “You’re setting off that temper.”

  “Make sure everyone’s on guard.”

  “You,” he said. “Be sure none of that alley shit happens again. Lee cuts your head off, that’s the end for all of us. For good.”

  Cormick Grady was known as the Butcher. Lee had that same gruesome streak, but he saved the massacre for personal offenses.

  “But at least the Scarpones are not getting involved with our feud,” Raff continued. “That saves us some trouble.”

  “For now,” I said. “They’re too busy trying to find out who’s fucking with them.”

  “Works for us.” He shrugged.

  Silence filled the room, but our thoughts were loud. We both knew that we needed to make a big move. I was the marauder, stealing was my specialty, but I had to play this right. Hitting small shipments wounded and led to bigger wounds over time. But I wanted to cripple them in one go—and fast. Grady was tired of working small loads. He was ready to go bigger, since he’d set this up over the years with the Scarpones.

  His first big shipment, his life’s work, I’d already claimed as mine. Unless the ghost, who I sensed was Macchiavello, got to it first.

  A knock came at the door, and Raff and I both turned to look. Susan came in a second later, holding a plain envelope.

  “Urgent,” she said, setting it in front of me. “From Mr. Fausti.”

  “Ah,” I said, opening it, recognizing Rocco’s stamp right away. Inside was a fake bill for his legal services. I knew the difference between the real ones and the ones they used for show. Anyone who worked for them did. It was a way for him to communicate. This bill? I owed payment to Macchiavello. He’d decided to cash in on that debt owed—killing Cormick Grady.

  Rocco added a note on his personalized paper: We need to catch up. I hear Sullivan’s has good roast beef. Dinner. Around 7 o’clock.

  He gave me the date, which was around the time of Macchiavello’s wedding in Italy. Then he signed off in his regal fucking handwriting.

  Rocco Fausti

  A slow smile came to my face, and I stared at the paper a few seconds before I met Raff’s eager eyes.

  “What is it?” His knee bounced up and down.

  “Roast beef,” I said. I’d give Raff orders to keep his eyes and ears open, but what went on between the Faustis and me stayed between us. No one else knew the details.

  Rule number one in this life: never trust anyone one hundred percent.

  Back to roast beef.

  It wasn’t the word that Rocco used, but what he had conveyed through the message. The Italian families, especially the Faustis, were known to speak in code like no one else. Being fluent in their language, I understood right away. Rocco was giving me a time and place for a reason.

  This happening during a time when Mac would be getting married was significant. Because it meant he wouldn’t be in New York.

  My gut told me it had something to do with the big shipment, and if I learned what I needed to know, I had my mark. I knew it was going to happen soon, and Rocco came through just in time.

  There was no doubt, though, that Mac was giving me this at a price. I’d hit the delivery, but he’d get the goods. I wasn’t familiar with his business, but this time, I would have to let it go. I could do what I wanted with the small loads, set them on fire like usual, but he had the right to do whatever he wanted with this one.

  Then my debt was repaid.

  All in all, this was a good deal for the both of us, if it turned out to be the big shipment. No matter what the situation was, though, if Rocco sent word, it had to be something good.

  I could taste the roast beef in my mouth now.

  Raff went to speak again when a loud bang echoed in my office. Harrison was flying past the windows, his fist landing against another glass as he did. I stood before Raff, wondering why the fuck he was banging on my shit. He’d been a testy motherfucker after his girl decided to marry Macchiavello and after I forced his sister to marry me.r />
  “My sister,” he said, after he’d thrown my door open. “She’s just been arrested.”

  I moved through the crowd waiting outside of our place as Stone led my wife out of the door, her hands cuffed behind her back.

  She wasn’t making it easy on him. She was taunting him, telling him that the only way he could control a woman like her was to cuff her. Her neck was on fire with red splotches, along with parts of her jaw. It was also stained with purple paint.

  I narrowed my eyes. It was all in her hair, too.

  Never did emotions show on my face, but I had to make sure to check myself so Stone couldn’t see the fucking fury burning a hole through my chest.

  Harry Boy stepped up, demanding to know what the charges were.

  “Resisting arrest,” Stone said.

  “Resisting your pathetic advances,” my wife said as Stone walked her past me, a smug smile on his face. He ducked her head before he set her in a cruiser. He shut the door and then smacked the roof twice to signal the patrolman he was good to go. A second later, she was taken away, lights flashing and sirens blaring.

  “The royal treatment,” I said to him as he stopped in front of me, making sure to keep my voice even. One ounce of emotion and he’d sense it on me—the urge to hurt him physically. No amount of physical pain amounted to the despair I saw in his eyes, though, and that was feeding my need for violence.

  “No less for a queen of thieves.”

  We stared at each other until Raff came to stand next to me, nudging me with his elbow. Stone looked toward the house first, and then I did—police were gathering around, watching us, ready to move if I did.

  Harry Boy moved past them, coming to speak directly to Stone. “Where’s the warrant, Stone?”

  Stone took it out of his pocket and handed it to Harry Boy. His eyes scanned the page, and I didn’t miss the name of the judge that had signed off on it. We had a tremulous relationship. He had put me away for ten years.

  Finally, Harry Boy looked at Stone. “Drugs. You have reason to believe my client has drugs stashed in his house.”

  “He does,” Stone said.

  “Where’s the evidence,” Harry Boy demanded, getting that lawyer look about him. He was a fucking killer in the courtroom.

  Stone nodded to another cop, who came over with a baggie of green, showing it to Harry Boy.

  “This?” Harry Boy nodded toward it. “My client has a prescription for it. Written by Tito Sala, M.D.”

  “We were looking for a bigger shipment of drugs,” Stone said, his voice cool. “Those were not found on the premises, but this was. As soon as we get the prescription, Kelly will be in the clear.” He shook his head, laughing some. “Tito Sala. Why am I not surprised?”

  Tito Sala was the doctor who saw to the Faustis personally. His wife was the sister of one of the most notorious leaders Italy had ever seen—Marzio Fausti, Rocco’s grandfather. There was no better doctor than Tito Sala. If he couldn’t save you, you were already dead. My old man had been a friend of his, and he’d come to see me every so often when I was locked up. After I got out of prison, he had dinner with me. He wrote the prescription so I could sleep, suggesting that I get my eyes checked soon, due to the headaches.

  I hated going to the doctor as much as I hated listening to people chew. Tito Sala forced his expertise on me, usually.

  “My sister, you ass,” Harry Boy said, losing the professionalism he usually employed, and snagging my attention. I’d been staring at Stone, even though my thoughts had drifted.

  “Be careful,” Stone said. “I have an extra car ready.”

  “Take me,” Harry Boy said, opening his arms. “I’ll tell everyone at the courthouse how she turned you down for Kelly. How you made this personal.”

  “Better go bail your sister out.” Stone grinned and then slapped Harry Boy on the shoulder. Harry Boy’s jaw clenched. “I thought she was a woman with a backbone. Turned out she was a chameleon. Her colors change quick, so you better get her before they turn green. Pure evil.”

  Stone looked me in the eyes and then was caught off guard by a fist.

  That was how I ended up having to bail my wife and my lawyer out of jail.

  18

  Keely

  Being arrested wasn’t a shining moment in my life. I was even called a “moll” by the policewoman who stuck me in a cold cell with the hardest seats I’d ever felt in my life.

  Moll. She’d meant Mob Moll—a woman who protected a man in the mob.

  I wasn’t protecting Kelly. I was caught off guard. One minute they were banging on the door, and the next, they were storming through it.

  Fucking mayhem ensued.

  They were pulling shit out, ignoring me when I kept asking them to explain it again. Drugs, drugs, drugs—that was what they kept saying.

  “What about them?” I’d demanded, trying to employ that in-control attitude Kelly always had.

  That was when I saw him. Scott. He was watching me, a smug grin on his face. Since it was illegal to put my hands on him, I shot him a look and then went back upstairs. I’d been painting CeeCee’s room for her. Purple, because Maureen said that when she colored, she used it the most. I remembered Mari doing the same thing with the color blue and butterflies.

  When I reached CeeCee’s room, all of the paint had been knocked over onto the floor. They had been digging through the drawers and closet, flinging things around, and some of her new clothes were in it, saturated and ruined.

  I’d lost it. Not on the cop doing the searching, but on Stone when he walked into the room and called my name.

  It was his fault. He had purposely gotten the warrant issued and took pleasure in being there while it happened. To provoke Kelly, and to hurt me, like I’d hurt him.

  Another cop told me to “tone it down” after I started yelling at him. When I didn’t, they subdued me, but at that point, my head was void of any reasonable thought. Then they handcuffed me and read me my rights.

  Resisting arrest.

  The entire neighborhood, including my brother, husband, and Raff, watched as they set me in a car and hauled me away. Paraded me was more like it. They kept the sirens on the entire way.

  So, no, my fight wasn’t for Kelly. It was for CeeCee, who didn’t deserve for her room and clothes to get ruined due to some vengeance triangle that had nothing to do with her.

  Okay. Maybe a little for Kelly, because it was a bullshit warrant.

  An hour in and the same policewoman came to collect me.

  “Kelly,” she said. “You’ve been bailed out.”

  Harrison stood against the wall, waiting for me, and he looked haggard.

  “What?” I looked around. “Kelly didn’t even have the decency to bail his wife out?”

  “He bailed us both out.”

  I stopped walking, but he tugged on my arm. I only continued because I didn’t want to stay at the station.

  “What do you mean?” I rubbed my wrists, where the cuffs had chafed some.

  “Long story,” he said. “I’ll tell you later. Right now, we have somewhere to be.”

  “Somewhere” was the area of the station that belonged to homicide. Harrison led me into a room that had a double window. I could see out, but whoever was in the other room couldn’t see me.

  Kelly sat at the table on the other side with a cup in front of him. He was alone.

  Detective Paul Marinetti stood by the window, watching. He turned when he heard us.

  He nodded to my brother. “Ryan.” Then he nodded at me. “Mrs. Kelly.”

  “What’s this about?” I looked between my brother and the old detective, suspicious. Did Harrison do something to get Kelly locked up?

  “Kee,” my brother said, coming to stand beside me. “Detective Marinetti came to me and Kelly with a deal. He’d drop the charges on both of us if Kelly would agree to have a sit-down with Stone.”

  “Scott wanted this?” The shock was evident in my voice.

  “No,” Detective M
arinetti said. “I did. My partner hasn’t been himself lately. He’s a good kid, and he’s going in a direction I’m trying to change. I don’t want him to lose his job. Maybe airing out his grievances will get his mind straight.”

  “Scott’s made this personal,” I said.

  The detective said nothing, not confirming or denying, but he didn’t have to. What Kelly had done, marrying me, had sent Scott into overdrive. I remembered from our time together how obsessed he would get with his organized crime cases. Add that to Kelly being one of his greatest enemies and it added up to something dangerous—between the two of them.

  “Seems Stone’s been stepping on some powerful toes lately,” my brother said. “Not only on Kelly’s. The Faustis, too.”

  I took a step closer to the glass, watching Kelly. He didn’t have a nervous bone in his body. That la de da attitude was firmly in place.

  “What did you do to him, girl?”

  It took me a moment to realize Detective Marinetti was talking to me.

  “I didn’t mean to hurt him,” I said. “I had feelings for him, but it just didn’t work out.”

  Detective Marinetti shook his head. “Not Scott. Cash Kelly. He agreed to this right away. In all of my years, I’ve never seen him roll over for anyone.” He paused. “Anyone but you.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest, feeling a chill all of a sudden. “I’m his wife.”

  “It shows,” Detective Marinetti said. “Still. It’s something to see. Like a man walking on the moon.”

  “He wanted you out,” Harrison said, narrowing his eyes at me. “And he didn’t want the charges to stick.”

  I nodded, but my brother kept staring at me. Finally, I mouthed what?, and he shook his head and turned to face the window.

  A second later, Scott stomped in. He stood across from Kelly, looking down on him.

  “Glad you could finally make it,” Kelly said, relaxing even further into his seat.

  “I’m only doing this for one reason,” Scott said, his jaw hard. “My partner.”

  “Marinetti.” Kelly nodded. “There’s a man who knows how to do his job and then shut if off at the end of his shift.”