by Cindi Madsen
But then he’d remembered what that career path had cost Dad and decided it was time to make a change so he and Bobby wouldn’t end up the same way. He told his uncle he’d learn the other side of the family business—the legit restaurant side. Carlo started him out on kitchen duty, most likely hoping he’d change his mind after hours of scrubbing dishes with little pay, but he’d worked from that to waiting tables to where he was now.
Going back to the house always messed with his sense of loyalty versus who he wanted to be. It was under that roof Carlo vowed to avenge Dad, who’d been his underboss. When Carlo had announced to the family and his men that he’d finally taken out the guy who’d killed Antony DaMarco, Vince had cheered along with the rest of them. The sweet satisfaction of vengeance had flowed through his veins, and he’d wondered how much sweeter it would’ve been to execute it himself. He’d thought about the power, the money, the easier hours, and wondered if he’d chosen the wrong side of the business.
“I’d rather meet at the restaurant so I can check on a few things while I’m there,” Vince said.
“My nephew. Always thinking about work. Wish some of that would’ve rubbed off on your brother and cousin.”
Instead of responding, because he’d spent countless hours wondering how to get through to his brother, Vince checked the time. “Meet me at Rossi’s in about…”
He almost said thirty minutes, but he glanced at Cassie’s door again. He wanted to check on her before he left. He wanted to escort her to work as well, but he wasn’t sure what time she had to go in. “Let’s make it eleven. That gives us a little over an hour. And like I said, I want Sal there, too.” He and I have unfinished business.
“Yeah, okay,” Carlo said.
“See you then.” Vince hung up and took a deep breath to transition from guy trying to save girl from mob boss uncle to normal guy who’d had one of the most amazing nights of his life.
Considering he’d been shot at, that was probably sad, but he replayed Cassie’s soft lips on his cheek again. If a kiss like that could make every inch of him tremble with want, he could only imagine what a taste of her lips would do. The move had nearly broken his resolve for the second time that night. He’d wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her breathless.
But then he told himself that taking advantage of her near-death while she was still on his uncle’s hit list and he was lying through his teeth would make him a complete asshole.
Vince knocked on the door and tested the knob. It turned, so he pushed inside the apartment. “Cassie?”
She shot him a smile over her shoulder, and he thought there were worse things to be than a complete asshole. “I’m just making breakfast,” she said. “Hope you’re hungry.”
The tank top, tiny shorts, and makeup free face that showed just how naturally beautiful she was practically set him up for failure to refrain. “I’m always hungry,” he said, his feet automatically closing the distance between them. He placed his hand on her back, running his thumb over the line of her spine. “How are you feeling this morning?”
“Honestly? Kind of embarrassed.” She became overly interested in stirring the eggs. “Obviously I was freaked out last night and didn’t want to be alone. I crossed a line by asking you to stay, but thank you for doing it anyway.” Her stirring slowed, and she finally looked at him, although more at his chest, really. “Knowing you were here was the only way I was able to get any sleep at all.”
He put his fingers under her chin and tipped her face toward his. “No need to be embarrassed. Feel free to cross lines with me anytime.”
It was out of his mouth before he remembered he wasn’t supposed to be flirting with her. It’d just complicate everything, and things were messy enough. He dropped his hand. “Are you stiff this morning?”
“A little.” She bent down and peeked inside the oven, making those tiny shorts rise up a few inches. “You?”
Stiff? Yeah, he was getting there. “Not too bad.”
She straightened and looked him over—good thing he’d managed to detour his line of thoughts, or she would’ve gotten an eyeful of where exactly they were headed. She lifted his sleeve and checked the scrape on his shoulder, gently brushing her finger to the side of it, and his thoughts slipped again. “I could put some Neosporin on that if you want me to.”
I’m not sure I can behave if you start slathering stuff on me. “Nah. It’ll be okay.”
Cassie nodded and returned to making breakfast, getting out cheese and grating it over the eggs. Her gaze drifted far away, and a small smile touched her lips. Then she sighed and gradually came back to the present.
“Where’d you go?” Once in a while she’d be in the middle of a conversation and just check out for a few seconds. He’d always wondered what brought them on and what she saw to make the emotions flicker so quickly across her features.
She looked at him, and her eyebrows ticked together. Then her fingers went to her forehead. “Whoa. I’m getting this weird sense of déjà vu.”
Shit. He froze as she blinked a couple of times, then let out a relieved breath when she shrugged and turned back to the stove. He’d have to steer clear of conversations they’d had before. If she remembered they knew each other, they’d both be screwed.
“Cassie…about your accident…?”
She crossed her arms, almost as if she felt the need to protect herself. “Yeah?”
“Does the doctor think you’ll ever get your memories back?” He curled his hand around the handle of the oven, gripping tighter and tighter as he waited for her answer.
“He said that sometimes people do, and sometimes they don’t. Sometimes familiar faces or places might jar the memory, but often, they’re lost for good.”
Vince had hoped for a straightforward yes or no, but he supposed that’d be too easy. Seeing him hadn’t jarred her memory, and he wanted to believe that meant they’d stay gone. The last thing he wanted was for her to remember the way that bullet had torn through Eduardo Alvarez’s head and left so little of it behind. Hell, he didn’t want to remember it either.
Especially since it brought back memories he’d purposely repressed for years. Before he could stop it, he got the flash of being in the front yard with Dad, mitt raised, waiting for him to throw the ball back.
Unlike last night, the car hadn’t been going slow. It’d flown around the corner, and Dad’s eyes had gone wide as he yelled and motioned for Vince to run. The bullets ripped into Dad, one after another, punching holes and splattering blood.
Vince had crowded back against the fence, crouching and making himself as small as he could as he threw his arms over his head.
And the fucking ball rolled over and bumped Vince’s feet as the car peeled away, leaving his life in shreds.
The timer dinged, breaking him out of his gruesome memories. No, he didn’t want Cassie to have images that haunted her dreams and crept up on her when she least expected them. He hated she even had to remember the bullets whizzing past her last night.
The heavenly scent grew stronger as Cassie pulled out muffins. She moved around the kitchen the way she moved around tables at work—precise, graceful movements, focused but with a smile on her face.
“I don’t have stools for the counter yet,” she said as she extended him the plate with three times as much food and a glass of orange juice, “so you’ll have to spend a little more time on the pink couch.”
“Fine by me.” His stomach growled, reminding him dinner had been long ago, and he shoveled in a few bites of eggs before biting into one of the muffins. A groan came out of his mouth before he could bother repressing it. “This is the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”
Cassie beamed. “Thanks. Luckily blueberries and strawberries were on sale this week, so I was able to whip them up. I add a little lemon twist, too, and extra butter, because while it’s horrible for you, it’s oh-so-delicious, and really, that’s what matters. I actually love to cook, but it hardly ever seems worth all the effort for o
ne person.”
He picked up another muffin. “You better be careful feeding me like this. I’ll just come back every day, like a stray cat.”
Cassie raised an eyebrow. “I’m not making the cat-in-heat noise, so stop fishing.”
He laughed. “You shouldn’t have reminded me of that, because I can be very persistent.” He took a drink of orange juice and leaned in. “I play dirty, too.”
She mimicked his leaning, giving him a nice view of her cleavage, and he had a feeling he was about to lose—or win, as it were. “I…” A blush crept across her cheeks. “I’m just not…it’s not…” She laughed and shook her head. “I might need some practice in trash talking.”
He joined in, glad she could laugh at herself unlike most women who were so focused on trying to be sexy they became uptight along the way. “We’ll work on it.”
Their eyes met. The desire winding through him reflected in her green irises and sent a jolt through him. Just like the first time he’d seen it in Rossi’s, he wondered how a smart, sweet girl like her was genuinely interested in him. Fleeting attraction he got plenty of, but this? This was something different. He had no clue how to act on it without screwing up everything and compromising them both.
He sat back slightly, even as his body protested and mentally smacked him in the forehead. “What time do you have to work today?”
“I have the easy shift—four to nine.” She scraped her fork across her plate, over and over without picking up any food. “So it won’t be quite as late when I go home. Maybe the hooligans won’t be out yet.”
The wobble in her voice prevented the joke from landing, and it shot him right through the heart. “How about I come pick you up a few hours before you have to be at work and then drop you off at the restaurant in time for your shift?”
“You don’t have to. I’ll probably take my car today.”
He placed his hand on her thigh, trying not to get distracted by the smooth, soft skin, and said, “I’d feel better if you let me.”
At least that was the truth.
Her teeth sank into her bottom lip, and then her eyes came back up to his. “It was just a random crime, right? And if it was random, the odds of it happening again are unlikely.”
Guilt rushed in because he knew just how not random it’d been. He shoved a healthy dose of determination at it. No matter what, I’ll make sure she’s never shot at on the street like that again.
If he could convince Carlo she wasn’t a threat, surely he’d call off the hit. He wouldn’t like even the possibility of a loose end, but he wasn’t a heartless bastard.
Vince would still have a hell of a time convincing him to let it go.
And an even harder time if Carlo decided not to.
Chapter Thirteen
Jim already liked his new partner better than his old one, and all he’d done so far was show up on time for work.
Gio Mancini was a little wet behind the ears, but he was as dedicated to getting Carlo as Jim was. In fact, probably more, which was hard to believe with everything he had riding on this case.
Jim tossed several folders in front of Gio. “Here’s everything since the beginning. The stuff on top’s more recent.”
Gio flipped open the files on Dante Costa and Salvatore Esposito, a hungry edge to his eyes as he scanned the information. At first the FBI had hesitated to let Mancini work the case because of his personal history. His father, a dockworker, had been down at the docks when Carlo and several of his men had shown up. When the senior Mancini saw them beating up another man, he’d made a call to 911. Unfortunately, he was discovered and shot while still on the phone, waiting for the police to arrive.
That was the theory, anyway, going off the knowledge Carlo Rossi often did business there. The description fit, but was vague enough it could fit a lot of men and there was no evidence to tie Carlo or his men to the scene. No bodies had been found—neither Mancini’s nor whoever they’d beat up—and the cops didn’t have enough to do anything but question Carlo. He’d played the Lawyer Card, and once the shyster showed up, Carlo walked, the way the slippery bastard always managed to do.
That’d been six years ago, and no doubt the reason Gio decided to go into a career taking down bad guys. That made Gio motivated, plus he spoke Italian, which came in handy when listening to taps or possibly infiltrating the organization. They were still going back and forth on whether to have him try to work his way into the drug ring.
“Not much on the nephew,” Gio said, pulling up Vince DaMarco’s file.
“Just petty stuff, all before he was eighteen. It might just mean he’s gotten better at not getting caught, but he spends a considerable amount of time running the restaurant. His brother’s been picked up several times for possession, but he always makes bail and with only a minor slap on the wrist, the charges disappear. He doesn’t even live in Jersey right now, so he’s not a big part of the organization, if any.”
“What else do we have in place? Taps? Surveillance?”
“Yes and yes. We don’t have the manpower for the surveillance I’d like, and I think one of the guys spotted a tail a couple of months ago, because their activities came to a screeching halt. It’s just now starting to pick back up, and if they see us, they’ll pull back again. But I’ll tell you right now the attention to detail on this case is waning more and more by the day. Guys are sick of sorting through hours of calls and sitting in cars with nothing to show for it. We almost lost our taps because we’ve had them so long without gaining any useful information.”
Mancini nodded, his mouth in a grim line.
“But I hope having you on the case is going to pump new life into it. One of our female agents also put in an application for a serving position at Rossi’s, since they recently had an opening—I’ll circle back to the waitress who used to work there in a minute. Our agent’s already made friends with Mia, the waitress who’s dating Dante, so hopefully that’ll help get her hired. Dante’s a known philanderer, too, so if we get real lucky, he pisses her off and she decides to spill details that could help us land something substantial.
“We’ve got the phone taps on the top guys, but they’re careful—they’ve been at this a long time, and they’re good at it.”
Gio lifted the file on Cassandra Dalton. “Is this the waitress you mentioned?”
Jim filled him in on her accident and subsequent memory loss. “I spent a few days tailing her, but all I saw was a girl going from her new job to home.” He’d been so determined to talk to her after she’d been discharged from the hospital, but the next time he saw her, he decided to just observe—that way he wouldn’t expose either one of them. “Either they got to her so well that she fooled all the doctors and nurses and they’ve decided to leave her alone—”
“Unlikely if she knows something real,” Gio said.
“I agree. So most likely she doesn’t know—or at least doesn’t remember knowing anything—and is a dead end. We’ve already got a lot of ground to cover and not enough manpower, so I pulled back. Figured if she goes near the restaurant, or if any of the guys pays her a visit, we bring her in for a talk.”
Jim sat on the edge of Mancini’s desk and idly thumbed through the stack of files he knew by heart. Maybe the kid would see something new. “Basically we’re just waiting for someone to slip up, but we can’t push too hard or they’ll duck and cover, and we need something big enough to take Carlo Rossi down. I don’t want him slipping away from us again.”
“I understand,” Gio said, a fierce determination hardening his features. “I want to take him down, too. And don’t worry. I’m not going to let my personal feelings get in the way. I’m going to use them to get this guy put away for life.”
***
Within seconds of stepping inside Carlo’s office, Vince had Sal pinned against the dark wooden panels, his forearm against his windpipe.
“What the hell?” Sal squeaked, his voice satisfyingly weak as he tried in vain to wiggle loose, his toes bar
ely brushing the ground.
“That’s what I want to know,” Vince said. “Some goons shot at Cassie last night. While I was right by her.” He pressed harder, watching Sal’s skin redden as the oxygen stopped flowing.
“What is he talking about?” Carlo asked.
“I…” Sal gasped. “It…” He clawed at the arm cutting off his air supply, but Vince didn’t loosen his grip. The anger pulsing through him scared him, because it also intrigued him. It’d be so easy to push a little harder for a few more seconds and to be done with the pezzo di merda for good.
“Vince, let him down.” Carlo’s voice left no room for argument, but Vince held Sal against the wall for a couple more seconds, just to give him something to remember him by. Sal gasped and sputtered as he raised a hand to his freed throat.
“It could be worse,” Vince said. “You could have two Uzis pointed at your head right now. Get the full experience of trying to dodge that many bullets at once.”
“Sal,” Carlo snapped. “I told you to call that off. I made it very clear.”
Sal’s eyes widened, and he pressed back against the wall he’d been so desperately trying to get away from only seconds ago. “I tried, Boss. I left a message, but…They called last night to tell me it was done.”
“She’s dead?” Carlo swung his gaze to Vince. “Cassie’s dead?” He wanted to say, Yeah, you guys got her. No need to keep trying. But with her running around the city, that’d prove problematic to say the least.
If I could get her to leave the city, no questions… Even still, Carlo wasn’t stupid. He’d want proof. And she’d want to know why she had to leave and why she also needed to change her name, which would lead to more complications. Best to stick with the original plan. Well, not the original, original plan, but the best one he could think of to keep her safe.
