Dom's Ascension (Mariani Crime Family Book 0)

by Amanda Washington

  Michael avoided her question by asking one of his own. “How do you know him?”

  “Used to work with his mom. Nice lady, but she let that boy run over her from the day he was born. I told her she needed to learn to put her foot down and kick his ass every now and again, but she had guilt about his daddy being wrapped up in some mob.” Leslie paused long enough to eye me and Michael in our suits. “You’re not with the mob, are you?”

  “No ma’am,” Michael said. He pulled his wallet out and flashed her a fake badge. Most of the time our family credentials busted down the doors we needed opened, but sometimes a badge worked better. Ours were barely higher quality than toys—fake enough looking that if we were ever caught, our attorney could make the argument that nobody would accept them as real—but people rarely looked close enough to notice. “We’re detectives with the Las Vegas PD. We believe Chains messed up and got himself involved in a robbery that went south. Two men are dead and we need to find him and ask some questions.”

  “You’re shittin’ me,” Leslie breathed out.

  “No ma’am,” Michael replied.

  She blew out a stream of smoke before snuffing out her cigarette. “Damn, that’s a shame. Can’t say I’m surprised, though. I’m tellin’ you, I tried to warn her about that boy.”

  Sensing Leslie wasn’t the sharpest knife in the restaurant, I jumped in to move the conversation along. “We need to find him as soon as possible. Your friend probably doesn’t know what her son did. But it’ll hit the news tonight, and then if we find him staying with her, she’ll be arrested for harboring a criminal. The DA will stack up as many charges on her as he can…obstructing justice, aiding and abetting, you name it.”

  “But she…she’d never do anything like that. Only thing you could charge her with is loving her son too damn much and not knowing when to say no.”

  “We know that,” Michael said, raising his hands. “But we gotta get Chains locked up before the news airs and the DA can start making a case against her. Most likely one of her neighbors already knows if Chains is staying with her. The family of the deceased is offering a decent reward for information so…”

  “Oh?” Leslie asked.

  It took everything I had not to shake my head in disgust. Carlo always harped on the payout mentality of Vegas, insisting most everyone in the city believed they’d hit the jackpot someday. Which explained why the city fed so many lawyers and filed so many malpractice suits. Those who couldn’t win big, sued big. Learning how to hustle meant using that mentality against people, and judging by the gleam in Leslie’s eyes, she saw her potential payout on the horizon. I’d been trying to win her over by manufacturing concern for her friend, when Leslie would tell all if I waved a few bills under her nose.

  “Yes ma’am,” Michael said. “Ten thousand for information leading to the arrest and conviction of Chains.”

  We could have offered a hundred thousand, because Chains would never be arrested or convicted. He needed to die horribly. Leslie didn’t know that, though, and I could almost see the wheels spinning in her brain, going over ways she could spend the money. Forcing her mouth into a frown, she looked back to me.

  “A reward like that and Glenda would turn him in herself,” she reasoned, letting Chains’s mom’s name slip out.

  “We’re gonna need a last name too,” Michael said.

  “Rollins. Glenda Rollins. She lives in a little two-bedroom house on Heart Avenue, across the street from an auto shop.”

  “Chains’s real name?” I asked.

  She looked from me to Michael, and then whispered, “Arthur. Arthur Rollins.”

  Michael and I thanked her for her time and headed to Heart Avenue to check up on Glenda Rollins. It was almost nine p.m. by the time we parked in front of a small canary-yellow bungalow across the street from a graffiti-covered auto repair shop. A boarded up abandoned house was Glenda Rollins’s closest neighbor. With the windows dark and no car in the driveway we figured nobody was home, but knocked anyway. No answer, so we left our pager numbers with the neighbors and headed for a payphone to check in with Carlo.

  Carlo said he’d send in a team to keep watch over the house and told us to get back to hitting up the restaurants. I dragged my tired ass back to Michael’s car, and we continued our search.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Annetta

  TRUE TO HIS word, Dominico picked me up and took me to work the next day. When I finished my shift, he was once again leaning against the wall by the back door, waiting. It made me realize that other than during my interview I had yet to see him actually working in the restaurant. I’d asked a couple of the kitchen staff about him, but they all looked at me like I was crazy.

  Brandon went so far as to insist we didn’t have security and recommended I stay far away from anyone who pretended to hold the position. But Dominico had been present during my interview, and I couldn’t deny the little thrill I got from finding him waiting for me.

  “Hey, how was work?” he asked, taking my backpack from me.

  “Busy. Crazy. I think Collin’s gonna blow a gasket over this dinner coming up.” Then my brain kicked in and reminded me that Dominico and my boss were probably pretty close. “I mean, I know it’s gotta be stressful for him, and I don’t mean to sound so critical, I just wish he wasn’t so…”

  “Wound up?” Dominico provided.

  I nodded. “Yeah. At least I finally got him to filter his freakouts through me, rather than going directly to the staff. It’s helping me earn their respect.”

  “Wait, he yells at you?” he asked, his brow furrowing. “And you want him to?”

  I shrugged. “He growls, but doesn’t bite. I can take it. And it’s part of the job, you know? I signed up for this, and I’m glad he’s trusting me to do my job. But enough about my drama. How was your day?”

  He gestured me toward the parking lot and we started walking. “The boss is riding my ass about this dinner, too. I’ve got some things to take care of so I can focus on security. Lots to do, unfortunately.”

  “I hear ya.”

  He opened the car door for me and I slid in. When Dominico got behind the steering wheel, he turned to face me and said, “Right now I could go for a nice cold beer, though. You feel like grabbing a drink?”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Why not?”

  I sniffed my hair. “For one, I smell like I’ve been cooking for eight hours. For two, I’m still wearing my uniform.”

  “So? People will know you work. It’s not a big deal.” His voice took on a pleading tone. “Come on, Annetta. It sounds like you could use a beer as much as I can.”

  A drink did sound good. More than that, I kind of enjoyed Dominico’s company. My best friend had been out of town with her family on vacation for more than a week now, and I missed just hanging out with someone. Still, I resisted. “I’m not much of a beer person.”

  “Great. We’ll go somewhere that serves everything. What do you like?”

  “Fruity drinks, low on the alcohol.”

  “I know just the spot,” he said, starting the car.

  Dominico took us to a small bar not far from the restaurant. I felt super self-conscious about my work clothes and stench until we walked in. Apparently this was the watering hole for working-class locals. We sat in a tucked away corner booth and I sipped on a piña colada while he drank a beer.

  “Tell me something about yourself,” he said.

  “Like what?” I asked.

  “What’s your family like?”

  “Not much to tell. It’s just me and Papa. He works at the paper mill. I cook. We’re super exciting.”

  Dominico pounded out a cigarette, put it up to his lips, and lit it. “Can I ask how your mom died?”

  I couldn’t help but wrinkle my nose at the smoke. “Lung cancer.”

  He looked from me to the lit cigarette. “Shit. Sorry. Did she smoke?”

  “Not once. She worked in a restaurant. The doctors
said secondhand smoke did her in.”

  Dominico swore again and snuffed out his cigarette. “Sorry.”

  Touched by his thoughtfulness, I said, “It’s okay. I understand. It’s not a big deal for most people. For me, it… I promised Papa I’d stay well away from cigarettes.”

  He nodded. “I get it. So she worked in a restaurant? Was she a cook like you?”

  “No. Mom got pregnant with me right out of high school. She and Papa eloped and moved out here from the east coast, so she took the first job she was offered and stayed there until she died.”

  Dominico watched me. “She worked…did what she had to do. There’s no shame in that.”

  “Yeah, and she was happy. We were happy. Papa hated it, though. She was super smart, so he wanted her to go to school and do something more with her life. I think he always felt guilt about…well, me.” I probably shouldn’t be sharing so much about myself to someone who was essentially a stranger, but Dominico seemed more interested than any other guy I’d ever gone out with. Maybe he wasn’t such a pig after all.

  “How does he feel about you working in the restaurant?”

  I played with my straw. “We’re still arguing about it. He wants me to go back to school, but it’s so dang expensive and we already owe enough. Besides, I enjoy being in the kitchen. Mom taught me how to cook and when I’m doing it, I feel like she’s not really gone, you know? Like part of her still lives through what she taught me.”

  He nodded. “I get it.”

  “I feel like I’m doing all the talking. What about you? What’s your family like?”

  His pager went off. He excused himself and used the bar phone while I fished fruit out of my drink, hoping he wouldn’t catch me dripping alcohol all over the table.

  When Dominico returned, he seemed upset and distracted. “Come on, Annetta, I need to get you home. Work calls.” He tugged a few bills out of his wallet and dropped them on the table before leading me out the back door.

  Once we were in the car, he thanked me for coming out with him and claimed he had a good time.

  I did too, even though our night had been cut short. “You must not get out much,” I replied. “I did nothing but talk about myself, and I’m pretty boring.”

  “Not at all. I work a lot and the people I usually hang out with are…different. Trust me, this was nice.”

  I’d only been out on a few dates, and they’d all felt awkward and forced. Guys called me pretty, but they usually didn’t like it when I started speaking my mind. Since I wasn’t about to be some agreeable Barbie perched on a barstool, I didn’t get asked on many second dates. Maybe it was because we weren’t dating, but everything felt different with Dominico. Relaxed. Natural. “It was nice. Thanks for inviting me.”

  ***

  The rest of the week passed in a blur. Dominico picked me up for work every day and dropped me off after every shift. He was always polite—holding doors for me and making sure I got in okay—but he didn’t invite me out for another drink. With each passing day he seemed more distracted and worried. I still hadn’t seen him around the restaurant during my shift, so I had no clue what his duties included, but they were clearly weighing on him. By the time he picked me up for my closing shift Friday afternoon, he looked almost strung out.

  “You okay?” I asked as he walked me to his car.

  “Yeah.” He raked a hand though his dark hair, looking up and down the street. He always did that, and I assumed it must be the security guard in him, always searching for threats. “I just got a lot going on right now.”

  “Right. This engagement dinner must be for some seriously high-profile family.” I buckled my seatbelt. Despite the many times I’d asked, nobody would give away the name of the family who’d rented out the entire restaurant for a night. The last time I asked, Frank glared at me and Brandon pulled me aside and suggested I let it go. Which, of course, only made me want to know more. I’d gone so far as reading gossip magazines to see if I could figure out which couple the restaurant could be hosting.

  Dominico frowned and started his car.

  “You know who it is?” I asked. Then I felt like a total idiot, because Dominico would have to know. Despite Brandon’s insistence that Dominico didn’t work there, I knew he did. Maybe he and Michael just worked special events, and if they were working this one, they’d have to know who they were protecting.

  He pulled away from the curb without answering.

  “You do! Ohmigod, that’s so awesome. Tell me! Because I heard that Whitney Houston and Bobbie Brown are gonna tie the knot this year, and that would be so cool.”

  “It’s not Whitney and Bobbie.” His frown deepened. “Nobody that well known. In fact, it’s not nearly as big a deal as everyone is making it out to be. You’ll be disappointed.”

  “Oh come on, give me a hint. Is it some sort of senator or something?” I asked, still fishing.

  “Nope.”

  “Then why all the secrecy?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “The family has…enemies. They asked us to keep a lid on the party.”

  “Enemies?” I let the word sit between us for a moment, wondering what sort of family would have enemies. It had to be a politician, which was disappointing, since a singer or an actor would have been much more exciting. Still, enemies… “Will we be in danger?”

  “No.” Dominico released the gear shift to squeeze my hand. The friendly reassurance felt a little personal, making my stomach flutter. “Michael and I are very good at what we do. We won’t let anyone hurt you.” He withdrew his hand to shift again. Embarrassed and confused by my stomach’s reaction, I stared out the window for the rest of the drive.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Annetta

  “THERE IS NOTHING to tell,” I said for the umpteenth time, rolling my eyes.

  Adona Micheli, my best friend since first grade who was finally home from her family vacation, sat cross-legged on my bed, bugging me for details about my non-existent relationship with Dominico while I got ready for work.

  “There is something,” she insisted. “You said he took you out for drinks…and then nothing? Come on! No good night kiss? No promise to see you again? Nothing?”

  “I told you, it was friendly. We’d both had a rough day, and he took me out for a drink as a nice gesture. I’ve seen him since. He’s still picking me up and dropping me off every day.”

  Her eyebrows crept up her forehead. “But you’re saying he’s not interested in you?”

  “Not in the least.” I plugged in my curling iron and set it on top of my dresser. Adona’s family was wealthy. She got to sit at a cute and functional well-lit vanity when she applied her makeup. I had a dresser with a mirror attached. I squinted and wished for better lighting as I brushed my lashes with mascara.

  “I doubt it.”

  Done with the makeup and on to hair, I squirted a palm-sized amount of mousse into my hand and turned to gape at her. “Are you calling me a liar?”

  “Nope. I’m calling you clueless.”

  “I’m not clueless,” I argued, drenching my curls in foam in an attempt to control them.

  “Yes you are. Case in point: Kyle Morris was crushing all over you throughout our entire senior year, and you had no idea.”

  “Kyle Morris took Savannah Thompson to prom. If he liked me half as much as you swear he did, why didn’t he ask me?”

  Adona threw her head back dramatically. “Because he asked you to go to lunch and you said no.”

  “I brought lunch that day. Why would I go out and spend money?” I asked. We’d had this argument more than a dozen times, and I still couldn’t see why one lunch would determine whether or not a guy asked me to a dance.

  “And that’s what I’m talking about.” She shook her head. “Clueless.”

  Clearly, I still didn’t get it. “Okay, fine,” I conceded. “So how do I know if Dominico likes me?”

  “Easy. I’m sticking around until he picks you up,” she said, drifting to my bedroom w
indow which faced the street. “I’ll watch you two interact and let you know. Now…what do you think he’s like in bed?”

  She could be so ridiculous sometimes. Here I was, trying to get ready for the night my boss had been freaking out about all week—the night of the super important party—and my best friend wanted me to fantasize about going at it with a guy who’d taken me out for a drink. Not like I hadn’t imagined kissing his sexy lips and running my hands down his firm body, but sex? My cheeks warmed just thinking about it.

  “He’s just being a nice guy. That’s it.”

  She sighed. “I wish you’d embellish a little. You know my love life is DOA, and I’m trying to live vicariously through you. Give me something.”

  “Dead on arrival?” I asked. “What happened to Danny?”

  Adona went through two things faster than anyone I’d ever known: shoes (currently adorning her feet were the new stars and stripes Keds) and guys (her latest conquest being a football player from UNLV named Danny).

  “Oh he was pretty,” she sighed. “But I got tired of having to compete with the mirror for his attention.”

  I giggled. “You’re awful.”

  “I’m serious! You’ve never tried to have a conversation with him. If there’s a reflective surface nearby, forget about it. He’s checking his hair and his teeth and not paying attention to anything I say. Why can’t I find a rich hottie who dotes on me like a queen? Then I can drop college and parade around in my bikini twenty-four-seven, providing him with eye candy like my stepmom does for my dad. Is that too much to ask? Speaking of which…hello, hot stuff. Please tell me this hunk in a three-piece-suit is not your boy toy.”

  I looked over her shoulder to see a dark-haired guy getting out of a blue BMW. Too short to be Dominico. I recognized him immediately. “Nope. That’s Mario. He was one of the guys who interviewed me, but I haven’t seen him since. Wonder why he’s here.”

  “Who cares?” Adona headed for the mirror above my dresser, pulling her sweater off her shoulder and wiping away makeup smudges under her eyes. “More importantly, is he single?”