Untraceable

by Lindsay Delagair

  He looked at me, his eyes suddenly tearing up, “Take my truck and get out of here, Leese.”

  I couldn’t believe it. He knew he wouldn’t stand a chance against Jonathan, but he still wanted to try to save me and the baby—Trent was willing to be a hero—even if it cost him everything.

  “I can’t leave you two. Trent, please don’t point the gun at him. Let me talk to him first, please.”

  “Get out of here!” he yelled as the sound of the airboat drowned his voice.

  It was too late.

  Jonathan drove the airboat right behind the Jon boat and cut the engine. Jeanie was babbling and crying, a look of pure shock on her face as she stared at me. He held her directly in front of him by her pony-tail, his gun, temporarily in his waist band. But as soon as his other hand came off the steering pole, the boat stopped and the gun was drawn and pointing Trent’s direction. He’d changed his hold on Jeanie to a choke hold.

  I saw Trent start to lift the shotgun, and knew I had to act quickly or Jonathan would simply open fire. I stepped in between.

  “Jonathan, please,” I begged. “Don’t hurt them, please—they’re my friends—don’t do this.”

  He put the gun to Jeanie’s temple, “Drop the shotgun or witness her brains splatter on the ground. I will not repeat myself,” he stated with full intent.

  “He means it, Trent.”

  “All right, all right, you win—just don’t hurt the women,” he said as he slowly squatted down and placed the gun on the ground.

  “Nice and slow, darling,” Jonathan whispered into Jeanie’s ear. “Your offer is the same, do what I say or watch him die.”

  She and he stepped carefully from the boat and approached us, Jonathan still aiming for Trent.

  “Back up,” he ordered.

  We stepped away from the gun on the ground as he neared.

  When he was close enough to place his foot on the shotgun, he whispered to Jeanie one more time. “Go to him,” he stated and he turned her loose.

  She ran to Trent and collapsed against his strong frame.

  Jonathan picked up the shotgun and then swiftly and expertly pressed the release button while snapping the gun like a whip. The double-barrel broke open and the shells ejected. He closed it in the same fashion and then slung it as hard as he could into the lake. “Come here, Leese,” he said evenly.

  “No.” There was no way I was going to step from between Jonathan and the frightened couple. “You gave me your word once, Jonathan, and you kept it. Give it to me now, your word of honor that you won’t shoot them.”

  “I have no reason to kill them now, Leese—I give you my word; they are safe. Come here.”

  Jonathan reached into his pocket and handed me the handcuff key. “Open it. We’ll fasten their wrists together through the trailer frame.”

  “Jonathan, they could be stuck here for days that way!” I could tell immediately that he didn’t like me arguing about how he was going to tie them up after he had conceded to let them live.

  I’m not sure what he said, but again I knew they were Italian cuss words.

  “Back up to each other, arms behind you,” he barked sharply. “Annalisa, cuff his right wrist to her right wrist—and make it secure. Do not try to be clever or you will piss me off enough to shoot them.

  I did as I was told while Jonathan rifled through Trent’s truck.

  “Just as I thought,” he stated as he produced a roll of duct tape. “You American’s think this is the answer for everything.” He tossed the roll to me, “Tape around his left wrist several times and then continue to her left wrist; tape them together. As soon as he observed that I’d made several rounds with the tape, he told me to stand by the truck and not move. He put the gun in his waistband and then proceeded to apply more duct tape over the handcuffs and then in a figure-8 pattern from cuffed to taped wrists. When he was satisfied with their inability to escape their back-to-back situation, he removed the multi-tool from Trent’s belt and placed it in his own pocket, unhooked the trailer from the SUV, and then told me to get in. His final move was to grab Trent’s truck keys and throw them into the water.

  Within minutes we were out on the blacktop and moving at a high rate of speed.

  “Thank you, Jonathan,” I stated quietly.

  “For what?”

  “You didn’t hurt them.”

  He gave what sounded to be a genuine laugh, and he had a huge smile on his face, “You are wrong, Leese. I did not kill them, but have you ever tried to walk back to back with someone that way? It will take them a very long time to reach help—and the tape practically takes skin off during the friction.”

  I rolled my eyes; he honestly thought it was funny. “I knew there was a good person inside you somewhere.”

  He stopped laughing.

  We were silent for a while. He had his phone in hand and he was texting as he drove. I certainly didn’t approve, but it appeared that he had tremendous hand and eye coordination, as well as the ability to multi-task on several levels.

  Eventually, I had to ask where we were going. I knew the answer, but since I didn’t figure he wanted to drive all the way to New York, I had to ask how he planned to get me there.

  He didn’t answer at first; I think he was still a little angry over my ‘good person’ remark.

  I waited patiently.

  “Melbourne International Airport. He is sending a private plane for you.”

  I looked out the window, still afraid to even consider meeting this top mafia boss. I’d plan my escape, but for now I had to ask, “Did he pick that airport or did you?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “It’s just the initials. I have to wonder if it isn’t a little bit of a scare tactic.”

  His contemplation was brief, and then he chuckled, “I do not think they were a factor. You do not need to be afraid of him, Leese. He will not hurt you, but he does want to meet you.”

  “So you say he’s a fan. What is he expecting, like for me to sing for him? Is it his birthday or something?” I asked getting crass.

  He frowned, “To be very honest, I am sure he would love for you to sing for him, but it is not the reason.”

  “You sound like you respect him.”

  “True. He—” His phone began to ring, interrupting his sentence. He glanced at it and then silenced the ringer. “He has been like a father to me.”

  “Who was that?” I asked, but I could see it in his face that he didn’t want to say. “Jonathan, if that was Sharon, please don’t—”

  “Do not what? Ignore her call? Your husband does not deserve you!”

  “Jonathan!”

  “He is an animal! You need to know he has murdered her father and his own Boss! You deserve better!”

  My heart sank, but I knew she’d left him no choice, “And what happened back at the house? You kill those men—all of them, didn’t you?!” I fired back.

  “They deserved to die!” he shouted at me.

  I lowered my face into my hands, trying to keep the tears pressed back. I took a breath and raised my head, “Did Chelsea deserve to die too?” I asked softly. “Please, Jonathan. Anything he’s done, he must have felt he had no choice.”

  “Not everything,” he responded.

  I didn’t know what he was talking about, but it surely couldn’t matter. “If I was your wife,” I began, “and you were in his place, what would you have done to keep me alive?”

  He seemed so angry as he gripped the steering wheel tighter—I was sure he didn’t want to answer.

  I heard the soft vibration.

  He lifted his phone to his ear, “What do you want, puttana?”

  I didn’t know what ‘puttana’ was in Italian, but whatever it was it set Sharon off like a rocket! I could hear her angry response even if I couldn’t make out everything she was saying.

  Jonathan simply laughed. “Too bad, Ms. Moretti,” he began, “but I am afraid you cannot have everything your wicked little heart desires. She is m
ine now; you have no say over what I do with her.”

  She started another rampage when he cut her off.

  “They are dead; all of them, as I am sure you will also be in a few seconds because I know he is right beside you and can hear every—”

  He paused briefly and then said the words that made the pace of my heart stutter.

  “Hello Micah.”

  “No Micah, don’t!” I yelled. My hand dropped to release my seatbelt as I lunged for the phone. This wasn’t what I’d been planning for an escape, but it might be my only opportunity. I was grabbing for the phone with one hand as he tried to push me away and steady the wheel with his knees; the SUV swerving dangerously into the other lane, but there wasn’t any traffic in this desolate area. I toppled onto him, but I could tell, even in the wild struggle over the phone, he was trying to be careful and not hurt me. We were off the asphalt and skidding slightly sideways through the grass as we came to stop and hit against a couple poles in a barbed wire fence. Cattle scattered and then froze to stare at the vehicle.

  He’d ended the call during our battle, but what I had actually been after, surprisingly enough, he didn’t notice until I pointed it at his head—I’d grabbed the gun from his lap.

  “You are not going to shoot—”

  At that moment I blew the driver’s side window out with a deafening blast. The cattle bolted and bellowed as the glass showered down like rain. Jonathan wore the most genuine look of surprise I’d ever seen.

  “The hell I won’t” I growled. Could I have shot him? No. Did he know that? I doubted it.

  I could only give myself a fraction of a second to glance at the phone in my hand. One icon caught my eye, “Puttana.” That had to be Sharon’s number.

  “No!” he stated, trying to snatch the phone, but when I leveled the barrel at him, he stopped his advance. What happened next sucked the air from my lungs and the will-power completely from my spirit. I stared at the screen in disbelief; tears immediately swelling onto my lashes.

  “You were not supposed to see that,” Jonathan stated gently. He removed the gun from my hand without resistance as the sound from the couple on the screen seemed to fill the tiny space. “No. God, please no,” I choked as I watched Micah and Sharon’s tangled bodies in a graphic and violent sexual exhibition.

  “I am sorry Annalisa. Are you okay?” he asked, his hand gently touching the side of my face. There was no anger in his voice over what had been my attempted escape and near shooting of him.

  I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t move. My eyes still fixated on the screen in my hand. He took it away from me and then smashed it, screen side down, onto the steering wheel, shattering the display and cracking the phone case nearly in two. He threw it out the window.

  I couldn’t control the sobs that welled up from inside my chest. His arm was around me as he told me it would be okay—New York wouldn’t be this difficult. I heard him crank the vehicle and maneuver back onto the road, but I couldn’t even lift my head as I lowered my face to the seat and wept the last of my will-power from my existence.

  She’d won.

  By the time we boarded the private jet for New York, I felt numb—a literal physical numbness and an intangible emotional numbness. I couldn’t stop replaying what I’d witnessed. Jonathan sat beside me with his arm warmly around my shoulder and my head pulled against is chest. I think he’d been talking to me for quite a while, but I hadn’t heard what he was saying until he rose up and I no longer had someone to lean against.

  He was only gone for a minute or two, but when he returned he told me to relax as he reclined my seat and then reclined the seat in front of me. He lifted my legs and placed my feet and vine-scratched, bloody ankles on the other seat, making a lounge chair of sorts and then he covered me with a jacket he borrowed from the pilot.

  “Your pulse is fast and weak, and your skin is cold,” he stated, holding my hand. “Stop thinking about it, Annalisa. He is not worth the anguish and shock you are experiencing. Think about your child’s health.”

  I couldn’t answer. I couldn’t cry. I simply stared at him. I felt an odd sense of detachment, as if I was somewhere else watching our conversation.

  He brought my hand to his lips and kissed the back of it slowly, “You are safe with me—my word of honor is given,” he whispered. “Do not be afraid of going to New York. No one would dare touch you; neither the Capo dei Capi nor I will allow it. Gavarreen will pay for his—”

  “No,” I stated, finally finding my voice. “I love him. Don’t let anyone hurt him, Jonathan—please.” My eyes stung with the need to cry, but my tear ducts felt as if someone packed them with sand.

  “You should hate him.”

  “Why? Because I’m hurt?”

  “You know why; you saw the video.”

  “I don’t know the reason.”

  “I am a man—I know the reason.”

  “Not Micah. He wouldn’t have—”

  “But he did.”

  “Have you slept with her, Jonathan?” I had a feeling he didn’t expect that question. His silence gave me his answer.

  He finally smiled, “You are right, Leese. I am beginning to see a side to myself I never knew existed: Jonathan has not slept with her, but, yes, Giovanni has.”

  “Giovanni’s idea or Sharon’s?”

  “I will say she persuaded me, but I did not have a reason to refuse—Micah did.”

  “And maybe that’s why he couldn’t,” I stated and then closed my eyes and rolled away from him onto my side. I wouldn’t open my eyes again until I heard the wheels touch down in New York.

  CHAPTER twenty-eight

  I’m not really sure what I expected other than perhaps the stereo typical ‘Godfather’ idea. I guess I was expecting a Marlon Brando type with cotton-thick jowls and gray receded hair, and a voice like gravel. I think I also expected, although I’m not sure why after being around Micah’s family, a dark, seedy, smoke-filled room in the back of a dirty alley, or perhaps a funeral home, but I was so very wrong.

  The moniker outside the modern glass and steel office building was for the La Parte Del Leone Investments and Securities Corporation. Our private limousine pulled into the underground garage and parked beside the elevator.

  Jonathan smiled and squeezed my hand, “Home.” He seemed to sigh as he uttered the word, as if he truly was.

  “Don’t tell me Italy was a lie and all of a sudden you’re going to talk like a New Yorker?”

  He gave a big smile, “No. I am from Italy and my father does own a large Architectural firm. But my grandfather was very high in the chain of command in the Italian Mafia. He worked with the Capo dei Capi’s whole family thirty years ago. He said he had never met a young man so dedicated, careful, and wise as Leonard Caprizio. He wanted me to learn from the best, so he sent me here four years ago.”

  “Leonard Caprizio?”

  “Yes, and I am afraid now that you know his name, I have to kill you.”

  He uttered it completely straight-faced and emotionless, but I knew that in some strange sense of mafia humor, he was making a joke. “Very funny,” I stated with the driest expression possible.

  He actually burst into laughter, finding my ability to understand the joke hilarious, “You two will get along very well, I am sure.”

  I repeated the name once more, softly and to myself. Why was his name familiar to me? I’d heard it or something close to it before, but I was certain that Micah had never uttered it.

  Although the two uniformed men standing on either side of the elevator appeared to simply be elevator operators/doormen, I quickly figured out they were mafia guards. This place had all the sharpness of Wall Street, kind of like walking into Celeste’s office that day in New Orleans; this was all business—mafia business. We stepped inside and Jonathan pressed the button for the top floor.

  When the elevator opened, we were in a lavish penthouse with a beautiful view of the financial district. A tall, muscular man who appeared to be in his mid
-to late forties approached me. He had thick, rich brown hair that showed gray, and keen brown eyes that revealed he was a quick study of character. He wore a suit, minus the jacket, and his white sleeves were rolled back to his elbows. For his age, he was handsome and also, oddly enough, familiar to me. I just couldn’t put my finger on it. I’d never seen him before in my life, but somehow I felt I knew him. Immediately, all my fears and apprehensions about this meeting evaporated and all that was left was curiosity.

  “Annalisa,” he said, breathing out my name as if he had waited a long time to say it. “How is your mother?”

  “Pardon me?”

  “You’re so beautiful. Just like Nadia was when she was your age.”

  “Annalisa Gavarreen,” Jonathan spoke up, “I would like to introduce you to Leonard Caprizio, known to his closest friends as Lee C.”

  “Leese?”

  “Almost. I never liked Leo so I chose to use Lee.”

  My mouth gapped open, my trembling hand trying to cover it. “Lee? You’re my… Mom said my dad’s name was—was—”

  I watched his eyes tear as he nodded. “You mother told me when she found out she was pregnant with you that if you were a boy she was going to name you Lee and if you were a girl you’d be Annaleigh—I’m glad she went with Annalisa instead, but I guess she decided to keep me, at least in memory, when she nicknamed you Leese.” He took a deep breath and then started again, “I know how difficult this moment must be for you because I know how hard it’s been for me all these years, but if you’ll allow me,” he said, his arms moved hesitantly and then he paused.

  He wanted to hold me, but I think he realized that I would have every right, and perhaps every reason, to tell him no—but I couldn’t. My dad—oh my God—my dad! “I’ve wanted to meet you forever!” I said, breaking down in tears and opening my arms.

  I felt his arms around me, my head tucked against his chest as he kissed my hair and told me he had loved me and had watched over me since I was little. “I thought I was doing the right thing,” he said sounding choked. “Your grandpa asked me to choose; did I want Nadia and you to be pulled into the mafia lifestyle or did I want to give you something better. He was a very good man, and I listened to him. I don’t think I’ve ever respected someone as much as I respected him. He wasn’t in the Family, but he worked with us to secure business deals. Strongest man I’d ever met. He had no fear of us, but being a person of his caliber of integrity, he didn’t need to be afraid. I didn’t want to leave you or your mother, but I wanted you to have a chance at his type of life, not mine.”