Making Angel (Mariani Crime Family #1)

by Amanda Washington

  Markie slept and Bones and I sat in silence, both of us keeping watch for a tail. I stole glances at Markie, wondering what to do about her. I tried to imagine her in my apartment, and with my family, but couldn’t. The disassembled bomb in the back of the Hummer tugged at my thoughts, reminding me of how selfish I’d been to put her in harm’s way to begin with. Scenarios of her opening a car door and triggering an explosion played in my mind. I forced myself to see every one of them, hoping they would change my mind. Hoping they would somehow give me the strength to push her away. Instead, I reached down and laced my fingers in hers. She stirred, but didn’t wake.

  I could always tell her. I could come clean about my family and let her decide her own future.

  But knowledge about my family would only put her in greater danger. I needed to process, weigh my options, and figure out what the hell to do.

  An hour from Las Vegas, Markie woke up.

  “Hey, how you feeling?” I asked. Her skin had returned to its normal sun-tanned hue and her eyes were once again bright and lively.

  She stretched. “Much better, thanks. My head still hurts, but it’s manageable now.”

  Her stomach growled.

  “Hungry?” I asked.

  “Yeah, lunch…” She rubbed her stomach. “…didn’t exactly stay down. I can just whip up something when I get home, though. Do you cook?”

  Now she was speaking my language. “Do I cook? Damn, girl. I’m a chef.”

  “You went to culinary school?”

  “Let’s not get crazy. I didn’t need to go to school for it. It’s in my blood.”

  “So, your parents cook?” she asked.

  A memory surfaced in the back of my mind. My mother picked me up and set me on the counter. The Temptations song “I Can’t Get Next to You” blared through the house’s sound system and Mom danced around the kitchen, tossing ingredients onto the counter for her widely-acclaimed marinara sauce. Garlic bread roasted in the oven while she dropped homemade ravioli into a pot of boiling water. She picked up a wire whisk and used it as a microphone, singing to me as I laughed. I held onto the moment, nurturing it, encouraging it to grow. Instead, it faded, leaving behind a hollow ache.

  I glanced in the rearview mirror. Bones slept, leaning against the window.

  “My mother could have put every Italian restaurant in Vegas out of business, but she was content to stay home and cook for our family,” I replied. “I have all her old recipes. Every time I use them, it’s like she’s not gone, you know?” I shook my head, wondering why I was confiding all of this to Markie. I’d never told anyone. Not even Bones. “I know that sounds stupid.”

  Markie patted my arm. “No it doesn’t. I get it. It’s like a pencil drawing you’re always darkening to keep it from fading. But no matter how much you trace the lines, they keep losing their sharpness. You wake up one morning and can’t quite remember her laugh, or the lines of her mouth when she’s upset at you for breaking her favorite vase. Then even the memory of her sorrow is precious.”

  Her words evoked another flashback. It was late, and I was supposed to be in bed. Something was wrong, though. I crept down the darkened stairs, holding the railing to steady my steps. Mom sat on the couch with a newspaper in her hands, sobbing. I knelt on the stairs and clung to the railing, knowing I shouldn’t interrupt her and wondering what could have affected her like this. The memory swirled around me, and suddenly I stood in front of an ornate wooden casket, holding my father’s hand as family surrounded us. Father gave me a rose and pointed to the casket.

  “Angel?” Markie asked, pulling me from my thoughts. “Are you okay?”

  Her eyes were full of compassion, making me wonder how much of the memory showed on my face. My eyes burned. I didn’t trust myself to speak, so I nodded.

  She patted my arm again. Then she grabbed my free hand. Our fingers laced together. She gave my hand a gentle squeeze and smiled at me. Warmth rushed up my arm and soothed the pain the memory had brought. For the first time in my life, I felt like someone truly understood me. Only, how could she? There was so much about me she didn’t know. And if she ever found out, she definitely wouldn’t be smiling at me like that.

  “Am I taking you to your sister’s?” I asked, desperate to hide myself once again.

  “Let me check.” She released my hand and pulled her phone out of her purse.

  I missed the contact, and immediately regretted asking the question.

  She sent off a text, and then a few moments later her phone buzzed.

  “Ari’s working. Any chance you can run me by the Tropicana so I can get the key to her apartment?” she asked.

  “Yeah, of course,” I replied.

  “What does she do at the Tropicana?” Bones asked, leaning into the conversation. I wasn’t sure when he’d woken up. Curious, I glanced into the rearview mirror, but he didn’t look at me.

  Markie turned in her seat. “She waits tables at the restaurant just inside the front door. Not exactly what she came to Vegas to do, but it’s a job.”

  “She come to be a showgirl or something?” Bones asked.

  “Not exactly. She wants to sing.”

  “Like everyone else in Vegas,” Bones groaned.

  “You don’t understand, she has a phenomenal voice. And I’m not just saying that because she’s my sister. She’s really talented, Bones. Matt was supposed to set her up with some auditions, but…”

  “But Matt’s a chooch.”

  Markie arched an eyebrow.

  “A loser,” I clarified. Not quite what it meant, but close enough.

  We stopped by the Tropicana, Markie got the keys from Ariana, and then we drove to their apartment. Bones and I helped Markie with her luggage, and Bones checked the apartment for intruders.

  “You guys want something to eat?” Markie asked, heading for the kitchen. “I’m gonna make myself a grilled cheese.”

  We declined. I would have loved to hang out and let Markie make us sandwiches, but Father would be keeping track of our progress. I didn’t want him to see the Hummer parked in front of her building for too long. While she was in the kitchen I scanned the apartment, finding it clean of any unexpected devices. Bones slipped out the door to give us some privacy.

  Markie filled the sink with soapy water and started dumping dishes in while her sandwich was grilling.

  She spun around and leaned against the counter, looking up at me. “This was the best weekend of my life. Thank you, Angel.”

  She tugged a rubber band off her wrist and put her hair up into a messy bun. Little wisps escaped the sides and fell back against her cheeks. She blew them out of her face and dumped a few more dishes into the sink.

  My conscience kept tugging me toward the door, reminding me the right thing to do was to leave, delete her number, and forget her. Markie was a good girl who didn’t need to be wrapped up in my family’s mess. We’d danced, we’d kissed, and now it was time to end the fantasy and get back to reality. A stronger man would have done the right thing, but I wasn’t that man. I was weak, and Markie was my strength. I breathed in deeply, and let the tropical scent of her invade my common sense. I couldn’t walk away. Instead, I reached out and tucked the stray hairs behind her ears. My hand lingered against her face, and she looked at me, her eyes full of passion reflecting the desire I felt.

  I leaned in and covered her mouth with mine. Warmth exploded on my lips and spread through my entire body. Her arms wrapped around me, and she pressed in, opening her lips to me. As I explored her mouth, my hands roamed, sliding down her back and to her waist. Markie broke away and rested her forehead on my collar bone.

  “I can’t do this, Angel,” she said.

  The finality in her voice made my chest ache. Confused, I put my finger under her chin and raised her face to look at me. Her bright blue eyes held sadness and regret. “Why?” I asked.

  “There are things about me you don’t know—things I don’t want to tell you—and this isn’t fair. I can’t do this.
” Her chest expanded as she sucked in air. She took a step back, putting distance between us I couldn’t seem to breach. “Please go.”

  But the way she looked at me, and the way she kissed me, surely she couldn’t mean it. “What? Markie, please, let’s just talk about this.”

  “I can’t, Angel. Please leave.”

  I reached for her but she pulled away. “Markie, I know you feel something for me. Why are you pushing me away? Please don’t do this. Talk to me.”

  “No. Go.” She turned off the burner. “I need to think, and you’re all in my head and I can’t. Please just go away.”

  She wouldn’t even look at me. My world crashed down around me. My brain knew we had to call it quits, but my heart screamed that this was wrong.

  “Please, Angel,” she whispered.

  It was such a dramatic difference. Just earlier today we’d been holding hands and laughing. Now her secrets were going to keep us apart? I hadn’t seen that coming at all. Rejected, I trudged toward the door, dragging my feet and hoping she’d stop me, praying she’d come clean with whatever kept her from surrendering to her feelings for me. But she didn’t. Not one peep.

  Come on, Markie. Say something. Stop me.

  I reached for the door handle. Still nothing. I turned, casting one last glance in her direction. Her back was still facing me. I swung open the door.

  “I’m sorry, Angel.” It was barely more than a whisper, yet it shattered me like a roar.

  “Yeah. Me too.” I fled from the apartment.

  I climbed into the Hummer and Bones took one look at me and didn’t say a word. I’d skipped dinner, I had a disassembled bomb in the back of my car I was dreading telling my father about, and our family was on the brink of war. The one person who made me feel like I was something more than a mob boss’s son had rejected me. My chest hurt so damn bad I wanted to punch something. Vacation was definitely over, and I was back to business as usual.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Angel

  FINALLY HOME, BONES and I carried our luggage out of the elevator and into the hallway. We rounded the corner to find two of Father’s security guards positioned on either side of the door to my condo. As we approached, they nodded a hello and let us in. The old man lounged in my recliner, eyes glued to the cell phone in his hands. I set my luggage down, just inside the entryway, and walked over to greet him.

  He kicked down the footrest and stood, pocketing his phone. “Angel, Bones. Good to see both of you back safe and sound. Come in, Son. Sit. How was the beach?” He gestured toward the sofa.

  My father was the only man I knew who could walk into someone’s home and make them feel like a guest. Seeing the power play for what it was, I handed the device scanner to Bones and perched on the edge of the sofa.

  “Beautiful. The weather was perfect.”

  “Condo’s clear,” Bones said, handing me back the scanner. Then he picked up my luggage and headed for my room.

  The old man leaned forward, his fatherly smile replaced with the intensity of an attentive businessman. “Good, now tell me everything.”

  I gave him the full, unabridged version of my weekend. Well, almost. I neglected to mention Markie, the security guard we’d hired to watch her, and the extra security we’d hired for the restaurant. When I got to the part about Bruno’s phone call, veins started popping out on Father’s forehead.

  “Why am I only now finding out about this?” the old man asked.

  “We were heading home anyway and I knew you’d want to meet.”

  His jaw tensed. He leaned forward and asked, “This bomb, you said you kept it?”

  I gestured to Bones and he disappeared into my room, returning with the disassembled remains.

  “Where did you say you found this?” Father asked, enunciating each word with tight control.

  “Under my Hummer.”

  Father bolted out of his seat. “Someone made an attempt on your life, and you didn’t contact me immediately?!” he shouted.

  I inwardly winced, but managed to keep my back straight and my expression neutral. “It wasn’t exactly an attempt. Bruno warned me. He even told me to keep my head down. He practically pointed it out for me.”

  “That cocky bastard! Angel, you still should have called. You know the protocol. What if this attack wasn’t isolated? What if they targeted other members of the family as well?” His hands flew into the air. “Our people could be under assault as we speak, and you withheld information.”

  Unable to provide an answer that would appease him, I ducked and apologized.

  Swearing under his breath, he walked to the window, whipped out his phone, and put it to his ear. Tense moments passed before he spoke into it. “Carlo, an attempt was made on Angel’s life today. No, he’s fine. Those bastards put a bomb under his car. I’m in the middle of something, but I’ll call you after I’m done here. Contact everyone. Put more security on my family. You know the drill. Thanks.” He disconnected the call, put his phone away, and then stared out the window for what seemed like forever.

  A stupider man would have approached him, but my ass stayed glued to the sofa.

  Finally, the old man’s shoulders relaxed. He turned and walked back to his chair, sat, and asked, “Do you recognize the design?”

  Emotion temporarily tabled, we were back to business.

  “Yes. It was that cheap piece of shit those New Yorkers were trying to sell you.”

  “You’re certain?”

  I nodded. “Either they made it, or they sold their design and someone else did.”

  “Interesting.” He laced his fingers in his lap. “Can you rebuild it?”

  I glanced at the parts in Bones’s hands. In my anger, I’d done a number on it. Putting it back together would take some time, but it wasn’t impossible. “Yes.”

  Bones set the disassembled bomb on the coffee table and stood by the wall.

  Father nodded. “Good. I knew those greedy bastards couldn’t be trusted. I left them a breadcrumb trail that led straight to Adamo, and by God, if they didn’t follow it. Adamo, that crazy son of a bitch, made his move quicker than I expected.”

  Give a sociopath a box of bombs… What the hell did you expect?

  He rubbed at his face. “Still, Bruno warned you. Why? What’s his game in all of this? Did Adamo pass down the order? Or is Bruno acting on his own?”

  Father was worried about semantics, when all I could see was explosions. “The lives that could be lost to those bombs…” I shook my head, unable to wrap my mind around the potential for casualties.

  “Necessary losses. They will be significant enough to unite the families and in the long run, save the city and all we have worked for. Balance sometimes requires sacrifice. You know that, Angel.”

  I definitely understood sacrifice. Friends, dates, trust, innocence… I’d given them all up for my family. But this was different. The bombs had the potential for massacre, destruction that would only be surpassed if the Pelino family gained control of the city. “There has to be another way. Maybe we can—”

  My father threw me a look that chilled my blood. I closed my mouth.

  “You said Bruno gave you two warnings. What was the other?”

  “He told me they have a new tech guy.”

  “Interesting. Why is he showing their hand?” Father asked.

  I shrugged. “Hell if I know. The whole conversation was strange.” Maybe Bruno had grown a conscience and wanted to stop his old man? Maybe Bruno was just screwing with me?

  Father keyed something into his phone and then returned his attention to me. “About your trip… Please continue.”

  My mind raced, searching for additional information I could give without mentioning Markie. “We headed home right after I disabled the bomb.”

  “That’s it?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I lied.

  Father lunged forward. I barely registered his movement before my cheek stung and my face whipped around. Stars danced before my eyes. Bone
s twitched, but kept his place. Father scowled at me, burning away the room’s oxygen with his suffocating anger. His hand twitched, and I thought he would hit me again, but he didn’t.

  “Do you honestly think you take a shit without my knowing about it?” The old man bellowed.

  I steadied myself on the sofa and reached for my cheek. My hand came away wet with blood.

  Father grabbed a tissue from the box on the coffee table and cleaned his ring. I watched in open-mouthed awe. He’d never struck me. Oh, he’d whooped my ass good when I was caught skipping school in fourth grade and smoking cigarettes in sixth, but he’d never hit me out of anger.

  He threw the used tissue in my lap and then flexed his hand a couple of times. He leveled a stare at me and said, “You come home to a place I bought for you, shower me with your half-truths, and question my methods? Who the hell do you think you are?” he asked.

  “Father, I—”

  “Stai zitto!”

  Veins bulged out from his neck, adding to those throbbing out of his forehead. I did as he said and shut my mouth, lowering my gaze to the floor as I used the tissue to staunch the blood running down my cheek.

  He paced in front of the recliner. “You think you’re so smart, Angel. Think I don’t know about the girl?” He pulled something out of his pocket and flung it down on the coffee table.

  I stared at a five-by-seven photo of Markie standing beside me as we waited in line at the High Roller.

  “Do you know who she is?” he asked.

  “Yes.” I rattled off the information I’d gleaned from Markie’s driver’s license.

  “No, who she really is?”

  I looked to Bones, but his face only reflected my own confusion.

  Father laughed, and then shook his head. Veins were popping again. “Did either of you geniuses run a background check?”

  “Yes sir,” Bones replied, holding my father’s gaze.

  “Really?” Father asked. He pulled more photos from his pocket, flinging them down beside the first. Markie at the orphanage. Markie walking down the strip with Ariana. Markie leaning against the patio railing of our San Diego hotel. Markie looking very uncomfortable as she sat with a man in a suit in a booth at the Tropicana, his face hidden in the shadows.