Lawless: Mob Boss Book Three

by Michelle St. James

  “But send an estranged member,” she said, “someone you’ve already disavowed, and you can claim ignorance.”

  He clapped his hands, and the sound echoed off the metal walls surrounding them. “Smart and pretty. You’ve done well for yourself, Nico, in spite of her pedigree.”

  The reference to her father was below the belt, and Nico put an arm out in front of her as if to stop her from doing something rash.

  Raneiro held out his hand. “Let’s see it,” he said. “It’s theft has caused quite an upheaval in certain circles.”

  Nico removed the flash drive from his pocket. “There’s some really nasty stuff on here, Nero. I have to admit that I’m disappointed.”

  Angel recognized Nico’s old pet name for Raneiro. Would it inspire him to keep talking?

  “You’ve always romanticize our business, Nico. Always refused to see it for what it is. If you’d been more honest with yourself about it, you might have inspired fear in your mean instead of disdain.”

  “You’re right,” Nico said. “I believed things could change. That was my biggest mistake. But there’s a big difference between drug running and weapons trafficking. Why go after the Darknet file? Why seek out information that will allow you to step into black market weapons sales — something that has no honor code, no tradition?”

  “Violence is its own tradition,” Raneiro said. “It will never cease to be part of our world, whatever the pacifists try to tell you. The only thing to do is to step aside and become a casualty or use it to make you stronger. To make sure you are one of the few who remain standing when law and order meets its inevitable demise. You’ve chosen to step aside. I’ve chosen to become stronger — and richer.”

  “By stealing information on weapons that are responsible for the killing of innocent people all over the world?” Nico asked him. “Weapons that bring about the demise you’re talking about?”

  Angel held her breath. This was it. An acknowledgement by Raneiro that he’d specifically sought out the information Nico was referring to would be enough for the FBI to make the case that Raneiro had intended to broker illegal weapons — and that would be enough to put him away for a long time.

  He smiled. “You’re either a victim of change or an agent of it, Nico. The Darknet file will allow me to be an agent, and that is an infinitely more powerful position.”

  Angel barely had time to register that Raneiro had said the words before chaos erupted around her.

  She saw Raneiro’s men raise their weapons first, aiming at something over her shoulder. Gunfire broke out a moment later, and she felt the jolt of concrete as he body was slammed into the ground. Nico was covering her body with his as Kane’s men moved in clad head to toe in black tactical gear.

  “FBI! Lower your weapons!” Kane shouted.

  But Raneiro’s men weren’t the kind of men to surrender. They open fired instead, spraying the surrounding area with bullets. Angel covered her head, adrenaline coursing through her body. Her mind was a jumble of observations as gunfire was exchanged.

  Nico was exposed. Risking his life to save hers.

  She was carrying their baby.

  No one here was going down without a fight.

  Where was Raneiro?

  She dared a glance up and saw that one of his men was down, blood seeping from a wound in his head. The other one was on the ground, too, dragging himself backward toward the safety of one of the crates lining the walls. He was hit in the leg, maybe more than once.

  But Raneiro was still there, seemingly unmoved by the ten FBI agents moving toward him.

  “Lower your weapon,” Kane shouted. “This place is surrounded. You’re not getting out of here alive unless it’s in handcuffs.”

  Silence seemed to thin the air in the hangar as Raneiro studied Kane. Angel thought he should be scared, or at least concerned about the situation in which he found himself. But his expression was placid; the expression of someone resigned to whatever the fates had in store.

  She didn’t know who fired first. There was an explosion in the room, the sound echoing off the metal walls, making her ears ring until she couldn’t hear anything but a high pitched whine. Raneiro was on the ground now, but not dead; sliding toward the wooden crates, his hands empty.

  And there was something else.

  His gun had landed just a couple of feet from where she and Nico lay on the ground. She could reach it. If she hurried, she could reach it. Then she could kill him. End this once and for all. Never have to worry about him again.

  “Put your hands over your head,” Kane said. “Nice and slow.”

  There was a brief moment of indecision. She saw it on Raneiro’s face, a reflection of her own as she eyed the gun only inches from her fingertips. Then he reached behind his back and Kane’s men opened fire. The force sent Raneiro sprawling.

  There was a split second of shocked silence in the moment before Kane’s men moved toward the dead bodies. And then Nico was sitting up, holding her head between his hands, scanning her frantically for signs of injury.

  “Are you okay?” he asked. “Are you hurt?”

  She saw Raneiro’s gun, still on the ground, over Nico’s shoulder, as she felt the spread of wetness between her legs. She looked down to see a circle of blood seeping across the crotch of her jeans. Nico’s eyes followed hers, confusion shadowing his features.

  He pulled her into his arms. “Help! We need help over here!”

  48

  ONE YEAR LATER

  

  The sand was soft under her sandals as Angel stopped at one of the market stands to admire a swath of green silk.

  “Ini adalah indah.” Angel spoke in Balinese to the elderly woman manning the kiosk.

  “Terima kasih. Itu di desa saya,” the woman replied.

  “Harganya berapa?” Angel asked, running the soft fabric between her fingers.

  “Dua puluh tujuh tiga puluh tiga rupiah.” The woman’s face was grave as she quoted the price. Negotiating in Bali was serious business.

  Angel nodded, handing over the appropriate bills.

  Their agreement reached, the woman’s face broke into a wide smile. “Keputusan yang baik.”

  A good decision.

  Angel returned her smile and scanned the beach in the distance. Tourists mixed with locals, spread out on the sand and playing in the water, their bathing suits and umbrellas and towels dotting the landscape like the prayer flags strung throughout Bali’s landscape. A gentle breeze drifted in off the water, caressing the skin of her shoulders, bare under her tank top, lifting the edges of her long skirt and the loose tendrils of her hair.

  A good decision indeed.

  She placed the bundle of fabric inside her bag and gave the woman one more smile before turning her attention back to the market. She walked slowly, in no particular hurry. She would go back to the cottage soon, cut up some of the fresh fruit she’d bought for lunch. Later, she and Nico would go to the orphanage where David volunteered his time. Maybe he would finally tell Angel about his love for the soft-eyed Balinese boy who worked there with him.

  She was almost to the end of the market when she caught sight of a man moving toward her. He wore linen pants and a loose shirt, the easy flow of the clothes only providing a hint of the strength and muscle that lay under the fabric.

  And in his heart.

  Nico…

  He was a warrior. He’d saved her life. Maybe even her soul.

  His eyes were shaded with sunglasses, but she knew the instant he saw her, saw it in the lift of his mouth, the smile that was meant only for her. He moved more quickly, anxious to get to her, and she felt the tug of her body to his. But now there was something else.

  The tug of her spirit to his, her heart.

  They belonged together. They always had.

  She met him halfway, then reached down to touch the bundle cradled in the fabric against his chest.

  Their daughter.

  Angel touched the soft fuzz of the baby’s h
ead, lowered her lips and inhaled her familiar, sweet scent. She was all the more precious for the fear Angel had felt in Rome when she thought she might have lost her. They had rushed Angel to the hospital, run a little instrument over her belly until they’d heard the soft locomotive of the baby’s heartbeat.

  Choo… choo… choo…

  Nico had lowered his head to her belly and cried.

  She’d been put on bed rest as a precaution, and she and Nico had holed up in London until the danger to the baby had passed. David had joined them a short time later, and they’d even had a brief visit from Luca, who had announced that he always wanted to be an uncle. He was on his way to Miami, and she’d hugged him tight, fighting tears as she said goodbye. She had a feeling they’d see him again someday.

  Braden Kane had kept them posted about the trial that had prosecuted Sean Murdock for espionage, illegal trafficking, and a host of other crimes that would keep him in prison for the rest of his life. But the world was used to his software, and his business legacy would survive him. It didn’t seem fair, but it was something Angel could live with. Raneiro Donati was dead, and while she liked to think she wouldn’t have gone for the gun, wouldn’t have pulled the trigger herself, she would never really know.

  She and Nico and David had settled in Bali before the baby was born. Angel and Nico had been married in a small ceremony on the beach, and Angel had given birth in their cottage by the sea, aided by one of the local midwives and Nico, who had looked at her with such love when he first held their daughter that Angel had wept.

  “Hello, beautiful,” Nico said, touching her hair.

  She smiled up at him. “Hello. How is she today?”

  “An angel,” he said. “Just like her mother.”

  She stood on tiptoe, kissed his lips. “Ready for lunch?”

  “I’m ready for you,” he said, his voice low and deep.

  She grinned. “Work first, play later.”

  He nodded, a slow smile spreading to his lips. “Work first, play later.” He touched his lips to their daughter’s head. “I guess that means lunch for all of us, princess.”

  She took his hand, and they turned toward the water and their new beginning.

  Toward life. And each other.

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