The Good Daughter: A Mafia Story

by Diana Layne

  At last he spoke. “All right, Dave Armstrong. You will help us. But take this to your heart. If you fail again, and my wife is harmed, you will pray to the blessed Virgin for a quick death. If you make another mistake and we lose, you will die a tortured fragment at a time until there is nothing left of you for anyone to remember. And then I’ll kill you a little more.”

  Chapter 16

  She was running . . . .

  Move, move, move . . . .

  Safety was close . . . .

  A gunshot . . . .

  Someone hurled a bowling ball into her shoulder. Another loud crack sounded.

  Blood dripped from her hand. She followed the red sticky trail up her arm. A bowling ball hadn’t hit her. A bullet. She’d been shot . . . .

  Nia bolted upright, eyes wide open, heart pounding. She hadn’t meant to fall asleep; she needed to work on her next escape plan. But her exhausted body had claimed her unwilling mind.

  Concentrating on making her heart rate slow to normal, she breathed deeply and stretched. Stiff and sore muscles made her moan. Mikey had really done a number on her. She owed him for that. She wasn’t a vengeful person, but she could learn fast.

  For a moment, the real nightmare, not the dream one, that had become her life threatened to crush her. Alone in a strange house, with dangerous men guarding her, she had a brief urge to crumple in despair.

  Oh, Sandro, where are you?

  Mental toughness honed from years of relentless physical conditioning, pitting her wits against an opponent’s, along with being raised with five brothers, lent her strength. Resolve stiffened her spine and her will. She would not be defeated. She would escape, get to her child then find her husband. Wonder Woman, move over. Here comes Nia Crocetti, the newest Superhero.

  The thought forced a chuckle. Yeah, right.

  At least the whimsical idea of her soaring through the air with a red, white and blue cape whipping behind her dispelled the last of her uncharacteristic feelings of hopelessness. She climbed out of bed.

  Her watch read just past two in the morning.

  She took a bathroom break, relieved to find no blood, no spotting, and she was experiencing no cramps. Mikey’s beating hadn’t robbed her of her unborn child. Proof the universe was on her side.

  Slipping the plastic Woo-Sung’s Chinese Food advertisement card from her pocket, she listened against the wooden door for sounds of activity beyond. Everything was quiet. Time to put her plan in motion.

  She eyed the ordinary bedroom door lock--it had been turned backward, where the locking part was on the outside. She supposed they had been in a hurry and holding her prisoner had been a makeshift plan. Whatever the reason, she was grateful for such a simple lock which wouldn’t call for more intricate lockpicking skills with tools she didn’t have.

  Taking a breath, she whispered a prayer for luck, then slipped the card into the doorjamb and jiggled the door, trying to force the card past the latch.

  “Come on,” she muttered to herself. After only moments, the door slipped open. She bit back a gasp and stifled a shout of excitement. In her mind, though, she was jumping up and down and screaming for joy.

  Cautiously she peered into the hall. Angie sat at one end in a wing backed chair between her and the stairs.

  Damn.

  Quickly she unlocked the door from the outside then quietly closed it back. Pressing her forehead against the hard wooden door, she debated what to do. Angie looked as if he were asleep. Perhaps she could slip past him. Pulling the door open again, she poked her head out into the hallway and studied him. Should she risk it?

  She glanced the other way. Nothing more than a window at that end, and she wasn’t going that route again. Her gaze lit on a dark green clay vase that sat on a decorator table beneath the window. It was filled with artificial blue, orange and purple flowers arranged in artful disarray.

  Unconcerned with the artistic qualities of the vase, she debated whether to risk using it to knock Angie unconscious. He was between her and freedom. Between her and her family. Would the vase be heavy enough to knock him out?

  But what if Giovanni or someone else was still here? Would the noise alert them and hamper her escape plans? She strained to listen for other sounds of life, but heard nothing other than Angie’s deep breathing.

  It was a risk she would have to take.

  Quietly, she sneaked to the end of the hallway and lifted the vase. It was heavier than it looked. It must’ve been made of pure concrete. All the better to knock him out cold. Or kill him. She paused with distaste at the thought, but there was no guarantee they’d leave her alive. And her family needed her. So she had to use any method she could. If she killed someone, she’d deal with the fact later.

  Determination steeling her spine, she jerked the flowers out, dropped them on the floor, and hefted the vase into her arms. Tiptoeing down the hall, the vase securely in her grasp, she held her breath, afraid to make any noise. At last she stood next to Angie. Carefully, she forced the heavy vase over her head. One hard swing ought to--

  “Hey, Angie, it’s time for me to take over. You asleep up there?”

  Damn! Giovanni was climbing up the stairs. Trapped!

  No! She’d take them both out.

  Angie stirred, beginning to awaken. He opened his eyes, sleep, then confusion as he saw her, clouding his gaze.

  Now or never.

  She brought the vase down. She felt a dull thud at impact, like the time she’d busted a pumpkin. Angie’s eyes widened, then blinked out.

  She hurtled down the stairs, rushing Giovanni, using the vase as a battering ram. He stumbled from her onslaught, losing his balance. Tumbling backwards, he rolled down the stairs. He didn’t move once he landed. After a fall like that, he could well be dead.

  Nia never slowed to contemplate his condition. Dropping the vase, she jumped over Giovanni’s body and barreled out the kitchen door into the night.

  She ran to the Town Car and jerked open the door. No keys. She flipped down the visor and looked on the floorboard. No luck there since she hadn’t learned hotwiring with lockpicking 101.

  She repeated the process with the red truck parked in the drive, but no luck there either. The SUV and silver Lexus were gone. There was a jacket and some dollar bills lying on the truck bench seat. She grabbed the jacket, the money, and a flashlight she’d found under the seat.

  Nerves threatened to overwhelm her at the obstacles still facing her. But she had to be clearheaded. She pulled her thoughts together and focused. Earlier, she had thought it best to make her escape through the woods. Now, that it was pitch dark, she changed her mind, not wanting to risk getting lost in the dark.

  The best plan would be to follow the road. If Giovanni was still alive and managed to come after her, she could hide on the side of the road. The darkness would work to her advantage. By first light, if she ran most of the way, she should have covered a good distance. Perhaps even found a sign of civilization.

  Good thing she was in prime physical shape despite being pregnant.

  She sprinted toward the road.

  Breathed in freedom.

  Chapter 17

  “She got away.”

  “How the hell’d that happen?” Joey asked, still groggy from the ringing phone jerking him out of sleep.

  “Shit, I don’t know. I checked that door,” Giovanni answered holding an ice pack on the back of his neck. He ached all over. “It was locked. But now it’s open. I shoulda got a deadbolt when I was at the store.”

  “Or you shoulda been guarding her. You know she’s smart.”

  “We was guarding her . . . well, Angie was and I was on my way to relieve him. But she’s not only smart, she’s one mean bitch, too. She got the jump on him and laid a vase upside his head. Cracked his skull open, then she shoved me down the stairs.”

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine, but Angie’s still out cold, bleeding all over the fuckin’ floor. No way I could move him, heavy ass shit.
I got some towels piled under his head.”

  Joey made a disgusted sound. “The fat son-of-a-bitch must’ve fallen asleep for her to catch him like that. You called Carlo yet?”

  “Fuck, no, you think I’m crazy? I wanna get her back before he finds out,” Giovanni answered. “Especially after you took care of that piece of business earlier. I ain’t goin’ on no ride with you guys.”

  “So, what’s your plan?”

  “Get ahold of the dog trainer that trains our guard dogs. Doesn’t he have a team of tracking dogs?”

  “You want to bring dogs out?”

  “There’s lots of places in the woods for her to get herself lost where we can’t find her.”

  “Okay. But what if she takes the road?”

  “All the better for us if she does. The dogs will let us know. Right now, I’m gonna drive down the road--south first, she’ll likely head back to the city--and if I don’t see her, I’ll stop at every little store that might be open and insure their cooperation.”

  Joey sighed. “Sounds risky; someone might know who she is, but I guess it’s the best you can do.”

  “Anyone gives me trouble, I’ll just whack him.” Giovanni felt like murder considering all the trouble this was causing him.

  “We don’t need a bunch of dead bodies to account for,” Joey warned.

  “Then you better get here fast. And bring Carmine and Ralphie along with the dogs. More of us working, more likely we are to find her. And one of you needs to take Angie to a doctor. He’s likely got a concussion or something.”

  “Okay, yeah, good idea. Give me a little time to get the dogs--I’ll have to bring the trainer, too, I don’t know how to work tracking dogs.”

  “As long as he keeps his mouth shut.”

  “You know it.”

  Giovanni hung up and leaving Angie lying on the floor with a wet cloth over his head, the best he could do at the moment, Giovanni took off for the car.

  * * *

  With his warning hanging in the air, Sandro stood still in the dark night, watching through the glimmers of moonlight, the effect of his words as they fell on Dave.

  Marisa’s gaze was riveted on Dave, while Dave’s eyes still locked with Sandro’s.

  Then Dave nodded, relaxed his stance and asked, “So, what’s the plan?”

  His easy acquiescence surprised Sandro, made him more wary. But Marisa seemed to think Dave was trustworthy. Her instincts were usually good, while Sandro admitted his own opinion of the FBI man was skewed by their long, personal, and contentious history.

  Glancing sideways at Sandro, Marisa answered Dave’s question. “We’re stealing the money from my father’s overseas accounts. Which is most of it.”

  Dave’s eyes widened and he turned to Sandro. “Whoa, that’s ballsy. You don’t like living much, do you, buddy?”

  “Carlo loves his money more than revenge. To get it returned, he’ll give Nia back,” Sandro said with forced confidence, ignoring the sarcasm. The plan had to work--they had no other options. And if force of will alone could make it work, then Sandro would do it.

  “You have access to the accounts?” Dave asked Marisa.

  “Yes, I’m actually on the accounts, but I didn’t have the passwords. It’s a need-to-know system. I needed to know so I have them now.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I’m on the account in case of an emergency, if I ever needed to access them, Roberto would give me the passwords. That only happened once when he was sick, and then he changed the passwords as soon as he got back to work.”

  “So you now have the passwords how?” Dave asked.

  “I copied the information on his hard drive. I accessed one of the accounts tonight. It works.”

  “Mirror imaging software.”

  Obviously, Dave knew the technique. Sandro had no concept that such a thing existed and was thankful Marisa was the computer whiz.

  Marisa nodded. “I then started the process of creating new accounts to transfer the money.”

  “So you’re going to transfer the money out of your father’s accounts and into another one in your name?”

  At Marisa’s confirmation, Dave quickly zoomed in on the most obvious problems, and Sandro conceded the man was no dummy.

  “What will your father think when he realizes the account is in your name?”

  “We hope he’ll think Sandro forced me. It might not matter by then.”

  “Possibly. But it takes time to transfer the money, what do you have planned to keep Roberto from noticing the money is moving?”

  Marisa moved closer to Dave. “We have a few ideas, none very good. The best one is . . .” she paused and touched Dave’s chest, the starlight glittering off her diamond bracelet. “You.”

  Sandro admired that Dave made no outward move when Marisa touched him, but he couldn’t hide the reaction in his eyes. He cared for Marisa. The better for them, Sandro thought.

  “Me?”

  Dave must have an idea of what they needed, but for whatever reason, he seemed intent on making Marisa spell out what they wanted.

  “I’m hoping since my name is on the accounts at the same banks, the transfer won’t take but a few hours. But just in case . . . you can pick Roberto up for investigation, no?” She inched her hand up closer to his shoulder. “Keep him a few days without charging him?”

  Sandro smiled when Dave placed his hand on top of hers to keep it still. No doubt Marisa’s fingers were quite distracting. And no doubt Dave was aware that Sandro was carefully watching the entire exchange.

  Dave sighed. “Why do I feel like I’ve been set up?”

  “What?” Marisa asked.

  Sandro understood her surprise, she’d worked hard to convince him that they needed Dave’s help; there would have been no need to set Dave up without Sandro’s cooperation.

  “Don’t be coy,” Dave told Marisa, moving away from her touch. “There’s no other way for you to change those accounts without me taking Roberto into custody.”

  “Yes,” Sandro spoke up. “We could kill him, or take him prisoner.”

  “Yeah, I can see you two taking Roberto out,” Dave said wryly, obviously not realizing the lengths Sandro would go to save his family.

  “And you don’t have enough manpower to hold him prisoner,” Dave continued, pacing a short distance across the grass.

  “I could poison him.” Marisa shrugged. “Maybe not enough to kill him but to put him in the hospital.”

  Dave stopped suddenly. “You play with poison, Princess?”

  “I have many hidden talents,” she admitted.

  He cocked his head and studied her. “Somehow, I can see that. Still, it’s risky. Bottom line, basically there is no sure way without me. So you pretend you don’t want my help, make me beg and bam,” he paused to clap his hands together. “You have me.”

  When put that way, Sandro conceded perhaps Marisa set them both up. She knew they couldn’t do it on their own. She was a very clever woman.

  “Will you help?” Marisa asked, neither denying nor confirming Dave’s accusations.

  Dave ignored Marisa and turned to Sandro. “You’re way out of your league here. What happens when you give him his money back? You think he won’t come after you then? Let me have the information on those accounts, and we’ll get him with RICO. The AUSA on our team is just chomping at the bit to bring a case against Carlo.”

  “The . . . what?” Sandro asked.

  “Assistant U.S. Attorney,” Dave clarified.

  Sandro started shaking his head; Marisa interrupted.

  “Who said we’re giving it back?” she asked.

  “Sandro said to get it returned--”

  “Your RICO laws are worthless,” Sandro interrupted, not wanting to get too detailed with their plans about the money. “It would take so long to prosecute him, he would have plenty of time to kill us.”

  “So you agree, your idea is too dangerous.”

  “Of course the ide
a is dangerous,” Sandro said abruptly, already irritated with Dave’s persistent doubts.

  “Then what . . .” Dave paused, frowning, obviously confused how the exchange could be made and how Sandro planned to come out of it alive. Until at last his face lit with understanding. “You’re going to kill him first.”

  The man’s instincts were good, Sandro allowed as he purposely held silent.

  Dave turned to Marisa and demanded, “Am I right? Is he planning on killing Carlo?”

  Marisa didn’t answer either.

  Dave grew frustrated. “Stealing money or information I can see. But murder? I want Carlo as badly as you do, Sandro, but I can’t let you murder the man.”

  Sandro’s temper snapped. He grabbed Dave’s shirt and jerked him close. There was no way Dave could want Carlo as badly as he did. “I don’t recall asking your permission,” he growled, bringing Dave’s face down close. “You’re the one who wanted to be here. If you want to help rescue Nia, then help. Otherwise keep quiet, or get out.” Sandro pushed Dave away, daring, hoping he would come back at him. Sandro ached with the urge to release the fury and fear boiling inside him.

  Dave stared hard at Sandro, then ran his hand through his hair. He turned his gaze back to Marisa. “You’re going to let him kill your father? Help him even,” he spread his hands wide, “by getting the information to bait Carlo?”

  Sandro saw the pain enter Marisa’s eyes, though there was no outward sign. He knew what she’d endured at the hands of her father, the years of being auctioned off, what Carlo did to her mother when she objected. Sandro hurt for Marisa, yet with quiet dignity she stood up to the censure.

  “There are things you do not know,” she said quietly. “You are not in a position to judge.”

  Finally, Dave seeming no closer to comprehending their reasoning, at last relented and turned back to Sandro. “I’ll do what I can. I’ll help with Roberto and with searching the properties. I draw the line at murder though.”

  By agreeing to stay in and help, Sandro wondered if Dave realized he’d just committed to insuring Carlo’s death as he had accused Marisa of doing. But he seemed not to judge himself the same way. Or he refused to acknowledge Carlo would really be killed and hoped Sandro would still turn over the information. Whatever the reason, Sandro would take the help and let Dave worry about the morality of it all later.