by Kim Linwood
“Oh, then I definitely get you.” She rolls her eyes and takes my arm. An errant strand of pink-tipped, blonde hair swings over her cheek. “Did I ever tell you about how after my brother moved out, Mum came home with a Great Dane because some lady in a shop told her a pet would make her feel better?”
I’ve met her mother once, and if the woman weighs a hundred pounds I’d be surprised. “Really? What happened?”
“Well, he was getting on in years, and turns out his hips were complete rubbish. The poor thing took one look at the stairs, and never even made it into their flat.”
“Poor dog.”
She waves away my concern. “He was fine. Lived with my gran in the end. Neither were particularly fond of stairs, so it worked out quite well for the both of them.”
I pull on my jacket and a scarf on our way out. The urge to cry springs up suddenly, stealing my breath away as the cold November air hits. It’ll be even worse in Chicago.
Chicago.
I don’t want to go. Dad would never call me home unless it was important, and I’m afraid this is going to be it. I could lose everything I have here, the almost normal life I’ve built for myself.
“You know I love you, right?”
Evie stops and looks at me, concerned. “You sure you’re alright?”
Not really, no, but I can’t tell her what I do know, and I don’t know much. “Right as rain.”
She arches an eyebrow at me.
“Okay, not really, but it’s nothing a little chicken won’t fix.”
“That’s the spirit. Maybe that cute Dubliner is working tonight.” She peers around, not even trying to be subtle.
“We can always hope. Are you going to leave him your number again?” My phone buzzes as we push inside the restaurant. It’s Franco. Pick you up at 9. Shit.
“Love, last time I left him both our numbers.”
“You…” I gape at her. “You didn’t.”
“I don’t know. Did I?” She twirls around and walks inside.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath, pulling this moment into myself so I can remember it later when I’m in the middle of My Big Fat Mafia Drama.
Normal was nice while it lasted.
7
Montana
“Hello, boys.” I crack my knuckles and grin at Danny and Bruno. Sicily was nice, but in Chicago, there’s always cleaning up to do. “Is there a reason you decided to pay a second visit to our good friend Mr. Danson?”
Mr. Danson, a middle-aged liquor store manager, stands in the corner, trying to look as small as humanly possible. Quiet and with an allergy to conflict, he’d never have called about his problem, but his wife finally got fed up and passed on the word that my associates had taken it into their own hands to raise his usual payment.
I give the poor guy a hard look and tip my head at the door. “Get out. You’re closing for lunch.”
“But I—right.” He grabs his keys and runs, flipping the sign on the door to Closed on his way out.
To be brutally honest, his store is hardly worth the trouble, but it’s on a block our family has taken care of for years. If there’s anything the Caporossi Family is good at, it’s tradition. Tradition, extortion, blackmail, whitewashing and of course the occasional… let’s call it downsizing. But today, it’s our protection racket.
We’re a well-rounded bunch.
“He—he was late last month so we—” Bruno sends Danny a panicked look. He’s a beefy kid. Almost as big as me, but unfortunately a lot of the beef is between his ears. “We figured it would be a good idea to make sure his account was ahead.”
More like the shits decided their wallets were drying up and nobody would care about the kind of pocket change this place brings in. I sigh. It’s getting harder and harder to find young people with the right balance of honor and moral flexibility that it takes for this type of work. Hopefully these two will learn their lesson before things get messy. Messier.
I grab Bruno by the neck of his shirt. “That’s a good idea. You must’ve had it last month too, and the month before that. Damn!” I give him a good shake, and his head snaps backwards. “His account should be really fucking impressive by now!”
Danny steps up, holding his hands in front of him. “I’ve got it all, I swear. We haven’t spent any of it yet!”
“Shut up, you idiot.” Bruno growls at his buddy. It’s pretty obvious who the leader of this little bandit duo is.
I twist his collar so hard it cuts into his neck and he gurgles unhappily. “So which is it, boys? Is Mr. Danson’s account up to date? Or do you have his money? If I check your books, will it make me happy?”
“Yeah, yeah sure!” If Danny nodded any harder, his goddamn head would fall off. He reminds me of one of those bobble head dogs in the back window of a car.
Little shithead. We’re going to have to keep an eye on him. Bruno just suffers a case of overactive ambition and greed. Danny will end up licking the shoes of whoever’s holding the other end of his leash.
This part of the business sucks. The dirty work.
I grab a bottle of vodka off a nearby shelf before I remember I’ve only got one free hand. “Open it.”
“Yes, sir.” Danny unscrews the top and hands it back to me.
I take a mouthful and let it sit, enjoying the burn before swallowing. Two weeks ago, I was in Italy enjoying wine, warmth and the company of made men who knew what the hell they were doing. Professionals. The only thing that would’ve made that trip better was convincing the brunette from the plane to leave her books behind and come with me.
Now I’m standing in a hole in the wall liquor store teaching a couple of idiots a lesson with cold rain falling outside. Aside from those few glorious years away in the Navy, the Caporossis have taken my entire life and I’m still just the black sheep.
The things we do for Family.
Can’t get wasted on the job though, sadly enough. Before he can react, I let Bruno go, slam my free fist into his face and dump half the bottle of vodka over his head. Danny laughs, but I cut it off by grabbing his face and forcing his mouth open as I dump the rest over him. They both make the critical mistake of rubbing their eyes, quickly learning that cinnamon vodka and sensitive membranes don’t mix comfortably.
I push back my jacket and put my hand on my gun, waiting patiently until they’re paying attention again. It doesn’t take long. “On your knees.”
There’s a flicker of something behind Bruno’s eyes. Probably the thought that there are two of them and only one of me, but then he remembers he’s got a kiss-ass for backup, and he’d be dead within the hour. They both drop to the ground.
I stroke the side of Bruno’s face with my Glock. “Are you in charge of anything but your own dick?”
“N… no.”
“If you ever want to be, don’t pull this shit again. You got me? If you ever decide to cross the Caporossis, it’d better be for something that means a lot more to you than a few measly dollars, because not everyone is as forgiving as I am.”
He nods. This one might learn.
“And you.” I crouch in front of Danny, looking him in the eyes. “You work for him?” I nod towards Bruno.
His face scrunches up. “No?”
“No. No you don’t.” I move the muzzle of the gun up under his chin. I swear to God the kid looks like he’s about to piss his pants. I’m going to have to find somewhere to move him where he can sit quiet in a room and fix books or whatever the hell those computer people do.
Still, better to scare the crap out of him now than let him off easy and have him cause real trouble later.
I lean in close, smelling the reek of terrified sweat mingling with the sweet scent of cinnamon. “I will eat you alive if I hear about you again.”
He whimpers and nods, not even complaining when I grab his wallet out of his pocket and fish out the cash inside. Twenty bucks.
That done, I slide my gun back into its holster and close up my jacket. Fifteen minutes. Could
be worse. I might still be able to beat the lunch rush. I toss the twenty on the counter. “That’s for the vodka. Leave it.”
“Montana?” Bruno questions.
“Yeah?”
“Should we… should we give him the money back?”
“Fuck no. He was late last month. If everything goes where it should we’ll just write this off as a little misplaced initiative? Capisce?” My phone vibrates and I pull it out, but turn back to Bruno first. “But this shop is square now, and things better keep adding up. I’ll be watching.”
The display flashes again. Don Giuseppe Fucking Caporossi himself. This day just keeps getting better. If a call from my venerable boss has ever been good news, I don’t remember it.
8
Montana
“I don’t like this shit, just so that’s clear.” Emilio DiFiero eyes me from across his desk, cold disdain written all over his weathered face. So far this is playing out just like Giuseppe said it would. “Then why am I here?” We both know why I’m sitting in his home, but I want to hear him admit it. Maybe I should be careful about pissing him off, but I’ve grown up with men just like him. He can’t afford to touch me.
“You think you’re tough, kid? Don’t try me. I don’t know why Giuseppe chose you, but you’re here, and while you are, you’re going to make sure nothing happens to my daughter. If she so much as breaks a nail on your watch, you’ll regret it.”
I’m no happier about being here than he is to have me, but I’m perfect for this sort of work. Important enough to send a message, but disposable enough to deliver it personally.
DiFiero stands up. He’s not a tall man, but even at his age he has a presence that makes it clear he’s used to running the show. It’s not surprising. You don’t stay the head of a crime family for long if you aren’t tough as nails.
“My girl lands in a few hours. Before then, someone will show you around the house. I’m sure your instructions are to follow her like a shadow, but I will not have a goon like you making her feel uncomfortable in her own home.”
“I’ll do my best to stay out of her bathroom,” my mouth fires off before my brain can stop it.
“You think this is a joke?”
“No, sir. Your daughter is safe in my hands.”
He glares at me, and his hand balls into a fist. I don’t know why I’m baiting him. It’s not like I’d get involved with a girl like her anyway. The last thing I need is some spoiled Mafia princess. That’ll be my brother’s job. I’m just here to keep the peace.
No, what I need is someone who helps smooth the rough edges of my life, not stir up even more trouble. Warm brown eyes filled with intelligence and a beautiful face, quick to smile, flash into my head.
Someone like Andrea? Nah, too much trouble.
Still, it’s been weeks, and I can’t get her out of my mind. Even my trip to Sicily didn’t help. Instead of sampling the local flavors, I did my job and went home. Maybe DiFiero isn’t the only one getting old.
“It’s a fucking war out there.” He’s looking out the window, hands clasped behind his back. “The feds are breathing down our necks, and since your fiasco with that asshole Palmieri, it’s only gotten worse. They don’t respect us anymore. We need this to go smoothly.”
It wasn’t my fiasco, but that doesn’t really matter to him. Palmieri was always a loose cannon, but Giuseppe thought giving him a little power would make him happy.
Instead it got him shot, and dragged our name through the dirt when his ridiculous plan to get rid of Mayor Trabucco backfired. Now the FBI is on our heels like a lion on a wounded gazelle, and we can’t shit without the Chicago PD trying to wipe our asses.
“I know, sir. That’s why I’m here.”
“How’s Giuseppe doing these days, anyway? I bet heads rolled after that mess.” He sounds almost wistful.
“He’s feeling the heat, as we all are, but if you’re looking for his deepest, darkest secrets, you’re talking to the wrong guy.”
After all, it’s not like I’m his son.
Even if I am his wife’s.
A small enough distinction for many people, but one I’ve lived with my entire life. DiFiero doesn’t even know who I am, and that’s exactly how my Don likes it. They might be playing nice now, but there’s too much bad blood between the Caporossis and the DiFieros for anything as well-behaved as trust.
“I’m letting you do this because I know how important it is for both our families to not attract the wrong sort of attention.” DiFiero turns away from the window and fixes me with a cold, black gaze. “I understand that you want to keep an eye on your ‘investment’, but this is my daughter we’re talking about.”
I find it touching that he seems to honestly care about her, and that means something, even to a cynical bastard like myself. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
He nods, likely not believing me but not having much choice. “Get your things and I’ll have someone show you your room.” I stand up, but before I can leave, he pulls out a plain, brown folder. “This is my daughter and the man she’ll be traveling with. She doesn’t know why she’s coming home, and that’s how it will stay until I can talk to her myself.”
“Of course.” Poor girl, I feel bad for what I’ll be dragging her into, but if it wasn’t me, it would be someone else.
9
Andrea
“I got it. You watch the rest of the stuff.” Franco pushes his way to the front of the carousel and grabs my bright pink suitcase before it goes around again. “I think I can actually feel my testosterone dropping by the second.”
“Shut up. It’s easy to spot, isn’t it?” I yawn, exhausted from a full day of travel, and worrying about what I’m coming home to. “Did you call for a limo to pick us up?”
“Nah, I’ve got stuff to do downtown so your Dad is sending someone.”
I nod. The stress has my stomach in knots, and the jet fuel flavored airplane coffee didn’t help any. All I want to do is crawl into bed and wake up back in England.
We push our way out of the chaotic arrivals area. Even for O’Hare it’s packed. Franco keeps an eye on the crowd, but he doesn’t seem overly paranoid, so I guess whatever’s going on isn’t a death threat.
He checks his phone, where I briefly catch a glimpse of a photo of whoever Dad must have sent. “There’s your guy, Andie.” He points into the crowd of anxious family and bored professional drivers waiting on the other side of the passport and customs check.
I don’t really pay too much attention, following Franco’s back and thinking about what I’m going to say to Dad, while I turn my phone back on and wait for it to connect to the local network.
“This it?” a deep voice asks, sounding oddly familiar.
“Yeah.” Franco hands over my rainbow colored carry-on and my suitcase.
“Jesus Christ, seriously?”
What is it with men and color? Does it offend their sensitive eyes or something?
I look up and step around Franco. “It stands out while traveling, alright? If you think—”
Oh no.
Dark, familiar eyes meet mine, centered on a face I’d assumed was safely stashed away in my dreams. A quick twitch in his cheek is the only clue from Montana that he recognizes me too. My mouth goes dry as we stare at each other.
“You set? I’ve gotta go see Gina. She wasn’t expecting me back for another month. She’s gonna flip.” Franco gives me a quick hug, and I pat his shoulder, distracted.
“Yeah, sure. Send her my love,” I mumble, eyes still locked on Montana. I barely notice Franco leave.
“Monty.” My voice is way calmer than I feel.
He winces. “Honey bun.”
I don’t know what to think. Did he know who I was the first time we met? Is that why he came up to me? What had been a crazy but fun memory is twisting into something horrible in my head.
My eyes narrow. “Did you target me, before? Because I swear to God, if I find out you did, I’ll—”
“No!” H
e holds up his hands, and his expression is so sincere that I’d be inclined to believe him if it didn’t seem so convenient. “No. Though, obviously we have more in common than we thought at the time.”
“Obviously,” I deadpan.
Montana takes my arm and leads me towards the doors. My first instinct is to resist and have it out with him here, but there are security officers wandering back and forth. I don’t even have a parking ticket on my record, but my family history comes with a healthy dislike of uniforms.
No need for a scene, so I go quietly. One way or another, Montana’s back in my life and I need to figure out why before I decide if I have to have him removed from it, and how.
God, sometimes I really am my father’s daughter.
“Do you seriously think I’d’ve done what I did if I knew who you were?” he hisses.
“Oh, good to know you only bang the right type of strangers. You wouldn’t be the first to assume my pants were a quick way to get to my father’s ears.” Ugh. “Okay, that sounds horrible, but you know what I mean.”
“As I recall, you weren’t wearing pants.”
I throw my hands in the air and let out a growl of exasperation. “Not my point, Missouri.”
“Montana,” he grumbles, opening the door for me to climb into a black Jaguar SUV.
“Yeah, while we’re on that subject. What kind of a name is Montana?”
“You’re just asking that now, Ms. DiFiero? And for the record, I wouldn’t have made a move if I knew, because I like breathing and keeping my balls attached. Not because of whatever good girl, bad girl bullshit you’re thinking.”
“Your name wasn’t exactly what I was paying the most attention to at the time.”
“I feel so used.”
I glance over at him in the driver’s seat. His jaw is clenched and his brows tightly knit, but the corner of his mouth twitches just a little, lips slightly curling like they want to smile. His full, sexy lips.
