Breaking Bones (Mariani Crime Family #2)

by Amanda Washington

  I was serious—more serious than I’d ever been about anything in my life. Singing was all I had left. It was the only thing that hadn’t broken my heart or left me. I needed to commandeer a stage and a microphone, release all my pent-up passion and frustration, and let the crowd shower me in love and adoration. If I could just get a shot, I knew in my heart they wouldn’t reject me. Maybe they wouldn’t even leave me. But Matt had already had his chance to get me noticed, and he’d failed. He’d taken everything I had and left me with promises. Now that I had nothing more to give, he was back. Why?

  “What’s in it for you?” I asked.

  He startled. “What do you mean?”

  “Cut the crap. You know what I mean.”

  He shrugged. “The satisfaction of knowing I finally came through for you, that I—”

  Bullshit. I started walking away.

  “Fine. I get a fat finder’s fee. If you’re the girl they’re looking for.”

  That sounded a lot more reasonable. “I’ll think about it,” I said over my shoulder, without breaking stride.

  “Think fast. Time’s runnin’ out.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Bones

  ARIANA SLAMMED THE door on her way out. She was pissed and hurt, and I wanted to help her, but there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it. No matter how smart and funny she was, no matter how good she looked or how amazing she smelled, or how she licked her lips and invited me to kiss her, I couldn’t risk her safety for a hookup. I wouldn’t let her end up like Dante’s girlfriend, caught in the crossfire of the mafia lifestyle. I needed to be strong and push her away, but I was so damn frustrated I felt like I was going to burst.

  Markie and Angel sat on the sofa in open-mouthed awe, eyes darting from me to the door, no doubt dying of curiosity over what had happened between me and Ariana. I didn’t feel like going into it with them, so I put my hand on the doorknob, preparing to make my own escape.

  “Bones, wait,” Angel said.

  “Uh…” Markie stood, depositing her laptop on the coffee table. “I’m gonna go… take a bath. And read a book. I’ll be right in here if you need me.” She stepped into my old room, pulling the door closed behind her.

  “I need to take a break from staring at this screen,” Angel said, setting his laptop next to Markie’s and turning on the television. He picked up two controllers and offered me one. “Join me.”

  Coping skills at their finest. I accepted the controller and sat beside him. We didn’t talk—didn’t need to—Angel knew me well enough that I didn’t have to say a word, and that in itself was calming. By the time he went back to work, I felt much better.

  “You heading out?” Angel asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Still looking for Matt?”

  I nodded. The bastard had been spotted multiple times over the past week—with a date at a diner, alone in a grocery store, with a couple of friends in a bar, warming up a slot machine at the Rio—but always managed to disappear before I got there. It was almost like he was screwing with me. Like everyone was trying to drive me out of my mind. Maybe the new Tech was as dirty as the old one. Or maybe Carlo was keeping Matt one step ahead of me to prove my incompetency. Or maybe all the families had teamed up to keep Matt out of my reach.

  Or maybe I’m losing my touch.

  “If you pick up that tail again, try to get the license plate. Call me with it.”

  The first time Ariana had taken the bus, Angel and I made a quick run to the jewelry store. On the way there, we’d picked up a tail—a black Camry. I was pretty sure it was the same tail I’d picked up leaving Carlo’s a couple weeks ago. We were able to slip it and doubled back around to get the plate, but it vanished. Since Angel wanted me to call him—instead of Tech—with the plate, he must be doubting Tech’s loyalty as well.

  The fine line between cautious and paranoid grew thinner by the day.

  “Be safe out there,” Angel said, returning his focus back to his laptop.

  The keys to the Hummer were in a dish on the entryroom table. My hand hovered over them while I thought about all the near misses, all the times I should have caught Matt. Beside the Hummer keys was another set, a set so rarely used that it still had the dealer tag attached. A dark-blue 2015 Jeep Wrangler. It had less than ten thousand miles on it and had cost me a small fortune, but it didn’t have any of the outrageous safety features of Angel’s Hummer. On the other hand, very few people knew about it, and Tech did not have direct access to it. It was the closest I could get to going out incognito, but if bullets started flying, the Jeep wouldn’t stand a chance. If I didn’t catch Matt soon, I didn’t stand a chance, either. Resolved, I left Angel’s keys where they were and took mine.

  “Stay in contact,” Angel said as I walked out the door.

  My Jeep was in the far corner of the parking lot, where it had been sitting for months. I scanned the vehicle, finding a tracking device under the rear bumper. All trackers looked the same to me, but Angel could usually tell when one belonged to the family. I considered running it up to ask him, but why? What difference would it make? The device could have been on the Jeep for months or hours. I stuck it to the cement wall, hoping whoever was monitoring it would believe my Jeep was still in the garage.

  I drove around for a few hours, making calls and checking in with contacts. There was still no word on Matt, but I did find out some interesting information about Ma’s boyfriend, Totino. There were rumors he was working for one of the families, but nobody seemed to know which one. He was known for selling furniture—but didn’t have a storefront—and for spending hours at the Mirage, betting on horses and taking advantage of the drink tickets.

  Curious, I stopped by the Mirage and talked to my buddy Ross in the Sports Book. He couldn’t tell me much about Totino, but did give me a few names, locals Totino had been seen chatting it up with. I thanked him, and got back on the road.

  Then, my big break finally came. A contact who worked security for the Tropicana called and said some douchebag who matched Matt’s description was harassing a girl.

  Ariana’s restaurant was in the Tropicana.

  “What does she look like?” I asked, already turning around.

  “Tall, maybe five ten, five eleven. Brown, chin-length hair, waitress.”

  It had to be Ariana. “Shit. I’ll be right there. Call me if he leaves.”

  I was ten minutes from the Tropicana, but I made the drive in seven. The afternoon light was quickly fading by the time I parked. My contact called back to tell me Matt had left alone through the front doors. Determined not to let the little chooch slip through my fingers again, I put my hand on the gun in my pocket and ran for the entrance.

  Matt was talking on his phone and crossing the street, heading for the parking lot, when I saw him. I ducked behind a truck and watched. I wasn’t close enough to hear his conversation over the roar of traffic and passersby, but his gestures were animated enough to show his anger. He had to be arguing with someone about something. Tracking his movements, I slunk closer, waiting for him to end the call. When he finally did, I jumped out and wrapped my arm around him, pulling him close enough to settle my gun into his side without being seen.

  “Hey, buddy, how you been?” I asked.

  It took him a moment to register what was going on. Then he glanced from me toward a newer red Chevy sedan, no doubt gaging the distance. I nudged my gun into his ribs.

  “You’d never make it.”

  “Bones, I—” The asshole reached in his pocket.

  He was fast, but I was faster. I blocked him, twisted his arm back, and retrieved the little Walther nine millimeter he was packing. “Cute little pea shooter,” I said, pocketing the gun. I half-dragged him to the Jeep and tossed him into the front, climbing in behind him and shoving him to the passenger’s seat where I relieved him of his cell phone, an ounce of cocaine, his wallet, and a pocket knife too dull to cut an apple. I pointed my gun on him and told him to buckle up. Now that I’d fina
lly gotten my prize I wasn’t about to let one of Las Vegas’s finest stop me for some stupid traffic infraction.

  “I-I-I’ll get you the money, Bones. I p-p-promise. There’s a couple hundred dollars in my wallet. You keep that.”

  “Oh, I plan on it, but you might want to shut your mouth and stop insulting me.”

  At this point, no amount of money could purchase Matt’s life back from Carlo. Matt’s stupidity had long since sealed his fate. Keeping my gun trained on him, I started the Jeep and headed out of the parking lot.

  “I-I-I have some stuff, too. That packet you took from me… that’s quality blow. The street price is—”

  “I don’t deal, and I sure as hell don’t want the shit you’re selling now. Who’s your supplier now that you burned the family?”

  No response. Fine. We could do this the hard way. In fact, I was looking forward to it. The idea of him being anywhere near Ariana had made my blood boil.

  The family had several hidden locations we used to handle business. Under normal circumstances, I’d call Tech and ask where I could take Matt. But circumstances were far from normal, and I didn’t want Tech—or anyone else—knowing where I was. So I drove north of the city, following Moccasin Road until the pavement ended. Then we veered onto an unnamed dirt road that wound through piles of construction gravel until the lights of the city were a distant memory.

  Matt didn’t say anything. He watched out the windows, sweating a little more with every mile we drove. When I came to the end of the dirt road, I parked, leaving on the lights so I could see in the growing darkness.

  “I’m not telling you anything,” Matt said.

  He’d talk. They always did.

  “Get out and keep your hands where I can see them.” I had all the weapons and there was nowhere for him to run or hide. Nothing but flat land for miles. Still, protocol needed to be followed.

  “Don’t do this, Bones,” he pleaded.

  “Don’t make me repeat myself.” I pressed my gun into his side. “Out.”

  Matt creaked open the door and slowly slid out. I followed him, watching him every second.

  “You’re gonna kill me anyway,” Matt said, hands in the air, fear etched into his features.

  Yes, I was. But I needed information from him first. “Why were you at the Tropicana?” I asked.

  “Might as well kill me now. I’m not talkin’.”

  I laughed. Men like Matt thought death was the worst thing that could happen to them. They had no idea how much pain a person could live through before he passed out. I knew. It was my job to know just how far I could go before it was game over. Death would be easy. It was the other things I could do that Matt should be afraid of.

  He shuddered.

  I took a deep breath, grabbing hold of the tension, frustration, and anger I’d been bottling, and released them. I lunged, once again the ten-year-old boy going after the bully who wouldn’t shut his face about my father. My first hit clocked Matt in the jaw. He spun around and fell on his stomach with a grunt. I’d knocked the air out of him, but he was conscious. His body shifted from side to side, and then he pushed up until he was on his hands and knees. I ran at him and kicked him in his stomach. He flipped over, landing on his back.

  I circled him as he curled up like a giant armadillo, protecting his stomach. Like he could protect anything from me.

  “Here’s how this is gonna go down. I’m gonna ask a few questions. You can either answer me and die quickly with as little pain as possible, or you can hold back and I can draw this out for days. Weeks. Months. After what you did to Ari, I’ll enjoy it. Your call.”

  His jaw was crooked and swelling. “Go to hell.” He winced.

  “It’s like that, huh?” I kicked him again, this time in the back. Matt swore. He writhed in pain, trying to guard both his back and his stomach.

  “It’s the shoes. They’re deceivingly painful,” I explained.

  I was twelve when Carlo started training me to be an enforcer. He’d already taught me to fight and shoot, ensuring that I could do my job and protect Angel, so these lessons were for the details like how to walk, talk, behave, and dress. I’ll never forget the way he eyed my sneakers and shook his head. The next day he presented me with my first pair of steel-toe wingtip oxfords. Then, he showed me how to use them. My body still bore the scars from that lesson.

  “It’ll get more painful as we go,” I promised Matt.

  He didn’t respond.

  My adrenaline spiked. I wanted to hurt him. I wanted to make him bleed… to see how far I could stretch him before he snapped. I grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him to standing, forcing him to look me in the eye.

  “Why were you at the Tropicana?” I repeated.

  “You… you know why,” he said.

  “You screwin’ with Ari?”

  “No. Yes. It’s a job.”

  “What job? Who hired you?”

  “I don’t know. Some woman said she’d give me two large if I took Ariana to her.”

  “Two thousand? You sold Ari out for two thousand?”

  He didn’t answer.

  No one in the family would send a woman after Ariana. “What did this woman look like?”

  Again, no answer.

  I brought my knee up fast, shoving Matt’s head down into it. Dazed, he wobbled, only remaining on his feet because I was still propping him up. “Tell me.”

  “Long dark hair. Dark eyes. Maybe five six? About a hundred and fifty pounds. Nice rack. Big ass.”

  He’d just described most of the Italian women in Vegas. And several non-Italians. “What does she want with Ari?”

  “She didn’t say, and I didn’t ask. Now, can you take me back to town? If something happens to me, a lot of people are gonna come looking.”

  Story of my life. If I didn’t get out of Vegas soon, this would be my legacy: broken bones and buried bodies. At least until someone’s pissed off family member pulled the revenge card and put a bullet between my eyes. “Yeah, sure, I’ll take you back to town,” I lied. “Just answer a few more questions for me first. Tell me where you’re getting the dope from.”

  “You’re lying. You’re not gonna take me back. Even if I tell you.”

  The second lesson Carlo had taught me was to know the target’s weaknesses and be ready and willing to exploit them. “You’re right, Matt. You’re gonna die and I’m gonna bury you right over there.” I pointed at the ground. “The million-dollar question is whether or not you’ll be alone in that grave.”

  His face scrunched up. “You planning to bring me company?”

  I shrugged. “That’s up to you. Family should be buried together, right? What about your sister. What’s her name again? Jenny? She’s in Texas now, isn’t she?”

  His eyes grew round.

  “Yep. In Amarillo. Going to school at West Texas A & M. I bet your family’s proud. It would be a pity if she just up and disappeared, wouldn’t it?”

  Blood seeped into his eyes from the cut on his forehead. He wiped it away and stared up at me, looking uncertain. “You wouldn’t.”

  I showed him my teeth. “You don’t have any idea what I’d do.”

  We stared each other down for a moment before he lowered his head. “I don’t want to feel anything else, you hear me?” he asked.

  “Deal. Name your source.”

  “And you’ll leave Jenny alone?”

  “I promise. Unlike you, Matt, I’m a man of my word.”

  “Durante. Joey Durante.”

  Well, that was unexpected. The Durante family ruled the city before the Marianis defeated them and took over. Most of the family had been killed or ran off, leaving it too small and weak to be productive. They weren’t even part of the local commission anymore. They couldn’t piss in Vegas without authorization. Weaseling in on the drug trade would be suicide.

  “Why?” I asked.

  “What do I look like? Their goddamn business planner?”

  Matt was seconds from death, so I
let that little outburst slide. “Next question.” This one wasn’t for the family. This one was for me. “I’ve been all over you all week. Who’s been tipping you off?”

  He chuckled. “I can’t answer that.”

  “I thought we were done playing games.”

  His chuckle turned into a cough. He held his stomach until he was finished. “No, I really can’t tell you. I have no idea. I get a text… a different number every time. Tried to text it back but it goes to a landline. Same thing when I call. Check my phone. You’ll see.”

  There’d be plenty of time for checking that later. Our current business had already gone too long. Lesson three: Get in, do the job, get out. The longer you take, the higher the risk of getting caught. I scanned the area, confirming that we were still alone, and pulled out my Glock and its silencer. Matt watched as I screwed on the silencer. Then the coward looked away when I aimed. I squeezed the trigger. Twice. Matt collapsed.

  “Two in the head. Make sure he’s dead,” I whispered to myself.

  That had been lesson number four. I’d felt so tough the first time I said it, but now adrenaline was wearing off and I felt weak and hollow, a slave to the system. Matt’s body relaxed, filling the night air with the telltale smells of death. I hadn’t been lying when I told Ariana I was sick of watching people die. Sick of making them die. This wasn’t what I wanted to do for the rest of my life, and I needed to get out of Vegas before my future was set in stone.

  But that was a problem for another day. Focusing back on the here and now, I retrieved Matt’s cell phone from the Jeep and thumbed it on. No password. The idiot was probably too baked to remember one. I took a couple pictures of his body to prove the hit. Then I grabbed the shovel out of the back and went to work. After Matt was safely tucked six feet under, I climbed back into my Jeep and thumbed through his texts. Sure enough, multiple texts from multiple numbers had sent Matt running every time I was onto him. Had to be someone with access to technology decent enough to hijack lines. Angel could do it. Hell, anyone in the Mariani family could. All it would take was a quick call to Tech. I thought about calling the new guy to see if he’d slip up and tell me what was going on, but instead dialed Carlo.