by Wendy Rosnau
He yelled at Frank to get down, just as an explosion of gunfire echoed through the underground garage. He heard his father cry out, watched him jerk hard to the left. Saw blood spread across Frank’s chest.
It all happened so fast that by the time Joey reached for his 9-mm Beretta, three more shots were fired. He felt pain explode in his right shoulder, but managed to get off two shots before he dropped to his knees. Glancing quickly at his shoulder, he saw that he was leaking blood as rapidly as Frank. He crawled to where his father lay on the concrete. He heard the van squeal to a stop. Heard a door slam. He got to his feet, grabbed Frank under the arms and dragged him behind the Jag.
More shots were fired, only this time they came from somewhere behind him. Joey spun around, aimed his Beretta, then relaxed his hand when he saw two of his men running toward them.
A car door slammed again, then he heard the van peel out. Joey looked down at his father covered in blood. Heart racing, he searched for a pulse. Behind him, he heard one of the guards screaming for an ambulance, screaming that the boss was dead. “Maledizione, they whacked him! They cut Frank down on his own turf!”
As the man skidded to a stop in front of the Jag, Joey pulled Frank onto his side and shouted, “Stay back! Get the hell back!” Then, as he hovered over his father to shield him, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. After he punched in Lucky’s number and heard his brother’s voice, he said, “Frank’s … dead. I’m hit.”
As Joey disconnected, he continued to protect his father from the growing crowd that gathered. With a shaky hand, he reached out and touched the black eye patch that covered his father’s right eye. Finally, he whispered, “It wasn’t supposed to be like this. You bleeding in the street. I’m sorry … mio padre.”
* * *
It was five in the morning before Joey, accompanied by Jackson, was allowed to leave Memorial Hospital. He was in a great deal of pain due to the bullet that had passed through his shoulder, but that wasn’t where his thoughts were. They were on his father and the Masado blood that had been spilled hours ago because of Carlo Talupa.
“Hank Mallory will do what he can, Joe,” Jackson assured. “He’ll run interference with the news media for as long as he can, but you know as well as I do that this is big news. By noon, everyone in Chicago will be reading about how Frank Masado was taken out while his son and guards stood by and watched. How’s the shoulder?”
“It’s fine.”
“Like hell it is. I know what it feels like getting pierced. Need some painkillers?”
“No.”
“Where did Lucky take off to?” Jackson asked as they crossed the street and headed for the hospital parking lot.
“He went to the morgue. I wanted him to wait so I could go with him, but he said he wanted to go alone. He blames himself for things going sour. But it’s my fault, not his. It was my plan.”
“It’s over, Joe. We all knew the risks. If Frank was standing here, he wouldn’t be pointing a finger at anyone.”
Joey glanced down at the sling that drew his arm close to his body, then up at the falling snow. When they reached the car, Jackson swiped the snow off the hood, then leaned his backside against it and shoved his hands in his jeans pockets. Joey took a position beside him. Minutes later, he winced, then swore, as he attempted to reach inside his pocket and pull out his cigarettes.
Jackson said, “Here, let me help.” As he dug into Joey’s coat to retrieve the cigarettes, he said, “This might be a good time to think about quitting this nasty habit.”
“Just because you quit cold turkey doesn’t mean I can.”
Jackson poked the cigarette between Joey’s lips, then fired it up. “I’m sorry Frank was shot.”
Joey pulled the cigarette from his mouth and blew smoke. “You warned me the plan stunk.”
“No, you were right. It was a good plan. It was just risky as hell. Come on. Let me take you home.”
Joey dug in his pocket and came up with his keys. “I’ve driven before one-armed. You go home to Sunni. I can manage.”
Jackson stripped the keys from Joey’s hand. “I know you can get yourself home, but you don’t need to since I’m here.”
Without further argument, Joey climbed into the passenger side and leaned his head back against the seat. His shoulder throbbed and he closed his eyes as Jackson slid behind the wheel. A few minutes later, as they started back to Masado Towers, he said, “I need to make the funeral arrangements.”
“I can help with that.”
“I’ve been thinking about a few other things. After the way this turned out tonight, I need to make sure that Niccolo and Rhea are taken care of in case I’m—”
Jackson turned over the engine. “Nothing more is going to go wrong, Joe. We’re going to get Carlo. After tonight, we’ll concentrate on going after Solousi. We’ll tighten the noose, and when he makes his move—”
“That move will be at the funeral.”
“You think so?” Jackson pulled out of the parking lot, then headed back to Masado Towers.
“I do. Carlo will see it as the perfect time and place to show the famiglia how powerful he is and that he’s still the bossman in Chicago. And whatever happens, I need to make sure my son’s future is secure and that Rhea will be taken care of.”
“Hell, Joe, I don’t want to hear this.”
“If you were in my shoes and I was in yours, Jacky, I imagine you’d be thinking similar thoughts. And whether I liked hearing what you had to say or not, I’d listen. Then I would do whatever it was you asked of me.”
* * *
Forty minutes later, Joey walked into the penthouse to find Rhea pacing like a caged animal. It was obvious she had already heard the news. Her face was tear-stained and her eyes were red and full of fear.
He saw her eyes lock on his arm in the sling. Saw her shudder.
“Oh God, it’s true! Opal called and said that Frank … that he … that he was killed tonight and that you’d been shot.”
The sudden flood of tears and the devastation in her voice knifed Joey in the gut. He carefully shrugged his jacket off his shoulders and dropped it on the sofa. “I wanted to be the one to tell you. To explain how—”
“How you got Frank killed?”
Joey blinked, saw her fear turn into anger. “Listen, Rhea. If you’ll just sit down, I’ll explain how—”
“I don’t want to sit down, Joey. And I don’t want to hear your excuses. How one of your assistants slipped up. Or how it wasn’t supposed to happen this way. I know firsthand how lacking your security is. How easy it is to trick your men. Obviously, Carlo Talupa knew it, too.”
Her words were as cold as the icy chip she now wore on her shoulder. Joey stepped forward and reached out to her with his healthy arm, but she backed up.
“I should have demanded that you send us back that first day. I knew something like this could happen. Knew all of it.”
“Then, maybe you should have told me all of it the minute you arrived.”
Her chin quivered. “Why didn’t you just face me at Santa Palazzo? If you had, none of this would have happened.”
“Maybe we should back it up farther than that. Maybe if I hadn’t gotten you pregnant. Or maybe if you hadn’t run from me once you found out. Or maybe if I hadn’t given you a ride home from the hospital that first night I saw you. Okay, darlin’, I’m to blame! I screwed up, and because of it, Frank’s dead!”
Joey hadn’t meant to shout. He hadn’t meant to lose control.
She turned away. It was as if the sight of him suddenly turned her stomach.
“I can’t believe he’s gone. Poor Grace. And … Elena. Oh God, what will I tell them? In Grace’s condition, how will I be able to make her understand that she’ll never see Frank again?”
“You don’t have to tell her, Rhea. It’s already been taken care of.”
She spun toward him. “You called Santa Palazzo? Told them Frank’s dead? Are you crazy? Grace is ill. Elena ha
s no idea that you and Lucky even exist. Oh God, I have to go to them. I have to—”
Joey reached out and grabbed her arm as she attempted to hurry past him. “No! Not now.”
“You can’t stop me.” She wrenched her arm from him, and in doing so, jarred his shoulder.
He swore, then stepped back. “I can stop you, Rhea, and I will. It’s not safe for you to go anywhere near Santa Palazzo. It’s not safe for you and Niccolo, or Grace and Elena. And it won’t be, until I’ve got Carlo hanging by his heels.”
“I don’t give a damn about Carlo Talupa!” Tears clung to her cheeks and shimmered in her eyes. “How can you be so unfeeling? Frank’s dead! Or doesn’t that matter to you? I can see that it doesn’t. You never understood him. Never knew the real Frank. Not Frank Palazzo.”
This time it was Joey’s turn to walk away. He headed for the bar, his guts were in a knot and his head was pounding. He wrenched a bottle of scotch off the shelf, then headed toward his bedroom. “I’m through fighting with you, Rhea. There’s a lot I have to see to in the next few days. Arrangements that need to be made.”
“I want to leave here, Joey. I want to take Nicci and leave Chicago.”
He stopped, turned. “No.”
“Damn you, Joey.”
“And damn you right back, Rhea. I may not have your respect at the moment, but I’ll have your loyalty. You’re stuck between a hard place and an even harder man, darlin’. But it’s not news who and what I am. The sooner you get used to that, the better off you’re going to be. Whether you like it or not, you are here and you are mine. That is your future, and my son’s.”
She shook her head, her eyes wide. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying, in three days I’m going to bury my father in Rosewood Cemetery. I’m saying, you’re going to be there standing right beside me … as my wife. No one will deny my son what is rightfully his. Not Carlo Talupa and not you. Niccolo will have my name. Capiche?”
“You can’t be serious. Carlo Talupa just killed your father, and now you intend to mock him by marrying me? No! You can’t. I won’t do it!”
“I’d tell you to trust me on this, but it’s clear you’re not thinking straight right now, so I’ll save my breath. Our wedding will be here, the day after tomorrow. Jacky and Lucky are seeing to the details.”
She continued to shake her head, her sapphire-blue eyes as big as he’d ever seen them.
“I won’t do it, Joey. You can’t force me.”
“If I have to drag you kicking and screaming, I will, Rhea. But I don’t think that’s going to be necessary. You’ll agree to become my wife because the one thing I’m sure of is that you love my son and you’re an excellent madre. A mother who will do anything to save her son’s life and secure his future. Even if it means marrying the man she hates right now.”
* * *
Chapter 9
« ^ »
What saved Rhea from turning into an emotional wreck over the next two days was seeing to Nicci’s needs and remembering Frank with fond memories. Like the look on his face at the hospital in Key West when he’d first arrived carrying two dozen red roses and a teddy bear wearing an eye patch.
In that moment she had known why Grace had fallen in love with Frank Masado. And she had come to understand the depth of his goodness underneath his hard-as-iron image.
You’re stuck between a hard place and an even harder man, darlin’.
Joey’s words still plagued her. They hadn’t spoken since she had accused him of killing his father. She was sorry for that. Joey hadn’t killed Frank. She’d just felt so much guilt that she’d lashed out at the one person she knew was strong enough to take it.
But she’d been wrong to do it, and since then Joey had been spending most of his time somewhere else. That somewhere, she’d learned last night, was the Stardust.
“Nana said Daddy’s still seeping, Mama.”
Rhea blinked out of her reverie and saw her son heading for his father’s bedroom. Before she could stop Nicci from bursting in on Joey, the door was open and he’d disappeared inside.
“Nicci…”
Rhea entered Joey’s bedroom to find Nicci already making his way up the stairs.
“Nicci…”
Ignoring her, he wiggled himself onto the bed before Rhea reached the second level. As she followed, intending to scoop him up, she was momentarily distracted by the two empty liquor bottles on the nightstand.
From the nightstand, her gaze traveled to the bed where Nicci had fit himself close to his father. Joey’s chest was bare and his head rested on a red satin pillow. His tousled hair made him look younger, his worries eased in sleep. He wasn’t wearing the sling. Instead, a large white bandage covered his right shoulder.
Guilt overwhelmed Rhea, and shame followed. She’d been devastated to hear about Frank, but she had also been horrified by the fact that Joey had been almost killed, too. That Carlo Talupa was still out there, and that at any moment Joey could be taken from her.
And it was all her fault. By allowing Sophia D’Lano to see her and Nicci that first night at the Stardust, she’d turned a dangerous situation into a disaster. If she hadn’t gone looking for Joey that night, Frank might still be alive.
“Mama,” Nicci whispered. “What’s dat?”
Rhea had been studying Joey’s muscular chest and the low-riding sheet that revealed one very naked thigh. She now saw that her son was pointing to the bandage. “Daddy had an accident, Nicci.”
“Did he cwy?”
The question gave Rhea pause. “I don’t think so, sweetie.”
Nicci suddenly reached to touch the injury. In reaction, Rhea’s hand shot out and grabbed his wrist. “No, Nicci. Don’t touch it.”
When she let go of his wrist, Nicci lowered his head. “I sorry, Mama. I no hurt Daddy. I pomis.”
“You can touch me, figlio. You won’t hurt me.”
Rhea started, then looked over to see Joey’s eyes sharper than she had imagined they would be, considering all the scotch he had obviously consumed the night before.
“What time is it?” he asked.
“Nine-thirty.”
He moaned as he rolled onto his good shoulder, then shoved himself up.
Immediately, Nicci saw an opportunity to come to his father’s aid, and he stacked the pillows behind Joey to make him more comfortable. “Nana’s made juice. Want some, Daddy?”
“Sounds good.”
“I get it.” Nicci looked at Rhea. “Otay, Mama?”
“If you walk slow and tell Nana not to fill the glass full.”
On a mission, Nicci slid off the bed, and was halfway across the room by the time Rhea started after him.
“Can you toss my robe up here before he comes back, Rhea?”
She turned back to see him pointing to the dark red robe draped over the couch. She retrieved it, then started back to the bed, as Joey sat up and dropped his feet onto the floor. Slowly he rolled his injured shoulder.
“Is it serious?”
He looked up. “No. The bullet went in and out.”
She was aware that the red sheet was doing a poor job of covering him, aware that he was semi-aroused. Closing in on the bed, she said, “Don’t you think you should be wearing the sling?”
“It’s not comfortable.”
“It’s not supposed to be comfortable, it’s supposed to protect your shoulder while it heals.”
“Help me get the robe on, would you? Before Niccolo comes back.”
Rhea realized that Joey viewed his situation as a weakness. And, of course, it would never do for a Masado to be seen as vulnerable and weak, especially in front of his son. He stood slowly. Naked, he held up his good arm and she slipped the robe around him, then worked carefully to get his injured arm into the other sleeve.
One quick glance told her that the robe would do him little good as it was, and that prompted her to reach for the dangling ends of the belt. But by the time she’d secured the robe at his waist, h
is problem had doubled.
“What else can I do?” she asked softly, and the question hung between them, as heavy as Joey’s arousal.
Finally, he said, “Stop blaming yourself for what happened.”
Rhea gave in to the moment. “I was wrong to accuse you of killing Frank. I didn’t mean that.”
“I know. You blame yourself. And that’s crazy.”
“It’s not crazy. We both know that if Sophia hadn’t seen me that first night at the Stardust, none of this would be happening.”
“We don’t know that, Rhea.”
“I know it, Joey.” She touched his face, then turned and started down the steps. Over her shoulder, she said, “I pray that Grace and Elena will someday forgive me. But I won’t blame them if they can’t because I will never forgive myself.”
* * *
“Daddy!”
Rhea was getting accustomed to the lopsided grin Nicci wore whenever his father was around. Looking up from where she sat on the sofa, she saw Joey enter the living room. His feet were bare and his mood was hidden behind heavy-lidded eyes and two days’ growth of whiskers. He was wearing jeans and a white shirt that he hadn’t bothered to button—or maybe he hadn’t been able to button it.
The silver cross around his neck gave her pause, and she realized that he must have found it where she’d left it in his room. The night she found the passageway—the night Frank had been killed—she had remembered that she hadn’t given it back to him, and she’d retrieved it from her things and had left it on his nightstand.
Nicci wiggled off the sofa and, as he reached Joey, grabbed his father’s legs and clung to him. As naturally as if he’d been doing it for years, Joey bent and scooped up his son with his good arm.
Rhea saw him wince and said, “I don’t think carrying him is going to do your arm any good.”
“Maybe not.” He pulled Nicci close and rubbed his unshaven jaw gently over his son’s cheek. “But I like holding him. Pretty soon he’ll be too big.” He winked at Nicci and his son’s grin widened. “So what have you and Mama been doing today?”
