I took a resigned breath and slid the ID from my wallet. Righteous anger radiated from the cop and I understood his frustration. He was from Colorado, a good cop who didn’t understand how we played the game here.
He studied my fake license and chuckled. “John Frank, huh? They’re not going to let me run this, are they?”
I didn’t reply. Even if they did, he wouldn’t find anything.
“You part of one of the families?” he asked.
He knew about us. Hell, he was probably some wannabe savior who thought he could bring us down. Thought the good guys would win. In a last ditch effort I switched tactics and tried honesty. “I’m just a man trying to save another man from making a big mistake. Christmas is coming and you have two kids and one in the oven. Am I right, Roger?”
That surprised him. His eyes widened for a second before hardening again. Maybe he’d come around after all.
“You’re in a lot of danger right now, officer, but not from me.”
He pulled his gun. “Don’t threaten me, and don’t talk about my family.”
I tried to pretend the Glock didn’t affect me and opened my wallet again, this time reaching for the bills in the back. My fingers wouldn’t stop shaking, making it difficult. “You’re a good cop, going above and beyond, so why don’t you accept this token of our appreciation for your service and get back in your cruiser while you can still drive away.”
“Officer Hill, do you read me? You are not authorized to proceed with that four-thirty-eight,” the dispatcher said again. “We need you to return to the station. Now.”
I slowly withdrew seven hundred dollars, and then added another three. “Last chance. Think of your kids, Roger. Don’t you want to see their Halloween costumes? To spend Thanksgiving with them? And Christmas? They need their father. Your wife needs her husband. Nobody has to get hurt. Just take the money and walk away.”
His jaw clenched. He didn’t even glance at the cash, and I knew he was screwed. “I’m an officer of the law and not interested in your chances. Now, hand over your real license and registration before I arrest you both and impound your car.”
I sighed. “You have no backup. Nobody’s going to impound my car, and there’s no way you’re taking me in. In a few minutes a car full of men will come and they will… overreact to you pulling a gun on me.”
Officer Hill’s hand began to tremble.
The screen on my dashboard lost its connection. I didn’t have to look at my phone to know I had no bars. All electronics in the area were blocked. I was out of time.
“Incoming,” Bones whispered.
My rearview mirror showed a black SUV pulling up behind the cop car. Doors opened. Officer Hill turned toward the sound. Six shots rang out and Mrs. Hill became a widow.
Bile rose in my throat. My vision swam. I lowered my head and closed my eyes, trying to block out the image of Roger Hill’s head exploding.
“Angel?” Bones asked, patting my shoulder.
I took a couple short breaths and opened my eyes. A dead father lay on the other side of my door, and I had to pretend it didn’t faze me. My stomach clenched and I swallowed back the bile, knowing I couldn’t show weakness in front of the men swarming the scene. Keys were tossed, and then the police cruiser started up and drove away. Suits blocked the body from view of freeway drivers and bagged up the officer. Someone handed me back my fake ID.
He should have taken the money. He should have walked away.
My dashboard screen lit up and Tech’s face appeared. “Get out of there, Angel,” he said.
“There was nothing more you could have done for him,” Bones said. “You tried. The fool should have listened.”
A couple of the men were watching me. I felt them measuring my reaction, judging whether or not I was ruthless and apathetic enough to lead their merry band of murderers. Shaking my head at my father’s sick bastards, I slid the Hummer into gear and merged back onto the freeway. In my rearview mirror, I watched them load the body bag into the SUV. He was a good guy—a good cop—and now he was dead. In Vegas, nice guys didn’t just finish last. They didn’t finish at all.
CHAPTER TWO
Angel
AFTER BONES AND I made the drop, I wanted to go home and wallow in a guilt-driven mental breakdown, but there was no time. My baby sister was in a ballet recital, and the family would never forgive me if I missed it. We entered the theater and were met by a thin usher, who bowed low before motioning for us to follow him.
“We’ve been here a time or two,” I objected. “We can find our own way.”
“It’s no trouble. I insist, sir.”
His smile was almost as greasy as his hair, and his gaze darted between me and Bones as if he expected us to barge past him with guns blazing. The idiot didn’t understand the way things worked. If violence ever erupted at a child’s event, Father would probably purge the population and start over.
We followed the usher toward the box seats and Bones pressed in beside me, swiveling his head to watch behind us while keeping an eye on the usher. “Want me to set him straight?”
Having had more than enough action for one day, I shook my head.
“Right this way, please,” the usher said, stepping aside and gesturing for us to continue. “Your father is in the center box.”
“We know, since that’s where he always is. Owns the box,” Bones said, watching the usher as I stepped past them both and continued down the hall. Within seconds Bones was back at my side.
“Who does that guy think he is?” he asked. “Where’s the regular guy?”
“Paul?” I asked. Paul was a graying man with a slight limp, who usually greeted us.
“Yeah, Paul. I like that old guy. He knows his place. You’d never catch ol’ Paul watching us like we’re criminals and insisting on walking us in.”
I resisted the urge to remind Bones that we were both packing. “He’s just doing his job.”
“All I’m sayin’ is that he should show a little more respect. We’re grown-ass men. We don’t need to be monitored like a couple of kids.”
We stopped in front of a door with guards on both sides of it. All of Father’s guards wore their dark hair short and came equipped with stocky builds, strong Italian names, and a plethora of weapons stashed in their tailored suits. For the most part, they were related by blood or marriage. My father recruited for our borgata—our cozy little crime family— like a model paranoid mastermind. He distrusted anyone he couldn’t trace clear back to Adam, required a minimum of five references, and had a finger on the pulse of the most prized possession of each employee. If the competitive pay and generous benefits packet failed to inspire loyalty, Father made sure he knew what would.
One of the guards announced my arrival into his radio. He pulled a key out of his pocket and unlocked the door, swinging it open and stepping aside.
I followed Bones inside. He walked to the right and put his back against the wall, standing alongside two more of Father’s men. Spicy sausage, garlic, and freshly baked breads scented the air, and classical piano music competed with the chatter and laughter of my family. My heart started to lighten, followed immediately by heavy guilt. It was impossible to celebrate with my family after seeing Officer Hill be ripped away from his.
Georgio, my seven-year-old half-brother, called my name and hurled himself at me. I opened my arms just in time to catch him, and then we staggered backward as I ruffled his dark curls.
He wiggled free, swatting my hands away. “You’re gonna get me in trouble,” he complained.
“Oh really? Why’s that, Georgie?” I asked.
“Georgio Augostino,” Georgio’s mother—my stepmother, Rachele—said with a huff. “What have you gone and done with yourself? Just look at you! Jumping around like you’re some sort of monkey.”
She bent down and straightened his tie, adjusted his vest and coat collar, and then started in on his hair.
“Sorry, Rachele. My fault,” I admitted.
; My stepmother wore a tight, low-cut black dress that walked the tightrope between classy and trashy. Strung around each wrist she wore diamond tennis bracelets worth more than the average American made in a year. Her dyed red hair was styled up so she could display the giant diamond teardrops hanging from her ears, matching the one around her neck. Her collagen-plumped lips drew into a tight line before she seemed to remember we were in a room full of family and gave me a patronizing smile. She had access to all my father’s money, and still couldn’t buy a heart.
She sighed over Georgio’s appearance and stepped forward to greet me. “Hello, Angel. Good to see you.”
Yeah, right.
The family was watching, though, so I moved in to dutifully kiss her cheek. “Hello, Rachele. I hope you’re well.”
Georgio tugged at my slacks. “Do you like my new suit?”
“You look like a stud, Georgie. You know, you’re the reason I never bring girls home. One look at you, and I’d be chopped liver.”
Georgio blushed. “Yeah right.”
“For real, bro.”
“Mom said I have to watch all of Luci’s boring dance.”
Luciana was Georgio’s twin sister, and when the two weren’t terrorizing the world with all the mischief twins could muster, they were driving each other crazy.
“Well, save me a seat and I’ll join you after I talk to Father. I won’t let you suffer alone. Promise.”
Georgio nodded. “Thanks, Angel. You’re the best.”
He scurried off and Rachele went back to her conversation with Uncle Mario and Aunt Adona, who were long-time business partners of my father’s and not actually related. The trio hovered near the hors d'oeuvres, not far from Father and his brother, Uncle Carlo, who spoke in hushed voices beside the wine. Cousins Naldo and Remo sat with my sisters, Sonia and Sofia, playing on their cell phones and seemingly oblivious to the world around them. My brother, Dante, wasn’t among them. Father’s cousin, Alberto, reclined in his seat with his eyes all but closed while Aunt Mona and Nonna (my grandmother) fussed over his four-month-old baby, Nina.
Nonna looked up, and frowned at me. “What’s wrong, Angel?” she asked.
She handed Nina off to Aunt Mona and hurried to my side. Barely above five feet tall, Nonna was heavy-set, dark-featured, and made cannoli so crispy and sweet it could mend broken bones as well as hearts. And she was the closest thing to a mother I’d ever known.
“I’m fine. Buonasera, Nonna,” I said, kissing her cheek.
“Good evening, Grandson,” she replied, returning the gesture. “And don’t lie to me.”
Knowing she wouldn’t relent until I told her something, I said, “Rough day at work. I will be fine, though.”
She glanced in Father’s direction, but didn’t press the issue. Instead, she slipped something into my pocket. “I saved you some macaroons, and it’s a good thing. These vultures dove in and attacked the platter the minute I put them out.”
I opened the baggie and popped one of the treats into my mouth, smiling as sugary perfection exploded on my taste buds. “Thanks, Nonna.”
Father called out my name and waved me over. After he greeted me, he gestured for me to check the room. I’d created a device to scan for wires, taps, or anything with the ability to record or transmit audio or video files. I did a quick scan of the room and the readout told me one of my cousins had brought a handheld game to the recital. Each person in the room—even Georgio—had a cell phone, and Uncle Mario was also packing a tablet. There was a device I didn’t recognize in Father’s left shoe. When I pointed it out, a wide grin spread across his face. He clapped me on the shoulder and beamed at his brother.
“You see, Carlo, I told you the boy’s a genius. This new gadget he has can pick up anything.”
I had to stop myself from correcting him as he leaned against the back row of sofas and tugged off his shoe, retrieving the pinky-nail-sized bug hidden inside. Technology evolved constantly, and I didn’t want to mislead anyone into trusting the device to catch everything. Regardless, Father was the type of man you didn’t correct, especially not in front of others.
Uncle Carlo smiled. “He sure is a genius, Dom.”
“Mario, Adona, have I told you about this thing?” Father asked, pointing to the scanner. “I bet it gets more bids than that phone distorter we put out last year.”
The distorter bounced calls around cell towers and providers, taking family communications to a whole different level. It was my first big invention, and the profits from taking it to market had changed the way the family viewed me. I was still the black sheep, but at least I’d found a way to make money off my pastime.
“We always knew you were a bright young man,” Aunt Adona added, her patronizing tone grating on my nerves.
“Yes, we’re all proud of him,” Rachele replied, fake smile once again plastered across her face.
“Excuse us for a moment,” Father said to the group, giving my shoulder a gentle squeeze. He led me to the corner and draped an arm over my shoulder. “You were late making the drop today.”
A man’s life had ended, and my father was concerned about my tardiness. There was something so messed up about that, I couldn’t even wrap my brain around it. “There were complications beyond my control,” I replied.
“You’re a Mariani, Angel. Nothing is beyond your control.”
Every time I closed my eyes I saw Officer Hill’s body crumple to the ground. Everything was beyond my control. “Tech said we were covered.”
“If you had left on time, you wouldn’t have needed Tech’s assistance. You get so wrapped up in these stupid toys that you neglect your position.”
And there it was… what the old man really thought of my life’s work. He expected me to follow in his footsteps, building the family empire, and although he tolerated my work, he’d never respect it.
“Now, why the hell are you moping around here, making your nonna ask after you?”
“Father, that cop—”
“—was unreasonable. He had to be dealt with.”
“He was clean.”
The old man nodded. “Yes, he was. That’s the problem. This city doesn’t need clean cops, it needs reasonable men and women, interested in keeping the city thriving and families fed. You’re sheltered, Angel. You don’t see what it’s really like out there. Why don’t you use that giant brain of yours to research what’s going on in the rest of the country. Check out Santa Fe, Cheyenne, Bismarck, most of Montana and Utah… cities with over fifty percent unemployment, where families starve to death on their morals. Hell, you think that cop’s family cares that he was clean? Will that keep his wife warm at night or teach his son how to throw a baseball? Will it put food on their table and clothes on their back? This recession has been a bastard, and the minute we turn soft, our business will dry up. Nobody gives more to the people of Las Vegas than our family, and the city will fall if we fail.”
Father frowned and looked away. When he looked back at me, his eyes had softened. “We can’t worry about stubborn idiots who refuse to see the bigger picture. We have to make difficult decisions so those who judge us will have a full stomach when they sleep at night.”
My heart screamed that there had to be a better way to serve the community—a way that didn’t leave widows and fatherless children behind—but in my head, I knew he was right. Life wasn’t some fairy tale where heroes won the prize. Life was a battle for the ferocious who weren’t afraid to claw, kick, and bite their way to the top, and I needed to sharpen my nails and strengthen my resolve if I had any chance of surviving.
I pulled an envelope of cash from my inside pocket and handed it to my father. “From the delivery.”
“Thank you. I didn’t want to pull you in on this, but I needed someone I can trust. The Pelinos are gearing up, preparing to make a move.” He rubbed a hand down his face, looking tired and worn.
The Pelinos were our rivals. Less than a year ago they made a play for power and failed. A big deal went
south and they shot the wrong people, disrupted the balance, and brought the feds down on the city. Their mistake inconvenienced the local families, resulting in several Pelino deaths.
I frowned, wondering why the idiots would try again. “The Pelinos are greedy and incompetent. The families won’t support them.”
Father studied me, scratching his chin. “Who knows what the families will do? But if I know one thing, Adamo—that crazy bastard—will hang himself. We just need to supply the rope. In the meantime, we stay the course, guard against outsiders, and keep as much business as we can within the family. You get what I’m saying?”
He wanted me more involved. I tried to mask my disappointment, and nodded. “Yes sir.”
“Good, good.” He patted me on the back. “Now, I need you to pick up a couple of associates from the airport tomorrow afternoon. I’ll forward you the details. And don’t forget you promised the twins you’d take them out for Halloween. Then family dinner Sunday.”
“Of course, Father.”
He nodded. “You’re a good son, Angel. A good family man.”
Considering my family, I wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or not.
An announcer stepped onto the stage and prepared the crowd for the start of my little sister’s ballet recital. I turned to head to my seat, but Father grabbed my arm.
“Angel, I want you and Bones to spend some time on the shooting range. This thing with the Pelinos is heating up, and we may have to make a move. I want you two ready in case I need to send you in.”
My stomach sank as I stepped forward to take my seat. Everyone said my baby sister danced her legs off that night, but I was too busy wondering what the old man was planning to even pay attention.
CHAPTER THREE
Markie
WITH MY SUITCASE packed and set beside the door, I paced the small, dank room I had shared with eight orphans for the past eleven months. Empty, lumpy mattresses sat atop four sets of bunk beds, the absence of their occupants filling my stomach with lead.
The door opened and I stopped in my tracks, hopeful.
Making Angel (Mariani Crime Family #1) Page 2
