The Good Daughter: A Mafia Story

by Diana Layne

  Without a second thought.

  Chapter 33

  Luigi moaned.

  “I think he’s waking up,” Bobby said, glancing at the mobster lying on top of the flowered tan hotel bedspread.

  Gregg stood up from his chair at the round table, standard in practically every hotel room. He yawned and stretched. “And I think I’m going to sleep. How long did Dave say we had to watch him?”

  “He didn’t. We just wait until he calls. It could be hours yet.”

  “This is damned irregular.”

  “Whatever it takes,” Bobby said.

  Gregg pulled out his wallet, checked it for cash. “I’m going out to get coffee. You want some?”

  “Yeah, sure. Good and strong.” Bobby pulled some bills out of his pocket. “Maybe bagels too.”

  Gregg nodded his head toward Luigi. “If he’s waking up, you better get him secured with more than those cuffs. Of course, with a knot on his head like that and those drops she gave him, he won’t be too active for a while.”

  “Yeah, sure. Okay.”

  Gregg left the rented hotel room. Bobby pushed up out of the chair, where he’d been watching “Cops” on the small, ancient television. He took some rope out of his duffel, intending to hog tie Luigi. He paused long enough to slap at a roach scurrying across the table.

  A high-speed chase on TV made Bobby pause. He stared at the cops speeding along in their cruisers on the open freeway in Abilene, Texas. They sure had wide-open spaces there. Hard to imagine.

  Still half-watching the show, Bobby bent over the bed and did his own brand of hog tying around Luigi’s legs. He took the extra rope intending to loop it through the cuffs to hold Carlo’s consigliere immobile.

  Bobby jumped when he saw Luigi’s eyes wide open and alert. Then everything happened so fast--

  Luigi lurched up, grabbed the Fed’s Glock from his shoulder holster. Using his feet, he launched the man away from him. Holding the gun awkwardly with cuffs on, he still managed to pull the trigger twice. The shocked Special Agent slammed against the wall before sliding down to land in a heap on the floor.

  The bone-cracking pounding in Luigi’s head knocked him back over when he tried to get up. His stomach rolled. Damn that fucking bitch Marisa.

  Ignoring the throbbing, he crawled off the bed and stumbled toward the fallen man. No blood. The FBI man wore a vest. Since he was unconscious, most likely had several broken ribs as well, he wouldn’t be coming after Luigi any time soon.

  Luigi wouldn’t finish the guy off. Attempted murder was enough to be charged with for one day. He fumbled in the guy’s pockets, found the keys to the cuffs. Working quickly as he could manage, he freed himself. Snatching the gun up, he hobbled out the door, pain limiting his speed. He avoided the elevator, knowing the other cop would likely be back soon. Instead he found the stairway. Each step made his head pound like a drum, his stomach threatened to explode out his throat.

  As best as he could, Luigi ignored the pain. With a quick scan of the lobby, he headed for the street, hiding in the shadows of the building. He felt his pockets. His cell phone was gone. Fuck. He needed a way to reach Carlo and warn him.

  There was a pay phone on the corner. He stumbled to it, dug for change in his pocket, dialed the club number. Only to discover Carlo had already left. He then called the warehouse and Giovanni told him Carlo had come and gone from there as well. Too late. Figured. Definitely made his life more difficult. At least Giovanni told him the meeting place where Carlo was headed.

  Luigi knew it was useless to try to reach Carlo on his cell phone while he was enroute. Carlo had an unbendable rule of no phone calls in his car. He had a fear of bugs, with good reason. And no matter that he had his car swept every day, they all knew by now that the FBI had remote controlled listening devices which could be deactivated during a sweep.

  No, no way would Carlo answer his phone. Angie or Massimo either. Luigi was going to have to go after them. He sagged against the phone, tried to concentrate. He needed a car.

  He could call his men to pick him up, but waiting on them would take too long. Time was something he didn’t have if he was going to save Carlo from walking into a trap set by his daughter.

  Better to snatch a car and drive to the meeting place himself, stop by the club and grab some of his men. Before Luigi could leave in search of a vehicle, a rattletrap car pulled up to the curb. Inside were two guys wearing gang colors.

  The muscular one stepped out of the driver’s side. “Hey, asshole, get away from that phone. I gotta use it.”

  Luigi raised the Glock. “Fine. Use the phone. Give me your car keys.”

  “What? No way, you jerk off.” The man went for his gun. Luigi shot him point blank, then whirled and fired at the other man climbing out of the passenger side with his gun drawn. Luigi missed, and the other man ducked and ran.

  Quickly, Luigi searched the dead man’s pockets until he found the keys. Wasn’t the first time he had to toss a dead guy.

  Hobbling to the car, he slid into the seat, stuck the key in the ignition and pulled the car in gear. He pressed the accelerator and jumped when the car backfired. Luigi hoped the piece of junk lasted long enough to get him to the club so he could get his men and a better car. He had to make that meeting in time.

  * * *

  Gregg was whistling as he waited for the elevator to reach his floor number. He held two coffees on a cardboard tray in one hand and a sack with two bagels in the other. The doors slid open, and he headed down the hall hoping this job would be over in time for him to catch his wife awake. Sex would be welcome tonight. A good change of pace.

  When he found the door to the hotel room standing half-open, he pulled up short, all thoughts of sex forgotten.

  The hairs raised on the back of his neck as his alert signals kicked in. Quickly, he sat the coffee on the floor and drew his weapon from his shoulder holster. Scanning the hallway for a possible ambush, he approached the room with caution. He used his free hand to shove open the door.

  When no bad guys or gunshots greeted him, he swung around the door ledge, leading with his gun. At first the room looked empty.

  Then he noticed Bobby on the floor.

  “Holy shit.” In case Luigi or some of his soldiers were hiding, Gregg did a sweep of the room. It was empty and Luigi appeared long gone.

  Gregg dropped beside Bobby, felt for a pulse. Found it, strong and steady. Relieved, Steve dug out his cell phone and called for help.

  Bobby jerked, came awake swearing a blue streak when Gregg tried to remove the vest.

  “Take it easy, buddy.” Gregg laid a hand on him. “You likely got a few broken ribs.”

  Bobby lay his head back down. “Luigi must’ve been conscious, faking he was out. He snatched my gun and shot me while I was trying to tie him up.”

  “Thank God you still had on your vest.”

  “And thank God he didn’t take time to kill me. Wouldn’t have been nothing to pop me in the head.”

  “He just wanted to get away. Murder’s not on his mind. At least not yours. I bet he’s pretty pissed with the Mafia princess.”

  Bobby nodded. “Yeah, I hope Dave can save her. Call him, hope this doesn’t ruin everything.”

  Gregg grimaced. “Yeah, you’re right.” He picked up his phone again.

  * * *

  “Hurry, wash up,” Sandro urged Marisa when they were back in the hotel room. “Frankie will be here any minute.” She had dirt and grease on her hands from planting the bomb under Carlo’s car. Fortunately, no dirt showed up on her black clothes. There was no time to change.

  A knock on the door. Sandro literally breathed a sigh of relief which almost made Marisa smile. They had been lucky to have timed it so well.

  Sandro opened the door.

  Frankie’s arm was in a sling, and Marisa marveled he was moving around after being shot earlier in the day. It wasn’t his wound that concerned her though. His face was clearly lined with worry, not pain. His eyes looked
grim.

  “What’s wrong?” Sandro asked before she could.

  Frankie stepped inside and closed the door behind him. “Bad news.”

  “More bad news?” Marisa asked, her shoulders slumping. She couldn’t help it, she felt so tired.

  “Luigi’s escaped.”

  Marisa heard her heartbeat thudding in her ears, a loud boom, boom, boom. “How?” she managed to ask over the noise.

  “Apparently he regained consciousness, but he pretended to still be out . . .” Frankie went on to explain what happen and concluded, “Now, our whole operation’s screwed. If Luigi contacts Carlo and tells him about Marisa--”

  “How long ago did he escape?” Sandro questioned.

  Frankie shrugged. “Not more than fifteen or twenty minutes ago. They found a man, a gang banger, who’d been shot outside the hotel. His friend said Luigi stole their car.”

  Sandro and Marisa looked at each other. They knew that about that time, Carlo was just leaving his club. There had been no sign of Luigi, but the consigliere could have reached his boss by phone. However, if that had been the case, then surely Carlo would have left with more men than Massimo.

  “Do you know if Luigi made contact with Carlo?” Marisa demanded.

  “Dave had Tony go over the club tapes for the last few minutes. Luigi called, but Carlo had already left. Still, he can reach Carlo on his cell phone. We have to assume that’s what he’s done.”

  “No,” Marisa said, feeling slightly more calm at the information.

  Both men turned to look at her.

  “My father has a strict rule. No phone calls in the car. No business in the car, period. He knows his car is wired.

  “If Luigi missed him at the club, the only way he’ll be able to make contact with my father is if he catches up to him or discovers the meeting place.”

  “The man he spoke to didn’t know where Carlo was going, but then Luigi asked about Angie. The other man told Luigi that Angie was at the first warehouse, whatever that means.” Frankie said, then looked at Marisa.

  She shook her head. “I don’t know how they label the warehouses among themselves. There are so many.”

  Frankie sighed. “All we can do is go ahead with the plans and be extra cautious. We have back up, and all of us will have to be ready for anything. If you say that Carlo won’t answer calls in his car, though, that’s a good thing. Unless Luigi does catch up with him . . .”

  * * *

  Silence. Complete silence reigned in Carlo’s stretch limousine. She’d been given a strict warning not to talk, but even without it, no one would have said anything at the risk of having getting his head snapped off. Earlier, Carlo had been royally pissed about his consigliere gone missing, spouting threats and promises to murder when they stopped by the warehouse to gather Nia and her son. Nia hoped the missing man was helping Marisa and Sandro.

  She sat in the rear-facing seat holding Daniele in her lap. Angie was driving, Carlo sat across from her, and Massimo sat beside her with his arm around her shoulder. She’d tried to scoot away, but he dug his fingers into her skin, holding her in place. So now she concentrated on making herself as small as possible. Still, every once in a while, he slid his hand beneath the coat that Angie had provided her, and pinched her nipple.

  Knowing it would be useless to protest, she deliberately ignored him, watching the road disappear beyond the glow of the taillights.

  Fortunately, Daniele went back to sleep, which left Nia to reflect on what Angie had told her earlier about Carlo, and what was about to happen. In less than two hours she would be reunited with her husband. Apparently Sandro had something valuable and Carlo was willing to trade.

  Or else it could be an elaborate ruse, the mobsters could have agreed to the meeting in order to spring a trap, and in less than two hours, she could be dead.

  She squeezed Daniele and kissed his curls.

  Chapter 34

  Headlights turned onto the gravel road. A light snow fell, more of an irritation than a hindrance.

  “Everybody ready?” Dave whispered into his walkie-talkie. His muscles tensed. Adrenaline poured through his veins. This had to work. Had to.

  “Ready, boss.”

  Men scattered all over the property, hidden in sight of the old three story farm house. Dave didn’t intend on letting Carlo walk off unless he was being led away with a set of cuffs on him. With the information Sandro and Marisa could provide, Dave planned to lock up the murdering mob boss for a long, long time.

  “Showtime.” Dave slipped his walkie-talkie into his coat pocket.

  Sandro took a high-powered rifle from the back seat of the car he’d arrived in. He propped it carefully against a nearby tree.

  “I’ve got sharpshooters ready,” Dave reminded him.

  “They won’t shoot to kill. I will.”

  Dave shook his head. “Sandro, if it’s unprovoked--”

  “I know. You’ll arrest me. But I’m not standing by to wait while you attempt to rescue my wife and child.”

  Hoping Sandro didn’t screw everything up, Dave turned his attention to the approaching vehicle, his mouth set in a firm line.

  The car slowed to a stop less than a hundred yards away. The headlights stayed on, although a faint orange light glowed dimly through the snow clouds. It would soon be sunrise.

  The driver’s door, and the back two doors on the same side, opened. Angie climbed out of the driver’s side, while Carlo exited the back rear door. He held a notebook computer in his hands.

  Sandro, taking two steps toward the car, watched it all with as stoic of an expression as he could manage.

  Massimo climbed out from the other rear door, then leaned inside. When Nia slid out with a sleeping Daniele in her arms, Sandro’s heart constricted so much he could barely draw a breath. His cherished wife. His precious son. His life would not be worth living without them.

  Sandro gritted his teeth and stayed focused.

  As soon as Nia was out of the car, she jerked free from Massimo. Sandro frowned. Obviously his wife did not like Carlo’s son. Sandro intended to get her away from the man as soon as possible.

  Stepping forward three more steps, Sandro held his hands wide and called to Carlo. “How do you want to do this?”

  “I want the account information first. I brought a laptop so I can check.” Carlo held up the computer. “I will send your son.”

  Carlo nodded at Massimo who reached to take Daniele from Nia’s arms.

  She jerked away, exchanging heated words with Massimo. She refused to release Daniele. Sandro tightened his lips. He knew in his gut that Massimo had somehow earned Nia’s wrath. Sandro squeezed his eyes shut and tried not to think about what Massimo might have done. Not now. If Nia had been harmed, it was all Sandro’s fault, he knew. And he would have to make it up to her.

  When he opened his eyes again, Angie had walked around the car and was reaching for Daniele. Nia turned the child over to the older man who gently cradled the sleeping boy and walked toward Sandro.

  It took less than two minutes to cover the halfway mark at fifty yards, yet time dragged out with every agonizing step. Finally, Sandro reached Angie. He held out a flash drive to Angie. Angie passed Daniele to Sandro.

  Sandro hugged his sleeping son. “Grazie Dio,” he whispered.

  Daniele woke up. “Poppa?”

  “Si, bambino. It is Poppa.” Sandro’s throat clogged.

  Grabbing his neck, Daniele squeezed tight. Sandro held on and planted kisses on his son’s head and face. Tears leaked from Sandro’s eyes.

  “Momma?” Daniele asked, looking around.

  “Momma will be here soon,” Sandro promised, blinking hard. He met Angie’s gaze, noting the big man looked relieved. “The password is Princess,” Sandro told Angie, then turned to take Daniele to safety while Angie returned to Carlo.

  Sandro stopped beside Frankie. “This is Frankie,” he told his son. “You must stay with him while I get momma. Frankie will keep you safe.” />
  Sandro tried to set Daniele down, but his son clung to his neck. “Bambino, you must let me go,” he spoke in Italian. “I cannot get momma unless you wait here.”

  Daniele’s grip loosened slightly.

  Frankie spoke to him in Italian. “Come, Daniele, we will watch over here by this tree while your poppa gets your momma.”

  Reluctantly Daniele let go and went to Frankie. He was fascinated by Frankie’s arm sling. “Arm hurt,” he said.

  “Yes, my arm is hurt.”

  Surprisingly, Daniele leaned over and kissed the bandaged arm. Sandro swallowed down the emotion. His son was safe, and he was grateful. But he mustn’t let that make him careless. He still had to free his wife. This part could get tricky.

  He walked up to wait beside Dave and Marisa. Carlo, holding a flashlight in his mouth, was typing on his computer. He nodded and said something to Angie, who stood beside Nia. Carlo turned to Sandro’s small group. “It all seems in order. I will send your wife now. Bring my daughter.”

  Beside him, Sandro heard Marisa sigh.

  “Don’t worry, Princess,” Dave said.

  She looked up at him, but didn’t speak.

  Sandro took her arm and led her away. “When you get close,” Sandro told her, “if I signal to you, I want you to grab Nia and pull her to the ground. I have my gun ready.” He patted his jacket. “If I think I can take them out without anyone getting hurt, I will. If there’s not a chance, I’ll use my rifle when I get back. Make sure you stay out of the way.”

  “Dave will arrest you.”

  “I know. I hope a jury sees this as self-defense. You know as well as I do, that Carlo will never let me live.”

  “Dave plans to arrest my father.”

  “Like that would stop Carlo. He’d just put out another contract on me.”

  “I know. Kill him. I will testify for you.”

  Sandro squeezed her arms. “Grazie. Just be sure to stay down so you’ll stay alive.”