The Good Daughter: A Mafia Story

by Diana Layne

  “Nice, doggies.” It was hard to relax when three formerly innocent-looking turned vicious-looking dogs showed their set of big, sharp, white teeth.

  “You need help in there? What’s taking you so long?” Giovanni called through the doorway.

  “Pipe down. I’m doing the best I can.”

  “Maybe I need to come hold your hand--”

  “Sure. If you’re brave enough to come through these dogs.” She zipped her slacks and washed her hands.

  “Finished yet?”

  “Yes, no thanks to you.” The smell of freshly brewed coffee made her stomach growl. Had it only been a few minutes earlier the clerk had put on a fresh pot? “Call off these dogs if you want me to come out there.”

  The dogs trotted out at Eddie’s command and followed him out the front door. They looked as sweet and innocent as a lap dog again. Amazing Jekyll-and-Hyde performance.

  Giovanni took her arm and led her toward the door. “Okay,” he said to Joey, who stood next to the clerk. “We’re going.”

  Nia looked back as Giovanni dragged her along. Joey put his gun next to the clerk’s head and calmly pulled the trigger. Blood splattered over the cash register. She jumped at the sudden violent act. Though the gun had made little sound, the lack of noise didn’t erase the horror of what had just happened. She suddenly found herself screaming.

  Giovanni shook her. “Shut up. You shouldna looked.”

  Slowly, her brain started functioning again. “You shouldn’t have killed him! What the hell did you do that for?” she screeched, panic lending her strength to jerk an arm free and swing a fist at him. “What did he do?”

  He grabbed her flailing arm. “He saw too much.”

  “You think the Feds don’t know who you are?”

  “Can’t prove nothing without no witnesses. This ain’t no fun and games, Nia. Do what we say, so more people don’t get killed.” He dragged her toward the car, calling over his shoulder.“Take out that security camera.”

  The horrid scene replayed itself in her mind. Bang. Just like that, a man was dead. And for no more reason than he saw too much. He was a witness.

  Another horrifying thought made her legs go weak.

  She was a witness.

  She could identify them. Tell what they did.

  Put them in jail.

  The world started spinning. Bile rose in her throat.

  She was as dead as the clerk.

  Chapter 20

  “Mornin’, Princess.”

  Lost in her thoughts, tired from too little sleep, Marisa jumped and whirled at the sound of Dave’s voice. He sat on the couch in the lobby of her apartment building, looking calm and collected as if he’d had a full night’s sleep, which she knew he hadn’t because it was barely after five a.m. and it had been nearly one when she had left to go to Luigi’s.

  Detouring from her path to the elevators, she walked toward him, her pulse skittering. Just jumpy from lack of sleep she told herself.

  “Didn’t expect you this early,” Dave commented when she stopped in front of him.

  True, it was earlier than she had expected to be back as well. But Luigi had never returned. It wasn’t unusual for him to get called away at night. Usually he came back; sometimes he didn’t. She’d dozed off while waiting on him. When she woke up after a short nap and saw he still wasn’t back, she left.

  “How’d you get in here?” she asked, trying to regain her composure over her shock at seeing him.

  “FBI credentials come in handy once in a while.” Dave stood, then smiled and nodded at the doorman currently on duty, which was not Murray.

  She narrowed her eyes, curious, hopeful even, yet not wanting him to know. “And just what are you doing here so early? It’s still dark outside.”

  “I could ask you the same thing. Makes me wonder what you’re doing home so soon. I thought I’d have to wait hours. Glad I came when I did.”

  “Why are you here?” she repeated.

  “I filed the papers to pick up Roberto. I thought we should get started on those accounts.”

  She swallowed a groan; she was exhausted. “Don’t you ever sleep?”

  “Sleep is overrated.”

  Yeah, if he spent the night with her, she could see how sleep could be overrated. Since that wasn’t going to happen however . . . she sighed. “Will he be picked up today?”

  “Should be.”

  He followed her into the elevator. The doors shut, and she pushed the button for her floor before she leveled him with a look. “What are you really doing here? I don’t need to you to help me transfer the accounts.”

  “Rumor has it I’m a control freak.”

  “I’m certain that must be a false rumor.”

  “Ha. Ha,” he said, catching her sarcasm.

  He moved closer. She stepped back, bumped against the wall. He reached out his hand. Her breath caught. Lifting her necklace off her neck, his thumb playing with the delicate Florentine cross hanging from the chain, he said softly, almost to himself, “Luigi must’ve had an early night.”

  Marisa released her breath and sighed. “So that’s it.” The elevator door opened. She didn’t say anything else until she entered her apartment.

  “What’s it?”

  Tossing her purse on the couch, she turned to him. “Come on. Don’t be coy. Go ahead and ask.”

  “Ask what?” He tried the innocent routine once again, and once again she saw right through him.

  “Whether I slept with him.”

  “That’s none of my business,” he said stiffly.

  She got the distinct impression he wished he’d never said anything about Luigi. “You still want to know, don’t you?” she pressed, not willing to let him off, trusting her instincts that he was suffering from this unwanted attraction as much as she was.

  “What you do or who you do it with is your own business.”

  “True enough.” She stepped close to him, definitely invading his space. “But you want me enough to be jealous if I did.”

  “I told you last night--”

  “I know what you told me. And apparently you don’t remember what I told you. Everything has collapsed. My father will never be brought to trial now. Therefore, I will never be a witness.”

  She ran her finger under his collar. He drew in his breath. Yes, she was right. He wanted her. And the strangest thing of it was, she wanted him, too.

  It was the first time she’d felt even an inkling of true desire since Paolo’s death. Maybe it was just the law enforcement types that attracted her. They were so much the antithesis of what she was normally surrounded with. And that’s why she knew she needed to stay away from him. But she couldn’t seem to help herself.

  She was so tired of using and being used.

  Just for a short time she wanted to desire and be desired. It had been so long.

  Standing rigid as a statue, Dave grabbed her wrist before her hand strayed any further. She didn’t let his feigned reluctance deter her. A half step and her body pressed against his. “I didn’t have sex with Luigi,” she whispered, turning her face up to his, her body pulsing with anticipation.

  His lips were inches from hers. “What’d you do? Plead a headache?”

  “It was my plan. But he was called away on business.”

  Dave froze. “Anything I should know about?”

  She gave a small shake of her head. “I don’t know, I was in the bathroom looking for headache medicine when he got the call.” Actually, she was in the bathroom changing into the lingerie that Luigi liked, but there was no need for Dave to know that tidbit.

  His lips curved upward ever so slightly.

  “I didn’t think anything about it.” She’d been too relieved to give it much thought. “It’s not unusual for him to get called away.”

  She moved her hands up to his shoulders.

  Dave finally gave in, wrapping his arms around her. Whisper soft words brushed against her lips. “A headache wouldn’t work for an excuse with
me.”

  “Oh, forceful. I like that in a man.” She kissed him. Just for a short time, she repeated to herself.

  He kissed her back, moving his hands up from her waist to her ribs, thumbs resting beneath her breasts. He only had to stretch those thumbs up a bit to rub across the nipples.

  But he didn’t.

  Instead he pulled back and gazed earnestly into her eyes. “I’m sorry. I can’t believe I did that again.”

  She saw true regret in the depths of his dark gaze. “Why fight it, Dave? I want you. You want me.”

  He shook his head. “There’s no future for us. When this case is closed, you’ll go into witness security and never see me again.”

  She was no longer sure that witness security would be necessary, but she wasn’t going to argue with him. If everything went according to plan, her father would be dead and his organization destroyed. “Did I ask for a future?”

  “All women want a future.” He lifted his hand and ran his thumb gently across her lips. “A commitment.”

  She nipped at his thumb, then kissed the small wound. “We have no idea what the future will bring. All we know is now. And now is all I want.”

  Dave watched her lips close over his thumb as she drew it between her lips, making gentle sucking motions, leading his mind immediately to other things she could do with her mouth.

  Thoughts of right and wrong warred, but desire made his blood run heavy, and his thoughts were fleeting. With an effort he forced himself to remain detached, so he could think as logically as possible given the circumstances.

  What game was she playing? Did she really want him, or was she using sex as a means to an end as she did with Luigi? But for what purpose? He’d already agreed to help them. Did she perhaps think if he were involved with her she could somehow save Sandro from jail if he did murder her father in cold blood? Questions hounded Dave as relentlessly as he had ever hounded a suspect.

  Seconds ticked by with Marisa studying his face expectantly. At last he moved his thumb again, this time smoothing the moisture from her mouth still on it across her lips. Her eyes darkened in anticipation before she closed them in surrender.

  At that moment he was lost. He slid his hand across her soft, silky cheek, down her slender throat, to the back of her neck, pulling her closer. She came willingly, turning her lips up as an offering. He gently touched them with his own. Desire flamed when she eagerly opened her mouth, accepting, encouraging, drawing his tongue in to deepen the kiss.

  Then his phone rang.

  He jerked away, heart thumping. “Damn,” he muttered, yet he was almost grateful to have been stopped from doing something extremely stupid.

  Taking a step back from Marisa, he fumbled with his phone, not even taking time to look at the caller ID. “Armstrong.”

  “Boss, this is Frankie. I just got off the phone with Nia.”

  “Nia? Was it a ransom demand?”

  Marisa met his gaze, hope flaring in hers.

  Frankie continued, “No. Somehow she got away--”

  “Where is she?”

  “At a little store up in Orange County, somewhere between Montgomery and Walden.”

  “Orange County? That’s where Sandro was headed. What’s the address?”

  Frankie gave it, then added, “But boss, they’ve found her again. I told her to stall and we’d get someone there, but I don’t know how long she can hold them off.”

  “Montgomery and Walden, northern Orange County,” Dave said, trying to picture the map in his mind. “It’ll take us a couple of hours to get there,” Dave said, thinking aloud.

  “Can you get us a helicopter?”

  “Snowing too heavy.”

  Dave hadn’t even thought to check the weather, his mind had been so jumbled. Snow would mean it would take longer to drive, as well. “Get ahold of the Hudson County Resident Agency.” Hudson County was a satellite office of the New York Field office. After thinking for a second, Dave added, “And call the state troopers, the local police, anyone who’ll have jurisdiction there--”

  “Already done. We’re just heading out ourselves.”

  “I’m on my way, too.” He disconnected, then met Marisa’s gaze. “C’mon.”

  He strode quickly to the door, leaving her scrambling for her purse and hurrying after him. Dave punched the button on the elevator.

  “What’s happened?”

  “Nia got away. But they found her again. She’d made it to a convenience store outside Montgomery.” Dave stood aside and let Marisa enter the elevator before him.

  She pressed the button for the lobby. “Sandro’s supposed to be in that area.”

  “I know what you’re thinking. But we shouldn’t call him. If he shows himself, they’ll kill him.”

  “He’ll want to know.” The elevator doors shut and she added another argument. “He can protect himself. He’s armed, remember.”

  “God, don’t remind me. That’s all I need is a bunch of dead bodies.” Dave sighed, then gave in under her relentless stare. “Call him then.” He thrust his phone at her.

  Marisa dialed the number. “Sandro? She got away.”

  * * *

  Sandro slammed the car into gear and spun out of the driveway. He’d ffound the house, but a thorough search proved it vacant. He’d been kneeling by a blood puddle on the floor at the top of the stairs, struggling to breathe, hoping it wasn’t Nia’s blood. He’d sagged in relief when he took Marisa’s call.

  His windshield wipers slapped at the snow. He cursed the weather. Visibility was poor at best. Heedless of the dangerous road conditions, he sped on.

  He remembered the time when he’d sped to the airport, anxious to fly back to the States to be reunited after months of carrying on a long-distance relationship.

  Her father had objected to his and Nia’s romance. By her own right, Nia was a soccer star in the United States. Her father didn’t want to see her lose her status over a love affair with an Italian.

  “Believe me when I tell you I won’t ask her to give up soccer,” Sandro had told him. “But she will have to live in Italy when we marry. There is no other way. At least while I’m playing soccer. My schedule is more demanding. But she can fly back for her training and games.”

  “You’ve got that much money that you can afford to fly her back and forth?”

  “I am the highest paid soccer player in Italy. She will be well cared for.”

  Well cared for. His words to her father had been arrogant, and seemed like a sick joke now. Maybe her father had been right and Sandro should have never asked her to make that choice. Then she would be safe now. Married to some American--maybe even Dave.

  Who would have thought that after Sandro had given up his career in Italy to escape the Mafia’s clutches--with the excuse to Nia that he was ready for a less demanding career--that Carlo would land in America, and in New York, too. Many of the mobsters fleeing ahead of Italian justice had run to South America. Just his luck that Carlo already had ties to New York.

  Sandro wasn’t running again. This time there would be a face off. And this time, he would win.

  He whipped his car into the convenience store parking lot, the same one he’d used earlier for the light. The irony of it did not amuse him.

  A man staggered out of the store as Sandro parked the car. The man weaved along, holding his stomach. He dropped to his knees and threw up in the snow.

  Sandro got out of the car and hurried over through the slushy parking lot. “What’s wrong? How can I help you?”

  With a shaking hand, the man pointed to the store. “Dead. Blood everywhere.”

  Sandro’s horrified gaze shot to the store. He pulled out his gun. “Someone’s dead?” A cold hard lump settled in his stomach. “A woman?”

  Sweat glistened on the man’s bald head in spite of the freezing temperatures. “A man. The store clerk--”

  Not Nia. Relief. Then sadness for the person who had been killed. “Is there anyone else inside?” Sandro moved tow
ard the door, gun ready.

  “I don’t think so.” The man pushed to his feet. “I stop by here every morning on the way to work. To get coffee and a bagel.”

  The poor unlucky customer had lost his appetite today.

  “Did you see anyone when you got here?” Sandro asked as the man followed him back to the store.

  “Yeah. Some men were leaving as I pulled up.” He squinted in thought.

  “Merda.” This came from Sandro as he entered the store and took in the scene. The clerk slumped in a straightback, chrome chair, duct tape wrapped across his chest holding him upright in the chair. His mouth taped shut. Blood spattered on the cash register and counter behind him. It was obvious there was no need to feel for a pulse.

  Sandro walked back outside. “Did you see anyone else with the men? A woman?”

  A light dawned in the man’s eyes. “Yeah. A woman was with them. Sitting between them.”

  “What kind of car?”

  “There were two cars--or one car and a truck rather.”

  “A truck?”

  “A big dark blue truck with dog kennels in the back.”

  Sandro’s interest immediately sharpened. He’d seen that truck earlier. What kind was it? He wracked his brain. At the time, his mind had been on other things.

  “Is there anything else you remember? What kind of truck? What color was the car?”

  “The car was black--a Lincoln Town Car. And I think the truck was a Ford, one of those kind with four wheels in the back.”

  “Which way did they go?” Sandro tucked the gun back into his holster and pulled out the throw away phone. He punched in Dave’s number.

  “South, toward the city,” the man answered at the same time Dave did.

  “Armstrong.”

  “Dave, it’s me. She’s not here. The store clerk is dead--”

  “Shit.”

  “There’s another man here. A customer. He was driving up as they left. They’ve got Nia with them again.” Sandro told Dave the rest of the information.

  “Sounds like DiMarco’s truck. He trains security dogs, but he has a tracking team, too. I’ll update the local law enforcement. Someone should be there any minute. Make sure that the witness doesn’t leave.”