by Wendy Rosnau
“Carlo will be too busy trying to stay out of the hands of the feds to worry about us right now. It’s a perfect time to leave Chicago. A perfect time for you to spend a few days with Elena and Grace. I’ll keep in touch with Jacky. We’ve already got it all worked out.”
“But—”
“You want to see Grace and Elena, don’t you?”
Of course she wanted to see them. She still wasn’t sure what she was going to say to them, but yes, she needed to see them.
“I know what you’re thinking.” Joey came up behind her and curled his arms around her, as she stood by the window in the living room staring out at the night lights of the city. “They’ll understand, darlin’. They will.”
“I wish you had seen them together, Joey. The way Grace made Frank smile. The way they were when they were together reminded me of starry-eyed kids. She’s ill, you know, and she can’t do the things we all take for granted. Elena has always been there for her, but your father… Frank even brushed her hair.” Rhea turned in Joey’s arms and laid her head on his hard chest. “I feel so awful for her.”
When she looked up at him, he brushed a tear from her scarred eye. “I’m sorry this has been so hard on you.” His eyes lowered to the black and blue bruises that roped her neck. Suddenly he set her away from him. “Come on, I’ll help you pack. Opal has Nicci’s bag put together, and Lucky’s anxious to get us in the air.” He bent and kissed her lips. “The warm weather and sunshine will do you good. Niccolo, too.”
They flew out of a small private airstrip at midnight, and arrived in Key West at four in the morning. When they drove through the gate at Santa Palazzo, the estate was dark and the household asleep, except for the guards patrolling the grounds.
As they stepped from the car, Rhea could hear the surf rushing the beach, smell the salty tang of the ocean. The warm Gulf breeze followed them to the house as they made their way along the paved walkway.
Nicci had fallen asleep on Joey’s shoulder in the car, and as they entered the house, Rhea led him down the hall to Nicci’s old room. While Joey put their son to bed, she showed Lucky to one of the guest rooms.
When she stepped back into the hall, Joey was coming out of Nicci’s room, and she led him to the bedroom she’d used for the past three years.
She should be tired, but she was too restless to sleep. Joey sprawled out on the bed while she changed her clothes. He fell asleep minutes later, and she slipped out of the room and headed for the veranda.
In the tropical heat she wore a white gauze sundress, and now, as she stood staring out at the ocean, the breeze touched her bare shoulders and lifted the hem of the dress. The predawn sky was clear, and the storm during which she’d departed ten days ago was now no more than a memory.
Rhea left the veranda to stroll along the sandy beach. She was used to seeing guards posted around the estate, and as she passed each one and they nodded to her, she nodded back.
She wanted to be happy, knew that she should be counting her blessings. Joey and Nicci were safe, and Stud was going back to prison. Hopefully the iron bars would hold him this time.
She was anxious to see Elena and Grace, and yet how could she expect them to forgive her for what she’d done? She was responsible for everything that had happened. No, not everything, but the recent situation rested solely on her shoulders. She’d been the catalyst that had resurrected the past and sent Frank to his grave.
The weight of her guilt continued to press down on Rhea as she walked farther down the beach, the balmy night air lifting her blond hair and rustling her weightless dress around her bare calves.
When her sandals filled with sand, she slipped them off and continued toward her favorite spot, where the sand was as level as glass and the sunrise would soon send an orange glow over the Gulf.
Seated on the sandy shore, Rhea tilted her head and let the warm air kiss her cheeks.
It was while she was daydreaming that she heard his voice. At first she thought she’d dreamed it. Then she heard it again, and she turned to see a figure walking toward her.
“Figlia, what are you doing way out here? It’s the middle of the night. You should be in bed, wrapped in my son’s arms.”
“Frank?” Rhea scrambled to her feet. “Frank…”
The apparition suddenly stopped twenty yards away, and Rhea once again questioned her sanity, sure he had to be a figment of her imagination.
But then he opened his arms to her and said, “Come, figlia. Come see that I am flesh and blood.”
“Frank!” Rhea started to run, happy tears blurring her vision. She didn’t care. All she cared about was that Frank was alive. Alive!
A foot from him, she tossed herself at the big man wearing the black eye patch. He caught her and twirled her around and around, saying, “I’m sorry for making you grieve so, figlia.”
When he set her feet back on the sand, Rhea looked up into his smiling face. “It was all a lie. Your death … the funeral. Everything.”
“Not everything.” He turned his head to the side to expose a white gauze bandage on his neck, large enough that it disappeared partly into his shirt. “I did take a bullet. Two, in fact. That wasn’t part of the plan—ricocheting bullets. But other than that, Joey’s scheme went down just like he planned it.
“Joey?” Rhea wiped at her tears. “Joey arranged your death?”
“Sounds crazy, doesn’t it? I thought so, too, when he laid the plan out for me. But it was my only way out, figlia. My son knew that. I had to die so that I could live.”
“But Joey was shot, too. Did he—”
“That one was no accident. It was vital to the plan to make everything look legit. To make it look like Carlo’s men had hit us, blood needed to be spilled. Jackson wasn’t happy about it. In fact, he was damn mad. But his marksmanship is the best I’ve ever seen. Right shoulder, two inches low, one half inch off side. He hit Joey dead center.”
Rhea was speechless. Jackson had deliberately shot Joey. They’d planned it…
“With the feds’ help and Jackson‘s connections at the CPD, we were able to get the cooperation we needed to get me out of there, and turn up the heat on Carlo. Lucky flew me back here that same night.”
“And why wasn’t I told?” Suddenly Rhea felt angry that she had been kept in the dark. Yes, she was thrilled that Frank was alive, but she should have been briefed on the plan. She should have been spared the agony she’d been living with for four days.
“I was going to tell you. That is, until you started crying that morning. That’s when I knew that your tears would convince the world that Frank was really dead.”
At the sound of Joey’s voice, Rhea looked past Frank to see Joey strolling toward them.
“I’m sorry, darlin’. I wanted to tell you. I was going to, after the funeral. Then hell broke loose and changed my plans. Then I thought I would tell you on the plane, but you fell asleep, and again I decided to wait.”
Rhea watched as Frank took a step back and faced Joey. “It was a damn fine plan, Joey. You’ll have to bring me up to speed on what’s been happening since I made my final exit from Chicago.” He turned back and gestured to Rhea’s neck and the bruise on her cheek. “By the looks of that, things turned sour for a while. I want to hear all about it.”
“We’ll talk, mio padre,” Joey said, his eyes still fastened on Rhea.
Frank glanced at Rhea once again. “Go easy on my son, figlia. He only did what he had to do.” He leaned forward and gently kissed her bruised cheek. “We’ll celebrate with breakfast on the veranda. Grace will be happy to see you and hold Niccolo. And Elena…” He glanced at Joey. “You will finally meet your sister.” Then he turned and started back to the house, whistling.
As they watched him walk away, Joey said, “I’ve never heard my father whistle.”
Rhea turned her gaze on her husband. “Your father always whistles when he walks on the beach.”
Joey had never spoken about his feelings for his father, but Rhea
suspected that, though there had been rough times, the Masado boys and their father had come full circle.
“I’m sorry, darlin’. You were hurting thinking Frank was gone, and I—”
“You made Jackson shoot you.”
“Si.”
“That night on the rooftop, you left knowing you would come back shot.”
“It was the only way. Jacky’s a good shot. Better than good.”
“I don’t care how good he is—what if something had gone wrong? Frank wasn’t supposed to get shot, but he did.” Rhea turned away, unable to believe that Joey had gambled so recklessly with his life.
“There was a contract out on Frank. If I could turn the tables and set up Carlo at the same time, then we stood a chance of beating him.”
“So you came up with a dangerous plan that could have gotten you killed.”
“It was dangerous but—”
Rhea spun around. “You have a son, Joey. A son who loves you and would be devastated if he lost you. You had no right to gamble with your life.”
“It’s over, darlin’. In Chicago, Frank Masado is dead. Now, as Frank Palazzo, he can live here with Grace without having to keep looking over his shoulder.”
“Grace and Elena knew the plan?”
“No. They didn’t know anything until Lucky flew Frank back here. But I imagine Frank’s told Elena the truth. He said he was going to.”
Rhea studied Joey standing in the moonlight. His white shirt had been freed from his jeans. It was unbuttoned, revealing the cross on his neck—a promise to his brother and Jackson that together they were unstoppable. And it appeared they had once again beaten the odds.
She stared at the cross, remembering the night he had slipped it around her neck, then made love to her with such tenderness and care that it had made her cry. That night they had made a child together. And since that night, each and every time she held Nicci, she was reminded of the precious gift that he had given her. That gift, their child, had validated their love.
She had never heard him say the words, but she knew Joey loved her and his son. She’d seen it in the way he held Nicci, and in the way he had looked at her when he rescued her in the motel.
Suddenly it all made sense—why they had flown to Santa Palazzo in the middle of the night.
“Rhea … what’s wrong?”
“You’re leaving us here, aren’t you, Joey.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Because I’ve figured you out. You’re Frank’s son. The Masado men guard what is theirs. They do whatever they need to, to make that happen. Lucky says when you want something you are unstoppable.” Rhea looked him in the eye. “You can forget it, Joey. I’m not staying here.”
“Rhea, listen.”
“No! I’m not going to let you arrange our lives without asking me what I want.”
“I know what you want, darlin’.”
“Do you really? You’ve never asked. How could you possibly know the depth of what I’m feeling?”
“You want Nicci to be safe. Here he will be safe. You told me the first day you came back to Chicago that our son’s safety was the most important thing. And I agree. Santa Palazzo is where he needs to be.”
“So we stay here and you return to Chicago?”
He looked away. “It’s not a perfect plan, but it works.”
The silence between them was punctuated by the pounding surf.
“I’ll come for visits. We’ll live—”
“Like Frank and Grace have for twenty-four years,” Rhea finished.
“Survival is everything. We already discussed that.”
“Yes, we did. But I no longer feel like I once did.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying give me a choice or set me free.”
He shook his head. “You have no choice in this matter. You’re my wife.”
“Take us with you when you leave, or give us up.”
”Non posso.”
“What can’t you do? Take us with … or give us up?”
“Dammit, Rhea!” He took a step forward and reached for her.
Rhea eluded him.
“Come here!”
Instead of doing as he said, she backed into the water.
“You told me this was home.”
“I was wrong. Home is where you are. Wherever you are, Joey. I can’t go back to living in a dream world. None of us can.”
“I can’t expect you and my son to live in a cage for the rest of your lives. Nicci needs fresh air and a swing. He needs—”
“His father. And his father can put a swing on the rooftop. We’ll have picnics every Sunday overlooking the city.”
“How could I expect you to live like that?”
“How could you not, knowing we can’t live without you?”
Her words made him close his eyes. “Basta!”
Rhea shook her head. “No, it is not enough. Not until you are willing to listen.”
His eyes opened and his jaw flexed. “For the last time, Rhea. Come here.”
The wind swirled Rhea’s dress around her legs and sent the surf rushing toward her, but she didn’t move. When the water engulfed her legs, Joey suddenly reached for her, but again she scurried back farther into the water.
“I’ll have the words I know are in your heart, Joey. And then I’ll have your promise that it’s forever.”
He began stalking her. “You belong to me. My wife. My rules. Here, or in Chicago. I will never let you and Niccolo go, darlin’. I can’t.”
“Why, Joey? What’s in your heart?” Rhea taunted, aching to hear the words he had never spoken. Locking her knees as the water rushed them again, she said, “Do you ache for me like I ache for you, Joey?”
“You know I do.”
“Do you wake up anxious for my touch the way I do for yours? Does my touch shatter you the way your tenderness shatters me, Joey?”
“Yes! Damn you, Rhea. Yes!”
“Damn you right back, Joey.”
This time when he reached for her, Rhea let him drag her forward. In an instant he was kissing her, crushing her to him. The reckless tide stole Rhea’s balance, and Joey followed her down to the water’s edge, the waves lapping at them where they lay.
The weight of his body and his aroused need sent Rhea moaning, then pleading, “Let this be our time, Joey. We’ll live a day at a time.” She gripped his face, spoke the last to his eyes. “And when it is over, my love, we will have no regrets and ask no more. Please, Joey. Take us with you. Take us home.”
His hands were in her hair, his eyes moist with unshed tears. “A man would be a fool to refuse you, darlin’.”
“You’re no fool, Joey.”
He bent his head and slowly kissed her, then said, “No, I’m no fool, darlin’. Ti amo, my wife. Till death do us part. Ti amo forever.”
* * *
Epilogue
« ^
Three days later, six major players in the Chicago-Italian mafia were arrested. It wasn’t exactly the feds who were responsible for all the files and records that suddenly appeared on Hank Mallory’s desk at the CPD, but just how they had gotten there wasn’t mentioned.
All the CPD would release to the media was that the arrests were due to a deep-cover operation the feds had been working on for several months.
Among those arrested were Vincent and Sophia D’Lano, Mickey Norelli, Carmine Solousi, and a number of Carlo Talupa’s soldiers.
It was also reported that an unfortunate car accident in the transportation of Stud Williams back to Joliet Prison had resulted in the man’s death. No one could explain the bizarre accident, or why no one else was injured. An investigation was ongoing.
Twenty-four hours later, Carlo Talupa’s body was found in the back seat of a gray sedan at Ronnie “Crusher” Cardoli’s Salvage Yard. He’d been shot six times, execution-style. He was still wearing his felt fedora and the navy-blue coat he’d been seen wearing at Frank Masado’s funeral.
/> Two days later a letter arrived at P.O. Box 720
in Key West, Florida, addressed to Frank Palazzo. The letter clearly stated that the feds were in mop-up mode and that the air in Chicago was beginning to smell sweet again. Definitely, it was cleaner than it had been, and cooler.
The day Lucky flew Joey, Rhea and Niccolo back to Chicago, he got a phone call from Vito Tandi. The call summoned him to Dante Armanno for a meeting to discuss the favor that he and Joey owed.
The favor ended up to be complicated. Lucky wasn’t happy about any of it, and he made it known as he relayed his afternoon meeting with Vito to Joey and Rhea that evening at the penthouse.
Snuggled together on the couch in front of the fireplace with Nicci asleep sharing both of their laps, they listened as Lucky ended his story with “CEO of the Tandi Corporation, that’s one helluva favor.”
Joey studied his brother, thought over Vito’s request that Lucky become his heir, then said, “He’s pretty specific about what he wants. He’s got the details ironed out and…” He hesitated. “He’s got a couple of good points, Lucky. Did you talk to Jacky about it?”
“Si. He likes the idea. But then, it’s not his life that’s going to change. Or yours, for that matter.”
“At least you know up front what you’re getting into,” Joey reasoned.
Lucky drained his glass of scotch, then said, “I’m going home and getting drunk.”
“This could be good for us, Lucky.”
“I hear what you’re saying, fratello.”
“I think you should sleep on it,” Rhea said softly. “Things always look better in the morning.”
Lucky glanced at Rhea and said to Joey, “Smart lady, your wife.”
Joey eyed Rhea, then his sleeping son, then Rhea again. Her beautiful blue eyes were heavy lidded. It had been a busy day, packing to fly back home. Anxious to get her into bed, he said, “I think going home and sleeping on it is a good idea. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
Lucky shoved to his feet, then stepped forward and kissed his sister-in-law’s cheek. “Good night, Rhea. I’ll call you, Joey, and let you know what I’ve decided.”
