Emilia: Part 2 (Trassato Crime Family Book 4)

by Lisa Cardiff

  “I didn’t realize this was an intervention,” I remarked, slipping into the only remaining chair next to Sal without acknowledging him. If I looked at him, I’d give in to the temptation to hit him or spit in his face. We’d done nothing except exchange barbs since I’d been home, and being the sick bastard he was, my father invited Sal to our house all the time.

  My father steepled his fingers in front of his mouth. “We all have an interest in your wellbeing.”

  I leaned forward, my hands cupping the wooden arms of my chair. “I can understand Lucca and Marcello’s presence, but I’d prefer if Sal left. I don’t feel comfortable with him, and I don’t see any reason for him to be here.”

  “Sal’s here because I asked him to be here, and I trust him with my life. Asking him to leave would be an insult.” My father leaned back in his chair and dropped his hands into his lap.

  My throat convulsed. My time away hadn’t changed damn thing. Of course my father would choose Sal over me. In his mind, everyone and everything was more important than me. If this month had taught me anything, it was that my relationship with my father should have a DNR order.

  “Great. I wouldn’t want to insult anyone important to you. I have stuff to take care of, so why don’t we cut the crap and get to the point of this meeting?”

  “Good idea. Emilia, you remember Lucca Bonaccorso, and of course you know Marcello.”

  “Come zee bell.” My Uncle Lucca squeezed my arm. “It’s a pleasure seeing you again.”

  “You too,” I replied, my voice flat. My life was complicated enough without adding a long lost relative into the mix. Although someday I might want to explore something with my mother’s family, I didn’t see that happening anytime in the near future.

  I turned my head to acknowledge Marcello, despite the fact that his greeting on the tarmac told me he didn’t want anything to do with me. Instead of looking away, he held my stare, and a shot of electricity ricocheted through me. The intensity crackling behind his eyes made me feel small and defenseless, like it would only take a snap of his fingers and I’d be caught up in the tornado that was Marcello Masciantonio.

  Marcello lifted his hand an inch or so, like he wanted to touch me, then it fell back to his lap. “Emilia. It’s good to see you are well. I was concerned when you disappeared suddenly, but it sounds like you landed on your feet. At least for a while…”

  I couldn’t come up with a single response. I wanted to believe he was telling me in a roundabout way that he missed me or thought about me after I left. I stared at him for what seemed like hours but in reality was only seconds, trying to communicate a million and one apologies. While it was likely a trick of the light or wishful thinking on my part, his eyes appeared as if they were smoldering. He had to hate me, or at least I would if our positions were reversed. I suspected I wouldn’t see much of him after today, so I wanted to hold onto this moment and commit it to memory.

  I cleared my throat to cut the tension growing between us. “Yes, well, I’m sorry about that.”

  A muscle pulsed in his jaw. “So you said in the note you left.”

  “Um, yeah,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. Heat crept up my neck.

  I looked forward again, staring at the wall above my father’s head like it was my job, studiously ignoring the way Sal’s gaze burned the side of my face. I refused to acknowledge him. He could go fuck himself, or better yet, fuck Lettie again, not that it was an option. Carmela told me Lettie had disappeared right after me. Apparently, she went into witness protection or something, and Carmela claimed not to know anything more. That made sense, though, seeing that Lettie’s husband killed himself after being questioned by the FBI. I didn’t care either way. It was one less complication in my life.

  My father smacked his palm against the surface of his dark wood desk like a judge calling order to the courtroom. “Originally, I called you here to discuss your future—”

  “We don’t need to debate my future. I have a life and a home back in Colorado. I have stuff to take care of there so I need to go back soon.”

  “Yes, you do need to go back. I’ve arranged a flight for you tomorrow morning.”

  Stunned, my jaw unhinged. I didn’t get it. Given that he sent Sal to collect me and forcibly stuff me on a plane, I expected my father to fight me on this. Apparently, he hated the tension between us as much as I did.

  “Well, then everything is settled.” I paused for a second, wanting to ask about the conversation I overheard between Sal and Lettie about my share of my grandfather’s estate. I didn’t know how much it was or if it came with any terms. I hoped to use the money to make some improvements to the ranch and hire some additional help so I could live wherever I wanted. Over the past month, I realized living there full-time with the ghost of my life with Gavin hanging over my head was less than ideal.

  Sal chuckled, interrupting my thoughts, and I shot him a dirty look. If we were alone, I’d slap him across his all-too-smug face. Every moment I spent in his company made me hate him more than when I caught him cozying up to Lettie the night I ran away.

  “You have an appointment with Mr. Goldenberg, your attorney, on Wednesday morning to go through some details before your meet with the police department later that afternoon,” my father continued.

  I slanted forward, shock undoubtedly carved into my face. “Wait. What do you mean my attorney? I don’t have an attorney. I don’t need any attorney. Gavin and I had joint bank accounts, and the title to the ranch was deeded to both of us after his mother’s death with rights of survivorship.”

  “I’m not talking about the assets, although I understand those could be frozen if we don’t act fast. I’m talking about the fact that the police consider you a person of interest in Gavin Lancaster’s death. They want to question you.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “Person of interest?” I echoed, panic replacing my shock. “But I wasn’t even home, and I’m the one who called police. It doesn’t make any sense. The last I heard, they thought it was a suicide.”

  “Apparently, they changed their minds, or they’re just covering their bases before they make an official finding. Either way, I won’t have you walking into their interrogation room unrepresented.” My father pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. “This is a mess, Emilia. If this happened around here, I have police and prosecutors on the take, but in that shithole little town, our name means nothing. I don’t have any pull. I can’t wave a wand and make this go away.”

  “But I didn’t do anything.”

  “Yeah, well, sometimes that doesn’t mean a damn thing. We have to be smart. Gavin’s brother is gunning for you…”

  His voice sounded far away, and I couldn’t comprehend his words. A wave of nausea hit me, and I doubled over, clutching my thighs. My lungs contracted, and I couldn’t get enough air into my body. I felt like someone had pulled a plastic bag over my head, suffocating me second by second.

  Sal crouched down in front of me, rubbing his hands up and down my arms. “Calm down, Emilia. It’s going to be okay. You’re not alone in this. We’re going to help you.”

  I met my father’s stare. Pain flashed across his face, and for the first time in forever, I believed he might actually care about me, that I was more than a pawn to be used to in his quest for power, that he wanted to protect me and make this all disappear. And part of me wanted to crawl in a hole and let him pull the strings and do his best, only I knew I couldn’t. Like he pointed out, he didn’t have any sway in Colorado. I might as well have been accused of a crime on the moon.

  “Sal’s right, Emilia.” He stood and braced his hands on the desk, his pinky ring glinting off the overhead light almost like a bad omen. “We’re going to be there for you and make sure this gets resolved.”

  “I didn’t kill Gavin. I cared about him. How could they think I’d hurt him? I didn’t have any motive or reason. We were on good terms.”

  “That worthless husband of yours hired a divorce att
orney to represent him a few days before his death. He was seeing another woman, and he wanted to move on. Did you know about this?” My father’s jaw muscles tightened. “If he weren’t already dead, I’d kill him myself.”

  My stomach fell to my feet, and somehow the sorrow of losing Gavin quadrupled. I scooted my body to the side and away from Sal. I didn’t want him touching me, not now, not when I felt so raw and exposed. I couldn’t stand having my not-so-perfect life on display, gory innards and all. Sensing my need for space, Sal stood and leaned against the desk.

  I pushed away my fears and embarrassment and tried to explain the unexplainable. I didn’t want to admit Gavin and I had an unconventional relationship and we didn’t marry for love. Well, not the romantic kind anyway.

  “We talked about divorcing, but I didn’t realize he had hired an attorney, and I certainly didn’t have a clue that he was seeing someone. It’s just…we weren’t…” My throat convulsed, and I couldn’t compose myself enough to finish my explanation. I covered my face with my hands. While this news was far from a surprise, I couldn’t believe Gavin hid this from me. I thought we shared everything. We agreed to be honest with each other. Evidently, I was the only one who honored that promise.

  “I don’t like this, Dominick,” Lucca chimed in. “You should send her back to Italy with me. Now that my dad is gone, I don’t have much family around me. The change would be good for both of us, and she has dual citizenship because of her mother. Let them work to get her there. Who knows? Maybe they’ll lose interest. A little town like that won’t have much of a budget for an investigation.”

  “No.” My father’s refusal sliced through the air. “It’s already settled. She and Sal will leave tomorrow morning.”

  I sucked in a strained breath. Just when I thought I saw a glimmer of love for me, my father showed me he didn’t care. He knew I despised Sal and wanted nothing to do with him. Sure, I disliked the idea of being alone, but I learned my lesson with Sal. I’d never be first with him. He worked for my father, and his loyalty flowed to him, not me.

  “No. Not Sal.” My head swung around, seeking out Marcello. “Send Marcello with me.”

  “No fuckin’ way. Marcello has nothing to do with this. I don’t even understand why he’s here.” Sal waved his hand between Marcello and me. “It’s not like they’re engaged anymore. He needs to get his ass back to Chicago and out of Trassato family business. This doesn’t concern him or Lucca.”

  “Abasta!” Lucca clutched the arms of his chair. “This is Bonaccorso business too.”

  “Okay, Trassato and Bonaccorso business,” Sal amended. “But he’s a dirty fucking Masciantonio.”

  Marcello stood and slipped his hand inside his suit jacket. Distress rippled through me. “Last I checked, you’re a piece of shit soldier. Are you actually insulting me right now?”

  “She ran away and married someone else, so as I see it, your agreement with the Trassatos and the Bonaccorsos is over. Back the hell off. You don’t have any claim on her.”

  Marcello cocked a brow. “And you do?”

  Sal rolled his shoulders. “Yeah, she wanted to marry me. She loved me. She never wanted anything to do with you. The thought of being stuck with you made her sick.”

  Marcello’s glacier blue eyes locked on mine, pinning me in place as effectively as an arrow. “That’s not how I remember it. In fact, I recall her being a willing participant in—”

  Flames shot up my face, and I lurched out of my chair. “Stop it! This is stupid.”

  I had never breathed a word of what had happened with Marcello before I left, not even to Gavin, and I wondered if Marcello had done the same or had he broadcasted it to anyone who would listen? When I thought about the events of that night—drinking shots, talking about my mom, kissing him, and sleeping with him—I was mortified. I acted like a child, first by running to Sal and then by running away instead of having the guts to face Marcello. I wanted to give myself some slack because I was only nineteen, but I still struggled to make peace with my actions.

  “Dad,” I pressed a hand to my chest, my eyes wide and pleading, “please stop shoving Sal in my face every chance you get. I don’t know what you’re hoping for, if anything, but I don’t want anything to do with your plans. Sal and I will never happen. I can’t trust him, and even if that weren’t true, I lost Gavin a little over a month ago. It’s not right.”

  My stomach rolled like it did every single time I said Gavin’s name. The guilt of his death circled my neck like a barbed wire, tightening instead of loosening day by day. A continuous circuit of recriminations that all led back to Gavin being alive if not for me and my selfishness kept me from sleeping more than a few hours each night. I should have stayed in New York and married Marcello. I should have confronted Sal, Marcello, or my father about the money from the Bonaccorso estate. I should have rejected Gavin’s proposal and went home. Logically, I couldn’t go back in time and extricate myself from Gavin’s life, but it didn’t stop the guilt from eating me alive.

  “Emilia, I can’t bend on this. If I can’t be there with you, I need someone I trust with you.”

  I shook my head. “You don’t trust Marcello? I thought you wanted me to marry him. What am I missing?”

  Everyone in the room came to a standstill almost as if someone had pressed the pause button. Neither my father nor Sal would look me in the eye. Marcello closed the space between us and put a hand on my shoulder. My nerve endings buzzed at the contact, and it took all of my willpower not to lean into him.

  “We’ll both go with her.” Marcello’s deep voice rumbled in my ear, causing the fine hairs on my arm to lift.

  Sal opened his mouth to respond, and my father cut him off before he could say a word. “Fine. The more people, the better.” He rubbed his hand along his jaw. “Meet at my house at 8AM.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Holy crap!

  I tapped my fingers on the armrest and bounced my knee up and down. This was going to be the most uncomfortable three-plus hours of my life. At least if we were on a commercial flight, we could sit in different quadrants of the cabin. No such luck. My father wanted us to use his plane, so here we were.

  I sat next to Marcello’s sister, Mila, and across from Sal and Marcello, and no one could mistake us for one big happy family. Marcello kept his eyes trained out the window even though there was nothing to see except a sea of cottony white clouds. Sal slipped on a pair of headphones the second he buckled his seatbelt, which wasn’t surprising considering he showed up early this morning and we managed to get into yet another fight. He wanted to talk about us, and as far as I was concerned, there was no us, and there never would be.

  Only Mila made an effort to fill the tomb-like atmosphere. She had babbled nonstop since we boarded. I’d lost count, but I was pretty sure she had just initiated conversation attempt number twenty.

  “I’m a vodka girl, specifically grain vodka. It has a cleaner, less sweet taste than potato vodka.” Mila unscrewed a mini bottle and poured it into a clear glass filled with ice. “You’d think being Italian and all, I’d like Campari, Sambuca, or Limoncello. You’d be wrong. I can’t stand them.” She performed an exaggerated shiver.

  When nobody responded, she took a huge gulp of her drink, finishing more than half. Maybe I should have followed her lead and started drinking. At least I would be oblivious to the awkwardness of this experience. There would be a lot of things I would prefer over sitting in an enclosed space with Marcello and Sal for hours on end, like someone sticking a hot poker in my eye or having a gynecological exam in front of an audience.

  “You’re probably wondering why I hate those drinks, huh?” Mila elbowed me in the side, her dark, wavy hair brushing over the top of her shoulders.

  “Um, yeah?” It came out as a question because I didn’t have a clue where she was going with this.

  “Well, my nonna was a nut. She had this huge liquor cabinet, only she didn’t use it to mix cocktails. It was her medicine cabinet. L
imoncello for a sore throat. Amaretto for a cough. Campari for a stomachache. I know I’m mixing it up, but you get the idea. Can you imagine forcing a kid to have a tablespoon full of that foul stuff when she’s sick? Unlike other kids who pretended to be sick to skip school, I did everything under the sun to convince her I was well. Makeup, pinching my cheeks, doing headstands to make the blood rush to my head.”

  Marcello grunted and rolled his eyes.

  “What? Are you laughing at me?” She scrunched up her long Roman nose that was almost too big for her face but somehow suited her. She’d age regally, whereas I’d look a child with wrinkles.

  “Of course I am. You used an entire bottle of foundation to cover up your chicken pox so you didn’t have to spend the day with Nonna.”

  Mila shrugged. “I did what I had to. She was going to make me drink her Sambuca tea concoction.”

  “You looked ridiculous, and there’s nothing wrong with putting a little Sambuca in your tea,” he shot back.

  “Whatever. You would say that. You thought she walked on water. Emilia, did Marcello ever make you do shots of Sambuca with him? I swear, he thinks that shit is a truth serum.”

  My gaze drifted to Marcello, and the corner of his lips tipped upward. The force of it hit me like a kick to the gut. I held his stare for a few beats. Mila’s words hit home. The night Marcello and I drank Sambuca together, I confessed things I wouldn’t have and I indulged in things I would have talked myself out of in other circumstances. So maybe Sambuca was a truth serum and inhibition reducer all wrapped up in one even in low quantities. Given I only had a shot or two that night, I couldn’t blame my behavior on too much alcohol.

  “I might remember participating in something like that,” I finally answered.