Last Man Standing

by Wendy Rosnau

  A virgin with a fetish for knives. Now that was a scary thought.

  “Where are we going now?”

  He glanced at her. “I have an unscheduled stop to make. You’ll wait in the cab.”

  “And then?”

  “Then I’m taking you to my place.”

  “And then?”

  “We catch a few hours’ sleep before I fly you back to Santa Palazzo.”

  She lifted her chin. “I’m not going anywhere without—”

  “Basta, Elena. Coming here was a mistake. Frank will be pacing and chewing heads off until you’re back and safe.”

  “Frank has no say over me any longer. He’s not my father. If you force me to go back, I’ll just run away again.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  He liked the way she didn’t back down to him. Liked the fact that she had been willing to go up against Moody, even though she would have been no match for him. There had been no tears and no begging for mercy. He had liked that, too.

  No, Elena Tandi had too much of her father in her to beg, Lucky decided. She was definitely her father’s daughter.

  He reached out and ran his finger over her lower lip. “Hungry?”

  “No. The lip thing is a nasty habit. You know about nasty habits, right? Sometimes you just do it without thinking. Kind of reminds me of your habit. Only, unlike drinking to excess, chewing on my lip won’t eventually kill me. So who was that on the phone? Who’s Palone?”

  “No one.” Lucky glanced outside and realized that the cabbie had managed to get him to Dante Armanno in record time. As he pulled up to the gate, he said, “Give me a minute, Paulie.”

  When the guard saw who climbed out of the cab, he said, “Palone said to expect you.” He flashed a light into the back seat of the car. “He didn’t say anyone would be with you, though.”

  “That’s because I never told him,” Lucky countered.

  The guard smiled, pressed the remote that opened the gate while Lucky climbed back in the car and instructed Paulie to drive through. “There will be another one a half mile up the road,” he said.

  Once inside the last gate, they rounded the circle driveway and parked in view of the statue of Armanno. To Elena, he said, “Don’t leave the cab. This place is crawling with guard dogs. I shouldn’t be too long.”

  Paulie said, “I’ve never been here. Is it true that Vito Tandi is the richest man in the city?”

  “He was yesterday, Paulie. But the crazy thing about money is—” Lucky glanced at Elena “—like women, it can be here one day and gone the next. A man is a fool if he takes either one too seriously.” He reached out and squeezed Paulie’s shoulder. “Keep the car running so our passenger stays warm. It’s worth an extra hundred to you and a new dress for Rosa.”

  Summ was waiting for Lucky when he stepped into the foyer. After giving him a humble bow, she led him in the opposite direction from the study. Over her shoulder, she said, “Your room ready now. Shujin say you move in soon.”

  Lucky had never agreed to move into Dante Armanno at all. Certainly not while Vito was still alive. But he said nothing to the housekeeper, just followed her to the room on the ground floor where Vito now slept.

  When he entered the room, Summ did not follow him. He found Vito propped against a stack of pillows with his eyes closed, his metal walker within reach. His breathing was ragged and his face was gray.

  Lucky cleared his throat, and the noise brought Vito’s eyes blinking open. When the old man saw who was there, he said, “Grazie, my son. It is good to see you.” He coughed and blood surfaced on his lips. “As you can see, today I’m a little under the weather.”

  Lucky reached for a tissue on the bedstand and handed it to the dying capo. “What did you want to see me about?”

  “I told you when you signed the papers that I was stepping down. You need to be here now to take over my affairs. I no longer have the strength to manage them.”

  “That’s why you called me over here this late at night?”

  “I expected you to move in yesterday. What do I have to do to get you here? Burn down your home in the old neighborhood?”

  His weak grin told Lucky the old man had no plans to do what he threatened.

  His grin faded as quickly as it had appeared. “I need to tell you something. Something I should have told you the other night.”

  Lucky removed his jacket and dropped it on a bench at the foot of the bed. “I can’t stay long. You have ten minutes.”

  “Bring a chair and sit.”

  Lucky moved the metal walker and pulled a chair close to the bed. Seated, he asked, “So what couldn’t wait until tomorrow?”

  “In a matter of weeks, maybe days, I will be gone. I have no way of knowing when. Before it’s too late I wanted to tell you that I gave the order for Stud Williams to be killed. He shot Milo weeks ago, and for that I hired someone to sabotage the car that was taking him back to Joliet. I would be lying if I said it wasn’t personal, my killing him. It was very personal.”

  Lucky had determined that the accident that had claimed Stud Williams’s life a week ago hadn’t been an accident.

  “I also wanted to tell you what happened at Vincent D’Lano’s cabin years ago.”

  Lucky thought it ironic that Vito had chosen tonight of all nights to discuss Grace while his daughter was outside waiting in the car—a daughter he had no idea existed. For time’s sake, and because he had already heard the story from Frank, he said, “I know what happened.”

  “Frank’s version. But he was unconscious for several hours. He told you what he thinks happened. Not what actually happened. There has been much speculation about who killed my wife that night. I know the rumors claim it was me. For the record, Lucky, I never killed Grace. I loved my wife. Even after I learned she’d betrayed me with your father, I still loved her. I could not hurt her.”

  “But she was hurt,” Lucky said, knowing that the extent of Grace’s injuries had drastically affected her quality of life.

  “I tried to stop them that night, Carlo and Vincent, but they were like hungry animals on a blood scent. I tried to save my Grace, but Carlo had other plans.” He coughed again and Lucky saw more blood in the tissue. “The police are looking for Carlo’s murderer. Tell Jackson Ward to look no further. When the time comes and I am gone, go to my safe in the study. There you will find Carlo’s watch and his gold ring. I took them off his body after I personally shot his head full of lead.”

  Not surprised, Lucky nodded.

  “It felt good to kill him. He was the one who ordered Vincent to beat Grace and cut her lovely face. For years I have lived behind these walls in pain and shame. Before it is too late, I must right the wrong. That’s why Vincent D’Lano must also die. He must pay as Carlo paid. But I fear I have waited too long to avenge my Grace. Vincent is still in jail, and I grow weaker every day.” Vito reached out and gripped Lucky’s hand. “If I die before I can kill him, you must do it. You are my heir, and my enemies are now your enemies. My responsibilities, your responsibilities. Promise me you will kill Vincent D’Lano for me if I die before it is done, Lucky. Say you will kill the animal who destroyed my beautiful Grace, and took her from this world. From me…and your father.”

  His energy spent, Vito slumped back against the pillows and closed his eyes while Lucky sat there mulling over what he’d just learned. So it was Vinnie who had tortured Grace, not Carlo.

  He didn’t know how long he sat there. Longer than ten minutes. The door opening jarred him. Summ entered, saying, “He will rest now. If he has told you what is in his heart, then he is finally at peace. His journey will begin soon.”

  Chapter 5

  Elena watched Paulie’s head fall back against the seat for a second time. She waited another long minute, then eased open the cab door watching him as she did so. When he didn’t move, she climbed out and closed the door quietly.

  The night air was bitterly cold, and she shivered as she stepped away from the car and disappea
red into the shadow of a tall tree. A line of shrubs wrapped the house. She avoided the front entrance and found an unlocked iron gate on the west side of the house. She slipped through it, aware that she could meet a guard dog at any minute.

  She had experience with befriending guard dogs, but nonetheless, she hurried up the paved path. She had no idea why she’d gotten out of the cab. It was as if an unexplained force had pulled her from the cab, and that same force was challenging her to enter the house.

  The estate was guarded much like Santa Palazzo. Only, there were more guards, and from the sound of it, more dogs, too. She could hear them now. They’d picked up her scent. Sure they’d be upon her in a matter of seconds, Elena scrambled toward a heavy glass-and-iron door. She pulled a lock pick from inside her boot and worked quickly to open the door. She hurried into the house and closed the door just as two large Rottweilers pressed their noises to the glass and showed their teeth. The corridor was dark, and the smell of lemon oil and cloves melted around her as Elena stared at the grandeur of polished wood and a mammoth crystal chandelier hanging from a vaulted ceiling.

  She kept her ears attuned to the slightest noise, but the house was as quiet as a tomb. The spacious corridor fed into three separate hallways. She selected the right and soon found herself moving past a stairway and a massive clock that stood at least eight feet tall outside an archway into a large living room. She peeked inside the room and found a fire glowing in a huge stone hearth. The room was full of rich leather furnishings.

  She moved down another hallway, this one lined with gold-framed shadow boxes filled with old guns and ancient swords. Suddenly she heard voices. Afraid of being discovered, Elena hurried toward the first door she came to and disappeared inside. Holding her breath, she listened as the voices grew louder, then receded, along with their footsteps.

  She let out a relieved sigh, then turned. She was in the study, she surmised. Bookshelves lined one wall, and a worn leather chair sat behind a sprawling desk. There was a lit green banker’s lamp on the desk, and the smell of lemon and cloves had been traded for aromatic tobacco. A pristine red velvet sofa sat along one wall and a single matching chair in front of the desk. Both looked rarely used.

  When she spied the wooden bird perch in the corner, she took a second look, one black eyebrow hiking with curiosity. A few seconds later, her gaze moved to the picture on the wall directly above the perch.

  For the next several seconds Elena forgot to breathe, her gaze locked on the gold-framed portrait. A portrait of a smiling young woman in her late twenties. A beautiful black-haired woman Elena easily recognized.

  On a strangled sob, she gasped, “Mother?”

  Lucky swore, then slammed the cab door shut. Elena was gone, and Paulie—who admitted sheepishly that he’d dozed off—hadn’t seen her leave the cab.

  The devil was definitely out to get him tonight, he thought as he paid Paulie and sent him back to town.

  Returning to the house, he located Benito Palone. “I had a woman in the car with me when I got here. She’s not there any longer.” He frowned, the words spoken out loud irritating the hell out of him all over again. “Find her and bring her to me. Unharmed. Someone had to have seen her.”

  “Yes, sir. We’ll find your woman.”

  “She’s not my woman,” Lucky said. “She’s… Never mind. Just find her.” Benito was halfway down the hall when Lucky called him back. “Do you carry a cell phone?”

  “Yes.”

  Lucky pulled his own from his pocket. “Let me program the number. If I want to reach you, I don’t want to have to waste time running you down. And likewise the minute you find Elena, I want to be called. She’s five-seven, has black hair to her shoulders. She’s wearing brown pants and a short black leather jacket. She has the face of a angel, but don’t underestimate her. And watch your pockets. She likes sharp knives.”

  It took no more than a few seconds to program the number into the cell phone, and then Benito hurried off to turn Dante Armanno upside down in search of Lucky’s woman.

  Anxious, and not willing to just leave Elena to Palone and the guards, Lucky headed out the back door. But after an hour had passed, and Elena was still nowhere to be found, he returned to the house more worried than angry. It was as he was heading down the hall, contemplating searching the house from top to bottom, that he heard a noise coming from Vito’s study.

  Confused how Elena could have managed to breech the house security, he entered the study and found her seated behind Vito’s desk—the surface scattered with papers and a number of photo albums.

  The minute he saw her pale face in the lamplight, he knew that her search for her father’s identity was over. He was rarely careless. But tonight he’d made a major mistake. A mistake he might live to regret. “Elena?”

  She looked up, wiped the evidence of tears from her cheeks. When her eyes shifted to the portrait on the wall of her mother, Lucky’s gaze followed. Grace could be Elena’s twin—except for the eyes.

  “She was beautiful.” She looked down at the pictures covering the desk. “She’s smiling in all of these pictures.” She gazed up at him. “So what changed all that, Lucky? What happened to my mother while she was married to Vito Tandi?”

  It was as she stood that Lucky saw the blood on her hand. “What happened?”

  “Broken glass,” she explained. “I wanted to see if the wedding picture was dated.” She stepped away from the desk. “It wasn’t.”

  “How bad are you hurt? Let me see, Elena.”

  “It’s just a scratch.”

  Not trusting her definition of the word scratch, he flipped open his cell phone, suddenly remembering that Palone still had the guards out searching the grounds. Speaking quickly, he explained that he had found Elena and that he needed Palone’s assistance in Vito’s study pronto.

  When he advanced on her, she stepped away. “Elena, let me have a look at your hand.”

  “I told you it’s nothing.”

  Her voice shook and she cleared it twice. She’d been lied to for years. Lucky had no idea what that felt like. Wouldn’t begin to presume what she was feeling at the moment.

  Minutes later Palone stepped inside the study and asked, “Where did you find her?”

  “In here.”

  Palone frowned. “How did she get into the house?”

  “I came in the side door,” Elena offered. “It was unlocked.”

  “That’s impossible.” Palone glanced at Elena, then the picture of Grace. Lucky watched as recognition dawned and his frown deepened.

  “She’s cut her hand,” Lucky supplied, knowing he was going to have to explain to Palone a few things later. “Tell Summ I need disinfectant and a bandage.”

  “Right away, sir.”

  “Then have a car brought around. We’ll be leaving shortly.”

  As Palone was ducking back out of the room, his eyes took in the disheveled study.

  Lucky said, “We’ll get someone to clean this up later.”

  When they were alone again, Lucky turned back to Elena. She had picked up a picture of Vito and Grace holding a baby. “Where’s my brother?”

  “Milo’s dead.”

  “Dead?” She bit her lip.

  “It happened about six weeks ago.”

  “How did he die?”

  “He was killed.”

  “By who?”

  “A man named Stud Williams.”

  “Williams? Isn’t that the man Rhea was once married to?”

  “Yes. Her ex-husband,” Lucky clarified. “He’s dead, too. He was in a car accident on his way back to prison after his recent breakout.” He offered her the story filed at the police department. She didn’t need to know that Vito had been responsible for Williams not making it back to prison.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “I’m sick of hearing that word, Lucky!”

  Her voice was full of anger as she stepped forward, her hand raised as if s
he meant to strike him. But before it could connect, Lucky grabbed her wrist and pulled her up against him. “Take it easy,” he soothed.

  She tried to wriggle free. “Let me go.”

  “Facilmente, Elena. Easy.” He gripped her arms. “We can’t change the past.”

  She pushed away from him, stumbled back, almost losing her balance. “I don’t want to change anything. I just want to know why my mother no longer looks like that!” She pointed to the portrait on the wall. “Treat me with the same respect you would expect, Lucky. I know you would demand nothing less than the truth, and I won’t settle for less, either.”

  She was right, he would demand the truth. A small voice inside his head whispered, Tell her. She deserves to know.

  But could she handle it? All of it?

  Frank hadn’t thought she could, or he would have told her. Or had Frank’s judgment been checkered by his own ghosts from the past?

  “I’m twenty-four, Lucky, and everything I thought and believed in is a lie. My whole life has been a lie.”

  The desperation in her eyes reminded Lucky of how helpless he’d felt the day he’d learned who and what he was. He’d been only eight years old when Joey had explained to him what it meant to be the son of a mafioso. He was young, but he had understood fully, and at that moment he had desperately wanted to be someone else’s son.

  “Let me sleep on it, Elena.” Even as he warned himself not to reveal too much, Lucky knew he was through lying to her. That before he took her back to Santa Palazzo, he would give her what she wanted. “If I decided to tell you the truth, I’ll have your word that you’ll go home afterward. Say it.”

  “I’ll go home after I hear the truth.”

  “I have your word?”

  “Yes, my word. Is Vito Tandi like you?”

  “Like me?”

  “Like you and Frank. A mobster?”

  “Were you hoping for better, Elena?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.” She chewed on her lip as she rubbed her hands on her thighs. Subtle signs that she was nervous and uncertain.