The Good Daughter: A Mafia Story

by Diana Layne

  “Do you honestly want to find out?” Sandro deliberately mimicked Carlo’s words.

  “No, Sandro, you are a good boy.” Carlo smiled. “I do not think you would harm my daughter.”

  “I am a desperate man, Carlo. Surely you know not to underestimate a desperate opponent. You know of what great lengths I go to on the soccer field when the situation is desperate.” Sandro had never hesitated to sacrifice his body if it meant a win for his team.

  Carlo’s smile had not wavered. It was time to present him with the second part. “I have your money as well.”

  Carlo’s smile dropped off his face. “Che?” Then he laughed. “You have my money? You are talking nonsense.”

  “Unfortunately, you are wrong. Your money in your overseas accounts…I’m afraid it’s quite gone.” Sandro reached into the inside pocket on his suit jacket and pulled out the hard copy of Carlo’s accounts with the balance at the end of each account summary printed as a big fat zero.

  “You see, you have no more money. Poof. No more. I have it all now.”

  A red so bright it almost looked purple rushed into Carlo’s face. His eyes bugged as he stared at the papers. “Let me see.” He snatched the papers from Sandro’s hand. After studying them a moment, he reached into his pocket for his phone. He punched a number.

  Nearly successful at regaining his composure, Sandro stood by and watched Carlo sweat.

  “This is why they got Roberto,” he mumbled, when apparently no one answered.

  “Roberto was understandably in the way, of course,” Sandro conceded.

  Carlo’s eyes narrowed.

  “In case you don’t believe me, though, I’ll give you time to think about it. I’m sure you might even want to put in a call to the bank managers. Let’s see, your banks are six hours ahead of us, so they are closed now, of course. You should be able to reach someone by two a.m. I’ll expect to hear from you after then. If not before.

  “I have Marisa’s phone.” Sandro pulled the cell phone from his pocket to show a stunned and surprisingly quiet Carlo. “Call me on it.”

  “What do you want, Sandro?” Carlo finally found his voice. “What do you hope to gain?”

  “It’s very simple. I want my wife and child back. Your daughter for my son. Your money for my wife.”

  “I can have you all killed when this is over.”

  “Oh, Carlo, such a threat.” Sandro’s gaze narrowed. “It is not good to threaten an enemy when he’s holding all the cards. Perhaps then, you’ll be the one to die.

  “I see in your eyes you do not believe me capable of murder, do you? Remember what I said. I’m a desperate man. I’ll do anything to keep my family safe. Including murder.

  “So perhaps it will be better for us all to make this deal and live happily-ever-after, each going our separate ways. Remember, I’ve gotten the best of you once. I can do it again.”

  Sandro turned to walk out. At the doorway, Carlo called to him.

  “Sandro! While you are waiting for my answer, think about my son . . . and your wife. Together.”

  Rage poured through Sandro as he turned back to Carlo. In his own deadly quiet voice, Sandro promised, “If Massimo touches Nia, I will rip him apart piece by piece.”

  * * *

  In the seconds after Sandro’s departure, Carlo stood stunned and silent.

  Finally, Massimo spoke. “Poppa, let me go after Sandro. We can hold him hostage, too, torture him for the information. Do you not think he will talk as he watches me with his wife?”

  A new respect entered Carlo’s eyes. “Very good, son. Very smart of you. Yes, yes, get him.”

  Eagerly, Massimo took off running, pulling the gun Angie had taken away, then returned to him, out from beneath his jacket. He stormed into the front room. “We have to stop Sandro!” he ordered.

  Instantly, three of his men were with him as he burst through the front doors. To be met with two men armed with semi-automatics.

  “Going somewhere?” one of them asked.

  Massimo and the other three stopped in their tracks. Pedestrians scattered away from the unfolding deadly drama.

  “Drop the guns and hands up,” the man said. “That’s right.”

  In frustration, Massimo raised his hands as he saw Sandro enter the passenger side of a car down the street. Massimo made mental note of the make, although the car was too far away for him to see the license number.

  He turned his attention back to the men in front of him. “I know you,” he told the man who had been doing the talking. “You’re Frankie.”

  Frankie only nodded.

  So, the FBI was still helping Sandro, Massimo thought. Bad news for now. Good news for later. If Sandro was working with the law, then he wasn’t going to carry out the death threats he made. Massimo smiled to himself. Sandro was going to suffer. Massimo would make certain.

  Frankie glanced down the street and saw Sandro drive off. “We’re just going to leave now.” He nodded to the other man who backed his way to a car parked out front and got into the driver’s side.

  “And just in case you’re thinking of following us, Massimo . . .” Frankie turned to Massimo’s car and sent a spray of bullets into the tires. “ . . . You’ll have to change the tires first, or find another car, I’m afraid.”

  Frankie backed toward the car as his partner started the engine.

  Massimo heard a noise behind him, from right inside the club. “Drop Massimo,” Joey whispered from the doorway.

  Keeping his gaze trained on the agent getting into the car, Massimo yelled, “Now,” and he and his buddies hit the ground while Joey sent bullets flying toward the two agents.

  * * *

  “Shit.” Frankie stumbled backward from the onslaught, then sent more bullets toward Carlo’s club. “Haul ass,” he told Tony, diving into the car.

  Tony stomped on the gas and pealed out of the parking place. Frankie covered them with bursts from his semi-automatic, not wanting to think of all the paperwork this shoot-out was going to cause him.

  When they were out of range, he leaned back in the seat, his heart pounding. “Man, that was close.”

  Tony looked at him. “Jesus, you’re shot.”

  Frankie glanced at his shoulder and laid a hand over his wound, squeezing. “Just in the arm. I’ll be okay. My vest saved me from anything worse. Hurts like hell, but I’m okay.

  “Think they’ll follow?”

  Tony looked in the rearview mirror. “Oh, yeah, they’re following.”

  “Let’s lose them, then.”

  “Pedal is to the floor.” With that, the car jumped forward.

  Frankie clicked the mike on his walkie-talkie, then turned to look behind him. “Sandro’s away, but they’re in pursuit. I’m sure Massimo got a good look at the car Steve and Sandro are in. We’re ready for phase two.”

  Phase two was “Stop the Bad Guys.”

  Frankie waved at the driver of a garbage truck as they sped by. A minute later, with perfect timing, the big truck pulled out and parked across the road. Tires squealed and then a crash rocked the big truck.

  Frankie leaned back and grinned.

  * * *

  Luigi hurried toward the elevator of Marisa’s apartment building, not stopping for idle chit-chat with the doorman this time. He punched the button and waited impatiently for the doors to open. Traffic had been a bitch, there had been some wreck with a garbage truck and it had taken him almost twenty minutes to detour around the snarl.

  Impatiently, he waited to reach her floor. Grim determination lay in every step as he exited the elevator and walked toward Marisa’s door.

  Marisa was helping the FBI. As incredible as it seemed, it was the only scenario that presented itself given the evidence. Carlo hadn’t made the connection yet. He still believed Sandro was holding her, but Luigi could see no other way for Sandro to pull off his stunt without Marisa’s help. Even if she claimed to be a prisoner of the FBI.

  And nothing could have been more devastatin
g to Luigi. He loved Marisa. He felt incredibly grateful that she gave an old fart like him the time of day. He knew it wasn’t his power that attracted her like it did some women. Her father was the most important man in the family; by now, it was likely he was the most important man among all the families in New York.

  So Luigi had thought although her father offered time with her as a prize for a job well-done, that she’d stayed because she had really been attracted to him. Had slept with him and appeared on his arm in public because as incredible as it seemed, she desired him.

  She’d played them both. She had been using him for information to help the FBI make a case. It was the only explanation possible.

  Head throbbing, with rapid, impatient taps he knocked on her door.

  No answer.

  Then like some low-classed common person, he pounded on the door and yelled. “Marisa, I know you’re in there. Open up.” He knew she was there. He had men watching both exits and she hadn’t left. Neither had Dave Armstrong.

  Still no answer, so he banged on the door again. “If you don’t open up, I’m going to shoot the lock.”

  Surely by now, the other tenants had noticed the disturbance. Any moment, he expected security to barrel up the stairs and come after him. And if they weren’t, he’d fire their asses.

  The door opened. Marisa left the chain on and peeked her face through. From what he could see, she had on her jacket as if she were about to leave. He knew she’d been there less than half an hour, he’d come as soon as his men saw them pull up. Why did she have her jacket on, ready to leave again?

  “I need to talk to you.”

  “So talk.”

  “Not out here in the hall. Open the door.”

  She glanced sideways. “What do you want?”

  Luigi suspected that Dave was right there with her, listening. “We need to talk.”

  “Now’s not a good time,” she said.

  “That’s too bad. Open up.” He wanted her where he could grab her; he wasn’t stupid enough to just waltz inside her apartment and let Dave ambush him.

  She shut the door to release the chain. Unfortunately, at the same moment, security chose to act. A guard came up, his hand hovering over his holster. “Excuse me, sir. Is there a problem?”

  Luigi shook his head. “Took you long enough.”

  “Oh, Mr. Conte, it’s you.” He relaxed his gun hand. “This was a test?”

  “You can consider it a test, yes. You were too slow. You’re going to have to work on it.”

  “I’m sorry, sir. It’s just so rare that we have any problems.”

  “You get paid to take care of problems. I suggest you practice.”

  “You’re right, sir, we’ll do that.”

  Marisa watched through the crack in her door.

  “Open up, Marisa,” Luigi said as the guard left. “Let me in.”

  She opened the door a little more. “I don’t know why you didn’t call.”

  “I did call. There was no answer. I’ve had my men watching the place until you returned.” Before she could turn and re-enter her apartment, he grabbed her arm and jerked her toward him. “I know Dave Armstrong is here with you.” He spun her around, wrapping his arm around her neck to shield his way into the apartment. Once he got rid of Dave, he could find out what was going on, talk her out of this craziness.

  “Luigi, what are you doing? There’s no one here with me.”

  “We’ll just see about that.” Luigi pulled his gun free then kicked the door wide open with his foot. He pushed his gun under her chin and forced her to walk forward.

  As he expected, Dave stood inside the entrance, his gun pointed at them. “Drop it,” he ordered.

  “So there’s no one here, huh, Marisa?” Luigi said in her ear. “Drop your gun, Agent Armstrong. You don’t want nothing to happen to this pretty lady here.”

  “You won’t hurt her,” Dave said, not lowering his gun. “You’re planning on marrying her. She’s your ticket to step into Carlo’s shoes.”

  Luigi’s eyes narrowed. “Did you go snooping and find that ring I got you?”

  She gasped. “I didn’t--”

  “Don’t blame her. You forget, we’re always listening. I heard you tell Carlo you planned to ask her to marry you. Got the big guy’s nod of approval. Pretty smart of you.”

  Dave sounded smug, but underneath it all Luigi sensed a rage in the FBI man. An anger provoked by jealousy perhaps?

  Luigi decided to test his theory. “There are worse ways of getting to the top. It’s been no hardship to take her to my bed.” He moved his hand from her neck downward to slip inside her open jacket and grope her breast.

  Marisa gasped but otherwise stayed still, apparently all too aware that his gun was still shoved into her neck.

  As Luigi suspected, his actions made Dave livid. His face, set in rigid lines, flushed a dark red while his narrowed eyes promised certain retaliation. So, if Dave hadn’t fucked her already, he definitely wanted her.

  Luigi controlled the rage that thought caused. “You’re right though. I’m not going to shoot her. I’ll punish her my own way later.” He pointed his gun at Dave. “After you’re out of the way.”

  “Are you crazy?” Marisa screeched, more out of control than he’d ever heard her. “He’s a federal agent, you can’t shoot him.”

  Luigi chuckled. “You’re not so innocent that you don’t realize people disappear all the time. Even feebies. After today, no one will see Agent Armstrong again.” Luigi’s finger tightened on the trigger.

  “No!” In a sudden surprise move, Marisa rammed her elbow into his gut and slung her hand to knock his gun arm aside.

  The gun went off with a deafening bang, but the bullet zinged harmlessly past Dave. Before Luigi could recover, Marisa brought her clenched hands down on his wrist, making his fingers go numb. The gun dropped and she kicked it hard, sending it sliding under her sofa.

  “You fucking whore!” Luigi grabbed for her.

  She spun out of the way.

  Dave attacked him then. Slammed him into the wall.

  Fury gave Luigi strength. He slugged Dave twice in the stomach. Though it was at close range, it was with enough force to make Dave gasp and stumble backward. Luigi advanced.

  For a moment, indecision held Marisa immobile. She couldn’t risk letting the fight play out and hope Dave won the battle. Too much was at stake.

  Luigi must have realized it, too, for he was fighting like a wild man.

  Frantically, heart thundering in her ears, Marisa’s gaze searched her apartment for a weapon. Luigi’s gun was under the sofa and she had no idea where Dave had put his gun.

  Dio, why did Dave have to attack with his hands? Why couldn’t he have just shot Luigi? Some sort of man thing she was certain, having sensed his rage when Luigi was fondling her.

  At last her gaze landed on a small statue of Atlas holding up the world. It was small, not over a foot tall, but it was solid marble. It would have to do.

  She snatched it up and brought it down on Luigi’s head with such force the statue’s arms broke off and the world dropped and rolled across the floor.

  Luigi fell to the floor, out cold.

  Chapter 28

  The only sound in the apartment was Dave’s heavy breathing--and Marisa’s thudding heartbeat. Dave looked at Luigi on the floor in front of him, then at her.

  “Damn, don’t you do anything like that again,” he gasped.

  “Like what? Saving your life?”

  “Like being taken hostage in the first place. I told you to let him come into the apartment.”

  “Dave, he knew you were here. His men are watching the place, he showed up not long after us. He wasn’t going to come in unless I let him use me as a hostage.”

  “When I saw that gun at your throat, I just--”

  Marisa laid a hand on his arm. “I’m used to taking care of myself.”

  He pulled her into his embrace and squeezed her tight. “I know you are. You took
care of me, too. Even though it wasn’t necessary.”

  “Ungrateful man, he was going to shoot you,” she murmured against his chest.

  “Look at me.”

  She looked up and saw unfamiliar emotions swimming in his eyes. Her heart fluttered in her throat. “Dave?”

  “Thank you.” He kissed her forehead then rested his head against hers for a few calming moments. Finally, he spoke again. “I better check on Luigi.”

  “I think I killed him.” She shuddered, looking at the unconscious man on her floor.

  Dave moved her gently aside and knelt on the floor to check her former lover. He laid his fingers on Luigi’s throat. “There’s a pulse.”

  “Thank goodness,” she breathed. “I wouldn’t want to go on trial for murder.” She cringed. “Oh, that sounds cold.”

  “Hey, he brought it on himself. It would’ve been self-defense.” Dave looked up at her, then back at Luigi. “He must have a damned hard head considering you broke this piece of marble--” Dave picked up the statue and his eyes widened. “This guy is damn near naked.”

  “Don’t say it as if it’s pornography.” She took the statue from him and clutched it to her chest. “This is art. It’s a statue of Atlas. Zeus made him hold up the world as punishment for supporting Cronus in a rebellion. I like him very much.”

  “And do you like him because it symbolizes your life?” Dave stood and walked to her. “Do you feel like you hold the world on your shoulders?”

  She smiled faintly, but didn’t answer.

  “We need to do something with Luigi. He complicates things.” Dave sighed. “We should’ve never come here in the first place.”

  “Don’t you dare say I told you so. There was no choice. There are things here I need.”

  “I don’t know what the hell you need so bad that you would risk--”

  “You don’t need to know, so don’t ask.”

  With lips clamped tightly together, Dave chose to focus on Luigi. “I’ve got handcuffs, but I want him tied in a chair until I can get someone here to pick him up.” Dave pulled his cuffs out of his jacket that was lying across the sofa and snapped them onto Luigi’s wrists.