The Good Daughter: A Mafia Story

by Diana Layne

  Move, move, move.

  Safety was close. Just a little further. She had to make it.

  Then she heard it. An echo of a gunshot from behind her.

  Instinctively, she ducked, and urged her churning legs to greater speed.

  Someone hurled a bowling ball into her shoulder. Another loud crack sounded. She went sprawling. She scrambled to stay on her feet, scraping her knees, her fingers clawing at the ground to push her upright.

  Blood dripped--

  “Cara, you are dreaming.” A strong hand brushed against her hair.

  Nia blinked her eyes, struggling from the depths of the nightmare. “Sandro?” Then her gaze focused. Her heart dropped. Not Sandro after all.

  A strange man knelt beside her, touched her. She had been sleeping on the small cot, curled protectively around Daniele’s warm little body. She sat up, careful not to wake her son.

  “Good, you are awake. You were having the bad dream.”

  “You’re new. Who are you?” A gold cross hung around his neck, large diamond and gold rings adorned his fingers. An air of importance surrounded him, and she knew she had seen him at the restaurant, like the others. The nights she performed, she always studied the audience. Like most of the other Mafia guys, he had olive skin, big dark eyes and a somewhat familiar face, but she couldn’t specifically place him.

  He seemed insulted she didn’t know who he was. “I am Carlo’s son, Massimo.”

  Her heart stuttered. The big guy’s son. Was this a good development, or bad? “Why are you here? Have you found . . . found Sandro?”

  “Your husband is still missing.”

  “Thank goodness,” she murmured under her breath.

  “You sigh in relief. But do not be too happy, cara. I imagine Sandro has some grand plan to rescue you, but it will never work. He will have to give up sooner or later.”

  Nia detected his gloating, superior tone, and decided she liked Massimo even less than his father.

  He turned his attention to Daniele, touching her son’s hair. “Curly hair, like his father.”

  Deliberately, Nia moved his hand away from Daniele’s head.

  He met her gaze and smiled. The smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Il caprino.”

  She sent him a sharp look. He had repeated the childhood nickname for Sandro--the goat boy--the one Giuseppe had told her to call to Sandro the first time they met.

  “Yes,” Massimo nodded. “I knew Sandro when he was a boy.”

  “Of course you did. Apparently everyone around here knew him when he was younger.”

  “We played on the same team,” Massimo continued. “From the first, it was obvious he was destined for greatness.”

  The sound of jealousy rang clear in his voice. Nia prodded him, unable to help herself. “What about you? You didn’t go professional?”

  The look he sent her said he knew what she was doing, and she had better beware baiting him. “A knee injury.” He stood; his knee popped as if to prove his point. “I never made it out of Serie C.”

  Serie C was a third division league. One where the soccer players had talent, but not enough to make it with Serie A, the elite Italian league. Every professional soccer player in Italy--indeed many the world over--aspired to the Italian Serie A teams. First class. Big money. Lots of prestige. Sandro had made it. At one time, he was the best of the best. Until he gave it up to come to the United States for her.

  Thoughts of Sandro and how his life was in jeopardy made her angry. That anger made her speak before she stopped to think. “I’m surprised with your father’s money and influence, he didn’t buy your way into Serie A.” As soon as the words left her mouth, she realized she might have pushed too far. She held her breath, wondering how he was going to take her dig.

  This time his evil smile actually reached his eyes. “I’ve heard you have a smart mouth.”

  “Oh, yeah? What else are they saying about me?”

  “That you have a big set of balls.” He made an obscene gesture. “Get up. I want to see these balls.” He took her hand.

  She refused to stand until he started squeezing her fingers. She squeezed back, a useless game, she knew. It was soon obvious he was much stronger. Finally, realizing he wouldn’t stop until he broke her fingers, she stood.

  “Ouch, you son of a bitch.” She tugged at her hand, but he wouldn’t release it. “What the hell did that prove?”

  “Careful, do not wake your son.” He jerked her closer, let his gaze roam over her. “I do not see these big balls.”

  His close scrutiny made her distinctly leery. Deliberately, she straightened her spine. “They only inflate when I’m pissed off.” She used bravado as a defense tactic. At the moment, it was all she had.

  “Fearless, I see. It will do you no good here. As a matter of fact, your fearlessness has caused you much trouble.” He nodded at Daniele.

  She wanted his thoughts nowhere near her son. “What’d you do to get stuck with babysitting duty, Massimo? I’d think your father would have something better for you.” She said it with the tone that perhaps he wasn’t trustworthy enough for anything more important.

  He was sharp and didn’t miss her insult. His eyebrows lowered. “Actually, I’m here on my own, cara. I’ve always thought you were very beautiful, talented. I’ve wanted to meet you, but Sandro was very protective of you.”

  She didn’t know what he meant, but whatever Sandro did to keep Massimo away from her, she was grateful. His presence was no more welcome than a poisonous snake.

  He leaned close, his breath hot on her face. “But now, Sandro isn’t around.”

  “You might just be making a mistake,” she warned him, not backing down though she desperately wanted to.

  “I don’t think so. Sandro’s not here now, and frankly, cara, I don’t think you’ll ever see him again. But don’t worry, I will be happy to take care of you.”

  The terrifying thought that she would never see Sandro again temporarily held her frozen.

  “Of course, I will let you keep your son,” Massimo continued. “Angie tells me you are expecting another bambino, too. Perhaps one day you will have a child for me.” He rubbed her stomach.

  Taking advantage of her shock, he brought his mouth down to hers. No gentle touch of lips or persuasion from him. Instead, his mouth was open, his exploration bold. Invasive.

  At the first unwelcome touch of his tongue, Nia, no longer immobile, sprang to action. She bit his tongue and stomped his foot simultaneously. “I have never needed a man to take care of me,” she grunted.

  He jerked away. Quickly, before he moved completely out of reach, she slammed her knee upward into his crotch. He yelped in pain and grabbed between his legs with one hand while touching his tongue gingerly with the other.

  His fingers came away bloody. “I’m bleeding, you vicious bitch.” He grabbed for her. She sidestepped him, scooted past him. Knowing she had to choke him unconscious to avoid the beating she read in his eyes, she jumped on his back. Grabbing a handful of his hair, she yanked his head back, wrapped her arm around his throat and squeezed with all her strength.

  He was just as determined to make her lose her grip. He clawed at her arm, but she wouldn’t release her hold. Massimo stumbled backwards, found his footing then rammed her against a wall. Pain shot through her bones, but she held on.

  Anger vibrated through his every muscle. Nia knew if she lost her grip, she would pay heavy consequences she might not survive.

  The noise had awakened Daniele. “Momma.” He sat up and saw Massimo trying to violently dislodge his mother and promptly started screaming.

  Nia couldn’t go to him, though she ached that her young son was fast growing hysterical. There was simply no help for it.

  The office door burst open. Angie came in. “Nia! What is going on?” He grabbed her and tugged.

  She was losing her hold. Her muscles strained to keep her arm around Massimo’s neck. “No, Angie,” she said through gritted teeth. “He’ll hurt me,
hurt my son--”

  Angie tugged her off. He held her by the arms while Massimo coughed and gasped and caught his breath.

  Nia struggled and twisted frantically against Angie. “You gotta let me go.” She angled her head behind her to plead.

  But Angie didn’t release her. His gaze flitted between her and Massimo. “What are you doing here?” he asked Carlo’s son.

  Massimo massaged his throat, slowly regaining his breath. “Just getting acquainted with Sandro’s soon-to-be widow,” he answered in a scratchy voice.

  Nia still struggled. “Let me go, Angie.”

  “Don’t let her go. Hold her.” Massimo finally regained his breath and stalked toward them. “You made me bleed, bitch.”

  He pulled his arm back to hit her.

  “No!” Her arms were imprisoned, but her feet weren’t. She shot out with her right foot, catching Massimo in the face with a front snap kick. His head popped backwards. Blood blossomed under his nose.

  His hands went to his face. His fingers came away bloody once again. When Massimo saw them, his eyes narrowed. He reached for his gun.

  At last, Angie shoved Nia out of the way, shielding her with his body. “What are you doing? Get out of here, Massimo!”

  “Momma!” Daniele screamed hysterically from the cot, his little arms outstretched, his fingers curling, reaching toward her. Nia stumbled to Daniele, picked him up and wiped his wet cheeks. Though she was shaking, she made soothing noises to help him calm down. It ripped her insides that her little boy had to witness such ugliness.

  “Move, Angie. Get outta my way,” Massimo ordered.

  “She is not to be hurt.”

  “You fat fuck, I said get outta my way.”

  “Listen to me, Massimo.” Angie walked toward him, his arms held wide. “Your poppa had Mikey killed after he hurt her. I can’t let you hurt her.”

  Massimo swiped at the blood running down his nose and waved his gun. “I’ll shoot you, goddamn it.”

  In a quick move, so surprising because of his bulk, Angie knocked the gun out of Massimo’s hands, sending it skidding across the concrete office floor. “I can’t let you hurt her,” he repeated. “Now, go.”

  “You’re making a mistake, Angie.”

  “I’m just doing my job like Carlo told me. He changes his orders, he has to tell me. I don’t take orders from you.”

  Massimo recognized defeat. “You’ll get your orders, all right.” He turned his angry gaze to Nia. “All I have to do is tell my father I want you, and you’re mine.”

  She narrowed her eyes and raised her chin. The whole time her muscles were quivering. “I’d rather die.”

  “That is a very real possibility, cara. If I decide I don’t want you. Think about your little bambino without his momma or poppa.” With that threat hanging in the air, Massimo walked out the office door, slamming it behind him.

  Nia drew a deep breath and tried to stop shaking for Daniele’s sake, but she couldn’t stop the tears that slipped down her cheeks. He was still crying and she knew he sensed her fear. Be strong, she chastised herself. Your son needs you.

  Angie turned to her.

  “He started it. I was just defending myself,” she told him.

  He stared at her with sad brown eyes. “I did not expect this to be so hard,” he confessed.

  Nia sensed a moment of weakness. “Let me go, Angie. Please,” she begged. “Just look the other way and let me and Danny walk out of here.”

  He shook his head. “I can’t do that, Bella.” He scooped up Massimo’s gun and slid it into his waistband. “I can’t just let you go. As much as I might want to. My loyalty is to the family.” With that, he turned around and walked out, closing the door behind him.

  Nia sank onto the cot and cried with her son.

  * * *

  Luigi tossed and turned for hours, unable to sleep. He missed having Marisa beside him. He was fifteen years older than she, and lately, he’d been worried she was pulling away from him. She seemed distant--distracted when they were together. That was why he’d gotten the engagement ring. But he hadn’t been able to give it to her since he had to leave in the middle of his planned evening with her last night. And tonight, she had not come to him at all. Had not even called him.

  What could he expect? She was young and beautiful. But he’d always thought age hadn’t made a difference with her. Especially since he was her father’s right hand man.

  Although there was a point not long ago, when Luigi thought he was going to be a very dead right hand man.

  He and Carlo had been in the private meeting room, the one the Feds didn’t know about, waiting on Angie and the capos to arrive.

  Carlo leaned forward across the table. “There’s a question I want an answer to, Luigi.”

  “Sure, shoot.” A bad choice of words though he hadn’t realized at the time.

  “You and my daughter still together? You a thing now?”

  Luigi and Marisa had first gotten together when Carlo had offered an evening with her as a reward for his promotion. Luigi thought back to the dirty deeds he’d done which won him the consigliere position. The one with acid was especially horrendous. It had taken seven hours for the man’s hand to dissolve. He hadn’t thought someone could scream for so long. In the end, he’d given the information, but the shock had killed him anyway.

  So yes, he was happy to take Marisa when she’d been offered. And even happier she seemed to want to stay with him. To his knowledge, Carlo had never offered her to anyone else since then.

  But why was Carlo asking now? Luigi’s heart pounded so hard he felt it in his throat. “I think we’re a thing now. Is that against the rules?”

  Nodding to himself, Carlo laced his fingers across his stomach. “Since you two obviously have something going, I want you to marry her. You are an important man in the family. Be good to have you married to my daughter. Good for you, good for me, know what I mean?”

  Relief sank through Luigi when he realized what Carlo meant. If he were married to Marisa, Carlo would always be sure of his loyalty. Not a bad idea. A Mafia don never knew who was plotting a takeover--which most often meant a violent, bloody death for the boss. “I have bought her a ring, I plan to ask her soon.”

  “I will talk to her.”

  An absolute seal of approval from Carlo. Luigi was pleased. “I would prefer you not. I would like to take care of it myself.”

  Carlo rose from his chair and came around to Luigi to kiss his cheeks. “You’re a good man, Luigi. My son Massimo could learn a few things from you. Massimo sometimes has too hot of a temper, even for an Italian.” Carlo shrugged.

  And that was just the sort of attitude Luigi hoped for from Carlo. In the family, the don’s son didn’t necessarily inherit the title when the old man died. It was up to the other families’ bosses to vote and approve the heir when a family needed a new boss. Luigi had his eye on the spot. Of course, he knew that Angie did, too. Angie was the underboss, equal in rank to Luigi. Angie was old and fat though. He’d probably die of a heart attack before Carlo did. Unless somebody whacked Carlo out . . .

  Yes, Luigi needed to be married to Marisa. Soon.

  Which was why he was going to check up on her. See if she had really been at the opera with her friends. Nothing like a personal visit to see if they were going to lie. He shoved aside the bedcovers and picked up the phone to call for his car.

  Chapter 26

  The next morning, Dave showed up at the hotel with Frankie, Tony and Steve, coffee, a city map, a notepad and a small printer.

  “I thought it would be better if we printed those accounts with their zero balances.”

  While Marisa hooked up the printer to her computer, the rest of the group piled around the table in the room. It would have been easier to plan at headquarters, but Dave didn’t want to risk Marisa being seen or their conversation overheard.

  “This will be the easiest route to defend.” Frankie sketched pencil lines on a city map lying in the
middle of the table. “We can have men situated here and here.” He circled two different places.

  “You are certain they will be following me?” Sandro asked.

  “Oh, yeah,” Frankie nodded. “Carlo wants you bad, and if it’s like you say, and you’ve got something to bargain with him over, something that takes away his advantage, he’s going to want to stop you dead. He doesn’t believe in compromise.”

  Silence. Then Frankie seemed to realize his choice of words. “Uh, sorry.”

  Sandro waved him off. “That’s all right. I know Carlo wants me dead.”

  “And you better believe he’ll kill you, too,” Dave said.

  “Yeah, his takeover was one of the bloodiest we’ve seen,” Frankie added. “All that hard work cleaning up those scumbags and in waltzes Carlo fresh from Italy. He whacks out anyone who might be a threat and set himself up as boss--”

  “Frankie, we can finish with the history lesson another time,” Dave said.

  Sandro realized Dave was aware of Marisa sitting there listening to Frankie talk about her father. Frankie finally realized it himself.

  “Yeah, sorry, boss.”

  “The trick is to get you in and out alive, and then keep them from following,” Dave continued to Sandro. “We’ll set up men where Frankie says, plus two will accompany you and wait in an inconspicuous place outside the club. Sandro, since you’ll be wired, they’ll be the first on the spot if something goes wrong--”

  “I want Frankie to be one of those men.”

  Dave stared at Frankie, then Sandro. “Yeah, good choice.”

  “But I can’t be wired.”

  “It’s too dangerous without--”

  “It’s dangerous with a wire. I’m sure they will search me.”

  “He’s right, boss,” Frankie said. “We’ll keep a close watch and get him out alive.”

  Dave nodded. “Seems I’m outvoted.”

  “You’re in charge of Marisa,” Sandro said. “I want nothing to happen to her.”