“Daniella,” he called again, and he followed after her.
He found her in the bedroom, sprawled on the bed. She was on her side, the curve of her hip giving the bundled bedsheets beautiful form. Her bare feet peeked from below the cotton hem, she had both hands tucked up under her chin and her eyes were open, wet and blinking, looking at the night through a sliver in between two curtains. They glowed with light absorbed from the streetlights outside. He went to the gap, looked outside, fat flakes of oscitant snow fluttered in the breezeless night. He closed the gap, shut off that outside world, bowed his head and pressed it to his fists, bunched with curtain.
“Daniella,” he said, and he turned, saw his looming monstrous shadow thrust across the floor, crossing the curves of her body, thrown across the bed. Protecting her or maybe harming her. Her quivering eyes watched him with expectation.
He fell to the bed next to her and pulled her up into his arms. She didn't resist, curled herself in the V of his outstretched legs and lay against his chest, the tip of her thumbnail clamped between her brilliant white teeth.
“Daniella...I was no good for you...”
“I decide that, Rocco,” she whispered around her hand.
“No, Daniella, I would bring nothing to your life that was good.”
“I love you, Rocco.” Her hand went to his side and she pressed herself against him.
“I love you, Daniella,” he said, his arms wrapping around her tighter. “But I...I’m just Mt. Greenwood trash. Catholic white trash from a bad home...”
“Don't say that...”
“It’s true, Daniella. My pop...pop was a lowlife. He got...”
“I know...”
“No, you don’t know...I never told you. Not all of it. My pops was no good and all he ever did was get in fights and in debt. He brought men looking for him. They sent a message. Killed my mom.”
She struggled to lift herself from him, look him in the eyes but he couldn't right now, couldn't look at her. He held her firm, his chin pressed to the top of her head and he stared across the empty room.
“Yeah, Daniella. Men murdered my mom to send my dad a message cause he was hiding. I was there Daniella. I watched her die. I heard her screams. I hid like my dad. A coward. A seven-year-old coward.”
“What could you do?” she cried. He could feel her gentle sobs against his chest, feel a warm plop of her tears against his skin. “They might have killed you...”
“They might. Still, I watched her die. She wasn't much of a mom. But she was mine and I loved her. They caught up with my pop eventually. Two years later they found his bloated corpse in the Calumet River. Never got the money he owed out of him but they worked him over. He paid another way. They'd busted every bone he had with a crowbar.”
Daniella hugged him tighter. Here was the feeling rising again. The one that sent him from her four years ago. He shook his head. “Fifty Gs, Daniella. I watched men do horrible things to my mom on the couch I watched cartoons on...for fifty fuckin’ Gs. I could write them a fuckin’ check right now. Take it all away. But we know what’s done is done. There’s no do-overs in this life, Daniella. It’s a hard game and it’s played by hard men.”
“If you left me how could you ever protect me?” She cried against him, her back shaking with her sobs.
He slumped, his weight folding on her. She was right. He left her alone. “Your pop...he’s the most dangerous one around...they wouldn’t touch you...but if I...if I took you away...”
Her hot tears trickled over the ridges of his hunched stomach, trickled between his legs. She said, “I didn’t care...”
“It’s more than that, Daniella. What am I to you? I’m a fuckin’ scumbag killer. You’re a princess.” He kissed the crown of her hair. “I killed my first guy...a kid...when I was seventeen. Hanging with my crew on a Saturday night, bunch of degenerates...some kids from another neighborhood jumped us on this narrow street. We fought...this one kid...he pulls a pistol and I fuckin’ beat the shit out of him. Bust his hand, stomped it, stomped his head. Stomped him til he was dead. Didn’t have remorse. Didn’t give a shit about him, one I killed. Nothing.”
“You have a heart,” she whispered, her little voice tickling his chest.
“I do for you. But I’m a nothing. Nothing to you. Your dad...he saved me in a way. Gave me a job. Something I could do. Cause harm, threaten, kill, smash, beat, bludgeon, shoot, stab...”
“He turned you into a monster...I was there...”
“Your pops was good to me.”
“He used you. He loved you, but he used you...”
“He used me for what I was good at. He gave me a home. He gave me a family when I didn’t have one.”
“He loved you. But he made you a monster.”
“I think I already was.”
She sat up in his lap, struggling out of his grip to look in his eyes. He let her, didn’t resist. She twisted around, her arms slipping under his arms and her nails scratching his back, her legs draped over his hips. It killed him to look down in her hurting eyes. She said, “Why didn’t you talk to me? Why didn’t you tell me this then?”
He let his forehead come forward and touch hers. “I learned a lot. I’m not the same man I was then. I couldn’t put it in words. I was...an animal...”
“No,” she said and her hands rested on his cheeks.
He gripped her tiny wrists and he said, “It’s true, Daniella...back then...I was just a dumb hitman and you were your daddy’s princess...all I ever did was take other mens’ lives. What could I ever mean to you? I was your father’s pit bull. Your father’s dog. I lay at his feet. I didn’t deserve you.”
Her eyes trembled, darting back and forth between his, trying to understand. Not rejecting his words now, but trying to understand him.
He said, “It was a matter of time before you realized it and I might have ruined you before you could save yourself.”
Her knees bent and she knelt against him, her feet and calves pressed to his thighs and her face level with his. He leaned back and let her kiss him. He’d been a fool. A dumb fool then. He’d never leave her again. He knew that for sure.
She sucked on his mouth, took his tongue, holding his face and moaning into him. When she pulled back she said, “I thought my father had you killed for awhile.”
“I’m sorry,” he said and he had to look away.
“If Papa wasn’t so forlorn I would have believed it still, but he was broken up too. Turned the city upside down looking for you. He was convinced one of the other families had you whacked.”
“You ever tell him...you know...”
“About us? No. That might have made it worse. He cared about you, Rocco. He really did.”
“I never shoulda left you, Daniella. I swear I never will again. No matter what. I’m a different man now.”
“Where are you?”
“L.A. now—”
“You left me here—left me in windy cold old Chicago and you went somewhere sunny?”
“No, Daniella. No, it’s not like that. I did...did go somewhere sunny...”
“Where?” she said, rage glowering in her eyes. Her father’s tiger rising up in her. She was kind but she had anger in her blood.
“Afghanistan.”
“What?”
“I enlisted when I left here. I needed to leave it all. I needed discipline.”
“You...you joined the Army?”
“They got me out of here. Got me out of this country and put me to work.”
“A killer for another man...”
He winced, felt his features sag. “Yes.”
“I’m sorry, Rocco,” she said. “I didn’t mean that. I didn’t.” Her arms snaked around him and her soft skin felt like heaven against his. He’d dreamed of this. Many long night on watch in some foreign desert, awake for thirty-six hours, hiding, watching through a sniper scope, rucking hundreds of pounds through the sand and the heat. When he closed his eyes it was a moment like this that kept him wantin
g to live.
He inhaled, breathed in her smell. Her perfume, her shampoo, her sex. This was all he ever wanted. Now it was his again. He was hardening. She noticed. Reached behind her and she held his cock, cambered in her grip. They kissed again and she stroked his underside, lay his cock over the curve of her bent rump and brought him to full hardness like that. They’d cook steaks later. Now he would fuck her again. He couldn’t get enough of her. He kissed her chest, kissed her breasts as she rose to angle his manhood to her sex, eased herself on him, sat slowly back on him. He looked in her eyes, her head above his as he sunk deeply inside her beautiful body.
There was more to talk about. They’d talk later. Nothing was ever as simple as it seemed. He had no idea how to tell her the rest of his story. He’d tell her in time. Tell her about the raid in Afghanistan. Tell her about the things he did overseas. Tell her about the CIA. Tell her about the sixty million dollars in diamonds he and his unit were sitting on until the heat died down.
10
Braciole
rocco
When he woke, the morning light was behind him, and he lay with her, watched the dawning blue play on her face, light turning pink, then orange. He kissed her forehead. She was beautiful when she slept. The fire in her eyes closed off for the moment, dormant behind those delicate eyelids. She was at peace. He’d caused her a lot of pain and he liked to think, in a moment like this when he watched her, that she was relieved of it. He ran a strand of hair from her, tucked it in place behind her perfect little ear. She would be at peace now. Forever, because he was never leaving her.
Rocco slipped out of bed and by now all the color had been wiped from the Chicago dawn. It was cold and gray and it was snowing again. He crossed to the curtains, parted them carefully and watched from an angle, looking up and down the residential street. There was no one out there. Humps of parked cars under a soft crest of overnight snow, black twisted branches reaching up to the streetlight glow, streets bathed in halide amber, gray skies above. No signs of life yet. Chances that they would be found here were slim. Killian had arranged the house for him. And no one knew Killian.
Clean jeans from his canvas army duffel bag pulled on, he went to the kitchen. Shirtless because he kept the place warm. He’d spent a lot of time in the desert and while it was hot during the day it was the nighttime cold that got to him, frosted his bones and made him dream of luxuries like furnaces. So he had it cranked, its hum vibrating below them all night while he slept in the bed, arms around the woman he loved. Given his life over the last few years, the time spent without her, it was heaven.
In the kitchen he fired up the kettle, brought out his French press and scooped out some generous fresh ground espresso beans from a paper bag with the Italian flag on the side. Daniella’s favorite coffee. Now it was his because it reminded him of her. Reminded him of waking with her. Such a small and insignificant thing but when times were tough and danger was high it was the kind of thing that kept him company, kept him sane. Just like that stuffed tiger. Though he wished he’d hidden that. Course, he had no anticipation that he’d be lucky enough to be bringing her home here. He’d never seen that coming.
The tab on the kettle snapped and steam billowed from its spout. Poured the water in the press and waited. Brought out the heavy cream and looked for sugar but there was none. He didn’t take sugar, but his Daniella did. She took cream and sugar. He would get her some. He had a lot to do today and he’d pick up some comforts for her while he was out.
It would be nice to lay in bed with her. Talk and kiss and make up for all the time they’d missed. There was time for that later. Time when the city wasn’t crawling with contract killers looking to put a bullet in her. If they wanted to be free, wanted the freedom to make love all day and look in each other’s eyes and cook and eat and start it all over again the next morning, then there was a mystery to be solved first. He would have to find the man who paid him to kill her. There wouldn’t be peace until that man was dead.
He put cream in her coffee, brought the steaming mug into the bedroom and set it on the floorboards next to the bed. He sat by her and watched her breathe. Sheets pulled down, he ran the tip of his finger along her arm and watched her stir. She turned to him, her eyes sleepy and frowning, her mouth a crooked bow like a little girl. Surly Daniella, his woman who liked to sleep late. When she saw his smile she smiled too, her dry lips sticking until she licked them. God, he just wanted to climb back in bed with her.
“Coffee,” he said, pointing with his chin, and her head turned and registered the rising steam.
“Mm,” she moaned in affirmation. “What time is it?”
“Early,” he said.
She stretched, her arms coming up above her head, her fists trembling, and he watched her nipple peek at him from behind the crisp white edge of the sheet. It went hard under his eyes. He lowered his lips to hers and he kissed her.
“I have to go out,” he said.
Her face contorted from shock to chapfallen. “No,” she gasped. “Don’t go out.”
He steadied her shoulders with his hands, guided her to stay in bed. “Daniella, I have to make some phone calls. I have to pick some things up...”
“When will you be back?” she said, her narrowed eyes peering into his, light from the window glinting under her lashes.
“I don’t know, Daniella. I might be a while. Depends what I find out...”
“I know,” she said, averting her eyes.
“I’ll be back,” he said, caressing her side, his hand working over the sheet, wishing it was under. “I’ll be back,” he repeated, as if he needed to assure her after the harm he’d done. Maybe he did. He would have a lifetime to prove it to her.
She said, “Can't you make your calls here?”
“No, Daniella. If someone is watching the people I call, they could trace me. I gotta get burners. Walk the city. Throw em in the river.”
She nodded, her mouth twisting up. She couldn’t argue.
“I have to find the men who want you dead. I won’t rest until you're safe.”
“You’re leaving now?” she whispered, again not meeting his eyes, her head twisted on the pillow, her hair spread around her. She gazed across the room.
“Yeah. Don't leave here. Don't call nobody.”
She murmured, “You threw away my phone.”
“Don't do anything but stay here. Don't even look out the window. You hear me? You’re safe here. Safe behind these four walls. No one knows this place. Don't show your face, don't reach out to your friends...family. Got me?”
She nodded and he hated to see that worry in her eyes, couldn't wait til they'd got past this and could begin their lives together. His Daniella was tough though. She might be worried right now but he knew she had a fire in her.
Between the mattress and the boxspring he’d hidden a gun. Took it out now, bent like he would kiss her and when she pouted her lips he kissed her anyway. His hand slipped under the mattress and brought out the gun for her. A nickel-plated revolver. Clean and reliable, nothing fancy. Good for emergencies. He checked the action on it, she watched his hands work. “Take this,” he said, and he put it in her small hands. “Anybody comes through that door isn't me, you shoot em.”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” he said.
“What if it's your associate?”
“Who comes in?”
“Yeah...”
“Just shoot. Don't ask questions. You shoot Killian he’d blame himself. He oughtta know better coming in. And he does know better. Shoot to kill.”
She gripped the gun, examined it, cupping it lightly with her other palm. She said, “How does it work?”
“Can’t believe your pop never had you learn to shoot.”
“I was his princess, Rocco. He gave me you. You were my gun. You were the one who looked out for me.”
He watched her delicate hand as it caressed the gun laying on her chest. He said, “Just point, and pull the trigger. There’s noth
ing fancy. You only got eight shots so don’t get in no gunfight. Shoot when you know you’ll kill.”
“They’re not...going to come for me here?”
“They won’t. You’re safe. I swear...”
“But you never know?”
“That’s right, Daniella. You never know. I’ll be...I’ll be back this afternoon. Back for dinner,” he said.
“I know you will,” she said, and with the gun laying flat between her bare breasts, she hugged him to her and he bent and pressed his skin to hers.
“Be careful,” she whispered next to his ear.
“Always,” he said. She lay in bed and watched him get his boots on, pull on a clean shirt and then shrug a jacket on.
“You don't need your vest?”
“Just making phone calls, Daniella. I’ll be fine.”
He left without saying anything else. Got in his truck and he drove north toward Skokie, where he knew he’d blend in and he’d have no trouble finding some cheap shop that sold burners. He walked around the city, from West Town to Old Town. He called L.A. Called Rico, Knox, and Tony. They knew nothing about the proxy. Knew nothing about the hit’s broker. Said it didn't even come from L.A. The hit came from out of state. By lunchtime he was in Greektown. He called Raph in Kansas, and Tony number two in St. Louis. They knew nothing, but they thought they might know someone who did. They'd call him back, they said.
Near Union Park he bought a cheap woolen hat and pulled it low to obscure his face. He kept his collar up and blended into crowds. Twice he saw two slow moving Cadillacs and he booked it, slipped down alleys and into crowds to get away from them. Just a bad feeling, but he was pretty sure this city was full of killers looking for them. Both of them would have a price on their head. At a news box he saw on the Sun-Times a headline that said there was a gang shooting at the Empire Crest. No mention of Daniella or the Nero family. They had enough pull even the papers kept a tight lip.
He called Florida and he called New Orleans. Nothing. But he had feelers out now and soon he’d have a name. Then shortly after that he’d have a face in his gun sight.
Broken (Dying For Diamonds Book 1) Page 8
