Burned: A Mafia Menage Romance (Blood Brothers Book 2)

by Meg Watson

  I shake my head. “Not Aldo. Not anymore. And you do not have to call him uncle.”

  ***

  It seems like I have stood outside this enormous, carved mahogany door for a long time. The sounds from the mourners trickle down the empty hallways and still reach me like whispers from far away. I listen intently to my heartbeat, willing it to slow down or at least be a little quieter. I don't want to be the only sound in the room.

  The scent of cigars wafts from underneath the door. I feel like I should practice what I want to say. Even though I’ve imagined this a thousand times, I’m coming up with nothing.

  “Just do it. Open the door, you big chicken.”

  Holding my breath, I pull on the iron handle. The door opens much more easily than I would have expected. I watch it swing with an expression of mild surprise, and when I finally look up I am startled to see Don Dante and Alphonso peering at me quizzically from behind Dante's huge desk.

  Alphonso holds the cigar suspended just an inch or so from his thin, bloodless lips and raises his eyebrows. He pats the back of Don Dante's chair and then looks down at him. The Don glances up and gives a small shrug.

  “Don Dante,” I begin respectfully, my voice dry and cracking.

  “Charli?” Alphonso says with a bemused lilt. I nod like he actually asked me a question, but what he really said was something like Excuse me, little lady, are you in the right place? Are you aware of where you are?

  “Don Dante, I was hoping you might allow me to speak with you,” I choke, aiming my chin at the ceiling and projecting my voice. It’s like I am giving a school speech.

  “You must be so busy today, Charli,” Alphonso nods, subtly pushing me back out the door with the motion of his chin.

  Don Dante waves his hand in the air and lets it fall heavily on the desk. “It's all right, Alphonso,” he sighs.

  He motions his pudgy hand toward the wide leather club chair in front of his desk. I walk stiffly to come sit in it. As soon as I cross my ankles, the Don smiles at me fondly.

  “Is there... something I can do for you?”

  “I wanted to thank you, Don Dante,” I begin again. “It was so kind of you to open your home for this… event.”

  He bobs his head from side to side, dropping his ear toward his shoulder briefly as if it hadn't been any effort at all to host five hundred people in his conservatory on two day's notice. Then again, it isn't the first time, and probably won't be the last.

  As the boss, second only to Don Cesar in the entire country, Don Dante is responsible for all the Capos and soldiers underneath him. My father was his equal. Now there is no one in his position.

  “Your father,” he sighs deeply, shaking his head, “was a good man. A trusted, valuable man. I frankly have no idea how Cesar is going to be able to replace him.”

  “Well, he can't be replaced,” Alphonso says kindly. As Consigliere, his role is to give advice, maintain records, and sort of eavesdrop on everything. He seems to think he’s responsible for ensuring the traditions are maintained. If it were up to him, I would have left this room ten seconds after I entered it. No girls allowed.

  “No, no. You're right. There will never be another like Nero,” Don Dante adds.

  I nod simply. Though it is nice to know how much my father was respected, I really need to do what I came to do, and quickly. My fingers find the hem of my skirt and begin twisting it. I clear my throat, twice.

  “Thank you so much for saying that, Don Dante. It means a lot to me.” I wait for Dante to nod and wave his hand in the air indicating that I can continue. For long seconds I remain still and polite, actively pantomiming the sort of respect that is expected of wives, daughters, and girlfriends.

  The smell of cigar smoke rolls over me in liquid waves. I find it comforting. It reminds me of my father. In recent years we seemed to have drifted away slightly when I became involved with men and he became involved with the lines of business that Don Cesar assigned to him. But Daddy was always authentically fond of me. Coddled me, some might say. Indulged me, according to others.

  Thinking about him makes sadness well up in my gut like a flood. Dark water rises from the pit of me and I begin to fill up like a deep well.

  But grief is going to have to wait.

  “Don Dante, if I can speak freely…”

  “Yes, freely,” he shrugs. “And quickly too, if you don't mind. We do have some business here —”

  As I take a breath to begin, Dante's small, rheumy eyes flicker up at the sound of the door opening again behind me. I freeze, my breath hardening like concrete in my lungs. I hear the sound of Italian leather soles against the polished wood floor approaching.

  Aldo strides past me and walks around the back of Dante's desk like he has been there a thousand times. He clasps Alphonso in a quick, brotherly embrace and then stoops to kiss the hand that Dante absentmindedly offers him.

  “Charli? You were saying?” Dante says, his voice beginning to show signs of exasperation.

  “I think I need protection,” I say as strongly as I am able. Alphonso looks away, probably to conceal his exhausted sneer. Don Dante cocks his head sideways, missing the glare that Aldo stabs into the air between us.

  Forcing my hands to drop the hem of my skirt, I smoothe it hard against my knees. I take another deep breath.

  “I believe I may be in danger. I would like to request protection,” I say slowly, formally.

  “This is... a rather unusual request,” Alphonso reminds me with raised eyebrows. His upper lip twitches toward his hooked nose as though he smells something off.

  I keep my eyes on Dante, and only him. He is the only way I’m getting out of here. I remind myself to blink. I beg myself to breathe in and then out in that order, over and over again, even though every cell in my body wants me to stop.

  I want to melt into the floor. With Aldo staring at me like that, the flee part of my brain is all lit up like Christmas lights. Some part of me can see Aldo’s big fists knuckling the edge of the desk, no matter how hard I try not to see it.

  “It is unusual, yes, I know,” I agree. “But with my father's death and Derek and Sammy before him… I feel I have reason to believe that… um, I may be in danger.”

  “It's a dangerous business they were in,” Aldo replies in a controlled voice. Dante raises a hand to silence him, and Aldo stands back. He crosses his arms over his chest sullenly.

  “Derek and Sammy… Do we really know what happened to them?” Dante asks carefully, trying not to sound too dismissive.

  “No, we don’t,” I admit. He’s humoring me, and I fear he’s slipping too far away for me to convince him.

  “Could have been anything. A job, a distraction,” Alphonso shrugs, his meaning clear. He wants me to know he thinks I was unable to keep them. That I was unworthy even of a man outside the Family, a lesser man. I studiously avoid glaring back at Alphonso.

  Don Dante purses his lips thoughtfully. Though I know there is a ninety percent chance he is merely patronizing me and my foolish, girlie concerns, he is still my best chance. He has always been kind to me, like a real uncle. I am one of the only blood-related, unmarried girls in the Family and I hold a special place. I am like a china doll kept on its own, esteemed shelf.

  I hold his eye and try to pour all my emotions into the air so that he might magically be able to feel it. He smacks his lips and looks like he is still weighing all the pros and cons.

  “And so do you also believe something… er, something untoward befell your father?”

  Alphonso chuckles at the implication. “My dear, with all due respect on this somber occasion… I believe pasta and Cuban cigars befell your father,” he informs me with a sneer. Don Dante waves a hand in his direction to silence him and his brow furrows briefly. For a second, I hope that Alphonso’s rudeness has just worked in my favor.

  Letting out a long breath, I force myself to look directly at Aldo. The connection between us crackles like an electric wire that has come off its pole.
It writhes and snakes, sparking at the end. Everything about his posture is a warning for me to stop talking immediately.

  “I really don't know,” I say carefully, letting my eyes fall back to Don Dante. “I just think that three dead men around me is unlikely to be a coincidence. And I would like to ask for protection until the matter can be investigated.”

  Aldo shoots Alphonso a look and is relieved to see that the expression is returned. He rocks back and forth on his heels, obviously chewing on what he will say next. They both stand a little taller. They want me gone; I can feel it.

  But Don Dante still peers at me, blinking contemplatively. Though Alphonso is a respected advisor, Don Dante is the ultimate judge of what will happen. He is Don Cesar’s direct Underboss, like my father was. He speaks with Don Cesar’s authority as far as everyone is concerned.

  The Don takes several deep breaths through his bulbous, wrinkly nose and then nods as though weighing something out and finally coming to a measurement.

  Aldo senses that Don Dante is about to do something and leans forward to intervene. “I think I should apologize for Charli here,” he says with an ingratiating smirk. “She knows that this is an improper request. Someone should advocate for her, ask for her.”

  “Ah, but who would ask for her?” Alphonso nods thoughtfully. “Who could speak for her now, with Sammy gone? With Nero gone?”

  He doesn’t even mention Derek. Derek barely registered as a person with the Family. Only Sammy and my father really matter in his mind.

  “Then she should go to Don Cesar,” Aldo shrugs triumphantly. He knows how impossible it would be for me to just go directly to the head of the family by myself.

  “I think that’s unlikely, Aldo,” Dante says. “With no one to speak for her…”

  Aldo clears his throat. His eyes pierce the smoky air, pinning me back in my chair.

  “Well, I do have another modest solution to propose. She's probably too ladylike to mention it,” Aldo sighs with theatrical gallantry, “but I would like to speak for her.”

  The Don smiles, nodding.

  “In fact, that's the matter that I came here to talk to you about, Don Dante. I would like to ask to take Charli under my protection.”

  Alphonso nods curtly as though the matter is settled. A Capo asking for the daughter of a deceased Underboss? It is probably a done deal in his mind, neat and tidy, just the way he likes things.

  He jots something down in the large notebook he always keeps in his left arm. Sniffing, he takes a half step back as though ready to escort me back out the door. My hands claw at the arms of the chair. This can’t be it. Just like that?

  Don Dante rolls his head to the side and scrubs his big, jowled jaw with the palm of his hand. My eyes flicker between them quickly, analyzing the silent exchange. Aldo is nodding at Dante as though the Don has already handed me over.

  “I— I can't let you do that, Aldo,” I interrupt, a plain tremble in my voice. All three men gape at me in unison. “I mean… I'm truly honored by your offer. But I fear for myself and my son and I... would not want to put you in that same danger.”

  Aldo barks a short laugh. “Any danger that… I mean… Well, I think your concern is misplaced,” he finishes quickly. His eyes flash another warning to be silent now, before I go too far.

  “Ah… But what if she's right?” Don Dante sighs. “It is a strange coincidence, perhaps. Not unheard of because our men do carry certain risks. And yet… I can't afford to lose another man of your stature, Aldo.”

  Aldo swells slightly at the compliment. Then he realizes the implication and shakes his head, clenching his jaw.

  I seize the opening Don Dante’s indecision has left. Talking quickly, I raise my hands as if to show how innocent and plain my request really is. “All I'm asking for is some time in safety, Don Dante. Perhaps just a little while?”

  “Charli, I think that's enough now,” Aldo huffs. The Consigliere nods his agreement and scowls. “I believe you should consider all your options carefully and —”

  “Actually I'm inclined to agree with her,” Don Dante interrupts. He leans back in his chair and twirls his big emerald ring around his finger as he regards me thoughtfully. “Charli, you've never struck me as a trivial person. I know that your father regarded you very highly. In light of these recent events, perhaps you're right. I remember you did us some service years ago… Alphonso, remind me?”

  “Salvatore Lauro,” Alphonso says in a low, grudging tone. Aldo takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, wincing visibly at the memory of his younger half-brother. He pinches his lips closed and nods into his fist as though saying a brief prayer.

  “Yes, yes,” Don Dante agrees. “You have to excuse my fading memory. I guess we all get old.”

  Aldo simmers where he stands. He keeps his body carefully back behind Dante’s shoulder so that the Don can't perceive any disrespect, but his eyes flash with suppressed rage at me.

  “You may ask Bruno to help you,” Don Dante announces. Relief floods me, but I do not do anything to look too excited.

  Scribbling vigorously for a moment, Alphonso makes another mark in the leather bound book clasped in his arms. Aldo grimaces and rubs his hand behind his thick neck.

  “Thank you, Don Dante,” I breathe in relief. I push on the arms of the chair until I am standing. Wobbly, but standing.

  “This is just temporary,” Don Dante advises me. “Alphonso will investigate, so don't go too far. We'll need to let you know what we find out.”

  “I'd like to help, if I can,” Aldo growls, glaring at me meaningfully. “I would also like to get to the bottom of this.”

  “Thank you, Aldo,” I force myself to say. I stare at him directly, drawing myself up to my full height. Though nowhere near his size, I am still a significant presence in the room. “That means so much to me. I'd like you to know… I'm only thinking of you.”

  And before anyone can change their minds, I turn on my heel and walk with quick steps back out the door, closing it firmly behind me.

  ***

  Just as planned, I find the small black satchel stowed in the quarried stone shower in the guest bathroom on the first floor. I lock the door behind me and drop the satchel on the counter, pulling out a quick change of clothes.

  With trembling fingers, I undo each of the tiny pearl buttons that extend down to my waist. I let the dress fall to the floor. Then, after a thought, I pick it up and fold it into thirds, rolling it up from the bottom so it will fit back in the satchel and I can take it with me.

  Jumping slightly in my bare feet on the cold floor, I pull the jeans over my hips and button them, then tuck the T-shirt inside. Rita thoughtfully gave me both a hoodie and a baseball cap. I push my hair up under the hat then drop the hood over it for good measure.

  Quickly stuffing everything back into the satchel, I slowly open the bathroom door and peek out to make sure the hallway is empty. Then I run silently on my newly-sneakered feet to the caterer’s entrance that leads out to the service road behind the kitchens.

  The Armada is idling at a bend on the narrow road. It sits, black and huge, among the white catering vans. I breathe a huge sigh of relief as my heart thrums in my chest like a hummingbird.

  As I approach, the passenger-side window rolls down with a whir. My brother Bruno cocks his wrist on top of the steering wheel and flicks his sunglasses down to the end of his nose so he can stare at me.

  “You ordered a getaway vehicle?” he says loudly, way too loudly for my satisfaction.

  But still, I want to giggle. I want to laugh really, really hard. I fling open the passenger-side door and leap inside, glancing quickly into the back seat to make sure Gus is there before throwing my arms around Bruno’s shoulders.

  “You came. How did you even know?”

  He shrugs one shoulder like it is no big deal. “Rita said I was supposed to drive you to the airport, but she was all weird about it. Then again, that chick is weird about everything. But she gave me a hinkie vibe,
you know? I figured I better get to it on the pronto.”

  “You're a genius, Bruno,” I sigh. Twisting in my seat, I reach back to joggle Gus's tennis shoe fondly. “You okay, little man? You good?”

  “Sure, yeah,” Gus says, punching enthusiastically at the buttons on his game. Now that he is allowed to turn it on, it is going to be some time before I am going to get his undivided attention again.

  I flop back in the passenger seat and pull my seatbelt over my hips. “Oh my God, this feels so good,” I sigh as I sink into the leather.

  “So, you're in some kind of shit then, huh?” Bruno asks, giving me side eye. He slowly rolls the big SUV into back down the drive.

  “No trouble,” I shrug. “Me and Gus are just going to take a little vacation with Uncle Bruno here.”

  “Yeah, yeah, vacation. Your timing could be better, sis.”

  I flinch, realizing how callous I just sounded. Bruno won’t complain, but I suddenly realize my escape plan means he’s missing our father’s wake. After he was delayed by some job or something, now I roped him into taking me to the airport. There won’t be any more time to make it back.

  “Oh my God, Bruno. I’m sorry. I’m so selfish!”

  “Eh,” he says, chewing on the inside of his cheek. He turns the Armada around, rolling it toward the wrought iron gate and guard’s shack. “When you gotta go, you gotta go. I get it. Some vacation.”

  I know he understands, but I still cringe inwardly. “Vacation was a bad word. Maybe let’s call it a pause. Just a little time to drop out.”

  Bruno snorts. He’s keeping it light, nodding his head toward the guard as we drive through and turn onto the wooded road.

  “That's a funny way to say that. Drop out. Last guy I dropped out was Two-Fist, and I'm pretty sure he didn't like where he ended up.”

  My eyes go wide. “Uncle Two-Fist?” I choke out.

  “Ugh… not like that, Charli,” he groans, shaking his head and glancing back at Gus to make sure he’s not listening. “I took him to the fat farm. Fat fuck was killing himself. Dante’s orders. Aunt Roni too. She loves it there. Chattanooga is gorgeous.”