Regan Harris Box Set

by Kelly Wood

  In this case, I’d guess Frank was trying to sell himself. That he was no more than he appeared to be. I could save myself some grief and pass on this assignment to another writer. My breath hitched as I felt the walls closing in on me. This assignment hit too close to home. Did I really need to get wrapped up in the drama? I could just walk away. This officially became my honeymoon as of an hour ago. The editor wouldn’t blame me at all.

  My logical side kicked in. It was only a writing assignment. If I focused, I could get it out of the way tomorrow and be done with it. I wasn’t a quitter. I put the notion of walking away out of my mind. No more work thoughts for tonight. I squeezed Gray’s hand and continued searching the room.

  Jax, my best friend, and Liam, her latest boyfriend, stared into each other’s eyes most of the time. I had a feeling this boyfriend would stick even though he arrested our friend’s mom back in Chicago. Granted, she deserved it.

  Other than a few of my siblings who couldn’t make the trip last minute, the only other person missing was my friend Peter. We’d parted ways in Chicago after learning that he’d been running a call-girl ring. Desperate times had called – no pun intended – for the actions, but I was having trouble moving past it. It was my choice not to contact Peter, but the void still hurt. I was having trouble justifying his involvement with exploiting women. Maybe I needed more time.

  Couples headed out to the dance floor after Gray and I took a quick spin. Now Gray sat talking to my dad in the corner so I struck up a conversation with the unknown woman. Her name was Eva Grace Williams, but everyone called her Gracie. She was actually Mary Francis’s cousin.

  “Oh, I’ve known Franky for years. Since we were kids, really,” Gracie said.

  “Franky?” I asked.

  “Please don’t repeat that. He hates that name almost as much as his nickname. To him, Franky is dead. Like it was a different person and not a piece of his history.” She sipped her wine. “Tell me about you. I’d love to know more.”

  I never knew how to respond to that comment. It caused me to want to fidget and blurt out how I got the scar on my chin (falling off the monkey bars), how I stole my mom’s car when I was fifteen and went for a joyride (I scratched the rearview mirror and covered it with nail polish, oops), or how I found everything terrifying, but I made myself do it anyway (like jumping of the Stratosphere). I didn’t think these were the insights into my crazy mind that she was looking for. Instead, I went with, “There’s not a lot to know. I grew up in a small town in Indiana. I have two loves, writing and traveling. And I’ve been lucky to use one to help pay for the other.” Boring. I used my left hand to tuck my hair behind my ear, once again forgetting about the loss. I patted the side of my head to cover the memory lapse of my missing hair before resting my hand back in my lap. I followed Gracie’s line of sight down to my wedding ring and back up to her eyes, still locked on the ring. Her hand came out tenderly and touched the braided band. She was so gentle, I barely felt her fingertips brush over me.

  “Do you like it? Gray just gave it to me.” I laughed at myself. Gracie had watched Gray give me the ring.

  “It’s beautiful. I, ah, it just shocked me to see it. It’s been awhile.”

  “Awhile?” The confusion was evident on my face. I felt the wrinkle between my eyes.

  “How about this? Tomorrow, come and see me for tea at my house. I’ll tell you all about the ring and its history, and you can ask me anything you’d like about Franky. He’s as much a part of the hotel as Antonio Bianchi was. How does that sound?”

  “Good. I enjoy tea.” But, I enjoyed stories even more. “Thank you.”

  “Gray will give you the address.” With that, Gracie rose and walked away. She floated more than walked across the room. Her head held high and her shoulders straight, she glided through the doorway. Grace was the embodiment of her name.

  I spent the next few hours on the dance floor, being swept between my dads, Gray, Uncle Bob, and Michael. Most of them I was comfortable with. The dance with Michael dragged on. I watched anything around me for a distraction while he tried to make small talk. After multiple one-word answers, he gave up and finished the dance in silence. I breathed a sigh of relief when my dad approached to interrupt us. I gladly moved into my dad’s arms.

  “You looked like you wanted to run, kid.”

  I laughed at his observation. “I did. Until today, I’d always liked him. Now, I feel awkward around him.”

  “You and Gray can choose to never return here. Remember that.”

  “I’ll try.” I laid my head against his shoulder and relaxed my body. My muscles were tensed after my time in Michael’s presence. “Dad?”

  “Yes?”

  “What do you think of everyone else here?” He nudged my head away from him with his shoulder. I took a small step back and angled my chin up to look him in the eye.

  “My honest opinion?”

  “Yep.”

  “Michael is the most dangerous person here, but not the only one.” I caught his use of the word person and not man. Dad pulled me closer again and spun me in circles with some fancy footwork. I relaxed and followed his lead. With his mouth close to my ear, he continued speaking in a low voice. To the crowd, we looked like we were doing nothing more than being silly together.

  “Such as?” I asked. I kept a smile plastered to my face.

  “Mary Francis? She’s mean as a snake. As long as you keep her in your sights, you’ll always be able to see her strike. No finesse with that one.”

  “Frank?”

  “He’s a tough one. Clearly clawed his way up, but he’s smoothed out now. The street kid in him barely emerges.”

  “I think that’s just you making him nervous, Dad.”

  “Little ol’ me?” he asked.

  “I saw you. You locked your gaze on him and he started smiling and babbling. It’s your super power. You can get anyone to spill their beans.” I wrapped my arm tighter around him as he swung me around. “Did you have a chance to talk to Grace?”

  “I did. She’s good to the core. Good midwestern stock.”

  I laughed. “Of course, you’d think that. Anyone else?”

  “Watch out for Uncle Bob.” I pulled back to look my dad in the eyes.

  “Why? He’s harmless,” I said.

  “Hardly. He’s a trained fighter. I’d guess a martial art of some kind.”

  “How do you know these things?” I asked.

  “The same way I always knew when you skipped school or snuck out of the house. Everyone has tells.” Dad nodded his head. I glanced over my shoulder and saw Bob talking to Gray in the corner. “I’m going to spin you around to face him. Watch his body.”

  Dad’s movement was smooth and fluid. He changed up our steps to keep us in one place. The music transitioned smoothly into another slow song. Sinatra’s voice floated around me.

  “What am I looking for?” I asked when I was in position.

  “He still talking to Gray?”

  “Yes.” Dad twisted our bodies a little more, putting Gray and Bob to our sides. I rested my cheek against his chest giving me a clear, unobstructed view of the them. My dad rested his cheek against the top of my head, his face pointed toward them also.

  “Notice how his back is to the wall? If you pay attention to him consistently, you’ll notice he never leaves his back exposed. You learn that behavior in one of two ways. Prison or undercover work.”

  “This is a family of criminals, Dad. Prison would make sense.” I pulled him closer and rested my chin on his shoulder.

  “He doesn’t have any of the other prison tells. He doesn’t guard his food. He doesn’t challenge other people around him with looks.”

  “You said martial art training? Why do you think that?” I asked.

  “He’s fluid in his movements. Controlled. He’s aware of his body and how it works. That comes with years of training. Watch him walk or sit.”

  “Wouldn’t ballet dancers or professional athletes be the s
ame way with their bodies? Passion is,” I said.

  “Yes. Passion moves like she is aware of her body, but the difference is she doesn’t look ready to strike at any moment. Keep watching. He looks casual and relaxed, but he could throw a punch at a moment’s notice.”

  Bob laughed at something Gray said. He threw his head back and laughed with every cell of his body. I smiled in response. The man could laugh like no one else. Even now, as he cackled, I could see what my dad referred to. Bob’s eyes appeared to close in glee while he laughed, but slits remained. When his head reared back, he was still able to watch his surroundings.

  “How do you know this stuff?” I asked.

  “Behaviors don’t change.”

  “Even yours?”

  “Yes, kid, even mine. I may not be the beer-drinking, motorcycle-riding bad boy anymore, but I still size up any man in the room in case I need to fight my way out.”

  As my dad spoke, multiple actions took place at once. A waiter walked by Gray and Bob carrying a tray with a wine bottle and two empty glasses. Mary Francis pushed her chair back from her table right into the passing waiter. The waiter used his free hand to steady the tray but wasn’t able to stop the bottle and glasses from toppling over the side. Both Bob and Gray moved with the speed of light. Bob’s left snaked out grabbing the wine bottle by the neck before it hit the floor. Gray turned slightly, squatted and used both hands to catch the glasses before they broke. Mary Francis and the waiter were both oblivious. Mary Francis scolded the waiter and he responded by apologizing profusely.

  My dad and I stopped dancing when the drama unfolded. Dad pointed to Bob holding the wine bottle and said, “Told ya.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Franky August 1988

  A shiver ran down Franky’s body as he skirted around the area where the two men had died the previous week. Franky didn’t know how Costa had managed it, but there wasn’t a single bloodstain left to mar the scene.

  “Stop your diddling, boy, and come on.” Antonio was already at the back door to Costa’s house. Franky looked away and hurried to catch up to him. Costa opened the door as Franky walked up.

  The men met in Costa’s den again. The mood this time was lighter, less stressed. Between Costa and Bianchi at least, Franky was all nerves. He couldn’t wipe away the look of cold menace he remembered on Costa’s face when Milano was dying. As much as he tried, he couldn’t forget. Maybe it was a good thing. Franky thought he should hold onto it, to never forget Costa’s true colors.

  Franky leaned against the wall as the two men took their seats in front of the fireplace. Both held glasses of whiskey. Franky watched as they made small talk, inquiring about each other’s families, and what both men thought would soon be a union between them. Guy was still nuts over Gracie, sneaking away at every opportunity to be with her. Guy thought they were careful, that neither Costa or Bianchi knew about his romance with Gracie. Franky hadn’t informed him otherwise. It didn’t hurt anything for the time being, and Franky wanted to hold the information close to his chest. Just in case it could be used in his favor. Glancing at Costa, he figured he needed leverage wherever he could get it.

  Franky spent the day in the library scanning old newspaper articles for any mention of Costa and his family. There weren’t any. Of course, Costa had only risen to top dog in the last year. There hadn’t been time for him to accumulate a history of police surveillance or become the person-of-interest in any crimes. Franky watched him now, smoothly drinking his whiskey. His legs crossed, the creases in his pants and shirt perfectly pressed. Even if Costa had been in power for long, Franky didn’t think there would be shadows cast on him. He just didn’t look the part. There were dozens of articles on his and his wife’s giving and charitable work. But never a photograph. Even the mentions of their lavish wedding didn’t contain a single photo. Costa’s wife, Mary Francis, came from an affluent family. Lots of old money, the papers had called it. Old money meant snooty. At thirty, Costa was exactly where he wanted to be, Franky thought. Clear of suspicion. Clear of shadows. He was projecting nothing more than being an upstanding member of society.

  Antonio, on the other hand, fit the mold of an old mobster to a T. His black suit and narrow tie complemented his dark, Italian looks. His squat and muscular frame gave the impression of a street fighter. Getting Antonio to blend in would take a lot of work. At the library, the aide had helped him find fashion magazines to ponder over. Franky decided he needed a cleaner look along with Antonio. Something polished, but not stand-out trendy.

  Franky stood up straight when Antonio excused himself to the john. Franky outwardly flinched at the boss’s language. That would be another thing he and Antonio would need to improve on. Their language. Costa rarely, if ever, used foul language.

  Costa rose with Antonio, but on Antonio’s exit, he didn’t sit back down. Instead, he came and stood in front of Franky. Franky pulled his shoulders back, trying to stand straight, but yet seem relaxed.

  “I wanted to thank you for your actions last week.” Franky tried not to let the pleasure of the compliment override his determination to remember Costa’s deadliness, but it was difficult. Antonio was the only one who had ever given Franky acknowledgment.

  “I’d like a private word with you.” Costa didn’t wait for Franky to answer. He walked over to his desk, assuming Franky would follow. He did. Costa sat and indicated for Franky to take a seat across from him. Once they were both settled, he began, “I think you have potential.”

  A blush threatened to embarrass Franky. He could feel the heat rising in his cheeks. Costa picked up a file from his desk, opening the manila folder.

  “Tough life you’ve led. The police are regulars in your home.” Costa shuffled papers, looking for his notes. “Antonio pays for your private schooling?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Why?”

  Franky debated, worrying his lip with his teeth, but figured the truth couldn’t hurt. “Guy was getting bullied. Never could throw a decent punch. Antonio sent me to watch over him.”

  Costa’s calculating eyes watched Franky, evaluating him. “Antonio pay for your grades, too?”

  “No. That’s all me. I figured I’d better not blow it since I got the chance.”

  “Didn’t want to end up like your old man? Fixing diesel engines?” Franky didn’t acknowledge the question. It wasn’t Costa’s business why he chose to make the opportunity work for him. He had plans. Plans that didn’t include working for someone else.

  “Admirable. In school, you’ve kept your nose clean. Never been arrested. Worked for Antonio since you were fifteen, really ten if you count the bodyguard work for his kid. That shows loyalty. You can handle yourself on the street while keeping enough wits about you to not get caught. Be honest with me, Frank. If you had the money, had the chance, would you go to college and leave this life behind?”

  Franky tensed at the question. He’d never allowed himself to ponder college. He’d wanted it. He’d dreamed about it. He’d walked the college campus and pretended he was a student, but he never allowed himself to dream of it becoming a reality. He didn’t intend to work for someone else, but within his limitations. He intended to study everything he could get his hands on at the library. He intended to keep working for Antonio, to outshine the sons. Blood only got you so far. Brains, guts, wits, and determination could get you the rest of the way. With a college degree, Franky wouldn’t be locked into this life. He’d be able to go anywhere, do anything. Not look over his shoulder and take bullets. Not plunge a knife into an old man’s chest. He’d be free.

  “The thought has crossed my mind, but I never could scrape together enough for the tuition.”

  “What if you could have both?” Franky forgot to be afraid and leery of Costa in that moment. Both? The family and an education? He never thought of the two together. It was always one or the other. His voice was nothing more than a whisper.

  “How?”

  “It’s on us, kid.” Antonio s
poke from the doorway. Franky hadn’t heard him return. This time the blush bloomed being caught talking to Costa.

  “There’ll be strings, of course,” Costa said. Franky turned back to him. Antonio moved into the room and took the seat next to Franky.

  Strings? Franky could deal with strings. Strings could be broken. Later. After an education. “Okay.”

  “You’d have to keep your grades up. You’ll be working for Antonio and me. We’re looking to the future, and you are it. Along with us,” Costa said.

  “What about your boys?” Franky addressed the question to Antonio.

  “They don’t have what it takes. To be in charge, you have to use your brains. Sal’s got bloodlust. Crap, the kid even scares me the way he can wield a knife. Lil’ Tony doesn’t have a brain cell in his head, let alone two. And Guy is smart but soft. I may be their father, but I can see their flaws just as clearly as the rest of you.” Antonio never hesitated in his assessment of his sons. He was accurate on all accounts.

  “And what about your sons?” Frank asked Costa.

  Costa laughed before answering. “One’s two, and the other is brand-new. They have some time yet before making their mark. I plan on being at the helm for a while yet, anyway.”

  “How will this work?” Frank asked.

  “You’ll take your classes, study hard. You’ll spend any free time with both Antonio and me, learning the businesses, the ins and outs. You have a good grasp of the lower rungs, but you still have a lot to learn,” Costa said. Frank believed that.

  “I only foresee one problem.” Costa and Antonio looked at him and waited. “My old man.”