Playing with Fire

by Graziano, Renee

  “That man in my closet … he could have shot me, and then you, but he already knew you were probably armed, so he went for you first, right?”

  “He knew I was armed because he tried to hire me to kill you.” He said it slowly, casting back, thinking. “But I get where you’re going. He was there before us and waiting, and he sure as hell was not invited to that fancy party.… So you think Carre tipped him off. Why?”

  “Professional jealousy.”

  He had to admit, he hadn’t thought of that. “The new clothing line? He’s wealthy already, right?”

  Reign nodded, her soft mouth pressed into a tight line. “Oh, he is. But I’m wondering if he coveted the job I just got for the prestige, which it does offer, more than the money. There’s a chance I could become a pretty big name in the fashion world. Don’t get me wrong, he’s already pretty well known, but the competition for this one was tough.”

  Nick reached over and squeezed her hand lightly. “And he knew who the real competition was. I get it. You won. Why shoot Sal?”

  Her eyes filled with tears. “I think he knew that might hurt me, but, in truth, they could have still been aiming for you. I don’t know what happened that night. Maybe they just missed me like we first assumed.”

  “Friends are often enough jealous of other friends.”

  “You say that as if you know what it is like to be betrayed like this.”

  Nick looked at her and knew. Even with the bustle of the busy lobby and the ding of the elevator, he knew. “John, right? That’s where you had to go so urgently this morning without me. I should never have mentioned he even existed.”

  It was possible he might have turned away and walked out—but she touched his arm. “Is it wrong I want to understand you? Where do you get off, Fattelli?”

  There were tears on her cheeks and he wanted to kiss them away and make her happy.

  Maybe it was just him, but he had the impression she very rarely cried. Some women did it for effect, and some to manipulate, but that wasn’t her style. Real tears.

  Wait a minute. Oh fuck.

  “He told you about Catherine. Shit. Please, Reign, do me a favor and let’s not discuss it, okay? John is far too much into wanting to talk, when action should just be taken. He and I couldn’t be more different.” He swiped away a tear from the corner of her eye with the tip of his finger.

  “Funny, he said the exact same thing, so maybe not that much different.” Her voice wobbled just a little.

  “He’s a priest.”

  “You sure aren’t, but I get what you’re saying. Joey went after my son, Nick.”

  He had a heartbeat moment in which he knew whatever he might say would not be the right thing, and then he let out a slow breath. “Tell me.”

  She explained. “I’m not saying it was a state secret or anything, but I know Joey knew Vince was with a friend on Long Island because I told him myself. Someone intercepted Vince and his friend coming back from the beach. Tried to sell him some story about an accident I was involved in, and I am happy to say my son is smart as hell, didn’t like how the guy acted, and they both took off.” Reign rubbed her forehead. “This is my fault.”

  “How the hell do you figure that? By being a better designer? Get real. Not your fault at all. Carre’s fault. Would you have gone after him if he’d gotten the job instead? No.”

  “Okay.” Her voice was stronger, wobble gone now, tears drying up. That was much more comfortable for him. “Point taken.”

  Nick looked around, but the lobby was still quiet, everyone innocuous and going about their business. “We need to draw him out. If it is Carre, what are the odds he’ll back away?”

  “I thought I knew him better than you do, but apparently not.” Reign sniffled once more but her composure was back in place. She shook her head. “He won’t run away. Not his style. If what has happened so far is him, he’ll just fling it back in our face and dare us to prove it. We won’t be able to, either. The fashion industry is ruthless and he’s pretty much an endurable commodity. He isn’t dumb, and all we have is my accusation he’s behind it.”

  Nick sat for a minute. Once before, all he had was an instinct and he’d been dead right. A sick punch-to-the-gut feeling that his brother-in-law was the son of a bitch who had killed his sister. It hadn’t taken but about two minutes for that bastard to confess he’d shoved her hard because they’d been arguing, once there was a gun involved in the situation.

  Not an excuse—and Nick’s father would have agreed, but he wasn’t there to protect her—to touch a woman or a child in anger. The act of a coward. Nick might have been too late, but at least that fucker hadn’t walked free.

  No one would ever find that body. He had no regrets, no apologies to make, but he still lost a sister and he missed her every single day—though at least she was avenged. It wasn’t enough, but it was something.

  Catherine had been so delighted about the baby. She’d told him before she’d even told that asshole of a husband … and Nick had been happy for her also. Life was just sometimes plain cruel, but there were checks and balances.

  Reign was not going to be part of the conversation he had with Joey Carre.

  “Call Ariano,” he said, and it was reluctant, but necessary. “Let me sort this out with Carre. Go stay with Sal.”

  “Jesus, who are the two of you, ordering me around? He wants me to stay with you, now you want me with to stay with him—”

  He interrupted. “Reign, lower your voice, and while you do that, think about it. I want you with me, and he wants you with him. We both have a common goal of keeping you safe, however, so we are giving in on several levels of male negotiation that maybe you can’t quite understand. But get that it’s not easy for us. Call him.”

  * * *

  Reign wasn’t exactly effusive. She looked great in something black and white she’d undoubtedly designed herself, but Sal’s attention wasn’t really on her clothes even though the tailored skirt did nice things for her legs. “What’s this about?’

  She dropped on his couch and the set of her mouth indicated she was tired. “I hope you are going to offer me a glass of wine before I explain.”

  He glanced at the clock. “A merlot?”

  “Chardonnay, if you have it. A merlot will need to breathe and I don’t want to wait. Hold on a minute.” She seemed to come into the moment and got to her feet. “You don’t need to wait on me. I’m sorry. Stay where you are. I’ll find it. Sal, don’t you dare move. You’re hardly even close to recovered.”

  “I’m not an invalid and I do think there’s a bottle in the refrigerator.”

  “Don’t move.” It amused him when she got militant.

  “I might dare.”

  She shot him a look. “You’ll be sorry.”

  “Will I?” They were sitting in his living room, and with appreciation he watched her retrieve the corkscrew from the drawer in the kitchen and rummage around for the wine. In a few minutes she brought him a glass as well.

  When she sat back down she said, “Ever since this started, Nick and I have been going back and forth, wondering what’s happening. Is it him? Is it me? Carmen didn’t help either—that was you—but you’ve been hurt too.”

  “But if he dropped you off here, he must have some sort of agenda.” Sal liked the wine; it was smooth and mellow and he had sworn off the pain meds, so he liked it even more, but that was hardly the point.

  “Joey Carre.” She said it in a low voice. “Fuck, why didn’t I think of it before? He knows you, he knows me, and he knows Nicky. He’s a designer, and he’s very competitive and knows the Life. I got that offer. He didn’t. He’s pissed. He saw it coming and tried to narrow the playing field. He even came to my office to congratulate me and pointed out he’d been waiting his whole career for what just landed in my lap. He’s threatened my son, and you know, I just can’t take that.”

  It made sense. A little too much.

  “Reign,” he said carefully, setting aside the gla
ss. “Do you have any idea how dangerous Carre is? He seems pretty harmless, right? Silk suits, narrow ties, and a white smile, but he’s a bull shark. Great whites get all the press, but bull sharks bite more people. Not the worst that can happen to you, but much more likely to strike. Does Fattelli understand this?”

  “How am I supposed to answer that?” Her green eyes were filled with dismay. “I think so. He said I needed to come here and stay with you and to be sure you were armed. Joey Carre? He’s like … a nice uncle or something.”

  In so many ways, she was a wise soul, and in others it surprised Sal how innocent she could sometimes be.

  “Where’s Vince?”

  “Safe. Maria knows what’s going on and he’s with her. I can’t run away from this or it would never end. They can go somewhere and wait it out. Vince didn’t want to go, but Nick actually convinced him. They met for just a few minutes, but I could tell Vince liked him.”

  Sal wasn’t thrilled to hear that but he could see how it would happen. Though it bothered him a little, Fattelli had a certain presence someone Vince’s age might admire.

  “That’s good under the circumstances.” Sal puffed out a breath. “Carre’s going to be prepared. First of all, he’s always armed under those silk suits. Second, I bet he realizes you’ll eventually figure it out. Have you ever noticed he’s never alone? He has a driver, a valet, a personal assistant, and so on. All of them do double duty as bodyguards.”

  Reign stared at him. “How do you know all this and I don’t? He and I are in the same industry.”

  “My father told me when I got my CPA and Carre approached me to handle his taxes. My father’s advice was to only accept if I was willing to do whatever the man wanted. That the manicure and bonhomie and designer job did not mean Carre wasn’t a very dangerous man.” Sal still remembered that conversation, because his father usually let him make his own mistakes. He’d heeded the warning too, and told Joey that his client list was full. “My father rarely gives advice. I took that conversation to heart. Tax evasion has put many a man, and woman for that matter, in prison. The IRS gets real picky about it.”

  “I’ve heard that.” At least a glimmer of humor showed in her eyes. Reign sat back and adjusted her skirt. “So you decided to become a lawyer instead.”

  It was a very nice view and he admired it for a moment before he said, “The law is open to interpretation, especially trial law. A tax form is not. It’s—”

  The skylight in the kitchen shattered.

  Sal realized what had happened because from his chair, he could see the cascade of glass, like a crystal fountain, falling to the floor. It took one paralyzed moment before he could move, and by then Reign was already off the couch, grabbing his arm. “Not out the front door,” she said in his ear loud enough he could hear it over the barrage of gunfire hitting the cabinets and marble counters. “That’s what they want.”

  Smart girl. “Loft bedroom,” he managed to gasp, because it did hurt to run. “We’ll be trapped, but it is a defendable position.”

  “Gun?” Her arm was around his waist and it was uncomfortable, but then again, it helped him move faster.

  “More than one,” he said through his teeth as they went up the stairs. “I’m carrying my Glock. I’ve got a .38 up there in a drawer.”

  “Good, I want to be a part of this. Where is it? And tell me it’s loaded.”

  “Of course. Armoire. Bottom.” He really didn’t realize how sore he still was, but Sal drew his weapon and positioned himself at the top of the railing so he had a very clear view of the room below. “Take the safety off.”

  “I know how to handle a gun.” Reign joined him, kneeling in her flared skirt, and held the weapon steadily. She added succinctly, “My father taught me, and ask anyone, he’s damned good. He made me practice with him and I gradually realized as I got older he wanted me to be able to protect myself. Well, guess what, I can. I hope they try it. I’m getting very tired of this shit. It’s making me want to shoot someone.”

  Sal had to admire the steadiness of Reign’s hands. He was outwardly calm but inwardly shaken, mostly because he was worried for her safety. Two men came into view down below in the living room, and the invaders had automatic weapons, and Reign and Sal certainly did not.

  Shit.

  It wasn’t like there were a lot of places to go. They would have to come up the stairs to get a clear shot, and except for the sheer volume of ammunition the opposition had, maybe they could deal with this long enough for reinforcements to arrive.

  “You get the blond,” Sal said on a low whisper. “It’s going to take them about two minutes to figure out where we are. I’ll aim for the dark-haired asshole. Got it? We don’t have much time to discuss this. If they start shooting, we’re dead.”

  “Got it.” She moved, lifting up, which made her more of a target, but she was shorter and he understood a clear view was important.

  Then one of the men swung around and she fired.

  So did he.

  She must have hit her target because he went down, cursing and raising his weapon. Sal grabbed her and sent her sprawling as a spray of gunfire battered the railings of the loft and took out two windows. Now he was the one swearing and crawling to relative safety, the thick artistic part of the banister at the top of the stairs offering at least some cover. “Stand up and I’ll shoot you myself,” he said on a hiss. “Let me handle it, unless you have to do it because I’m dead.”

  His ears were ringing and it hurt like hell to get to his knees, but one of the men was still moving and …

  Reign completely disobeyed him.

  She stood up and fired her weapon again.

  Game over. She was a very good shot.

  Both of the would-be assassins now seemed to be down amidst the mess of what once was a beautiful living space. Leaning weakly against the top of the stairs, Sal said, “You know, Reign, I think Fattelli has his hands full with you. Serves the bastard right.”

  Chapter

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Nick realized he was walking into a minefield.

  There was a reason he knew Carre. The man had connections everywhere, and Nick had cultivated the introduction with the sole purpose of being able to have a friend that might be helpful.

  Some friend.

  Carre’s Manhattan office was much more elaborate than Reign’s. A corner window, mahogany desk, and if Nick had to call it, the young secretary that had shown him in did more than just take messages.

  “Fattelli.” Carre rose and offered his hand. “So good to see you. Have a seat.”

  The shake was brief, but then again, Nick wasn’t sure just how this was going to play. He’d seen that wary look in a man’s eyes before. “Joey. How are you?”

  “Good. Drink?”

  “Uhm, no, but thanks.”

  “Then I repeat, have a seat.” Carre waved a hand.

  The chair Nick settled into was leather, soft and comfortable, but he was hardly relaxed. Just to make sure, he’d picked a chair with a clear view of the door.

  Carre gazed at him expectantly.

  Up to him to start the conversation. He got it. No problem. “I’m here because of Reign.”

  “Grazi?”

  “You know someone else named Reign? That surprises me.”

  “No, can’t say that I do.” Joey Carre’s smile was brief and brittle. “You think I took out the hit?”

  “Now … that is an interesting conclusion and a way to get right to the point. You know there’s a hit. Did you?”

  “You think I’d admit to something like that?”

  “I think you might arrange something like that, or apparently you’ve heard about it.” Nick smiled back. “And that wasn’t a denial.”

  “It wasn’t, was it?”

  Nick swore softly, “You son of a bitch.”

  “My mother was actually a pretty nice lady. My father, on the other hand, was an ass.” Carre looked unmoved. “You know, the moment I saw you spot Reign at t
hat party, I knew you were going to get involved in this, but hardly the way I wanted. I told Carlos you’d seen his face, he’d better take you out.”

  “Why didn’t you just send him after her in the first place?”

  “He didn’t do women. Not because he was morally opposed or anything—I’m fairly sure he would not have understood the word ‘moral’—but because he was superstitious as hell. Thought his grandmother might curse him if he killed a woman.”

  “So you sent him after me?” Reign had been right on that score.

  “Let’s just say when you left together, I assumed from the vibe I was getting that the two of you might end up in her bedroom. She’s not promiscuous, but she isn’t a nun either. Modern kind of female, and she liked you. After her breakup with Ariano, she’s been pretty reclusive.” Carre opened a drawer in his desk. Nick knew exactly why. “Her and Ariano? That’s why you’re here? I’m kind of surprised, given your attachment to the lady, that you left them together.”

  He didn’t like the sound of it. “So you already know where she is?”

  “Oh yeah.” Carre picked up a pen, but one hand was invisible. “She did a pretty good job with her son and her sister, but I’ll find them eventually. Reign and Ariano are already dead, you know. I got a text. It said, ‘The party is over.’”

  It might not have even been what he said, it was the way he said it. Nick could swear he felt the exact same way he did the day he got the news his sister had been killed. Cold, lethal, the world coming into vivid focus, like a brilliant sunset. “What?”

  The other man raised his gaze. “About five minutes ago. You shouldn’t have left her alone.”

  There was no doubt Nick was finding it hard to swallow, much less think. “You’re bluffing. And I didn’t leave her alone.”

  “Ariano isn’t on his A-game now, is he? Might be those two bullets he took recently. Shame about that. I think it was a case of mistaken identity or you wouldn’t be standing here today.”

  So … they knew where she was. Carre was trying to rattle him. The fucker didn’t realize it had the opposite effect. He’d wipe that smug look off his face with a bullet. No one could do it better, or for a better cause: to rid the world of an unwanted waste of human cells. All Reign had done to the man was shown more talent in her profession.