by Kim Linwood
A dark shape by the window casts an indistinct shadow across my bed. For a second my heart squeezes tight, but it’s not him.
Not Montana.
Franco turns to face me. He looks like he’s been up all night. “Don’t do this.”
“Do what?” I cinch my belt tightly, fingers nervously playing with the knot. “And what are you doing in my room? Ever heard of knocking?”
What’s going on? Just last night my father made it perfectly clear to me that our reputation and the future of our family rests on me not screwing this up.
Whoops.
“Sorry, but I needed to see you before he does.” Franco steps forward. Worry lines score his face and heavy bags hang under his eyes. At least I’ve gotten some sleep. “I know that guy’s here to take you to Caporossi, but I don’t think you should go. Not today. Not until your father clears it.”
For a second there, I almost believed someone was looking out for me.
I make a point of glancing around the room. “Well, where is he?”
“Who?”
“My father. I don’t see him.”
“He’s out, but—”
“So, let me get this straight. I’m still licking my wounds from last night, and now something’s changed, but nobody thinks it’s important enough to explain it to me?” Pulling one top after another out of my closet, I toss them on the bed. “But you’re here, so what’s going on?”
Franco’s lips squeeze into a thin line. I love my cousin, but the last week or so has given me a new outlook on how important I really am to my family. As a chess pawn? Lots of value, apparently. As a person? The one who actually has to live with all the decisions other people want to make for me?
Not so much.
“Nothing?” I prompt. He licks his lips, but doesn’t say anything as I walk over and look him right in the eyes. “Because if you don’t open your mouth and start talking, I’m going to walk out that door and the next time you see me, I might be Andrea Caporossi.”
“Don’t be a smart ass,” he snaps.
“That’s what everyone wants, isn’t it? One big happy family? You want me to stay? Give me a reason not to go.”
Indecision flickers across his face, eventually changing to resignation. “Tony’s in jail.”
I shrug. “And?”
“And what? Uncle Tony’s in jail!”
“Franco, don’t take this the wrong way, because I know he’s probably hating whatever they’re feeding him in there, but this isn’t the first time. He might be a man of God, but he’s got a bit of a temper.” My phone flashes.
It’s a text from Montana. What’s taking so long?
I swipe it away.
Franco sits on the edge of my bed, looking ready to collapse. “It’s the first time in a while, and it happened the day after Giuseppe Caporossi was taken in.”
One leg already in my jeans, I quickly pull on the other under my robe and hop around until the stretch denim finally works its way over my still damp skin. Caporossi’s in jail? There’s no way Montana didn’t know about that. Why won’t anyone tell me anything?
“Close your eyes,” I order, pointing my finger at Franco.
He does one better and flops back on the bed, resting an arm over his face. “Maybe it’s nothing, Andie, but we can’t let you go over there if that bastard is talking to the Feds.”
“You think he would be?” I pull on a sweater, not wanting to deal with anything fancy today. “Why now? After all this trouble?”
“Who knows? Maybe it’s just bad timing.” Franco says with a yawn. “But that cop whose daughter got mixed up with the Caporossis last year has been all over their asses lately. He could be looking to make a deal. Just trust me on this, okay?”
Another text comes in, this time from an unknown number. Three champagne bottle emojis followed by, Here’s to the start of a wonderful life together. Wear something nice. I’m taking you for lunch later. -Marc
Well looks like Montana hasn’t broken the news to his family yet, either.
A snore comes from my bed.
Barefoot and alone in the middle of my room, I throw back my head and pretend to scream. It helps. Not a lot, but a little.
If one more man tries—
My phone flashes again. It’s a picture of cheese. Pecorino Romano switched out for a particularly good Pecorino Sardo we found. Trust us, it’s perfect! -The Daily Rind
First, why do they have my number?
Second, even the cheese guys?
Why do all the men in my life seem to think I’m just waiting around for them to decide what’s best?
Screw it.
I dash across the hall and shake Evie.
“Oh, Brennan, your cock is lovely. In fact, you’re all over lovely. Why don’t you come over here…” She mumbles the words sleepily.
Oh, for fuck’s sake. I shake her again, harder, before she tells me any more. I want only so much insight into my roommate’s dream life.
“Wh—what?”
“Get dressed and pack a bag.”
Her sleepy blue eyes peer blearily at me. “What?”
“Just do it, okay? You don’t have to take everything, but bring enough for a couple of days. I’ll be right back.”
Evie nods with a yawn, trying to blink the sleep out of her eyes. I throw my arms around her, squeezing so tight she squeaks. “Not so hard. Not so early in the morning.”
“Just get ready.”
Considering I don’t really care what I’m bringing, it doesn’t take me long to fill my own bag. One of my old jackets hangs in my closet, which I throw on. By the time I return, her bag is still open, but has a few changes of clothes and some toiletries thrown haphazardly into it. She’s trying to button up a short wool coat, but her fingers keep slipping and the buttons aren’t lined up. I give her a hand while she rests her forehead on my shoulder.
I crack open the door to her balcony and slide it aside carefully.
Evie shudders. “It’s cold out there.”
“Shush.”
The roof next to the railing is sloped, but there are footholds going down towards the gutter. Pushing my suitcase over the railing first, I lodge it against one of them. Then, pulling my jacket tighter, I climb after it.
Evie’s mouth drops open. “What’re you doing?”
“Come on,” I hiss. Franco might sleep the whole day or wake up any minute. In the meantime, someone else might come by.
She looks dubious.
I’m already halfway down, there’s no turning back now. “Do you trust me?”
“When you ask like that, I’m not sure.”
“C’mon, I’ve done this a hundred times.” More like six and not in years, but she doesn’t need to know that.
“Yeah, alright.” Her resigned sigh isn’t exactly bursting with confidence.
Carefully lowering the suitcase ahead of me, I slide down the roof while using the footholds to brake my progress. I get to the edge, where a thick oak branch extends from the trunk of a tree that's been here since before this house was built, most likely. Mom always talked about getting it cut, but Dad refused, saying that something that's lived for that long in the middle of the city deserves to live out its life undisturbed.
I wonder what he'd say if he knew it's been my way out of the house since I was fourteen. I bet that tree would come right down. Grabbing the branch, I swing down to drop below it. Somehow I manage to even make it look halfway graceful, which is good, because I think Evie would be a hard sell if I fell on my ass.
“Do I look like a stunt woman to you?” She makes her way over the railing, her pink tipped hair swinging. “We do Zumba twice a year. In January! And it’s bloody November!”
“Oh stop being such a baby. Hurry up. The Uber’s already waiting. It’s just like the trust falls in our first year orientation.”
She glares at me but swings over a leg and manages to lower herself down enough to fall into my arms like a grumpy sack of potatoes. “You know wha
t? I forgot you dropped me when we did those.”
31
Montana
“Morning.” I nod at the two surly guys across the foyer from me.
Nothing.
They stand like glaring statues, eyeing me like I’ll sprout wings and fly around the house shitting on the furniture if they blink.
I roll my eyes and lean up against the wall. It’s been nearly an hour since I called to give Andrea a heads up. Does it really take that long to get ready?
The taller of the two takes a slow bite out of the last donut.
“You’re welcome.”
Still nothing.
Ingrates.
A nervous muscle twitches between my shoulder blades. It’s been too long. Franco went upstairs half an hour ago.
“Andrea!” I shout. “Get a move on.”
“Hey, were you raised in a barn or something?” The tall guy gives me a smirk.
His buddy elbows him in the arm. “Well, he was raised by animals.” They laugh like it’s the funniest joke they’ve ever heard.
I’ve never been comfortable with casual killing, but this would be so much easier if I could just shoot them. “Andrea!”
Gloria comes around the corner from the back of the house with a sneer on her lips. “Oh for Christ’s sake, your things are still in your room. Just go up there.” When the goons try to object, she silences them with a withering look before turning it on me. “I think Marco will find her more agreeable today.”
Somehow I doubt it.
The upstairs is too quiet for my liking. Andrea’s door is closed, but Evie’s is slightly open. A bad feeling has my hand reaching towards where I have a gun tucked snugly against my back.
Evie’s door opens the rest of the way with a slight push. Empty. The bath as well. Her bed’s unmade, and clothes are strewn across the floor. It’s messy, but in a normal way, not as if there’d been a struggle. The doors to the balcony rattle against the frame, shaken by the wind. They’re not shut all the way, but it’s warm in here. Could be just for air.
Maybe they got caught up with girl-chat in Andrea’s room, but then why not answer my text, or when I shouted?
Andrea’s door is silent, even when I put my ear up to it. No sign of movement. No hum from the shower, no music, no female voices lowered to talk about the failings of the male half of the species. I rap my knuckles against the door, not loud, but in the silence there’s no way she wouldn’t hear.
No response.
My hand turns the knob expecting to meet resistance, but it clicks open easily. “Andrea, if you’re in there, I’m coming in.”
Another empty room.
Her bed isn’t made either. The blankets are piled up and her pillow dented from sleeping. A hint of warm, damp air still seeps from the bathroom, so it’s not long since she showered.
A soft snort from the bed catches my attention. The outline of a leg draped over the side of the mattress is just barely visible from this angle, where it was hidden from the doorway. I chuckle to myself. She must’ve fallen back asleep on the bed while getting ready. With the way everything is bunched up over there, I’m not surprised I didn’t see her.
Careful not to make noise—not that anything short of a bomb has woken her up so far—I sneak over to the bed. She’s earned a bit of a surprise for making me worry like that.
“Morning, princess.” I lean over the bed, pulling aside the sheet that she’s tugged over herself. And come uncomfortably close to nuzzling Franco. “Son of a bitch!”
Without thinking, I pull my gun and move to hold it to him, intent on forcing him to tell me what the hell is going on. Instead, he comes awake with start and reacts faster than I expect. With a quick flick of his arm, my gun goes flying and we’re left wrestling hand to hand on the bed.
He’s stronger than he looks, but after catching me off guard at the start, it doesn’t take long to get him pinned with my knee in his gut and my arm nearly crushing his neck. The guy is probably okay in a fight, but he’s brains, not muscle and I’ve got nearly fifty pounds on him.
I’ve had more than one fantasy about getting physical on this bed, but Franco sure as hell wasn’t in any of them.
“Where is she?” I growl. He makes a strangled noise and grabs weakly at my arm. Oh, fine. Have some air. I let up a little on his throat. “Where is she?”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” His voice is rough, and he’s pissed off, but honestly confused.
“Andrea. Where is she?”
He knows nothing. I can see the struggle on his face as he tries to figure out how to respond without admitting it. “I don’t know what you’re—”
“Forget it.” I shove him down hard enough to make the bed creak as I stand back up and go fetch my gun. “She’s not here.”
Franco stands up, face red and eyes blazing. “Good. I told her about what’s going on.”
I have no idea what he means, but I don’t think we’re on the same page. “No, I mean she’s gone. As in, I think I have better chance of getting old man DiFiero as my secret Santa this year than I do finding Andrea in this house.”
What I’m saying slowly sinks in. “You think someone grabbed her?”
“I think—” My phone vibrates. Surprisingly enough, the number is Franco’s.
We’re fine. I just need some time. Please don’t freak out. PS: Don’t cry for me, Argentina.
I want to strangle her and laugh at the same time. It’s probably pointless, but I dial Andrea’s number. After a few seconds, it starts to ring. I can tell, both because I hear it through my phone, and by her ring tone from under the pile of blankets on the bed.
Surprise, surprise.
One look at the message, and Franco’s hands go to his pockets. “That little… wait.” He eyes me suspiciously. “Why were you cuddling up to my cousin in bed?”
Caught.
“How about this, why don’t you tell me why you were in your cousin’s bed.”
32
Montana
“What the fuck is going on in this house?” DiFiero yells. He paces back and forth, the collar of his shirt hastily pulled open and his eyes blazing. “I’m gone a few hours and everyone goes crazy? And not just you. You, I expect to trouble from.” He points at me, before turning on his own. “How hard is it to keep one girl under control?”
Gloria might as well be made of marble for all the emotion she’s showing. “We don’t have time for this. She could be anywhere.”
Franco steps forward, looking like he’d rather be struck by lightning than call attention to himself. His gaze focuses firmly on the wall behind his boss. “We found my phone in a parking lot near Six Flags.”
Emilio lets out a snarl. “You saying she woke up with a sudden urge for bumper cars?”
“No, of course not.” Sweat beads on Franco’s forehead. “It was stuffed in an empty coffee cup and shoved into a garbage can.”
I can’t help it.
I laugh.
The image of Franco and his guys closing in only to end up sorting trash is too funny. Well played, Andrea. She shouldn’t have fucking ditched me, but she’s no pushover. I’ll give her that.
“You think this is funny?” Emilio gets right in my face—or as close to it as he can, considering I’m a good six inches taller. “Why are you even here if you can’t do shit?”
Gloria jumps in before I get a chance to answer. “Because your daughter has a crush on him. For all I know they’re sleeping together. We all know the Caporossis don’t have any loyalty.” Her words are so icy they could cause frostbite.
She’s a bitch and the situation is a lot more complicated than that, but I don’t deny it. We’ve been playing a dangerous game, keeping quiet about the baby, but I find myself unwilling to lie about our relationship. It’s going to come out, and sooner rather than later.
Emilio goes white for a second before he explodes. His fist catches me in the jaw, rocking me back onto my heels. As her father, I’ll give him one p
unch, but the next one never lands. Catching his wrist, I hold it in place, my eyes never leaving his. He’s the first to flinch, before I push him away.
He recovers quickly, visibly pulling himself back together even as I can see the shadow of my death slide behind his dark eyes. “You’re dead.”
I grin. Bring it, old man. She’s mine.
Gloria actually proves useful for once and puts a hand on her husband’s arm. “First things first. We need Andrea, and as much as I hate to admit it, so does he.”
“Why do I give a fuck what he needs?” Emilio snarls.
If this was Giuseppe, his first punch would’ve been a bullet through my brain, but the DiFieros are the schemers and thinkers. I suppose I should be glad their first instinct isn’t to murder someone before they have to.
I snarl right back. “Because my brother wouldn’t look very kindly on my body landing on his doorstep.”
And it’s true.
With Giuseppe in jail, Marc’s calling the shots. My knocking up his assigned bride is an internal issue and he’ll probably want to kill me himself when he finds out, but let a DiFiero get away with it? There would be war first.
Emilio’s eyes narrow as his brain works, seeing me in a new light. It shouldn’t surprise me that he never viewed me as a “real” Caporossi, but it would be stupid to ignore the fact that Marc and I share blood, and that Marc is the future of our family. Even if Giuseppe comes back and picks up the reins again, his going to jail has changed things. Everyone who deals with our family will be considering not just how the father views things, but the son.
The tension in the room is palpable. One wrong move could set everyone off.
“Would she go back to school?” Franco ventures cautiously. “I could make some calls.”
Emilio doesn’t takes his eyes off me. “This isn’t over.”
I nod in acknowledgement. “As your wife said, first things first. Andrea and Evie.” I cut a glance at Franco. “She might go back to England, but I doubt it. At least not right away. Have someone check her credit cards just to be sure.” Back to Emilio and Gloria. “Does she have any friends in the area?”
