“Dammit,” I said, picking up the picture. My family hadn’t killed him, but my hands were bloody nonetheless. Trying to figure out how to tell my wife that I was indirectly responsible for the murder of her father, I thanked the crew for their assistance and headed home.
***
“Net, I’m home,” I said, tossing my keys onto the entryway table.
No answer. I searched the house until I found her sitting on the bathroom floor next to the tub, with her back to the door.
“Net?” I asked.
No response.
“Look, I know you’re still angry, but we need to talk about this. Can I come in?”
No answer.
I took a step forward. “Net, honey, you okay?”
Still no response.
I reached down and brushed her hair back from her face. Her body shifted, sliding down to the floor as her vacant gaze stared back at me.
I froze, unable to believe my eyes. Skin unusually pale, chest completely still, an empty pill bottle on the floor beside her. A nightmare. It had to be a nightmare. There was no way she was…
Dead.
Something inside of me crumbled, taking me to my knees. I reached for her neck to confirm what I already knew.
No heartbeat.
“Don’t do this, Net,” I whispered. “Don’t… You can’t. I finally got Michael’s killer, and I don’t have to be gone so much anymore. Things can go back to the way they were before…”
My throat constricted.
Only they’d never go back, because she was dead. It looked like she’d given up and taken a whole bottle of sleeping pills.
Tears filled my eyes. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d cried, but seeing her lifeless body broke whatever dam had held my tears back. I sat on that floor stroking her hair for hours and willing her to wake up.
After what seemed like forever, there was a knock on the front door and I remembered that Mamma was bringing Angel home. I had to get up and let them in, but I didn’t want to leave Annetta alone.
The doorbell rang.
I kissed Annetta’s forehead, released her, and stood. My feet didn’t want to leave the bathroom, but I forced myself to go to the front door and throw it open. Angel sprinted past me.
“Mamma! Mamma! Wait until you see what Grandma got me!”
He made it to our bedroom before I caught him, yanking on the back of his shirt.
Hurt and fear widened his eyes. “Ouch!” he said, rubbing his neck where the collar had jerked against his skin. “Why did you do that?”
I picked him up and hugged him to my chest, apologizing as I took him back out to the living room. “Mamma’s not here right now, Angel.”
“What is it? What’s happened?” my mother asked.
I couldn’t tell her or show her with Angel there, so I called Mario and explained the situation, and he and Adona came for Angel. They swept him out of the house with promises of treats, and I told Mamma about how I’d found Annetta.
“It doesn’t make sense,” Mamma said, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. “I know she was upset about you and her father, but suicide? Dom, she never seemed like the type.”
I didn’t think so either, yet I’d walked in on the proof. Nobody had broken in. There were no signs of a struggle, no bruises on her body like someone had held her down and forced her to take the pills. “I never should have left her when she told me to. She was upset. I should have stayed with her.”
“She knew you loved her. Whatever demons she was fighting with at the end were her own.”
“I don’t know what to do. Her body is in my bathroom and I don’t even know who to call.”
She patted my hand. “You let me take care of that. I’ll make sure she gets a nice box and…” Mamma sobbed. “A nice service. I’ll handle it all.”
“And what about Angel?” I asked, my voice cracking. Over the past five months the boy had been little more than a stranger to me. He was rarely awake when I was home.
“I’ll help you with him, too. We’ll get through this, Dom. I promise.”
I didn’t see how. My heart was already dead on the bathroom floor.
EPILOGUE
CARLO MARIANI WALKED beside his brother, Giovanni, up the aisle of the church to the casket sitting at the front. Dominico stood stoically beside the intricately carved pine box, his eyes fixed on the back door of the church. Carlo and Giovanni offered their condolences to Dominico before looking over the beauty in the box.
Even in death, Annetta was striking, looking more like a movie star than a cook. Carlo could understand why his nephew had been so taken with her. Her fiery spirit had tamed his one remaining bishop and had been an unexpected source of entertainment for Carlo, who never expected her to live as long as she did. But now it was time to make his bishop into a king. Annetta was not queen material, so she had to go.
Other family members arrived, so Carlo excused himself and headed toward the back of the church to greet them and wait for the other piece he needed to play in order to win the board.
Despite the silver in her hair and the faint lines under her eyes, Rosalie Mariani looked as beautiful now as she had when he’d first laid eyes on her. He watched her walk up the steps in her black mourning dress, thinking once again she was too good for Giovanni. Despite that fact, Giovanni had worked his way up in the ranks of Rosalie’s father’s crew, gaining her hand and his title.
Giovanni thought he won, but he was about to lose everything.
“Carlo,” Rosalie said by way of greeting, glancing around to make sure nobody was in earshot as they stepped beyond the door. She lowered her voice. “I received your message and made the necessary arrangements. You’re sure Gio killed Annetta?”
He gave Rosalie a hard stare and said, “You already know he did it, don’t you?”
“I suspected.” Her eyes narrowed. “He swears he was with you on the night she died.”
Of course Giovanni had used Carlo as an alibi. In reality, he’d been with his latest mistress, a stripper named Julia. Giovanni’s car was parked in her driveway when Carlo had driven past it on his way to Dominico’s house.
Dominico wasn’t home when Carlo got there, though. Carlo had seen to that by sending him on a wild goose chase to track down Annetta’s father’s imaginary killer. Mr. Porro’s untimely death had proven to be quite timely indeed, enabling him to fake Annetta’s suicide. Between her marital problems and her father’s death, suicide would be an easy pill for everyone to swallow…so to speak.
Had anyone seen Carlo pull into Dominico’s driveway, his plan would have been thwarted, but nobody would have suspected the foul play he intended. After all, it was perfectly acceptable for him to stop by and comfort his distraught niece-in-law over the death of her father.
He didn’t want to kill Annetta. Hell, he admired her spunk and the way she’d hung in there the last several months while Dominico had been preoccupied. But in the end, she’d given up and left, proving she wasn’t worthy of the family. Then the last straw…she had Dominico asking for time away from his duties and considering taking a vacation.
A vacation! Nobody in the family took vacations.
Carlo couldn’t have Dominico stepping back, especially not now that they were so close to taking down the Durantes. They needed to organize their forces and go on the offensive. Giovanni refused to start the war, but he was growing weak and cowardly in his old age. It was past time for his reign to come to an end. Dominico would be different…stronger now that he no longer had the girl distracting him. And Giovanni’s death would only motivate Dominico to take up his rightful position as the leader of the family.
Which was why Carlo needed Rosalie’s help.
“You’ve always been able to tell when someone is lying to you,” Carlo said. “Talk to Constanza. She’ll confirm that I was home alone the night Annetta died.”
And as far as Constanza knew, Carlo had been. He’d parked his car down the block earlier that day, told h
er he was on a call and not to be disturbed, and sneaked out his office door. He was gone a little over a half hour, and his new maid was none-the-wiser.
“Damn that man. I should have listened to you and taken him out before Michael died.”
Carlo fought back the smile tugging at his lips. It was about time she admitted he was right. “What’s done is done. All we can do now is move forward and protect Dom. How’s he doing?”
Rosalie’s eyes softened and her expression fell. “Not good. He really loved her, Carlo. I hate that Gio has taken that from him.”
“He’ll get through this. We’ll help him.”
She nodded. “Il tempo guarisce tutti i mali.”
Time heals all wounds. Carlo silently disagreed. He was counting on the fact some wounds could only be healed by revenge. Once Giovanni was dead, Dominico’s grief would need to be channeled into vengeance until he ridded Vegas of the Durantes for good.
“You said the arrangements have been made?” Carlo asked, redirecting their conversation back to its purpose. “You’ll make it look like a Durante hit?”
She leveled a stare at him. “This isn’t the first time I’ve taken down a boss.”
As if he needed the reminder that Rosalie Mariani was a force to be reckoned with. As soon as they planted Giovanni in the ground, Carlo would have to kill Julia, Giovanni’s mistress, to make sure she never talked. If Rosalie ever found out what Carlo had done, he’d be the next one in a pine box.
“Just make sure you have him at the restaurant tomorrow evening at five,” Rosalie said. “Park in the back lot, close to the Dumpsters.” Doubt flickered across her expression as she dropped her gaze.
Carlo didn’t care what she was feeling, he needed her to do her duty. If he could put aside his own desires for the benefit of the family, so could she. “It’s time, Rosalie. He’s not the man to lead the family anymore.”
She gave him a curt nod. “Quando finisce la partita il re ed il pedone finiscono nella stessa scatola.”
When you finish the game, the king and pawn end up in the same box.
“Indeed.” Carlo smiled, knowing by her response that she’d set her feelings aside and do what needed to be done.
Just then, Dominico rounded the corner and came walking toward them with heavy bags under his downcast eyes and Angel at his side.
“I hope we’re doing the right thing,” Rosalie whispered, her expression full of compassion.
Carlo nodded. “He’s going to be the best boss Vegas has ever known. You’ll see.”
Copyright © 2015 by Amanda Washington
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States
PROLOGUE
Angel
THE MORNING OF my twelfth birthday I arose with feelings of anxiety and anticipation. I’d finally reached it: the day that would begin my right of passage into adulthood. I’d be honored as a man of the family, allowed to sit at the adult table, and trusted with family conversations. As I threw back the covers and climbed out of bed, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and paused.
Who am I? Where do I fit in?
Today, I’d have my answers. I grinned and flexed at my reflection before padding downstairs to find my father sitting at the breakfast nook, eyeing his electronic tablet. He lowered the tablet and flashed me a smile.
“There he is. The birthday boy’s become a man now. Cappuccino?”
It was the first time he’d ever offered me coffee, and I eagerly accepted it.
Father started up the machine, filling the kitchen with whirring sounds and heady scents. Moments later he handed me a mug so big I couldn’t even get my fingers around it. I gripped the cup and followed him across the tile kitchen floor out onto the cobblestone patio. We sat on custom-built furniture and sipped our drinks. The cappuccino scalded my tongue and I winced, but when the old man eyed me I ignored the pain and took another sip.
“Careful, Angel. It burns. It’s bitter at first, but you get used to it. Soon, you’ll grow to enjoy the taste. That’s the way most things in life are.” He set his cup on the table, looked me square in the eyes and asked, “Speaking of life, have you given any thought to what you want to be when you grow up?”
I was supposed to be the one asking the questions, but he’d beaten me to the punch. Unprepared and feeling the weight of his inquiry, I squinted into the rising summer sun. Last week I had built my first website and imported a couple of how-to videos on customizing tablets. A commenter told me about a new, local tech school accepting middle school students, and I’d been hoping for an opening to discuss it with the old man. But before I could seize the opportunity, Father cleared his throat.
“As the first-born son, you’re expected to take on the family business, you know?” he asked, watching me with such expectancy and pride that I swallowed back my plans and studied him. Olive skin, dark hair and features, and broad shoulders, he towered over everyone I knew. People said I looked like a younger version of him—a younger, scrawnier version—but I lacked his presence. When the old man entered a room, everyone stopped what they were doing to acknowledge him, whereas I had a gift for blending into the background. I idolized him, but sometimes I felt like I didn’t know him at all.
“What’s the matter, Angel?”
“I don’t know what your job is.” Heat crept up my cheeks at the admission.
“It’s okay,” he assured me. “My profession is complicated. I do a lot of things.”
I looked away, discouraged by his vague answer. If he wouldn’t even trust me with the details of his job, none of my other questions had a chance of getting answered.
The old man leaned across the table and laid a finger on my chin, directing my gaze back to him. “Look at me when I talk to you, Son.”
“Yes sir,” I replied, this time holding eye contact.
“There.” His dark, all-seeing pupils seemed to drink me in. He smiled in fond approval, deepening the lines around his mouth and eyes. Pride lingered in his gaze, and I sat straighter, trying to be worthy of it. “What do you think I do?”
I started to look down, but stopped myself. Vicious rumors floated around my school, but I didn’t believe them. There was no way my father deserved the names they called him, the reasons they gave for not coming to my parties. “I don’t know.”
He frowned. “But you’ve heard whispers, haven’t you? What have you heard, Angel?”
I’d never lied to my father, and I wasn’t about to start. “They say you… you do things.”
“What sort of things do they say I do?”
The intensity of his gaze dried my throat. I took another sip of coffee.
“Angel?”
The accusations were too heinous to voice. I honed in on the one term I didn’t understand. Hoping for an explanation, I replied, “They say you do wet work.”
“Wet work, huh?” Father cocked his head to the side while color flooded his neck, creeping up his cheeks. Anger radiated from him, threatening to drown me in its wake. “Like I’m some sort of hired thug? I don’t follow anyone’s orders, you hear me?”
“Yes sir.”
Tense, silent moments passed. Finally, he let out a deep sigh. “Petty, small people will always speak out of jealousy, Angel. They talk and talk, but the world has never been changed by talkers. You really want to know what I do?”
I nodded, increasingly uncertain.
“I build empires. I write legislature and elect officials to enforce it. I keep the economy from collapsing, and the people from rioting. I enforce justice and keep Vegas from falling to gang wars and chaos. The people I work with… we are the government, the economic stimulus, and the peacekeepers.”
I breathed his words in, letting them clear my mind. The old man sounded like a superhero. He was brave and strong, shining with god-like power. Caught up in the moment, I abandoned my dreams and blurted, “I want to do what you do!”
“You make my heart proud.” He patted me on the head and stood.
/>
As he walked back into the house, I replayed his speech in my mind knowing I’d missed something important. He was great and powerful and the anticipation of being just like him made my chest swell. No more blending into the background. Only I still didn’t know what he did.
Uncertainty drained the joy from my birthday as I thought about the other rumors. Kids shunned me, insisting that my father was a murderer and bully. And I still had no clue what wet work was or why the term had upset him so much. I stared at the cappuccino I no longer wanted, now dreading the changes it represented. I wasn’t ready to know the truth, wasn’t ready to become a man. But when Father returned carrying two pistols, I knew I was past the point of no return.
Visit my website at www.amandawashington.net to find out where to buy Making Angel.
Copyright © 2016 by Tracey Jane Jackson & Amanda Washington
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States
Addison
FRIDAY MORNING, I was awakened by the phone buzzing on my nightstand. I rolled over with a groan and checked the caller ID. Harley. “Um, hello, no calls before eleven on Fridays. You better be in a ditch with a broken leg somewhere.”
My best friend groaned into the phone. “I just got fired.”
I sat up. “What the hell? Why?”
Harley Linn James has been my best friend since she transferred into my exclusive private school in the sixth grade. She’d been given a special scholarship due to her family’s financial situation and the shrew girls (we’d named them that because they were way worse than mean girls) clocked her the second she walked through the doors.
Harley was gorgeous. G-O-R-G-E-O-U-S. As in, soft, curly red hair, a smattering of freckles over her nose that was cute as hell (as my brother said all too many times), hazel eyes, and, when she hit her teens, she developed a curvy figure which was all too often noticed by the wrong people.
Dom's Ascension (Mariani Crime Family Book 0) Page 14
