A
BULLET
FROM
DOMINIC
Blood Flows South, Book II
Giacomo Giammatteo
INFERNO PUBLISHING COMPANY
Also by Giacomo Giammatteo:
Fiction Books:
Friendship & Honor Series:
MURDER TAKES TIME, Friendship & Honor, Book I
MURDER HAS CONSEQUENCES, Friendship & Honor, Book II
Blood Flows South Series:
A BULLET FOR CARLOS, Blood Flows South, Book I
Finding Family, Blood Flows South, the Beginning (A Novella)
Non-Fiction Books:
No Mistakes Careers
No Mistakes Resumes, Book One of No Mistakes Careers
No Mistakes Interviews, Book Two of No Mistakes Careers (early 2014)
© Copyright 2014 Giacomo Giammatteo
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the author, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review.
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INFERNO PUBLISHING COMPANY
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Print ISBN 978-1-940313-07-8
Electronic ISBN 978-1-940313-06-1
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events herein are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Detective Connie Gianelli is a broken woman, and she doesn’t have the will to start again.
While recovering in Brooklyn, she gets a call from her old partner about a new case in Texas. Combined with the pressure from her uncle, it’s enough to convince her to pack up and leave. But what seems like an easy case, turns out to be the worst killing spree Houston has ever seen.
On top of that, her nemesis, Carlos Cortes, is waiting to kill her. But first he plans to destroy everything she loves, and tear her family apart.
Note to Readers:
Welcome back to the Blood Flows South Series, featuring Detectives Connie Gianelli, Tip Denton, and a special guest appearance by Hector “Ribs” Delgado.
This is the second book in the series and it picks up six months after A Bullet For Carlos left off.
I hope you enjoy it,
Giacomo
Table of Contents
Chapter 1: Home at Last
Chapter 2: Breakfast in Monterrey
Chapter 3: A Rectal Affair
Chapter 4: A Friendly Visit
Chapter 5: A Legal Corpse
Chapter 6: Printed Money
Chapter 7: Another Goodbye
Chapter 8: Looking for Tiffany
Chapter 9: Dead for Sure
Chapter 10: Just Like Old Times
Chapter 11: Legalese
Chapter 12: A Couple of Questions
Chapter 13: A Friendly Conversation
Chapter 14: Old Enemies
Chapter 15: Surveillance
Chapter 16: Girlfriends
Chapter 17: A Dangerous Workout
Chapter 18: A Night to Analyze
Chapter 19: A Midnight Swim
Chapter 20: What Are You Afraid Of?
Chapter 21: An Accidental Death
Chapter 22: Blood Doesn’t Lie
Chapter 23: A Few More Questions
Chapter 24: Eighteen Wheels
Chapter 25: Connecting the Dots
Chapter 26: What the Street Knows
Chapter 27: A Few More Bodies
Chapter 28: An Awkward Conversation
Chapter 29: Family Is Everything
Chapter 30: Followed
Chapter 31: A Talk with Dominic
Chapter 32: Connecting the Dots
Chapter 33: Where’s the Connection?
Chapter 34: A Convincing Argument
Chapter 35: Interview with Snider
Chapter 36: Closing In
Chapter 37: Looking for a Killer
Chapter 38: Woman to Woman
Chapter 39: A Safe House
Chapter 40: Alligator
Chapter 41: Another Day at School
Chapter 42: In the Dark of Night
Chapter 43: You Have the Right to Remain Silent
Chapter 44: Information from the Enemy
Chapter 45: In the Dark of Night
Chapter 46: Who Is My Father?
Chapter 47: Assault
Chapter 48: A Leak
Chapter 49: Where’s the Girl?
Chapter 50: Aftermath
Chapter 51: A Plea for Help
Chapter 52: Calling in a Favor
Chapter 53: The Trap Is Sprung
Chapter 54: Carlos Is Free
Chapter 55: A Guardian Angel
Chapter 56: Closure
Epilogue
Na famigghia puòesse distrutta solo dall’interno—A family can only be broken from the inside.
– Dominic Mangini
Chapter 1
Home at Last
Brooklyn, New York
Hotshot purred as I crawled out of bed, reluctant to start another day. It had been six months since the incident in Texas, and I still couldn’t take five breaths without thinking about it. Or asking God why it happened to me. All my life I had tried doing the right thing, going out of my way and putting myself through hell just to make sure I didn’t end up on the same side of the law as Uncle Dominic.
And what did I get in return?
I got “the incident.” That’s what I called it. Too afraid to speak the word, or even think it.
I put the pot on the stove for my daily shot of espresso. While I waited for the water to boil, I pulled my hair back into a ponytail, did a few dozen push-ups then stretched my legs.
Rape, Gianelli. Spit it out.
That’s what it was. Rape. I cracked my knuckles, did a few backbends, then closed my eyes and worked the kinks out of my neck. Whoever was talking inside my head was right. It was rape. And my only consolation was that Tip had killed the son of a bitch on the spot—five shots to the chest.
I turned just as the water boiled, grabbed the pot, and poured a cup of espresso. Somehow I had inherited the gene from Uncle Dominic to sense when a pot of espresso was ready. The odd thing was, I got the gene even though he wasn’t really my uncle.
I spoiled myself with a few melon balls while I sipped the espresso and wondered what the wise psychologist would find wrong with me today. It wasn’t enough that I had damn near been killed twice in a matter of two months, and that my ribs had been broken, my jaw smashed, and that I’d been raped. He seemed intent on finding some deep-seated reason for my depression. I guess what happened to me wasn’t enough. Shrinks seemed to need a deep-seated reason.
As I thought about that, I made up my mind. I wouldn’t meet with Dr. Nutbag today; Uncle Dominic probably had better advice. I cleaned the dishes, dressed,
and headed out. Before long I was crossing the Willis Avenue Bridge into the Bronx. Uncle Dominic’s house was minutes away.
I parked at the end of the street and went through the ritual of entering Mr. Gallo’s house and making my way through Dominic’s secret tunnel. It had been six months since I’d worn a badge, and it was looking doubtful that I’d ever wear one again. But there was no sense in taking chances, so I kept up the ruse of non-association where Uncle Dominic was concerned. I felt sure the Feds still watched him and anyone who associated with him.
I came up the steps into his kitchen with the half-man, half-tiger known as Fabrizio having led the way. I was relieved to be out of dark, closed-in spaces with Fabrizio. I didn’t want to like him, knowing—or at least assuming—what he did, but he was so damn sexy that no matter how hard I tried, I found myself moving closer to him at every chance. To top it off, he was polite and charming. And a hit man. Just what I needed in my life. Dr. Nutbag would have fun with that.
“Buon giorno, Zio Domenico.”
One of Dominic’s famous smiles popped onto his face. He squeezed me and patted my back. If I’d still had chubby cheeks, he’d have pinched them, but—thankfully—those days were long gone.
“Concetta, you look fantastic,” he said. “I’ll put espresso on.”
I laughed. No matter what happened—good, bad, or indifferent—in Uncle Dominic’s house, it was cause to put espresso on the stove.
“Thanks, Uncle Dominic, but I had some before I came over.”
“Then I’ll make some for me. How can we have a discussion without espresso?” He prepared the pot and started grinding the beans. After the whirr of the grinder stopped, he scooped the coffee into the pot. “What brings my favorite person on earth to see me?”
I looked to the side, where Fabrizio stood. He took the hint and walked out of the room. Dominic waited until he was gone then asked again. “What brings you? Troubles?”
I didn’t know where to start, or how. I’d never been good at talking to people about my problems. When I finally got the nerve to speak, I avoided Uncle Dominic’s probing gaze. “It’s been six months, and I’m still…”
“You are still ashamed,” Dominic said.
His words stung. “I’m not ashamed.”
Dominic reached for a biscotto and took a bite. “Yes, you are. You don’t want to admit it, but you blame yourself for what happened.”
“That’s bullshit.”
Uncle Dominic set the biscotto down and sipped his espresso. “Yes, it’s bullshit. I’m glad you see that. But it’s also what you are doing to yourself, and the sooner you admit that, the sooner you will get better.”
I wiped a tear before he could see it. “Why did this happen to me, Uncle Dominic? I try so hard to do the right thing…Why?”
Uncle Dominic set his cup down and pushed it to the side. He reached across the table and pulled my hand toward him. He rubbed my rough knuckles and toughened skin. Then he leaned close and looked me in the eyes.
“Sometimes God makes good people suffer—like you and your mother—and He lets people like me have a smooth ride. I think He is preparing you for heaven, and He tricks fools like me into thinking we got away with something.”
I thought I saw tears in his eyes, but he must have willed them to stop because they never fell. “If anything, Concetta, you are the lucky one. When something bad happens to you on earth, think of it as one less day you’ll have to spend in purgatory.”
I raised my eyebrows. “I didn’t know you were so religious.”
He let go of my hand and leaned back in his chair. “You didn’t know my father. He was not a good man. He wasn’t even a nice man. But he told me one thing I remember. He said, ‘A criminal never worries about getting caught until he hears the sirens.’”
Dominic nodded as if he was considering the bit of wisdom, and not for the first time. “I’m getting old, and I can hear the sirens in the distance.”
I smacked the table with the palm of my hand. “Then quit! Quit before they catch you.”
Dominic laughed. He reached over and pinched my cheeks. “My dear, sweet Concetta, I’m not talking about the police. And I don’t think I can hide from these sirens.”
A lump built in my throat. The thought of Uncle Dominic dying scared me like nothing else. “You’ll be okay,” I said.
He cleaned the table and rinsed the dishes in the sink. “You should go back to Texas,” he said. “You have a clean reputation there, and you have a good friend. There isn’t much more you could ask for.”
“I don’t know about that.”
“Think about it. It would be good for you.”
I grabbed a dish towel and dried the dishes.
After a moment of silence, he hugged me and gave me a peck on the forehead. “I’ll finish. Go home and pack.”
“I haven’t said I’m going.”
“You will,” he said, and began drying one of the coffee cups. “You always make the right decision.”
“I’ll think about it,” I said, while trying to recall even one decision I’d made that was right.
Dominic turned to me. “One thing to remember: leave the drugs alone.”
“What are you saying?”
“I mean Carlos Cortes. When you get to Texas, stay away from him. His people have no respect. They will kill a neighbor just to make a point. They will even kill children.” Dominic wagged a finger at me. “They will do anything to frighten people into cooperating. They don’t play by the same rules.”
“I know all about El Jabato,” I said. “I’ve seen firsthand what he’s capable of.”
“Good. Then it’s settled. You’ll stay away from him.”
I almost got pissed, but instead I laughed and then hugged him. “Uncle Dominic, I love you.”
He rubbed the back of my head, and said, “Ti voglio bene.”
I grabbed his espresso pot and took it to the sink.
“Leave it,” Dominic said. “I’ll be making more soon. Now do what I said. Go home and pack.”
I kissed his cheek and grabbed my purse. “We’ll see.”
***
Dominic waited until he heard the door close in the basement, and then he hit the button on the intercom system. “Fabrizio.”
Fabrizio came to the kitchen a few seconds later. “Si, signore.”
“Find out who owes us favors in Texas, especially in Houston. We need someone to keep an eye on Concetta.”
“Is she going to Houston?” Fabrizio asked.
Dominic nodded. “She doesn’t realize it yet, but she’ll go.”
Chapter 2
Breakfast in Monterrey
Monterrey, Mexico
Carlos Cortes fastened the last button on his shirt, tucked it into white linen pants, then bent to tie his shoes. No matter the inconvenience, he preferred shoes with laces. It would be a cold day in hell before he ever wore shoes called loafers. The name said it all, as far as Carlos was concerned.
Echoes of hard leather heels slapping against the flagstone patio bounced off the stucco walls as Carlos entered and took a seat next to Tico. The table, a round glass top supported by wrought-iron legs, had four chairs surrounding it. They were wrought iron also, but the seats were covered with cushions featuring bunnies and flowers—compliments of Carlos’ daughter, Adalia.
A servant brought a carafe filled with coffee. He poured a cup for Carlos and one for Tico, then set a plate with a sweet roll beside each cup. A tall glass of freshly squeezed orange juice sat to Carlos’ right, accompanied by two packets of sugar. The servant walked to the other side of the patio and stood, out of earshot.
“Tell me the bad news from the States,” Carlos said.
Tico reached for his coffee, steam rising from it into an unusually cool November morning in Monterrey. “It’s not all bad, señor. Atlanta and St. Louis are running as planned. Austin and San Antonio are under control. And we have made good progress in Dallas.”
Carlos smiled as he poured
sugar into his orange juice. “I hear no mention of Houston or little Wilmington, Delaware.”
“You know what happened in Houston, señor. And in Wilmington…” With no response from Carlos, Tico continued. “We can fix Wilmington, but we have bigger problems in Houston.”
Carlos set his glass down and looked at Tico. “What kind of problems?”
“Distribution and laundering. Not to mention your legal complications.”
“We had good people. What changed?”
Tico pushed his plate aside. “Much has changed since your visit to Spain. Our banker is afraid of the increased investigations, and the transportation is suffering because of the battles in Nuevo Laredo. The scum from the West have frightened him.”
Carlos brushed a crumb from his shirt, smoothed a crease in his pants, and stared at Tico until the other man turned away. “I see disapproval in your eyes, my friend. You think I was gone too long?”
Tico shrugged. “People need discipline.”
“Nothing truer has ever been said.” Carlos took a sip of his drink. “I think our discipline will have to start with our legal associates. As to our distributor…if he is afraid of a few bodies hanging from the bridge and a couple of heads in the backseats of cars, perhaps he doesn’t understand El Jabato. We will have to remind him.”
“Shouldn’t we wait? It hasn’t been long since you were in Houston and had trouble with those cops.”
Carlos took a Fortuna cigarette from his pack, waited for Tico to light it, and then lifted his head to stare at the smoke rings he’d made. He nodded as one ring split the center of the one before it. “I remember those cops. But our business dictates our actions, and our business demands we pay a visit to Houston; besides, I now have the protection of a corporation in league with our government. I’m almost a diplomat.” Carlos laughed and took a final sip of coffee. “Tomás is the one who everyone is after. He’s the horrible drug lord. I am nothing but a telecommunications executive.”
Bullet From Dominic Page 1
