by Debra Lee
Now he was forced to go into hiding. To the secret place he’d discovered when he was a boy growing up in Naples. The only place he felt confident he’d be safe until things cooled off. But not knowing how long that might take, he wasn’t prepared to live like a hermit in the shack nestled on the side of the mountain.
His prize whore Lucinda would be his refuge from going crazy with boredom. But after a day of listening to her whine that she was going to go out of her mind if she didn’t return to civilization, Salvatore wanted her gone.
“Go. Get the hell out of here you nagging bitch,” he blasted as he pushed her out the front door.
“Take it easy. I’m going,” Lucinda fired back at him when his forceful shove almost knocked her down.
Salvatore threw the set of car keys at her. “I’m gonna check it for scratches when I get back.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Lucinda grumbled as she went off the rickety front porch toward the new car Salvatore had bought less than a week ago.
Salvatore watched her slide behind the steering wheel before turning to go back inside. The instant he stepped over the threshold, the sound of the explosion hit him from behind. He wheeled around in time to see the car engulfed in flames.
“Dear Mother of Mary,” came out in a slow whisper as he glared into the fire.
It didn’t take long for panic to set in. He threw a few things into his backpack and headed down the side of the mountain on foot. He knew what he had to do if he was ever going to be safe from the deadly hand of Lucas Delio.
***
Sylvia smiled wickedly. “Joseph and Salvatore makes two DeMarios out of commission. All in one day ain’t bad.” She chugged her drink, enjoying the sight of Lucas coming unglued from his seat.
“I knew you were a piece of work from day one.” Lucus’s attention went to the third member in the room. “So what’d I tell you, Rocko? Didn’t I say this one could pull it off?”
“You’re certain he’s dead?” The steely eyed man put to Sylvia, lacking the enthusiasm of his employer.
“What, you don’t believe me? Well screw you. Joseph DeMario is one dead mother.”
“Enough from both of you,” Lucas cut in. “If Sylvia says he’s dead, the man is dead. Now it is time to move ahead with our plans.”
“Count me out,” Sylvia said. “I’m only here to collect what’s due me and I’m gone.”
“But I have big plans for your future, my dear,” Lucus said.
“Marcus knows I made the hit.”
“He saw you?” snarled Rocko.
“Let’s just say he spotted me leaving the scene of the crime.” Her cocky attitude made a sudden change. It was as if she was realizing something for the first time and it brought fear into her expression and tone. “My life is over if I stay here.”
Chapter Twenty
Tears spilled over Jackie’s lower eyelids again. She used her hands to dry her face, then shifted to another position in her seat. She was thankful the seat next to her was empty on the long flight to Italy. No need to hide or explain her sudden spurts of tears on the trip back to her childhood home.
A little smile played around her mouth when her mind drifted back to that day Desmond first cooked for her on the yacht anchored off Capri.
“Well, how is it? I don’t profess to be a fine chef, but I do take pride in the one dish I can prepare.”
“It’s delicious, Desmond,” Jackie said and took a second bite of the omelet he’d prepared for her. “Would you like some?” she offered when he continued to stare from his seat next to the bed.
“No, I’ve already eaten. But do you mind if I stay while you finish?”
“Stay if you want.”
“Guess I should explain. You see, it was sort of a tradition that on Sunday’s I served my wife breakfast in bed. Just like this…”
“You’re married?”
There was no hiding his sadness. “I was once. I had a daughter, too.” He reached over and brushed a long blonde curl over her shoulder. “She had hair the color of yours.”
“Had? Where is she now?”
Desmond blinked back tears. “About ten years ago she and my wife were killed in a car crash.”
Jackie’s heart sank. “I’m so sorry.”
“So am I. My little Jessica had her whole life ahead of her. She’d have turned seventeen next week.” His eyes found Jackie’s. “About four years younger than you.”
“I just turned sixteen, Desmond.”
He glared at her, then smiled. “Women are uncomfortable giving their true age, but I didn’t expect it from one as young as twenty one.”
“It’s the truth. I’m only sixteen.”
He frowned. “This changes everything. I knew you looked too young when I first saw you. Marcus knows I like my women young, but legal.”
Jackie’s appetite left with the mention of his name. “I’ve learned Marcus DeMario is not a man of his word.”
***
Back in LA, Marcus felt the blood running through his veins heat to near boiling as the tragic part of his past when his father was assassinated continued to haunt his thoughts. He couldn’t stop remembering more from that terrible day long ago.
Roberto knocked before poking his head inside Marcus’s office. “Sorry to interrupt, but your cousin the boxer is waiting to see you.”
“Sally?”
“Yes. He came to discuss business with your father, unaware of what has happened.”
“Give me another minute with Tony. Then send him in.”
Marcus sat behind the desk that had always been his father’s place in the room. The seat Marcus had taken automatically when he entered the office. But it really hadn’t struck him until Roberto had hinted to it. He was in charge now. There was no more anticipating what it would be like to be his father’s business partner. Now it would all be his, a realization that created an assortment of feelings in him. Comfortable was not one of them.
Salvatore knocked before entering the dimly lit room. But it was light enough to see his cousin was not alone. Tony Muzzerelli sat across the desk from Marcus like he always had when Salvatore met with Joseph.
Marcus nodded toward the empty chair next to Tony. “Have a seat, Sally.”
Salvatore’s right eyebrow twitched like usual when he was nervous as he sat. “Thank you for seeing me, Marco. I’m very sorry about your padre.”
“Is that why you’re here?”
“Yes. If there’s anything I can do, just give the word.” Salvatore took a quick look in his cousin’s direction, then focused on his lap.
Marcus wondered what his cousin’s real reason was for coming since he’d told Roberto he hadn’t heard about Joseph’s death.
“Is there anything else you wanted to discuss, Sally?”
Sweat beads were forming on Salvatore’s forehead and his eyebrow twitched faster. “The Delios think they made a hit on me too. But it was one of my whores they blew up. Lucas wanted me to do something, but I refused.” He glanced at Marcus as he and Tony were exchanging looks. “I need to leave the country before he finds out I’m still alive.”
Marcus waited patiently for his cousin to get it all out. “You’ve come to me for help?”
“I just need a little cash to lie low for a while.”
“The money’s yours as soon as you tell me what Lucas wanted from you.”
Salvatore wet down his lips thoroughly before the words came. As they did, he took a peek at his cousin. “I was supposed to make a hit on you when you were in Capri.”
A few seconds of silence, then Marcus leaned sideways in his seat and pulled a small stack of lire from the desk drawer. “I appreciate your loyalty to the family, Sally,” he said, placing the money in front of his cousin.
Salvatore exhaled heavily, then picked up the money. “Thank you, Marco.”
Marcus rose out of his chair and met his cousin at the edge of the desk. As they embraced, Marcus’s eyes steadied on Tony’s. A conversation transpired that Salvator
e knew nothing about.
As Salvatore kissed his cousin on each cheek, he repeated his words of gratitude. “Tony will see to it you get to the airport safely.”
Salvatore was still thanking him when he went out the door, a relieved man. Tony Muzzerelli was directly behind him.
Tony sat in the driver’s seat and Salvatore in the passenger one next to him. As Tony turned over the engine, the two rear doors opened simultaneously and two of Marcus’s soldiers got in. Salvatore glanced over his shoulder and knew they weren’t coming along to provide added protection. Before his hand reached the door handle, the bullet penetrated his skull.
A cold chill shot up Marcus’s spine when he came away from the window where he’d watched his cousin’s killing. Marcus collapsed in the desk chair, throwing his head back against the fine leather. He sealed his eyelids to shut out the vision. But his cousin’s twitching features found there way into the darkness. Marcus opened his eyes to make it go away. Roberto rapped on the door before poking his head inside.
“The American, Desmond Sinclair is on the phone.” Marcus made no effort to pick up the receiver. “He says he needs a passport.”
“Give him the name of our man in Capri. The one my father had watching Sally.”
Roberto closed the door, leaving Marcus alone to sort through the clutter of thoughts whirling around inside his head, too much to think about to be bothered with thoughts of why Desmond needed a passport or for whom.
Two hours passed and nightfall shaded the villa. But Marcus had lost all track of time, closed inside the office. Only now, a bottle of Scotch had become his companion. If he’d fallen into a state of intoxication, it left him the instant he heard her voice outside his door.
“Hey, you’re hurting me, you big ape,” filtered through the door slightly muffled, but recognizable.
Marcus didn’t alter his position behind the desk when Tony threw Sylvia into the room ahead of him. She grasped hold of the desk to keep from doing a nose dive into the hard wood. She slowly looked up into Marcus’s icy glare that had her backing away until she hit Tony’s hand. A second powerful shove sent her right back to the desk.
“I picked her up at the airport,” Tony’s voice cut into the chilling silence. “Seems your housekeeper was planning a trip abroad without saying goodbye.”
Sylvia began edging her way around the desk to him. “Marcus, I can explain.”
“You killed my father.”
“I had no choice. Please, Marcus, I beg your forgiveness.” She dropped to her knees at his feet.
Her plea stopped the instant she saw him pull the revolver from the desk drawer. She tried to push herself to her feet, but wasn’t quick enough.
The deafening sound of the gunshot came before the thud when her body crashed against the floor.
***
The arrangements were finalized moments before Marcus was to leave the villa for his father’s funeral.
Tony Muzzerelli answered the phone in the office, listened to the caller, then put down the receiver and looked at his boss. “It’s in place.”
“Any trouble?”
“None. After Lucas’s men ran a check to see if he was sent from the telephone company, our man walked into Lucas’s office as planned. The bomb’s set to go off at 11:30.
At the cemetery, the priest finished saying the closing prayer. Marcus raised his head with the Amen to see the large crowd that had gathered to bid Joseph DeMario one final farewell. The weeping from mourners mingled with the drizzly rain as Marcus stepped forward. As he leaned over to place a kiss on the lid of his father’s casket, he glimpsed his wristwatch. Eleven thirty on the dot.
Chapter Twenty One
Inside the jet bound for Italy, Jackie tightened her grip on the armrests when that last day on the yacht came front and center in her thoughts.
She was in the middle of folding her new dresses and neatly stacking them inside the opened suitcase on the bed when she heard the speed boat approach the yacht. Her pulse raced. Her stomach suddenly felt queasy.
The start of her anxiety attack progressed to the point where the air seemed scarce by the time Desmond strolled into the bedroom.
“Well, everything has been put in motion. Your passport will be ready by morning.”
His words allowed her to breathe again. Her pulse continued to race. But now it came from excitement. She charged against Desmond and threw her arms around him. “Thank you, thank you,” she said, pecking his cheeks with kisses. When her lips touched his and lingered, Desmond stepped back. “Desmond, what have I done?”
His eyes met hers briefly before he turned and made a quick exit. Jackie stood frozen, baffled by his sudden coldness.
She found him on the upper deck at the railing with his back to her.
Where are you, Desmond Sinclair, she wondered. Even though he appeared to be looking directly at the island, she sensed he didn’t see it.
She swallowed hard before moving to his side.
“I want to be honest with you, Jackie.” Their eyes met briefly. “I feel very ashamed of myself for last night.”
Jackie wrinkled her brow as she focused on Capri. “You made love to me.”
“No, Jackie. I had sex with you. I used you like a whore.”
She looked at him and smiled. “But that’s what you thought you paid for.”
He finally returned her smile. “I suppose you’re right.” His fingers gently brushed the strands of blonde hair aside the wind had picked up and carried over her delicate features. “But you are not a whore. You are still a child.”
More confusion flooded her mind. Weren’t the sexual pleasures she brought him one of the reasons he agreed to take her to America with him? Could his guilt be strong enough that making her dream to go to America be his retribution? Or did it have something to do with his dead daughter?
“I don’t look or feel like a child, Desmond.” That night two years ago when Papa entered her bedroom and took her virginity flashed in front of her. “It’s been a lifetime since I felt like a child.”
“Last night you told me you met Marcus, fell in love, then ran away from home. But what about your parents? They must be going crazy with worry. I will take you to America as promised, but first you must get your parents permission.”
“No,” she shouted. Almost instantly recovering from her lapse of composure and brought back control. She felt too ashamed to resurrect for him what she buried the day she left Sailor’s Corner.
“My parents are not going crazy with worry, Desmond. I’m sure they are relieved to be rid of me.”
“I find that very hard to believe.”
She had to make him believe. “They are poor people with a large family to feed.” Jackie put on her saddest face. “The truth is my mama gave me what little money she had to go away.” She felt a pinch of guilt for not being totally honest. But it would be much easier to live with than knowing he knew her secret.
Desmond stared into her eyes. “If you’re family doesn’t want you, care to explain the man showing your photograph around on the island.”
Jackie swallowed hard and looked into the sea. She had to think fast. Come up with something believable. Once she did, she faced him again, tears in her eyes. “I’m ashamed to say it, but my papa promised me to him. That’s when Mama helped me run away.”
The sadness in Desmond’s eyes lifted. “Then I guess we go to America.”
Jackie released her breath and smiled. “Thank you. And like I told you last night, I will do anything you want for your generosity.”
“No, Jackie. I want nothing.” A few seconds later a grin played around his mouth. “I suppose your friendship would be nice.”
A big beautiful smile appeared on her face. “I’d love to be your friend, Desmond Sinclair.” The remainder of the day sped by like lightning for Jackie. Her thoughts were consumed with visions of America.
Desmond took her to dinner at an expensive restaurant on Capri. He kept the conversation flowing du
ring the meal. He talked about the sixteen hour days that were required when he was in the middle of making a movie. But he wouldn’t have it any other way. His work had become his only true love after the death of his wife and daughter.
There were a few times when he would be quiet. Jackie sensed it was because he wanted her to give him some more background information on her. She offered none. Later, when it came time to go to bed, Desmond retired to the guest cabin. Only then did Jackie allow the distant thoughts that had been pushing their way to the forefront since earlier in the day.
The vision of Marcus was as clear as if he actually stood before her. At first when she remembered the gentleness in his touch, her body felt life. But then the vision of him changed. He was laughing at her.
“You stupid little fool. You really thought I was coming back for you.” His mouth tightened. He wore a look of disgust. “I don’t marry whores, Jackie Bertoni…”
It was a nightmare. Only, Jackie’s eyes were wide open. Once again his mouth widened and his deep chuckles grew louder. Then a vision of Desmond shaded Marcus. Desmond’s soft voice soon overpowered the laughter.
“You are not a whore, Jackie. You are still a child.”
“I don’t marry whores.”
“You are not a whore.”
Over and over again their voices tormented her until she jumped out of bed and flipped on the light. Her breathing frantic as if she’d run a marathon.
She staggered into the bathroom and splashed cold water in her face. When she slowly raised her head to see her reflection in the mirror, she posed the question that haunted her always.
“Just who are you, Jacqueline Bertoni?”
Jackie guessed Desmond made arrangements for her passport through Marcus as well as for the car that waited for them on Capri.
On the drive to Rome where they were booked on a flight to England, Jackie saw little of the countryside. When she wasn’t staring at Desmond with growing admiration she was interrogating him about his homeland.
