Mafia Secret

by Angie Derek

  MAFIA SECRET

  By Angie Derek

  Copyright 2012 Angelia Almos

  Burton, MI 48509

  Cover design by Patricia Lazarus

  Tell-Tale Publishing Group, LLC

  P.O. Box 90112

  Burton, MI 48509

  www.tell-talepublishing.com

  Dahlia Imprint

  All rights reserved. No portion of this publication may be reproduced, stored in an electronic system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of Angie Derek. Brief quotations may be used in literary reviews.

  Printed in United States of America

  A huge thank you to my husband and two daughters who put up with me constantly being attached to my laptop. And to my editor, Elizabeth Fortin, for helping to polish Mafia Secret into shape.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Tires squealed on the hot pavement. Lessa Noelle looked up from her purse where she'd been digging for her keys. The car hadn't been there a second ago, but now it was barreling down on her. She froze for a micro-second.

  It was going to hit her.

  She stepped back. The driver accelerated and swerved to match her movement. Spinning, she dove for the safety of the small SUV she had walked past a few seconds earlier. Her hands hit the asphalt and she rolled behind the passenger side, her shoulder banging against the front door. The SUV she leaned against jumped as the oncoming vehicle scraped along its front bumper.

  Crunching metal rang in her ears and the car raced past. She lunged to her knees to crawl toward the sidewalk. Feet suddenly appeared in front of her and she froze.

  "You okay?" The male voice was familiar, but instincts took over and she backpedaled until his face came into view.

  He was one of the football players for the Orlando Manatees and had been waiting for his sister, Lily Donato, to finish cheerleading practice. A breath shuddered out of Lessa's gaping mouth as he crouched down next to her.

  She nodded slowly and rolled to a sitting position to assess her body for any injuries. All minor. The palms of her hands were skinned a little, and the stinging on her back told her she'd scraped it. Her mind raced. The car had aimed for her.

  "She's crazy," Lessa mumbled under her breath. She couldn't believe someone would actually try to kill her because that person didn't make a pro cheerleading team. She wasn't even in charge, just the choreographer and an assistant to the director for the Orlando Mermaids. "But I'm fine, thanks." His name popped into her mind, Carlos Donato, "Carlos."

  His eyes were still narrowed in concern as he helped her stand up. "Who's she?"

  "No one important." She leaned over and started to scoop up her purse and its scattered contents. Had it been Emily behind the wheel? Her heart pounded so loudly in her ears she could barely think.

  "Doesn't seem like someone unimportant if she tried to run you over."

  She squinted against the bright Florida sun behind Carlos and stood up straight. "Did you see her?"

  He shook his head. "Too far away. I was just getting out of my car when it happened. I thought it looked like a guy behind the wheel."

  She paused as she stuffed her lipstick into her purse and considered. The sun had reflected off the front window, and she hadn't been able to see who was in the silver sedan. A typical non-descript car found all over town. She hadn't even thought to look at the license plate number. She'd been more concerned with getting out of its path.

  Francie Parker, one of the new cheerleaders, ran over and held out her phone. "I got it on my phone. Not the whole thing, just him driving out of the parking lot."

  Lessa looked at the tiny screen. The video was currently waiting to be replayed and displayed a still picture of the car as it raced toward the exit. She touched the arrow on the screen. The car careened around the corner and down the drive to race toward the interstate. Francie hadn't gotten the car actually trying to run her down, but hopefully they could use the image to find out the owner's identity.

  "You need to call the police," Carlos said, putting his arm around her shoulders to turn her and guide her back to the football and cheerleading teams' training center.

  She closed her eyes briefly against the bright sun before letting him lead her back to the building. Francie trailed behind them. Several of the cheerleaders clustered near the door called out asking if she was okay, and she nodded to try to reassure them as they stepped into the sudden chill of the air-conditioned training facility.

  Her bosses weren't going to be happy about this latest incident. She'd already reported the suspicious stalking behavior of Emily Stypes to her immediate boss, Sharon O'Conner, Director of the Cheerleading Division, after she'd gotten the first threatening phone call a week before.

  Sharon greeted them at the door of the complex. Judging by the anxious expression on her face, Lessa figured someone had already spread the word she'd nearly been run over in the parking lot.

  "I'm fine," she said quickly.

  Sharon put her hands on Lessa's shoulders and frowned down at her. "What happened?"

  "Someone tried to run her down," Carlos said when Lessa didn't answer right away.

  Francie stepped forward and held her phone out to Sharon. "I got the car leaving the parking lot."

  Sharon took the phone. "Thank you, Francie." She drew Lessa away from the crowd gathering in the lobby. "We'll talk about this in private." Looking back at Carlos and the group of girls, she gave them a frown that refused any argument. "Nothing to see here, folks. Everyone head on home. Good practice. We'll see you later."

  Francie stood with a few other girls who didn't disperse right away, watching Lessa in concern as she followed Sharon to her office.

  Sharon shut the door firmly behind them. "Was it Emily?"

  Lessa shrugged. "I couldn't see the driver. I assumed it was, but Carlos said he thought it was a man driving. I can't even say for certain it was on purpose. Maybe a drunk driver or someone not paying attention?"

  She didn't think so, but it seemed like such a huge jump to think of Emily actually trying to kill her.

  Sharon walked to a filing cabinet and pulled a file from the front of the top drawer. "She doesn't list a husband on her application. Did she mention a boyfriend to you?"

  Lessa tried to recall the few conversations she'd held with the rookie candidate during tryouts. According to her screening interview, Emily Stypes had lived and breathed the dream of becoming a professional cheerleader. Unfortunately, her dance ability was mediocre, just good enough to slide her way into final auditions with a huge smile, rocking body, and a bubbly personality. But personality and a hot body weren't enough to become a part of the Orlando Mermaids—you had to be able to dance at a professional level as well.

  Emily hadn't mentioned anything of a personal nature to her. She shook her head. "No, she never said anything about a boyfriend or ex-boyfriends."

  Sharon sat down, propped her elbow on the desk and rested her chin in her hand. Her eyes stared piercingly at Lessa. "If she was involved, she's escalating. We need to call the police and let them know."

  Lessa nodded reluctantly. If they called the police it would hit the papers. This wasn't the type of publicity the franchise wanted. It had already been two weeks since she'd found Emily crying in the parking lot after she didn't make the squad. Looking back, she should have kept to company policy and kept walking, especially since she'd agreed with Sharon on cutting Emily from auditions. But she'd tried to comfort the woman instead. And now she was paying the price for her good dead.

  "I'll call them," Sharon said. "Go get the letters."

  "Yes, ma'am." Lessa stood up and walked out of Sharon's office to where her desk was situated right in front of the office doo
r. As assistant director of the cheerleading squad she doubled as Sharon's secretary when needed. Lessa's ability to multi-task was how Sharon had sold her own boss on creating the position for Lessa.

  After five years on the team as a cheerleader and one of a few assistant choreographers, she'd been thrilled when Sharon had offered her this job several months before. She pulled her bottom drawer open and pulled out the envelope she'd put Emily's two threatening letters in. Both were pretty much the same. Accusing Lessa of being jealous of Emily's talent and blaming her for her elimination.

  "Lessa!"

  She returned to Sharon's office at her summons.

  "The police are on their way to take a report." Sharon gestured for her to return to the chair across from her desk. After she sat down, Sharon leaned forward again. "This girl is dangerous. We can only be thankful we cut her when we did instead of putting her on the squad and then finding out about her dark side.

  "Lessa, I think you should consider going on vacation for a week or so."

  Her stomach clenched. "The new squad was just formed."

  "I'm not saying permanently." Sharon nodded. "You've done an excellent job teaching them the new choreography, and I don't want to give her the chance to take another shot at you. Lay low for a few days, away from here. I'll talk to the franchise about getting a bodyguard for you. If we're lucky the police will be able to make a case against her quickly."

  "I don't want to run away." Lessa started to shake her head, but Sharon held up a hand.

  "Her surprises are wearing on you," Sharon stated, expression serious. "And if she was behind the wheel just now, she's turned into a dangerous nut case. I'm worried about you, Lessa. Disappear for a little while and let the cops take care of it."

  Lessa bit her lip as she debated what Sharon had said. She didn't want to run away from Emily. What would hiding accomplish? Emily would just be waiting for her when she came back. But she also didn't want Sharon asking for a bodyguard for her. The franchise didn't tolerate a lot of drama from the cheerleading department. If they decided she was causing too many headaches she could lose her job. "I'll think about it."

  Sharon stood up and walked around her desk. Lessa rose in answer and was surprised by the sudden hug from her mentor. "I don't want anything to happen to you, my girl. I've invested way too much time in training my successor to allow some deranged wannabe to get in the way." She winked as she pulled back and raised an eyebrow.

  Lessa relaxed. At least Sharon was in her corner. She tried to put aside the worry of losing her job. "Yes, ma'am."

  Sharon laughed, but sobered up as heavy footsteps came down the hall. She stepped away and peeked out the open door. "The police are here."

  On autopilot, Lessa pulled her car into the driveway of her rented townhouse. Night had descended while she had been at the training center. She was exhausted after more than hour of talking with the police, then another half hour speaking to Sharon's boss. Andy Moore, Director of Marketing and Entertainment, had been less than pleased with Lessa and this new development. He was already plotting his spin control for when the media picked up the story. But he hadn't mentioned firing her, so she hoped that wasn't a part of his plan.

  She never would have noticed the car parked in the street in front of her small lawn if she wasn't already jumpy. She didn't recognize the dark sedan. But it was possible the car's owner was visiting Beth Fraser, her neighbor and former cheerleading teammate who was a captain on the squad this year.

  Telling herself not to be such a ninny, she turned her car off and reached over to gather her backpack and purse. The dome light of the vehicle on the street glowed as the driver's door swung open. She froze, her gaze locked on her passenger-side mirror. A figure emerged. She sat back up and looked over her shoulder to where the person walked around the car.

  Their security lights illuminated the sidewalks to the front doors and the top half of the double driveway. She bit her lip hoping the man would step on the small sidewalk, but he started up the driveway, finally stepping into the security light. She didn't know him.

  She reached over again to her purse and thrust her hand inside, feeling for her cell phone as she kept sight of the approaching stranger. Her fingers finally touched the smooth metal of her cell and she yanked it out to call 911.

  But the phone slipped from her trembling fingers as she hit the power button. It fell to the floor between her feet, the screen lighting as it dropped.

  She leaned forward to retrieve it just as he knocked on the window. Yelping, Lessa abandoned the hunt for her phone. Instead, she reached for her keys to restart her car. Her doors were still locked, but that didn't mean he couldn't break the window. He might even have a gun.

  Her stomach ached. His second knock made her jump. She refused to look toward him, afraid to confirm her fear of a gun or another weapon. She shifted the car into reverse as he knocked again and said something. The only word she could make out was "father."

  And the tapping this time was softer, almost as if he realized he'd just scared the crap out of her. She left the car in reverse, her foot prepared to jump from the brake to the accelerator if necessary, and slowly turned to look at him.

  He held a white envelope against the glass and spoke again. "I have a letter from your father."

  She relaxed a smidge. He had the wrong person. Her father had died when she was six. But she couldn't completely relax. He was still a stranger, and after this afternoon . . . . Whoever had tried to run her over still hadn't been caught. And maybe she'd heard him wrong. Her car was running and the windows were shut.

  She took her left hand off the steering wheel and cracked her window a quarter of an inch so she could hear him better. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

  "I have a letter from your father."

  "I think you have the wrong person."

  "Alessandra Noelle?"

  Lessa hesitated, her right hand tightening on the steering wheel. "Yes."

  "You're the correct person." His voice was low and soothing.

  But it had the opposite effect on her nerves. She shook her head. "I can't be. My father died nearly twenty years ago."

  He hesitated this time and she focused on his face. The security light cast him in harsh shadows. He wore a dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up and a tie. No suit jacket. Probably a concession to the heat. His dark hair was brushed back off his face and his eyes appeared as dark in the night.

  His lips firmed into a frown before he spoke again. "No, he didn't. He died two days ago."

  She stared at him through the glass, trying to figure out what sort of game he was playing. She was well aware of when her father died considering one of her most vivid memories from childhood was the ride to the hospital with her mother after his heart attack.

  "Look." He glanced around. "I'm sorry to approach you like this, at night, but I'm supposed to hand-deliver this letter to his daughter and escort her to the funeral." The envelope dropped away from her window, and a couple of seconds later he pressed up a card in its place. A California driver's license. She squinted at the tiny picture. It looked like him. "My name's Marco Santos, and I've come a long way. If you're Alessandra Noelle, you're who I need to see."

  "Lessa! Is everything okay?" Beth's voice called across from her side of the townhouse.

  He took a step back from the car, but didn't run or seem overly concerned with the appearance of the tall, brunette cheerleader. Beth stood on her porch, eyes focused directly on him. Lessa tore her gaze away from the stranger to nod at Beth, but realized she probably couldn't see her clearly or might not be able to hear her.

  Several rookies clustered behind Beth on the porch. Lessa sighed, remembering that a couple of rookie cheerleaders were staying with Beth until they could find apartments in the area. Seeing the women bolstered her bravery, and she turned her car off and opened her door to step out. She looked up at the man. She was trapped between him and her car even if she was on her feet. He was at least a foot taller t
han her five feet, two inches.

  "Lessa?" Beth called again, stepping off her porch.

  The stranger's lips curved slightly and his eyes went from Beth to her. "I mean you no harm, Alessandra."

  "Lessa." She corrected him automatically, not even realizing she'd spoken as she considered him a moment before turning to Beth. She just hoped she didn't regret what she was about to say. "I'm fine, thanks. He just startled me."

  "He who?" Beth glared suspiciously at them.

  Lessa glanced back at him, but he spoke before she could answer.

  "Marc Santos." He flashed a smile at Beth and the girls hovering on her porch. "I'm just here to deliver a message." He raised the envelope up and waved it slightly in the humid air.

  Beth raised a questioning eyebrow at her.

  Lessa leaned in and snatched her cell phone off the floor. She'd have to climb all the way in to grab her purse and backpack, so she shut the door instead. "Okay, you've delivered your message, though I still say you have the wrong person."

  Santos handed the envelope over to her, but didn't depart. "As I said, there's more to the message than what's in the envelope."

  She suddenly remembered something about a funeral. "Look," she held the envelope back out to him, "I know you have the wrong person."

  He jammed his hands into his suit pants instead of taking the letter back. "I don't."

  Couldn't he get it through his stubborn head that there was no way she could be this person's daughter? She sighed in frustration and walked around to the other side of her car to pull her purse and backpack off the passenger seat. "Fine, I'll prove it to you."

  As she moved up the driveway, she saw Beth staring at her like she'd lost her mind.

  "He thinks I'm someone else," Lessa said as she reached her friend. "I'm just going to show him he has the wrong person, and he can go find whoever this other girl is."

  Beth frowned at Santos who'd followed a few steps behind her. "We'll be listening."