Ruthless: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance

by Lauren Landish

  "I like the way you think," Carmen said, laughing. "But you know this means that tomorrow we have to hit the dance floor hard to compensate."

  "I'm fine with that," I replied. "I plan on not just going to New York with you, but us winning the whole damn thing. How much is the prize money again?"

  "Ten thousand," Carmen said. "Why?"

  “Just enough to upgrade your living arrangements and spruce up the studio."

  "And what about your half?" Carmen asked. The waitress brought out a platter of dim sum, giving us an expectant look. "Hold on. Tell your father that we're here celebrating, that we want the best he's got in the kitchen.

  She gave a smile and a nod and walked off, then Carmen turned back to me. "So your half of the money?"

  "Oh, that's the half that is either invested into the studio, or is invested into getting you a new apartment, take your pick," I replied. "I don't need the money, and my life is just how I want it.”

  Carmen opened her mouth, about to reply when the phone rang. I looked, and saw it was Tomasso. “It's Tomasso. One minute."

  I answered the call, Tomasso speaking even before I had a chance to say anything. "Dante, sorry to interrupt your date. I know I said that you can't have another bad date with Carmen, but I need your services."

  "It's okay. The date's going fine, and you know I'm ready.”

  Tomasso chuckled while Carmen smiled and took my free hand, giving it a squeeze under the table. "In that case, I need you to come by tonight, around eight or earlier," Tomasso said. "Those gentlemen we talked about, and the ones you told me about in Vegas, it seems they are working together, and things are coming to a head quicker than I'd have preferred. My father has given me a difficult task for tonight. Can you make it?"

  "Of course. I'll be there before eight. Dress?"

  "Tactical," Tomasso said. "Tell Carmen I'm sorry."

  "I will. Good-bye."

  Tomasso hung up, and I looked at Carmen, pursing my lips. "Work calls.”

  "I see," she said, trying not to sound disappointed. "When?"

  "I have to be there before eight. Which gives us exactly fifty-two minutes to enjoy our dinner before I have to head back to my place to get ready. Think we can eat dinner by then?"

  “Plenty of time for dinner. But unfortunately no time for dessert.”

  I was still a little starry-eyed when I got to the Bertoli mansion, parking my car near the kitchen entrance and going in. I was wearing my tactical gear, lightweight combat style boots with black pants, and a long-sleeved Under Armour shirt that I could pull other clothes on top of.

  "Well, you had a good start to your evening," Luisa said, greeting me in the kitchen. "You’re nearly floating."

  "It was the best date of my life," I said, then shook my head. “Enough of that though, I’m sure you’ll get details from Carmen. It's time for business."

  Luisa and I walked toward the study, where Tomasso was waiting. "Good. In just a minute, the other guys are going to get here. Then I'll bring everyone up to speed."

  Nick was the first through the door at one minute to nine, while Gene sort of sauntered in a few minutes later, seemingly not aware or not caring about the fact that he was late. It was one of the reasons he was bringing up the tail end, and I had to remind myself that only about six months prior, I'd been the one that had been at the butt of derision.

  "All right, now that we've got everyone," Tomasso said, giving Gene a pointed glance, "let's get to work. Here's the deal. As you know, for the past week or so we've been tailing and gathering information about the Gatos, a group down in SoDo and Beacon Hill that's been stepping out of bounds. Dante, I know you've been out of the loop the past few days, and by the way congrats on the Vegas trip. Luisa?"

  Luisa stepped in, her normal smile gone and the cold-hearted badass I'd seen before there instead. "Dante met a man named Peter Malone in Las Vegas, a member of the Malone family down there. There were some questions about the meeting, and we've been checking up on information. From what we have found out, Peter Malone is part of the pipeline that is supplying the Gatos with their drugs and money to bankroll their actions."

  "Do we know why?" Nick asked. I'd done training with him, and he was a good operator. Like some of the other Bertoli men, he was prior military who'd enlisted in order to gain skills, so he was older than me, about thirty or so, and he still favored the military-like haircut, with his brown hair cut into a flat-top that was only slightly fuller than military standard. "And what's the deal with tonight?"

  "Malone is bringing in a shipment of weapons and drugs to Seattle tonight," Tomasso said. "Now, normally we'd just drop a dime to the cops about it, but my father thinks, and I agree, that we need to send a message instead. Both to the Gatos and to this group that the Malones are a part of. So the five of us are going in. This is going to be a full-on raid, no holding back. Only one person is going to be in a suit, and that's me, to send the message to any survivors."

  "Will there be survivors?" I asked.

  "Not intentionally," Luisa commented. "If they want to guess who did it, they can watch the security footage. So all of us will be disguised, full face masks, gloves, long sleeves, and we're taking disguised cars."

  "Where?" Nick asked, his lips twisting into a half grin. I knew enough of his military past that he'd been infantry, and had done a tour kicking in doors in Afghanistan. He got off on this sort of stuff.

  "Small airport, crop duster sort of place really, out near Buckley on the edge of Eunumclaw," Tomasso said. "From what our associates say, the plane is supposed to be landing around midnight, which gives us just enough time to get our gear together and get out there. Now, any more questions?"

  "Just one," I said. "What're we carrying?"

  "Oh, that's the fun part," Tomasso said, grinning. "We get to play with the big toys tonight."

  Big toys was one way to put it, as I felt the stock of the Beretta AR70/90 while Luisa drove. We were taking three vehicles, Tomasso driving by himself while Nick and Gene, who teamed together often, in a third. "Are you okay?" Luisa said as she drove.

  "I will be," I replied. “This is kind of the first time I've gone out with the express idea of killing a man. Or men."

  "It is a difficult situation," Luisa agreed. We changed lanes, getting ready to get off the Interstate and go onto the state roads that would bring us to the airport. "I still don’t like this part of my work. It was one of the biggest adjustments I had to make when I decided I would be more than just a wife and mother to Tomasso and Mariana. My father didn’t want me involved in the nasty side of our family business."

  "And yet, you handle it so well," I noted. "You are like two different women. A great mother, and a good friend to Carmen, and I assume Adriana and others too. But on the other hand I've seen and felt the sting of when you go into badass mode.”

  "Sucking up to your boss gets you no pay raises," Luisa joked, but I could still see her smile at the compliment. "In all honesty, I think it is that I subscribe to Carlo Bertoli's philosophy about the duality of man. On one side is the Luisa you mentioned, the mother who likes making cookies with my daughter, or enjoys tender moments with my husband. On the other hand is the killer, who enjoys the rush of a fight. The best we can do is keep those parts of us separated, and also fulfilled. Too many people try to deny part of their nature, so they end up miserable and usually snapping at some point or another."

  "Another time we’ll finish this,” I said, locking and loading the first clip into the rifle. "It's go time."

  We pulled over, outside the airport which truly was one of those places that was used by crop dusters, amateur enthusiasts, and criminals almost exclusively. A short runway had a line of Cesnas and even a few ultralights parked at one end near the single hangar, which was integrated with the tower. There were no lights on in the tower, and I wondered what sort of pilot was gutsy enough or stupid enough to try and make a landing at night on a runway that wasn't lit at all. "How the fuck are they supposed
to see when they come in?"

  "Like that," Luisa whispered, pointing. I squinted and saw a dark figure get out of a car that I thought had just been parked near the hangar and go inside, and a few seconds later the red runway lights went on. "The plane is coming, there's no way they would light up without the plane being on final approach."

  It was then that I heard the engine, and Luisa pointed. "Out. Go to Tom's car."

  We left the vehicle and crept up to Tom's car, a used old station wagon that was about as far from a Bertoli car as you could get and still be running. Tom had gotten out, staying low to the ground even though we were parked across the street from the airport at a closed bar. "What's the plan?"

  Tomasso waited for Nick and Gene to arrive, then gave his final directions. "Okay. Nick, Gene, I want you guys to cut right, around the other side of the line here, and get their attention. Go full auto if you have to, but give us some room to come in from the other side. Luisa, Dante and I are the assault team. Got it?"

  Nick grumbled, and I knew he wanted to be on the assault team, but his discipline with his shooting would be important for our survival. He nodded, slapped Gene on the shoulder, and the two of them took off, disappearing around the corner of the airport. I watched, and noted the lack of perimeter security. "The Gatos aren't very experienced in this sort of deal, are they?”

  "A fact we use to our advantage," Tomasso said. "Probably wondering why I chose you for the assault team?"

  “Kind of," I whispered back as the three of us sprinted across the road, speed our friend. "I doubt it's my good looks."

  "I want someone I fully trust on my back."

  We reached the edge of the airport, which unlike the big airports had only a simple chain-link fence. "Someone's gotta be stealing planes on a monthly basis out of this place."

  "I doubt it, too hard to fly out," Tomasso commented. He cut a hole in the fence, and the three of us wiggled through, staying low to the ground and out of sight. "You two ready?"

  I looked down and double-checked, taking my rifle off safety. "Ready."

  "Then let's go."

  Tomasso started the assault with a rifle shot to the plane just as it touched down, not expecting to hit anything but to put a scare into the pilot. It was the signal for Nick and Gene, who opened up on the hangar, and the car that had been parked next to it. We charged, not in bursts like you see in Army movies, there was no constant leapfrogging, bouncing up and down on the grass and pavement. There was nowhere for us to take cover, and speed was our biggest ally.

  I fired as I jogged, not sprinting to avoid spraying bullets wildly, but still moving. Luisa, Tomasso and I weaved side to side as we did, obliterating the car as we closed the distance. We were nearly all the way across the runway when Tomasso called out. "Cease fire!"

  The small airplane, which Tomasso had fired at first, hadn't taken off again like I expected, but instead taxied toward us, and I quickly saw why. Black smoke belched from the engine in the right wing, and the pilot was having trouble even keeping the plane stable on the ground. There was no way it could take off again.

  Nick and Gene came sprinting, their weapons smoking in the night, and Nick paused to check that there was nobody moving in the car we'd shot up. "Three down."

  Gene kicked in the door to the hangar and fired one more burst. "Four down."

  "Let's get to the plane," Tomasso ordered, knowing the cops would be here soon. "Come on."

  We made our way to the plane, which was about a hundred yards in front of us. We closed half the distance and stopped, Tomasso bringing his rifle to his shoulder and opening fire, full automatic. The rest of us followed suit, and the pilot stood no chance. In ten seconds we filled the plane with five hundred bullets, emptying our hundred-round C-mags and replacing them once each.

  The silence when the last rifle fired was strange, and I glanced at Tomasso, who nodded. "Let's get the fuck outta here. Move!"

  We took off on a full sprint back to the exit of the airport, knowing with each second wasted the local cops would be getting closer. So it was by pure luck only that I saw the Gato staggering in the doorway, his MAC-10 up and aimed at Tomasso, who was to my right. I didn't think, and just reacted. "Down!"

  I shoved Tomasso, and watched as he stumbled, rolling to the pavement. I dove after him even as I heard the guy open up, and suddenly, there was a searing pain in my right hand, and I hit the ground, trying to aim my rifle at the gangster. For some reason, though, I couldn't get a good grip with my right hand on the rear stock. It kept slipping. Luisa had no problems, though, and with a quick burst, she nearly cut the dude in half. "Get up!"

  I staggered to my feet, my hand scraping on the ground, and I screamed as fresh pain flared through my hand. I dropped back to my knee, looking at my hand, which was spurting blood onto the dirt. "I'm hit!"

  Tomasso was next to me, pulling me up by the armpits even as Luisa grabbed the other arm. "No time, let's go!"

  We abandoned the car that Tomasso had driven to the airport, Nick hitting a button on the inside wired to the hazard lights that would activate a timer attached to three sticks of dynamite taped to the gas tank. All of it had been done by someone wearing rubber gloves, and there was no way the cops would ever know what the hell happened. Besides, it created more chaos to let us get away.

  I felt the world swim as Tomasso shoved me into the back of the car I'd come in, piling in after me. Luisa was all business, getting behind the wheel and firing up the engine, driving off to the east while Nick and Gene headed the opposite direction. We were about a half mile away when Tomasso's car went up in a ball of fire, and we were making our way over country roads back toward Seattle.

  "Give me your hand," Tomasso said, reaching down and grabbing the first aid kit our car had. "You saved my life."

  "My . . . pleasure," I said, shock and blood loss starting to make me sleepy. "How bad is it?"

  "Don't worry, we'll get you taken care of," he said. My head swam, and I leaned back against the seat, closing my eyes. My last thought, before the darkness took over, was that for the first time ever, I'd heard real worry in Tomasso Bertoli's voice.

  Chapter 18

  Carmen

  "What happened?" I asked, as Luisa escorted me into the clinic. "What the hell happened? Where's Dante?"

  When I'd been woken up at four in the morning by someone pounding on the back door of the studio, I ignored it at first, figuring it to be either a drunk or maybe the overly frisky dogs who had decided the area behind my studio was the local hookup spot. The deadbolt was reinforced, and would take a SWAT battering ram to break through. "Fuck off!"

  "It's Luisa!" I heard in a muffled reply, and I rolled out of bed immediately, running to the door and unlocking it. I threw the door open, and saw my friend standing in the alley, wearing black military type pants and a t-shirt. "Come with me."

  "What is it?" I asked for the first time, fear in my heart put there by the look in her eyes.

  "It's Dante. Come with me. Quick!”

  I obeyed, even though I was in only an old pair of ratty dance pants and a t-shirt, pulling on shoes with no socks and getting in Luisa's car. She said nothing as she drove me toward the clinic, which was hidden in an old warehouse in the industrial district. There were three men on guard at the entrance, each of them armed with pistols, but they parted like the Red Sea upon Luisa's approach.

  "Where's Dante?" I asked again, and Luisa brought me to a back room, where I saw him lying on a table, unconscious. Two doctors were working on him, and he was surrounded by a clear sheet, like what you might see in a shower, but the space was much larger, at least ten feet in diameter. "What happened?"

  "There was a fire fight," I heard Tomasso say to my left, and I looked over, my concern ratcheting up a notch when I saw that his hands were covered in blood. "We thought we'd gotten everyone. But one guy, he wasn't . . . he tried to return fire. Dante saw it out of the corner of his eye and shoved me out of the way. He took a bullet for me.”
<
br />   "How bad?" I asked, my heart clenching in my chest. "How bad?"

  "Just his hand," Tomasso said, his voice catching, and I let loose a sigh of relief. "The docs are doing what they can to save it.”

  I gulped and nodded. "I see. Is there any hope?"

  Tomasso sighed and wiped at his face. "I don't know, Carmen. I sent Luisa to get you because, well, I thought you should know."

  "There is little else to do than wait," Luisa said, pulling a chair over. "But we felt it would be good for Dante if you were here when he wakes up. He passed out in the car, and the doctors have kept him under since then."

  We sat, trapped between worry and boredom as the doctors kept working for another hour, my body fighting the mix of adrenaline, fatigue, and heart-wrenching worry that coursed through my blood. Eventually fatigue won out, and I dozed off, leaning against Tomasso who put an arm around me and kept me warm in the cold room.

  I was woken up when the plastic sheet that surrounded the operating table rustled, and the doctors came out. Tomasso sat up, waking me at the same time. "How is he?"

  "He lost all of his index finger, and a small chunk of the palm itself," the lead doctor said. "Mr. Bertoli, even if we'd had the facilities of the University hospital, I couldn't have saved the finger. I'm sorry, sir."

  Tomasso shook his head. "You did your best, doctor. What about Dante?"

  "He's still sleeping it off," the other doctor said. "He's got a strong pulse, and he's in tremendous shape. He should be coming around in a half hour or so, I'll stay and monitor him until then. In my opinion you should get changed, get some coffee. No offense, but you look like hell."

  "After I know that he’s okay," Tomasso said. "Can we go inside?"

  "Give us two minutes, we'll have that screen down," the third doctor said. "Then you can go in all you want."

  They went back to work, quickly pulling the clear sheet down, and I saw Dante for the first time. He was a little pale, but except for the mass of gauze wrapped around his right hand, he looked like he was sleeping. I went closer, up to him in the flat bed, where he was lying so helplessly. "Tomasso?"