Dynasty

by Jen Davis et al.

  The wealthy owner of the condo gave her an offer over the phone that she couldn’t refuse. The only requirements were to keep an eye on the place, watch for riff raff, and call the numbers on the list if anything went wrong or broke. Jackie got the place for next to nothing. So far, everything was perfect and in great working order. The distance from the newspaper office was less than a mile. It was an easy walk, for sure, and one thing she really did enjoy.

  Taking a sip of fresh juice, she opened the book that had been on her shelf for months. It was called Contract from Hell by local author Stephanie Barclay. The author’s boyfriend, Dominic, had proposed marriage at the book signing. It was a romantic gesture from someone who looked like a cross between a hot lumberjack and an ax murderer.

  Jackie was supposed to have an interview with the author, but that never came to light. For some reason, after the release party, Stephanie seemed to disappear from the lime light. There were rumors that the story she wrote was true. That she’d run from an arranged marriage with a Russian mobster who trafficked in women, and that certain high-ranking mafia figures, even though they were featured under their fake names, didn’t wish for her to speak publicly. It was even suggested that her future husband fought a battle to the death to win her away from the bratva. It was an unbelievable story. Could it be true?

  She’d not seen her since. Was Stephanie off the grid or just busy planning the wedding of her dreams? The woman had a website, but there were no photos of her face, just excerpts, teasers, and buy links. Contract from Hell had done amazing on the charts. There was even talk of a film option, but again, what would those criminal connections have to say about that?

  If only she could’ve gotten an exclusive with Stephanie. That would have energized her career and removed the bad groove she was in. Career? What career? Maybe she wasn’t meant to be a reporter. She wouldn’t be the first one to not do what she’d gone to college for. Not the first one to change horses in mid-stream, as the saying goes.

  Jackie skimmed the first chapter and glimpsed at the clock on the kitchen wall inside.

  “Dang. I better get going!” She hurried inside to get dressed and put on some makeup. Grabbing a light jacket and her purse, Jackie rushed out the door. It was early May, by noon it would be warm enough to shed the extra layer, but for now, she was glad to have it.

  Her open-toed ankle boots clicked on the sidewalk. The tour boats bobbed in the water as she passed. Soon the mailboat would be heading out to deliver the mail. It was a long-standing tradition in Lake Genoa. In the 1800s, most of the homes on the lake were summer homes and only accessible from the water. Their mail was delivered daily by boat. Mailboxes were located at the end of the private wooden docks. As the boat passed, a person would jump out of the front of boat, put the mail in the box, and jump back on the back of the boat, all while it was moving.

  As Jackie strolled through downtown, the smell of the Java Shop enticed her to stop in. The place buzzed with early morning customers as she got in line. A couple of beautiful, well-dressed women stood in front of her. They looked familiar, but right now, fatigue didn’t have her at her sharpest. The one holding a baby was sporting red-soled shoes that probably cost a fortune. Blessed with height as it was, Jackie had no use for high heels and would most likely fall on her face if she ever tried walking in heels like those. The woman’s companion was also stunning. That lady paid for their five-dollar coffees with an Amex black card pulled from what looked like a several thousand-dollar purse.

  Even though Genoa was a small town, it was one of the wealthiest communities in the state, maybe even the country. There wasn’t a piece of real estate on the lake that paid less than one-hundred-thousand dollars a year in property taxes. She may not have been much of a reporter, but her attention to detail, when she wanted it, was spot on. Jackie couldn’t recall the pair’s names, but she did know they were locals. It would come to her later, when she’d be in the middle of trying to remember something else.

  “What can I get you, ma’am?” The young barista smiled. Jackie could deal with people calling her hon, sweetie, or miss, but ma’am bugged her to no end.

  “I’ll have the caramel mocha with vanilla.” She paid the bill, waited for her drink, and headed out the door.

  Three short blocks more and she’d reached the old brick building that was the home of the Genoa Globe.

  “Hey, Jackie,” a few co-workers called as she passed their desks. When she reached her writing table, she tossed her purse into a drawer and logged onto her computer. They were on a deadline. The paper came out on Tuesdays, so everything had to be entered, edited, and ready to go to print by four.

  This was the busiest day, as all the scores from school games and local events from the weekend had to be added. They had an online edition, but it still needed to be uploaded for the paper edition. Yes, people still liked to buy the local paper, especially tourists that weren’t signed up online. There was still something about opening a paper or smelling the pages of a paperback that would always be timeless.

  The morning flew by as she worked on getting everything done.

  “Excuse me,” a woman called from the front counter, and Jackie looked up from her laptop. She rose from her desk and headed toward the front of the room.

  “Hi, what can I help you with?” As she neared the customer, it dawned on her that this was one of the women she’d seen at the coffee shop. The one carrying the designer purse, not the baby.

  “I’d like to put an ad in the paper.” She dug in her high-end handbag, a Louis Vuitton if Jackie had to guess, and pulled out a piece of paper.

  “What kind of an ad do you want to place?” Logging into the front desk computer, Jackie pulled up the screen with all the information for the classifieds.

  “Help wanted.” The woman slid the piece of paper toward her. “We purchased a winery outside of town and are looking for more staff for the summer.”

  “A winery?” Jackie glanced at the details on the paper. “That sounds like a dream job. I love wine.”

  “Well, you can’t drink on the job, but we do offer great benefits and an opportunity to learn the business with us.” The woman smiled. “You should stop in sometime. Here’s my card.” She handed her a business card. The name on the front proclaimed her as Madison Caponelli. It was a black card embossed with gold letters. Very classy.

  “Thanks. I will.” She tucked the card into her pants pocket. “So, it looks like we have all your details.” Jackie turned the screen so Madison could see. “Here are the sizes and costs of the ads. Do you see one that you like?”

  Her client pointed to the one she wanted. “This size would be great. Can we get it in tomorrow’s paper?”

  “I, ah…” Jackie glanced at the clock.

  “Of course, we can, Mrs. Caponelli.” Bruce, her boss, came out of nowhere. The guy buttoned his jacket and smoothed back his hair. Where’d he get a suit jacket? The Genoa Globe was anything but fancy.

  “Bruce, please.” Their client rolled her eyes. “I’ve known you all of my life. Cut the ‘Mrs.’ crap.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean any disrespect.” Bruce tugged at his collar. “Jackie will get right on it. We always have room for Caponelli business.”

  “And we appreciate it.” Madison handed her a thick, black credit card, and she ran it through the card reader.

  After it was processed, Jackie returned the card to her and picked up the paper with the job description on it. “I think we have everything we need. I’ll get working on this right away.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate it.” Madison gathered her purse and nodded to Bruce. “See you around.”

  “Yes, thanks, Madison. Have a good day.” He waved and Jackie shook her head. What was wrong with the guy?

  “You too.” The woman smiled at both and left.

  Jackie stared out the front window and noticed a large man open the door for her.

  “Is that Mr. Caponelli?” she whispered to her boss as they watche
d them both leave the building.

  “No, that’s her bodyguard.” Bruce exhaled.

  “Bodyguard. Is she famous or something?” Curiosity kicked in and jolted her wide awake. She knew that name, everyone did, but it was important to get his take on the family.

  “Madison’s a local girl, but she married Roman Caponelli, the son of a major Chicago mafia don. After he moved here, things haven’t been the same.”

  “How so?” He briefly filled her in on some of the higher points, but she’d be searching online as soon as she reached her desk.

  “What’s with the winery? That sounds like a pretty normal business for this area.” Wisconsin was filled with vineyards.

  “You’d think so, but I don’t put anything past that guy. Madison’s in love. She sees what she wants to see.”

  “Not me. I don’t care if he’s the hottest guy in the world; I’d never get involved with a criminal.”

  That’s just nuts.

  Jackie grabbed the paper and headed to her desk, but Bruce followed.

  “You know what they say. Love is blind.”

  “Still not worth it.” Jackie turned her head. “So, the winery?”

  “I think the place is legit. It’s in his wife’s name, and she’d never allow anything illegal to go on there. He also wouldn’t risk it.”

  Taking a seat, Jackie punched in the name of their winery. The wheels already turned in her head. The story was there; she could feel it. Her fingers tingled as they punched the keys.

  “From the website, it looks normal. The vineyard has been around for years, and they just put it up for sale this spring.” Reaching for a pencil, she tapped it on the tabletop.

  “Just make sure that,” Bruce pointed toward the piece of paper that Madison had left, “gets in tomorrow’s paper. I don’t want to be wearing cement galoshes anytime soon.” He joked, but there was no smile on his face. The guy was serious and slightly pale as he hurried back to his office.

  Jackie entered the info in the system and slumped in her chair. After a quick search of the web, several stories popped up about the Genoa Caponellis. Madison had owned a bridal store when she first met her husband. It was rumored that after Madison convinced a battered future bride to call off the wedding, the abusive fiancé soon disappeared. After that, several businesses in town had been vandalized, and there was even an explosion that destroyed part of the town. The suspect in those crimes was never found, just his hands.

  Just his hands?

  She sat up straight in her chair.

  More crime stories had arisen since Roman had moved here. Whether that had anything to do with him, it was hard to tell. Genoa had a serial killer on the loose for a while. The psycho had struck in other states before shooting themselves in the head and leaving a suicide note behind in an abandoned building in town.

  Wow.

  Jackie bit her lip and continued to read. Then there were some meth deals gone bad. A lab that blew up outside of town, killing two inside. The apartment that author Stephanie Barclay lived in also blew up. How did Jackie not know these things? She’d done research before moving here but didn’t remember coming across any of this. The last few years had been difficult, so it wasn’t a surprise that she’d let things slip under the radar.

  Jackie hit the search for images, and more popped up. Under the photo of Stephanie, the name Anastasia Bravikova appeared. It was believed that Bravikova was the daughter of a Russian mob boss from the West Coast who had relocated to Genoa. Jackie picked up a second pencil and tapped it on the desk. Her heart pounded. Writing classified ads and cat stories just wasn’t cutting it, but stories like this were something she could sink her teeth into. This was what she was meant to write, but these stories had already been written.

  Jackie brought up the page for Madison’s winery again. The building, landscape, and vine fields were gorgeous. Like an Italian villa. It was the first time in a long time her inspiration flowed. The job description called for great customer service and attention to detail. Check and check. She had both of those. The applicant would be trained in all aspects of the wine industry. Check. She was trainable. She may have missed the boat on being a reporter, but this might be a new direction to take. Her days at the paper were probably numbered, so it didn’t hurt to have other options on the table.

  Next, she brought up the contact info for the job, filled it out, and attached her resume. Clicking the mouse, it was sent. If there was a story here, it would be found. She could publish it freelance, if need be. If not, she’d at least be enjoying a possible new career and much needed change of pace. Hopefully, the early bird would get the worm in this case. She’d apply before anyone else, and with any luck, Jackie’d be working at the winery soon.

  Chapter 2

  Jasper

  The annoying as hell alarm on his phone wouldn’t stop. After knocking several things off the table next to his bed, Jasper finally got ahold of it and stopped the noise. Why did he set it anyway? Rising in the morning had never been a problem before. For years, getting up and sneaking out of some hookup’s bedroom from the night before was standard procedure. But that hadn’t happened in a long time.

  It’d been a dry spell for sure and a long, cold winter. He’d not been with a woman since last fall, to be exact. Everyone would be shocked, but it was true. Maybe it was seeing his now good friend, Dominic, find love. Something no one had expected. Jasper was happy for the couple, but sometimes, he felt like a third wheel whenever they got together.

  Most people wouldn’t guess what life had been like for him lately, as he’d hidden it well. He got up the same time every day, ate the same breakfast, watched the same news channel, and did the same workout routine. Well, most days, anyway. If he was working, that changed, but it didn’t mean he had to like it.

  Rubbing the back of his hand across his forehead, he yawned. Jasper rolled over and spread out in his bed. Alone. He was getting used to it, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. For years, he’d been on the prowl; women, late nights, partying, nothing was off the table. He’d spent more time in other beds than his own. Never did he bring a guest to his place. That was too personal, too intimate. Plus, he liked the fact that he could leave when he wanted to. It wasn’t that he was against commitment; it just wasn’t for him. Commitment was for people who had emotions and who were sensitive, could feel things. That wasn’t him. Killing came easy, and it always had.

  In his line of work, it was best to be numb, and he’d been detached for a long time, without love and not giving a shit about the lack thereof. But somewhere over the winter, the urge to pursue and conquer had left the building. Hell, he didn’t even know when it happened. Jasper just went home early from the bars or didn’t even go out at all. Blame it on the weather; going out at night in twenty below weather was never fun. Maybe he was just maturing or growing up, as some would say. Hell, if Dom could find love, maybe he could too.

  Dominic and Stephanie still invited him over, but sometimes, he’d say no. They were still in the honeymoon phase and so happy, unlike him. Jasper stared at the ceiling. He hadn’t bothered to the hit the snooze button, but he didn’t need it anyway. Tossing the covers aside, he dragged himself out of bed and into the bathroom.

  After washing his face, he took a good, long look at the person staring back. Nothing appeared any different. He was still in great shape. All those workouts had carved out some pretty decent abs and the V that all the girls liked. Was he getting old? No, he was barely thirty.

  What the hell?

  Flipping off the light, he padded on bare feet to the kitchen. Jasper had even started programing the coffee maker to be ready in the morning. That was something he’d never done before. Why bother when he wasn’t usually here in the morning? Pouring himself a cup, he searched the fridge for some flavored creamer and added some sugar. He may be on a dry spell, as far as the ladies were concerned, but he still had a sweet tooth.

  Fixing oatmeal in the microwave and adding brown sugar,
he took his breakfast to the living room and turned on the TV. The weatherman was predicting warmer days, and it was about time. They’d just had one of the coldest Aprils in history, and it was time to enjoy the lake.

  Maybe seeing chicks in shorts and tank tops would get his blood flowing to all the right places again.

  His cell rang, and he raced back to his room. It’d gone to voicemail, but he knew there’d be no message. The number was Roman’s. People often didn’t leave messages in his line of work. A text was sent. Just a set of numbers. 1015. It was an order to be at Roman’s house at 10. Anything with a number and no letters was a request to be at his boss’s house. Letters were abbreviations for places. Not obvious ones that enemies or the law would figure out, but ones that Roman’s men would know by heart. If anyone figured out what they meant, they’d be fifteen minutes too late and not know what hit them. The clock on the wall said eight. He had a couple of hours to work out, shower, and be on his way.

  No matter what was on the schedule for the day, Jasper liked to look good. Dressing to impress, or intimidate, often called for a nice suit. A pair of cufflinks, an ankle and shoulder holster, several knives, and a pair of brass knuckles completed his outfit. Grabbing his key fob and phone, he headed to the garage where his black Lexus SUV waited. Over the years, he’d been smart with his money and had a nice nest egg saved up. His only indulgences were the Lexus and his threads.

  Jasper lived in a nice neighborhood only a few blocks from the lake. His rental was one of the many remodeled turn of the century homes in town. He had moved out of his downtown apartment last fall. This was much more to his liking of his new-found maturity, if one could call it that. There were security cameras around the home, and after a quick glance at the different views around his house from his phone, it looked like the coast was clear. Threats were minimal here in Genoa, but getting soft and complacent was never a good thing.