Ruthless: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance

by Lauren Landish

  "Yes, Carmen?" he asked, coming up next to me.

  "Tell me you didn't get him hurt foolishly. Tell me that, and I'll believe you. You've never lied to me before."

  "I thought we did our best," Tomasso said quietly. "In terms of from a military standpoint, we were successful. A plane down, a big chunk of a gang wiped out, and only one wounded. But personally, I've been sick about this the whole time. I've never gotten someone else hurt before."

  I looked at Tomasso, then to the sky, taking a deep breath. "I believe you. That doesn't mean I don't want to slap you right now."

  "I know you and Dante are seeing each other, and it’s scary, but he'll recover," Luisa said, and I turned, shaking my head.

  "Luisa, you don't understand! Yes, that scared me when you came banging on my back door at four in the morning, and yes, it scared me sitting here watching the doctors work. But Dante's hand is injured, maybe permanently. Think about how that’s going to impact him with his promotion that means everything to him. Not to mention, how in the hell are we supposed to get ready for the Nationals when my partner can't use his right hand?"

  Luisa thought, then nodded in understanding. “I’m sorry, that hadn’t even crossed my mind. What will you do?"

  “I don’t know. We’ll figure it out,” I said with a sigh, “Maybe call, let them know that Dante's injured, and that the next in line gets our slot. It wouldn't be fair to whoever that is to not let them prepare."

  "Fuck being fair," a weak voice came from behind us, and we all turned, a smile breaking out on my face as Dante opened his eyes. "I'm sick and tired of being fucking fair in life. It certainly hasn't been fair to me."

  I rushed over to the table, careful to take his left hand, looking down at him. "Dante, your hand is injured. They say . . . they say . . ."

  “My right index finger got blown off, and from the feel of this lump at the end of my wrist, I'd say I had some other damage as well. I felt it in the car. But it doesn't matter, we're going to New York, and we're going to compete."

  I swallowed, looking at his face, which was set with such composed resoluteness that I felt like what he was saying was possible. "We're going to have to rework our showcase," I said, squeezing his good hand. “But I guess we’ll figure that out.”

  "Then we rework them," Dante said. "Hey Tomasso. Good to see you. Did you wait the whole time?"

  He nodded, coming closer. "Luisa ducked out to pick up Carmen, but I was watching your ass the whole time."

  "Not my ass I'm worried about," Dante said with a chuckle. "The rest of the crew?"

  "Nick and Gene checked in about an hour and a half ago, they got back to their drop off points. I'm tempted to go over there and have a little heart to heart with Gene, since he was the one who swept the building that guy came out of."

  "Don't," Dante said, his voice gaining strength. Still, I could tell he was drained, whether it was from blood loss or from the trauma I wasn't sure. "The guy who came out, I caught a glimpse. He was already dying . . . he was hit. What is the news saying?"

  "We'll check that later," Tomasso said. He looked over at Luisa, and gestured with his head. Luisa nodded, and Tomasso turned back. “Actually, that might be a good idea to check on now. Think we can leave you in Carmen's care for the next hour or two?"

  "I think I can tolerate that," Dante said with a small smirk. "Go on, go be the boss man. When you come back though, could you bring me a Coke? Preferably cherry, and with a straw?"

  Tomasso smiled and patted Dante on the shoulder. "For my brother? Anything. I'll see you later."

  He and Luisa left, and I looked back down at Dante, who had a shocked expression on his face. "For he who sheds his blood with me today shall be my brother," he whispered in amazement, before his eyes found mine.

  "Well, you wanted acceptance," I said, patting his arm. "Even if you're out of your mind."

  "And how am I out of my mind?" Dante asked, giving me a semi-cocky grin. "I mean, in what new ways am I out of my mind?"

  "We're seven and a half weeks out from the Nationals," I replied, stroking his hair absently. "You just had a finger blown off, and who knows what other damage to your hand. I haven't even seen it, and you're talking about still trying to make it. After we placed third at the Regionals. You do realize we're going to be facing the best of the best at this thing, right?"

  Dante nodded. "And I know one other thing. I can’t think of anyone more worth it."

  A shook my head, amazed. "I still should make the call."

  "You should, but you won't," Dante said, pulling me in closely. Our lips met, and we kissed slowly, with tenderness and affection. He was gentle, not weak at all despite being drained, and when his hand pulled me in deeper, I moaned lightly, passion filling me. I knew what I wanted, even though he'd just been through surgery. I wanted to climb on top of that operating table and have sex. Long, slow sex that would last for hours.

  Instead, with a chuckle and a small whine from me, he released our kiss, giving me a little smile as I stood up, slightly out of breath. "That's why you won't make the call. Because you're just as crazy as I am, and because you know that come hell or high water, I'm going to step onto that dance floor, and we're going to make magic together."

  "You're both out of your damn minds."

  For the second time in my life, I was sitting in Carlo Bertoli's study that evening, sitting across from the Don while both of his sons were flanking me. Angelo had a bemused expression on his face, while Tomasso still bore the haunted but intense expression I'd seen at the clinic.

  "Be that as it may, it’s our decision," I replied. I was dressed in my best business clothes, which were admittedly not very good. When you're a dance instructor, suits are not a priority. Besides, I had a lot to do in the short time I had between going home and driving up to the Bertoli mansion. "And I truly believe in my heart of hearts that Dante is right.”

  Don Bertoli turned his attention to Tomasso. "What is the fallout from the airport?"

  "Our sources are telling us that the cops have no leads on us," Tomasso said. I was surprised and slightly flattered that the they were including me so much in open discussion of what had happened. "I was careful, every round was from a pre-loaded canister, we wore gloves and masks the entire time. The only evidence that might be traceable is Dante's blood at the scene, if the cops discover it, but from what I know, Dante has never been DNA sampled. In any case, Nick told me that he rubbed his foot into the blood, grinding it into the dirt before taking off after us. As for the Malone family, Luisa and I will deal with them directly this evening. It wasn't a Malone in that plane, but most likely one of their men, and that needs to be dealt with."

  The Don nodded, then turned his attention back to me. "Miss Esperanza, of course I have concerns about this. Some are things we can control, some we can’t. This blood sample is worrisome, but Dante continuing with his dance training with you is neither here nor there. What I’m more concerned with is his ability to return to work. Men with no trigger fingers find their work options limited within my organization. Before I make a decision, are you sure that is worth your time and effort?"

  I nodded strongly. "More than ever. You say Dante might be limited. Let's make it the worst-case scenario, that he can never return to anything within your organization ever again. Let's say that eight weeks from now, the two of us get back from New York, and some detective is waiting for us at SeaTac with a set of handcuffs for him because somehow, in some weird situation that nobody remembers, his DNA is actually on file somewhere. If that's true, if that's the case, then let him, let this man who has spent six years giving his heart and soul to your family, let him fulfill this last mission."

  "And if I can add, it still is best for your investment," Tomasso said. "You are still Carmen's business partner, Father."

  Carlo leaned back and laid his hands over his stomach, pondering. "All right then. When Dante leaves the clinic tomorrow, he will be reassigned in his duties. Until the end of the trip to
New York, his primary duty will be to train for this competition. In fact, I'm going to place a call right now."

  He sat forward and picked up a phone, dialing a number from memory. "Hello, Frankie? Yeah, it's Carlo. Yeah, how you doin'?"

  I looked at Tomasso, raising an eyebrow. How you doin'? I mouthed. Tomasso tried, but couldn't totally hide his smile in reply, and I turned my attention back to the Don, who was talking with his friend. "Yeah, that's right, the dance competition in six weeks, the AADP Nationals. You got odds on it yet? No? Well, that doesn’t really matter to me. Listen, I got a business associate of mine who's competing. No, I don't want you to put a fix in with the judges. What I want to do is back myself. Put me down for ten large on the team of Esperanza and Degrassi."

  The Don hung up the phone and gave me a small smile. "I always back my own horse. So when you win, we all win."

  "I don’t know what to say,” I manage, truly moved as well as slightly scared. If Dante and I failed, I would have let him down, and that was not a position I wanted to be in. He'd been kind and generous our entire relationship so far, but losing the man ten thousand dollars on top of everything he had invested in opening my studio might make things change. "I promise that we will do our best."

  "Good. Now if you'll excuse me, I do have other business to attend to. Tomasso, if you'd show Carmen out, please. Angelo, stay here. We need to discuss your nightclub."

  I got up and followed Tomasso out into the hallway, Tomasso closing the door behind him. "Uh, wow. I didn't expect that last bit."

  "Nor I, but I'm not surprised," Tomasso said. "Dad's always been a bit . . . sentimental about you. And you can wash away that worry I see in your eyes. He's not going to hold that marker over your head. If it comes to anything, I'll take that marker on myself. I owe Dante that. He did save my life."

  We walked toward the foyer, Tomasso still somber. Reaching the steps outside the front door, he stopped. "Carmen, I just wanted to say that I'm sorry. I'm going to back you guys too, just to let you know. I'll talk with Dante about the details with that after I discuss them with Luisa."

  I smiled and gave him a quick hug. "You're going to be a good Don someday, Tomasso. You've got brains and heart. Wait just a second."

  I went down to my car, retrieving the item that Dante had insisted I get from his apartment. It was strange, going to his apartment for the very first time after knowing him for months and him not being there. I had felt a bit like a voyeur, even though I was doing what Dante wanted me to. Looking at his sofa which doubled as his bed, I had chuckled to myself. It was a reminder that the two of us hadn't led lives that were all that different.

  "Here," I said, handing Tomasso a black and white covered schoolboy's composition book, the sort that I had used back in elementary school. "Dante asked that I give this to you."

  "What is it?" Tomasso asked, looking down at the speckled black and white cover with an American flag in the lower right corner.

  "Bobby Degrassi's notebook," I answered. "Dante felt you should have it."

  Tomasso opened the cover and looked at the tight, neat handwriting inside, nodding slowly. "I swear, I will back you two, Carmen."

  "I know you will. Have a good night, we'll talk later."

  I headed down the steps, stopping at the bottom before turning back. "Hey, Tomasso?"

  "Yeah?"

  "How you doin'?"

  Tomasso laughed loudly, shaking his head. "How you doin'!"

  Chapter 19

  Dante

  I was surprised when I got to the Bertoli mansion. I expected that the Don would want to meet with me, if only to pass along his sympathies about my injury, but when I got there, instead of meeting him in his office, he came out and greeted me on the steps.

  "Dante, it’s good to see you," he said, clapping me on both shoulder. I was shocked, it was literally a public endorsement of me in front of everyone. "Come in, my boy. I have a surprise for you."

  I looked at Tomasso, who'd driven me from the clinic, but he just gave me an overly innocent look and shook his head.

  “Don’t worry, it’s a good surprise,” The Don said.

  We crossed the foyer and went to the dining room, flooring me when I walked in. The room, which previously had been dominated by a gigantic wooden table, was totally empty, save for the chandelier which still hung overhead. The floor was freshly waxed, and gleamed mellowly in the afternoon sunlight. "What do you think?"

  "Uhm, well, it's a bit . . . Spartan, sir," I said, trying to guess what the Don had in mind. "Are you getting a new table?"

  "Nope. This is going to be one of your training spots for the next six weeks."

  "Dad and I watched video of Regionals," Tomasso said, speaking up when he saw I was still wondering what the hell he was talking about, "and this is probably a better floor to practice on than Carmen’s studio."

  I rubbed my chin, not knowing what else to do. “I don’t know what to say. That’s generous of you. Thank you.”

  “Save your thanks for the rest," Don Bertoli commented, pointing. "Follow me."

  We stopped in front of a door upstairs in the servant's wing, gesturing for me to open it. I turned the knob, again confused when I saw a plain bedroom.

  “For the next seven weeks, this is your bedroom” Tomasso explained, chuckling.

  “Normally I’d just say you deserve some time to rest and recover, but I have a feeling that’s an order you’d refuse. So everything you need will be taken care of. Starting today, for the next seven weeks, you are a professional athlete in training camp. Like Marciano in the Catskills. Good luck, my boy."

  The Don turned and walked away, and I looked at Tomasso. “This is too much," I said, leaning against the door frame. "I feel like I'm taking advantage of you just by accepting this."

  "Dante, you probably saved my life. If you ask me, it’s not enough. Besides, you have your work cut out for you. This isn’t going to be a cushy seven weeks of rest and relaxation. Rest up today, because tomorrow . . . welcome to hell."

  I quickly found the truth in Tomasso's words, as starting the next day, I started a schedule that made my initial boot camp feel like a walk in park. Waking up at five thirty, I showered and shaved, before I drove down to Dreamstyle Dance. From six thirty until nine, we worked on our routines, reviewing the dances we might face in the wildcard round. The new compulsory round was an East Coast Swing, while the wildcards were the same as before. At least we had that in our favor. But I was worried about some of the moves in the East Coast Swing pattern, as I had to be able to twirl and lift Carmen with just my right hand.

  The first practice of the day ended at eight, and we'd spend an hour watching tape or working on non-physical preparation. After that, we’d go back to the Bertoli mansion, having breakfast together and starting practice number two at ten thirty. From there until one in the afternoon, when Carmen had to leave to go to work and teach classes at Dreamstyle, we did various practice, sometimes working on our routines, sometimes going over other parts. We watched and re-watched the videos of our Regional performances, walking through each mistake over and over until I could do the whole routine with my eyes closed.

  "What about watching our competitors?" I asked one day as we were taking a water break. "You know, like a team watching tape on their opponents?"

  "Dance is different," Carmen replied. “The other couples have no direct effect on what we do out there, watching them isn't going to be helpful. I'm more worried about the head games they'll play. We didn't have that a lot in Las Vegas, I think because we were too deep in our own heads, and the field was too big."

  "Well, except for the guy who hit on me," I grumbled, and Carmen laughed.

  "Next time make sure your pants have a padded codpiece just in case," she teased me. "But I figure at least one team there is going to be trying to play the head game. Dancers can be total bitches, you know."

  "You don't say?" I teased, earning me a towel in the face. "See what I mean?"

  Onc
e Carmen left, I took in my third meal of the day, and started on the next phase of my training. I worked on my right hand grip strength, and I spent at least thirty minutes a day working with rubber balls, grippers, and other devices on top of weightlifting and calisthenics to strengthen my hand and body. "The problem is, you aren't quite crippled enough," Daniel joked with me while I squeezed the rubber ball, holding it for a five count before letting it relax, only to repeat it after another five count. "If you'd just gotten another finger shot off, you could have applied for a competitive dispensation, and allowed you and Carmen to switch to a left handed position."

  "I'm having enough problems learning all this doing it right handed," I grumbled, groaning as I squeezed again. "If I had to re-learn everything left handed, I'd end up on my ass.”

  "Now, three more, and we get to go to work on those love handles."

  Daniel was joking, of course, as I had gone from athletic to ripped, dropping all the way down to a hundred and seventy pounds. I had deep striations in my arms, calves and legs, the product of not just dancing and strength training, but enough wind sprints and high intensity intervals that I lost count of how many times I puked on the grass in the back yard.

  All told, I spent eight hours a day doing physical work for the dance competition. Carmen and Luisa both insisted I get at least nine hours of sleep a night, which left me seven hours a day to do what I wanted.

  Three days before we were scheduled to fly to New York, I was surprised again. Carmen scheduled a light practice for us, just walk throughs and mental rehearsal along with a twenty-minute run through of the waltz before calling it a day. "Okay, let's shut it down," she said, wiping her forehead even though there was no sweat there. "We're ready."

  "Are you sure?" I asked, the sudden idleness making me nervous. "What about the changeover in the Swing, or the . . ."