The Good Daughter: A Mafia Story

by Diana Layne

  When his intimate touch brought no response from her, he studied her face with narrowed eyes. “Where are you going, cara? You are not here with me, are you? You think I desire to make love with a cold fish?”

  Make love? She nearly gagged at the thought.

  She was distracted soon enough when he slid a hand inside her collar and ripped her shirt open. Buttons clattered onto the concrete floor. He jerked her ruined shirt off her body, then yanked off her bra. Her exposed flesh quivered, yet other than that involuntary action, she showed no response.

  He lowered his head and took a breast in his mouth. He suckled hard, his teeth bruising her flesh. She gasped with pain. Breathing no longer helped.

  She exploded into action.

  Curving her hands into claws, she grabbed his head and thrust her thumbs into his eyes. She dug deep. He screamed with pain and stumbled away from her, giving her room to operate.

  Grabbing his injured eyes with his left hand, he swung the gun in her direction with his right. Knowing he was still blinded, she rushed him, grabbed his wrist and twisted her body until her back was to him. She slammed his hand against her knee, forcing him to lose the Beretta. It clattered to the floor and she kicked it aside. It skittered into the small office bathroom.

  He grabbed her hair forcing her head back. She swung her fist downward and into his crotch. That loosened his grip enough for her to swing her elbow up and backward to ram into his cheek. He let her go and bent double with the pain.

  She didn’t have enough time to search for the weapon. He was hurt, but not down for the count. Quickly she looked for another weapon, knowing even with him injured, she was no match in brawn.

  Of course, Angie had removed anything that could remotely be used for a weapon. Except the boom box on the floor and the small, skinny television sitting on the desk. Quickly, she darted past Massimo and hefted the television set into her hands. She brought it down across his neck.

  He collapsed, falling to the ground. She sidestepped and lunged for the door, but he grabbed her leg as he fell. His hand was like a vise and she couldn’t free herself. She fell with him.

  Throwing the television to one side, she saved herself from a hard crash. The television landed with an explosion. She covered her face.

  Massimo pulled himself over her body and reached for her neck. She squirmed and fought, the cold concrete floor rough against her bare back.

  He reached her neck, and squeezed. “You bitch,” he muttered.

  He was weak, but she was weaker. She couldn’t break free from his grasp. She clawed for his eyes, but he stayed out of her reach. She struggled for air, but black swirled behind her eyelids. Oh, God, she couldn’t pass out. Would he stop choking her and let her live, or would he continue until she was dead?

  Her limbs grew heavy and her struggles ineffective. Still holding her throat, he dragged her up onto the cot. She was nearly unconscious when he released her, her strength gone. She couldn’t fight against him as he pulled leather strips from his pocket and tied her hands together. It was all she could do to suck air past her bruised, aching throat. Roughly, he jerked her arms overhead and she felt him tie the strip to the leg of the cot, rendering her almost useless.

  She still had her legs. Forcing air into her lungs, she bucked, trying to shove him back enough so she could get in a good kick. A good thrusting kick with her heel to the right spot on his solar plexus and hopefully he would pass out. Or be incapacitated enough so she could free herself and escape.

  She couldn’t buck him off. He lay over her, mashing her with his weight, as his hands reached between them to fumble with the fastener on her pants. Knowing he intended to strip her, she rolled from side to side, trying desperately to knock him off. Her struggles were useless. He jerked her slacks and underwear off in spite of her best efforts. She lay naked beneath him.

  Not satisfied to have her simply naked, he pulled more leather strips from his pocket and using his body weight to hold her in place, he forced her legs wide and strapped each ankle to the cot frame. He tied her so tightly, she could feel the leather cutting off her circulation.

  Now, she was spread open and naked before him, and there was nothing she could do. She had made every effort to escape. And she had lost.

  She focused on her breathing again, determined to retreat inside herself. If he was going to rape her, he was only getting her body. Her spirit, her soul, would be in a safe place deep inside her, where he could not reach.

  She was nearly shaken from her calm breathing when he unzipped his slacks and his engorged erection sprang free. Her stomach flipped over.

  Quickly, she closed her eyes and counted her breath.

  He covered her body, pressing against her.

  She didn’t react.

  Apparently not liking her non-response, he pulled back and looked at her. “Oh, no, cara, you are not disappearing on me again. Come back.” He yanked her hair. Still no response.

  He kissed her swollen tender lips, bit her breasts, roughly fingered her.

  Still no response.

  “You and your damned heathen tricks,” he swore angrily.

  Amazingly, she felt him growing soft against her.

  He put his mouth next to her ear and roughly told her, “If you do not come back to me, I will bring your son in here and hurt him. Perhaps I will break both his little arms while you are watching.”

  A gasp of air filled her lungs. “No! You son of a bitch, don’t you dare hurt my son.”

  He smiled evilly as she lost all calm and frantically struggled against the leather bindings. “That’s better,” he said triumphantly, his erection swollen and throbbing again.

  She fought like a wild woman as he covered her body once again. If he wanted her to fight him, then by God she would fight him if it would keep her son safe.

  Oh, God, God, please help me, she prayed, knowing her strength was almost depleted.

  His stiffened penis probed between her thighs. She squeezed every muscle she had against his invasion.

  The office door flew open and Nia realized there truly was a God who heard and answered prayers.

  Angie came in like an avenging angel.

  “Thank you,” she whispered as Angie ripped Massimo off her and threw him to the floor.

  Massimo came up raging mad and ready to fight. Angie had his gun drawn and was ready for Carlo’s son.

  “You fat bastard, who the hell do you think you--”

  “I am in charge of the prisoners.” Angie cut him off. “We are exchanging them in a few short hours. She must not be hurt.”

  “You are too stupid if you think for a minute we’re going to let them live. There’s no harm in having fun with her before she dies--”

  Angie kept his gun trained on Massimo. “You are the stupid one! They are not to die. They are too famous. And they have all of your father’s money. Every last penny. You will be begging on the streets--worth nothing--no apartment, no car, no girls, no restaurants, no respect.”

  The bruise she’d given him on his cheek was the only splotch of color as the blood faded from Massimo’s face. He zipped his pants. “There’s no way to get it back?”

  “Not without Sandro, and even then, I’m not certain he doesn’t have something else planned. We must walk very carefully now to get out of this unharmed. Your father is looking for you. And Luigi. Did you find him?”

  “No, not yet,” Massimo said sulkily.

  “Someone had to give Sandro the password for him to get to the money. Luigi is missing. Perhaps you should have been searching for him more diligently instead of concentrating on your fun.”

  Massimo flushed. “You think Luigi is trying to take over the family?”

  Angie shrugged. “Seems likely. You should go to your father so you can get caught up on the plan before we leave.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Upstate New York. It will be a long drive.”

  Massimo nodded and approached Nia.

  “D
on’t touch her again,” Angie warned.

  “Just a simple goodbye, Angie.” Massimo held out his hands. He turned to Nia. “One day, cara. One day you will be mine.”

  She wanted to spit at him, but she was too tired and weak to make the effort. She closed her eyes and ignored him instead. To be ignored seemed to bother him more than anything else, anyway. She had proof, as if she needed more, when he slammed the office door on his way out.

  When she opened her eyes again, Angie had slid his revolver into his shoulder holster and was removing his jacket. He knelt beside her and covered her nakedness before untying the binds that held her. “I’m sorry, Bella, I should have let you go.”

  “Let me go now.”

  Angie shook his head. “It is too late now. A time has already been set for an exchange. You will see your husband again tonight.”

  Nia didn’t trust they would let her live. “Please, Angie. Let me go anyway.”

  “I can’t. If we have nothing to trade, we will go to jail.”

  “Don’t you deserve jail, after what you’ve done to my family?”

  “Maybe I do, Nia. But I’m an old man. I don’t want to spend my last years locked in prison.” He went to the small bathroom, wet a cloth and brought it back for her. “Your poor face has taken a beating.”

  She took the cloth from him, hardly aware of the pain in her face. “And what about what Massimo said, that Carlo will kill us anyway.”

  “You will not be harmed. Your friend from the FBI will be there, too.”

  “Dave?” She wiped the blood away from her lips, knowing between Mikey and Massimo, it would be a while before her face looked normal again.

  Angie nodded.

  “Your men have shot at Dave before. Why would I believe you don’t plan to kill us all?”

  “You have my word, Nia. I will take care of you. You are innocent in all this.”

  She frowned. “Sandro is innocent in all this, too. Why are you after him?” When Angie didn’t answer right away, Nia pressed him. “Why do you want Sandro?”

  Angie sighed. “Carlo was using the restaurant to launder money--”

  “No,” Nia protested as Angie repeated Carlo’s words. “Sandro would never allow it,” she insisted.

  “He had no choice, Bella. Actually it started several years ago . . .” And as Angie untied Nia’s restraints, he told her about the World Cup and how Sandro, along with others, had been forced to throw the championship game for the sake of lining Carlo’s and other Mafia families’ purses.

  “I can’t believe it,” she murmured, sitting up and pulling Angie’s jacket around her to cover her nakedness. “Carlo threatened Sandro’s family? He threatened me?” No wonder Sandro hadn’t seemed himself right after the World Cup. She’d thought it was because he was depressed over losing. Or that his leg was bothering him. But he was more likely depressed he’d been forced to lose.

  “Sandro thought it was a one time thing. But it is never a one time thing with the family, Bella. Sandro learned his mistake too late. By the time he discovered that, he had married you. He had a family to protect.”

  Angie went on to tell her how Carlo ruined Sandro’s career in Italy, then by the strange twist of fate, ended up in New York, the same city to which Sandro had fled.

  “So, Sandro was working with Dave to set up Carlo, yet somehow it backfired.”

  “We have informants everywhere,” Angie told her. “Even in the highest levels of government.”

  “But Sandro must’ve learned you were on to him.”

  “He must have had an informant, too. He now has Carlo’s money and Carlo’s daughter to bargain with.”

  “Carlo’s daughter?” When Angie said that, Nia remembered Marisa was the same one who Sandro had left with.

  “Si, somehow he was able to take her prisoner.”

  Nia knew without a doubt Marisa was the one who had been helping Sandro. But no way would she tell Angie. Let him think Sandro really held Marisa prisoner.

  Whatever Sandro planned, Nia had to be ready to help him. “Where is my son?”

  Angie called for Giovanni. He came into the room carrying Nia’s son, who had stopped crying but had a case of hiccups. He passed her child to her; she cradled Daniele in her arms, and he shuddered before laying his little head on her shoulder.

  Angie brushed his hand over Daniele’s soft curls and patted Nia. “I will get you some clothes. We will leave soon.”

  * * *

  “I have to leave now if I want a chance to get the team in place,” Dave said. “Most likely Carlo will be early and I don’t want to get caught setting the trap.”

  “You make certain your men are well hidden,” Sandro said. “Only you and Frankie are supposed to accompany me.” Carlo had only agreed to the extra man because Frankie was injured with a bullet wound and wasn’t even supposed to be out of the hospital. But good agent that he was, he’d insisted on helping.

  And Dave was still operating under the illusion that when all was said and done he was taking Carlo into custody. Let him think whatever he wanted as long as he left soon. Marisa was quickly running out of time.

  “You two don’t leave until I’ve let you know it’s safe,” Dave said. “I don’t want you walking into a trap.” He turned to Marisa. “You won’t have to go back to your father, I promise,” he told her.

  She gave him a quick kiss while mentally urging him out the door. “It will all work out, she promised. “Be careful.” Under the guise of patting his shoulder, she practically pushed him out the door. “We’ll be waiting for your call.” She blew him a kiss, shut the door before he’d even turned to walk off. Leaning against the door, she said, “Finally, he’s gone.”

  Sandro watched her as she headed for her box. “You seem in a hurry.”

  “I am. I have things to do.” Dressed in black jeans and a black sweater, she slipped on a black jacket, as well, and picked up her box.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I have an errand to run. I’ll be back before Dave calls.”

  Sandro’s face registered shock. “No, you will not leave.” He grabbed her arm and held fast. “I need you at that meeting. It must look as if I plan to exchange you. They are capable of killing my wife and child if they suspect a trick.”

  Marisa tugged her arm free. “I know exactly what they are capable of, Sandro. That’s why I must leave for a while.”

  “What do you have there?” Sandro nodded at the box she was hugging like a child.

  “It is best you do not know.”

  He frowned. “You are not leaving this building.”

  She felt the clock tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. “I have to go,” she said urgently. “There is no debate in this.”

  “Tell me why. What are you planning?” He narrowed his gaze. “Is that material to make a bomb?”

  She leveled a hard stare at him, she knew chances were good he’d guess. “You have your back-up plan, and I have mine. Neither of which includes Carlo or his associates going to jail.”

  “You are planning to make a bomb?”

  “I must plant it on my father’s car before they leave. I have little time.”

  “Have you built it already?”

  Marisa shook her head. “There hasn’t been time.”

  “Where were you going to build it?”

  “I’d plan to rent another room in the hotel. Sandro, you don’t need to be involved.”

  He looked at her as if she’d lost her mind. “Are you crazy? I already am involved. Your father holds my entire life in his hands.”

  She studied his face, then finally conceded. “All right, we’ll build it here.” She sat the box on the desk and pulled off her jacket. She opened the box and quickly started assembling parts.

  Sandro watched intently. “You’ve done this before?”

  “I’ve practiced many times. Hand me that wire, please.” She indicated a small roll of blue wire. She frowned, intensely focusing.

  “There,” she said a
t last. “It is almost ready. I will set the trigger device when we get there.” She packed the nearly complete bomb back in the box.

  Sandro slipped on his jacket. “Come, I will drive you. We must hurry so we’ll be ready when Dave calls.”

  Speed--and caution--were on both of their minds as they left the hotel. Sandro drove to Carlo’s club, parking a block away and on the opposite side of the street. They stealthily slipped through the dark, heading for his car. While Sandro kept watch, Marisa stole through the night to her father’s limousine and planted the bomb. With quick, sure movements, she connected the trigger device.

  It took her less than ten minutes, then they were hurrying back toward the car. Marisa sank into the passenger seat, nerves just now making her shake. Over an hour since Dave left. He should be calling any minute.

  Almost on cue, her cell phone rang. Checking the caller ID, Sandro passed the phone to Marisa.

  “My men are almost in place. I have to set up the final details. Are you ready to go?”

  “Si.”

  “I’m sending Frankie for you two. He’ll be there in a few minutes.”

  “I’ll tell Sandro.”

  A movement down the street drew Sandro’s attention and he nudged her arm. She glanced up. Her father and brother were leaving the club. Massimo got in on the driver’s side.

  She ended the call with Dave and told Sandro, “That is good. I was hoping Massimo would drive instead of poppa’s driver.”

  “We were specific on who could come.”

  “It looks as if he plans to stick with your terms. That is good.”

  “Should we follow them? Perhaps we can swipe Nia and Danny from wherever they are being held,” Sandro said. “We can forget our whole scheme if I could get them back.”

  “And where would you go? It’s as I told Dave, if poppa is arrested, he can still run business from jail. You will never be safe as long as he and Massi are alive.”

  And she would never be free if they were alive. She thought about all the times they had used her and hurt her without a second thought. How her mother’s life was destroyed without a second thought. How Paolo was murdered without a second thought. Now she would pay them back.