Last Man Standing

by Wendy Rosnau

  The door opened, a glimpse of light from the hall shining into the room for a split second before it was gone. “I’m going to make you scream like your mama, bitch. You can count on it,” the bulldog said.

  She was backing up, trying not to make a sound when suddenly she felt the heat of a warm body behind her and a hand closed over her mouth.

  Elena knew instantly who is was. The size and coarseness of his hand. The scent of worn leather. She closed her eyes, sagged against Lucky in relief.

  He never removed his hand from her mouth, never made a sound as he backed up, taking her with him. Elena had no idea how he could move in the darkness so silently. How he could remember where to go. What to avoid. But it didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was that he was there and would get them both out of there alive.

  And then…when he got her back to Dante Armanno, he was going to kill her for slipping out of the house behind his back.

  Lucky had never been so angry in his life. Angry or afraid. The idea of Elena taking on Vinnie D’Lano and Tony Roelo on her own wasn’t only stupid, it was suicide.

  He gripped her hand and pulled her along with him as he fled out the back entrance of D’Lano’s house. It was snowing with more fervor now, the first signs of the predicted winter storm that was promising a record dump of snow.

  He reached into his pocket for his cell phone and hit a stored number as he kept running. The knee-deep snow slowed them down, and he felt Elena fighting to keep up with him. But he refused to let go of her, continuing to drag her behind him in a grip that hadn’t eased since he’d gotten his hands on her in Vinnie’s kitchen. Speaking quickly into the phone, he avoided the sidewalks and the streetlights.

  A black four-door SUV squealed around a corner and sped toward them as they reached the street. “That’s our ride,” he growled over his shoulder. “Keep moving.”

  His words seemed to revitalize her and she lengthened her stride, reaching the vehicle ahead of him as it slid to a quick stop. He let go of her hand and flung open the door. Once she was inside, he scrambled in after her.

  As Jackson drove them away, the warm air in the SUV made Lucky aware of just how cold it was outside. On instinct, he reached for Elena and pulled her close. She was shivering, her teeth chattering.

  “There’s a blanket in the back,” Jackson called over his shoulder as he ran a stop sign and sailed through two more before reaching the expressway. “Either that, or you can have a real live fur coat on your lap. Mac is crazy about the ladies.”

  Jackson’s attempt at humor fell flat. Lucky ignored the German shepherd in the front seat and went in search of the blanket.

  Once he found it, he wrapped the warm wool around Elena’s shoulders, his mind replaying the hour since he’d gone upstairs to check on her and found her gone.

  At first he believed she was just somewhere in the house, but after an intense search, he’d sifted through the day’s events in his mind. And that had led him to remember how Elena had acted in the car that afternoon when they’d driven back to Dante Armanno. She hadn’t been just quiet, she’d been struggling with some inner torment. And that torment had been what she’d overheard him tell Joey in the kitchen. She’d heard him confess that it was Vincent who’d tortured Grace.

  It made sense. She’d been dressed when she’d come downstairs. Dressed, with her chin high and her anger on a tight leash.

  “Is she all right, Lucky?” Jackson asked.

  Before Lucky could answer, Elena’s chilly voice answered, “I’m fine.”

  “For the moment,” Lucky said threateningly. “How did you get out of the house, Elena?”

  “The tunnel.”

  “There’s no way in hell.”

  “Not your tunnel. My tunnel.”

  Her words stunned him. There was another tunnel. That he had missed the second tunnel when he had taken Vito’s estate apart days ago alarmed him. What else had he overlooked? “Where’s the exit?”

  “In the study.”

  He said no more. He was still having trouble breathing. A delayed reaction, he supposed—his mind and body coming together on the reality of what could have happened if he hadn’t gotten to her in time.

  In twenty minutes they were through the gates of Dante Armanno and pulling up in front of the house.

  Jackson said, “While I was waiting to pick you up, I got a call. Henry Kendler’s wife reported he never came home from the office today. What do you make of that?”

  “I don’t know,” Lucky answered. “But I’ll send someone to check it out.”

  “If you don’t need anything else from me tonight, I’ll go. If I find out something, I’ll give you a call.”

  “Phone Joey and have him pick up the Ferrari,” Lucky said. “It’s parked on Cedar Avenue, a few blocks from D’Lano’s house.”

  Jackson flipped on the SUV’s inside light and turned to Elena. “Next time you decide to—” He stopped in midsentence. “Holy hell!”

  The look on Jackson’s face jerked Lucky’s attention to Elena. The sight of her face covered in blood sent fear ripping through him. “Elena! I thought you said you were all right.”

  “It’s just a bloody nose, Lucky.”

  “Let me see.” He cupped her face so he could examine it, but she shoved his hand away.

  “I’m fine!” In one quick move, she tossed the blanket off her shoulders and exited the SUV before he could haul her back in.

  Jackson whistled. “You got your hands full with that one, bro.”

  “Don’t I know it,” Lucky said.

  By the time he entered the house, Elena was striding down the hallway with Palone and Summ trailing her like guard dogs.

  Lucky yelled, “My room, Elena. Now! Palone, update the men and tell them to keep their eyes open. Vincent D’Lano knows she’s Vito’s daughter now. Tell the men there’s a chance we could get company. Not tonight, but soon.” To Summ he said, “Hot tea in twenty minutes. Something other than Matcha. Capiche?”

  He strode past them, and as Elena started to climb the stairs, he hooked her arm and ushered her to the door of his bedroom. He didn’t let go of her until they were behind closed doors and Elena was halfway down the curving stairway.

  When they reached the bottom, he said, “The bathroom is this way.”

  Again he directed her by taking her by the arm. He was so damn angry with her and yet so relieved that she was alive that he didn’t know whether to hug her or shake her.

  “You’re hurting me.”

  Lucky looked down and saw how tightly his fingers were wrapped around her arm. He immediately let go and hit the switch on the wall, flooding the bathroom with bright light.

  The bathroom was as grand as the bedroom. Three times the size it needed to be, with a black marble sink and gold fixtures. The shower was large enough to accommodate a family of ten.

  Lucky strode quickly to the sink. “Come here, Elena.”

  He filled the deep sink with warm water, anxious to assess the extent of her injuries. If it was just a bloody nose, he could live with that. But if it was more…

  The thought of a scar on Elena’s flawless face made his gut churn, and he felt physically sick.

  “I’m capable of washing my own face,” she told him. “We all bleed, Lucky. You of all people should know that.”

  “We bleed when we’re hurt, Elena. How were you hurt?” He tried to keep his voice even as he retrieved a washcloth and submerged it in the water. When he turned, she was standing in the middle of the room looking around at all the extravagance. There was even a bathtub on a granite pedestal.

  She looked small and vulnerable as she stood there with her arms wrapped around herself. She was wearing a black sweatshirt, along with the black pants she’d worn earlier in the day. They were wet to her knees.

  He squeezed out the washcloth and came toward her. When he started to wash the blood from her face, she winced and turned away.

  “Dammit! Hold still. I need to see how badly y
ou’re hurt.”

  She ignored him and walked around him to the sink. She glanced at her face just once in the mirror, then bent over the sink, cupped warm water in her hands and began dousing her face. When the blood was gone and she’d dried her face, Lucky could see a cut on her cheek, as well as the early stages of a bruise along her jaw.

  The cut was no more than half an inch long, but it was deep enough to make her scar. He swore and turned away. “Why, Elena? I was going to take care of him.” He turned back and their eyes locked in the mirror.

  “Why did I go to Vincent D’Lano’s house by myself? Is that the question?”

  “Sì. If you overheard that it was D’Lano who hurt your mother this afternoon, then you also heard that I planned to take him out soon.”

  “A week ago you told me it was Carlo Talupa who was responsible for my mother’s suffering. Then you said he was dead. You lied to me, Lucky. If I can’t trust you, who can I trust?”

  “You lied to me, too, Elena. You said you came to Chicago for your father’s name and to…understand. But that’s not all you came for. You came for revenge.”

  “You knew?”

  “Honor and respect—they come from inside, Elena. Not something you can buy. You’re either born with them or you’re not. You said you grew up watching your mother suffer. Your confession was laced with emotion. I knew by the look on your face and the pain in your voice that you wanted more. You wanted to avenge your mother. Yes, I knew the real reason you came to Chicago, and that’s why I lied. To keep you from doing something stupid.”

  She turned to face him. “Vincent D’Lano stole my mother’s life, Lucky. He stole her beauty and her dignity. He took everything from her. Everything.” She lifted her chin. “My mother has had multiple strokes. Any one of them could have killed her. The next one might. And there will be a next one. The doctors have assured me of that.”

  “You don’t have to explain why you want D’Lano dead, Elena. That’s why I promised your father that I would see it was done.”

  “It is my responsibility, Lucky, not yours.”

  “What does it matter as long as it is done?”

  She lifted her chin. “It matters because I am the daughter of a mafioso. And because I grew up hearing Mother moan in pain night after night.”

  Lucky wasn’t going to argue with her. She was going home as soon as the storm broke. He walked past her and turned on the shower. “There’s a robe behind the door. Summ will bring tea in—” he checked his watch “—ten minutes.”

  Elena stripped off her clothes the minute Lucky left and closed the bathroom door. Cold and trembling inside and out, she stepped into the shower anxious for the water spray to clear her head as much as warm her body.

  While the water rained down on her and the evening’s events came and went in her mind, she gave way to her emotions, slumped against the shower wall and cried.

  She’d had her chance to avenge her mother and she’d failed. And now she wasn’t going to get another chance. She would be flown home tomorrow and then Lucky would take over.

  She had no doubt that he would kill Vincent D’Lano, that he would fix it for her, just as he did for everyone else.

  Why is it always your responsibility? she’d heard Joey ask as she’d hidden in the hall and listened at the kitchen door. His voice had held a mixture of frustration and anger.

  She hadn’t heard all of their conversation, but she’d heard the last of it. Enough to know that Joey had an enormous amount of guilt over Lucky’s role in the family as the enforcer.

  You were right. I killed our mother. She died giving me life. I took her away from you, Joey. You had a right to hate me for that. Frank, too. I cheated you both.

  Elena left the bathroom ten minutes later wrapped in the black satin robe she’d found behind the door. When she entered the bedroom, she stopped and looked around. It was the first time she’d been in this room, and now that she felt calmer, she was seeing it with a mixture of wonder and curiosity.

  The lights were low, and Lucky was seated on a purple velvet couch surrounded by bright yellow pillows. His eyes were closed, but his body was still tense. It was obvious he was cooling his heels just waiting to berate her for a second time over her stupidity.

  There was a tea tray on the table in front of him, but no sign of Summ. The housekeeper had delivered the tea and left. Or maybe Lucky had sent her away.

  He opened his eyes and stared at the cut on her cheek. She saw his jaw tighten as he sat up slowly. “Summ brought you tea. Orange spice. She says it’s one of your favorites.”

  The room was warm, and Elena swept the white towel off her head and shook out her hair. The heady scent of jasmine filled her nostrils, and she looked for the source. She soon spied the garden that lined an irregularly shaped pool built into a massive white rock structure complete with its own waterfall.

  She studied the waterfall that was as unbelievable as it was beautiful. There were lights set into the rocks making the water look like diamonds as it cascaded over the rocks and into the pool. The rushing sound reminded Elena of the ocean back home. Chansu was perched among the jasmine in the colorful garden.

  Her gaze then swung to the enormous bed draped in a purple velvet spread with gold trim. When she looked back at Lucky, he had slid forward to pour her tea. “Are you still angry with me?” she asked.

  “Si. Very angry.”

  Angry or not, she knew he wouldn’t hurt her. He might yell and threaten. But he would never cause her pain.

  Elena came forward and settled in one of two plush purple chairs opposite the couch and curled her feet beneath her.

  After Lucky handed her the cup of tea, he settled back on the couch, stretched out his legs and rested his hands behind his head. He had changed into a pair of soft worn jeans, and the pale-colored shirt he wore had been left unbuttoned. His silver cross rested on his muscular chest.

  Elena longed to reach out and touch him. To curl up in his lap and fall asleep in his arms. Yes, she was angry with him, too, but not so angry that she would ever forget how he could make her feel when he touched her.

  Suddenly he sat up, “I want you to repeat the conversation you had with Vinnie. I want it as close to what was said as you can remember. Word for word if that’s possible.”

  Elena took a sip of her tea. “It was brief. He already knew who I was. I don’t know how. He called me Vito’s secret seed. He asked the ugly man from Caponelli’s if I’d come alone.”

  “That would be Tony Roelo.”

  “They intended to keep me there all night and…and see what I was made of, is how Vincent put it. They were going to call you in the morning and see how badly you wanted me back.”

  Elena saw Lucky’s hands ball into fists. He sat a little straighter. “What prompted Vincent to hit you? It was Vincent, right?”

  “Yes. I spit in his face.”

  “And how did you get away?”

  “I told you that Romano taught me how to use a knife. He showed me several ways to defend myself. I knocked Vincent off balance, and when he went down, I grabbed the knife that had fallen from his hand.”

  “The knife? You never said anything about a knife. When did he pull that?”

  “When he said he was going to see what I was made of. He told me my mother squealed like a pig when he cut her.” Elena lowered her eyes, the thought making her nauseous. She stared into her teacup. “I ran out the door after I stuck the knife in Tony’s shoulder. I was going for his chest.” She looked up. “I threw it too high. I ran back to the kitchen, the way I’d gotten in. That’s when I backed into you.”

  “And you intended to kill Vinnie D’Lano how?”

  “The .38 I brought with me.”

  “You had a gun?”

  “Yes. I found it in the study. It was in a hidden holster bolted to the bottom of the middle desk drawer.”

  “And where is the gun now?”

  “Tony took it away from me, along with my flashlight.”

/>   Lucky leaned back again and studied her for another several minutes. Finally he asked, “How does your face feel?”

  “Better.”

  “You’re going to have a scar.”

  “Not much of a one. It’s barely a scratch.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning I’m not in a great deal of pain or too tired.” She held his gaze.

  “You want me now?”

  The words, and the way he said them… Elena told herself it was all right to sleep with him one more time. Told herself it was out of selfish need, not love, that made him so irresistible, and her desire to be wrapped in his arms so necessary. But as Lucky stood and held out his hand to her, Elena knew it was all a lie. Knew that she loved him with an ache so fierce it threatened to stop her heart from beating when she thought about leaving him.

  She stood and set the teacup on the table. Slipped into his arms seconds later, tugging at his shirt until he lowered his head and covered her mouth with his.

  She pressed her breasts to his chest, squirmed closer as his kiss turned hot and needy. As needy as her own. Eyes closed, her softness against his hardness, she felt his hands sweep the robe off her shoulders. She moaned, angled her head as his lips brushed her neck and moved lower. “Yes,” she whispered. “Touch me, Lucky. Want me.”

  He lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed. He didn’t speak until he’d laid her naked body on the velvet spread. Then, lowering himself to her side, he said, “I do want you, Elena. I will always want you. But know that you are going home very soon. Sooner than you think.”

  “But before I go, be my lover one more time.” She sighed, touched his cheek. “I love feeling you inside me. When I’m gone, I’ll remember, Lucky. I promise, I’ll remember.”

  A few hours later Lucky woke Elena with a kiss, then lifted her in his arms and carried her to the pool.

  “Where are we going?” she asked groggily.

  “I want to show you something,” he murmured.

  He rounded the pool, taking the stone steps through the garden past Chansu, sleeping on his perch. As they passed, the parrot’s eyes opened and he made a low chipping sound.