Mercenary (Gangsters of New York Book 3)

by Bella Di Corte

  After his grandfather had said it, I heard Adriano call Corrado the future Don Capitani. Corrado had told me he had enemies in New York, and I was no fool to his business, but I wanted to know what was going to happen now that we were married. Would it take years or months for his problems in America to be resolved? Or was our future in Italy just as uncertain as anything else?

  His hands moved to my back, and he swam us around for a while before he answered me. “It depends.”

  I nodded. “You will be Don Capitani after we get to New York,” I said, staring into his eyes.

  He nodded once.

  “You are so…young,” I said.

  “Age is just a number.” Then he said something about not being the youngest in history.

  “What about the bul—Junior?”

  He studied my face for a second. “He won’t be a problem.”

  I grinned at him, but it was weak. It bothered me that he did not trust me with this part of his life. Not fully. “Nothing is a problem for Don Capitani,” I said.

  “Not a fucking thing,” he said, his answer quick and solid.

  I looked away from him, staring into the distance at the mountains, wondering how that was going to work. I was not afraid of the bull, but I did not want to see him either. The bull’s patri seemed even more eager to make me pay than his son.

  Corrado turned my face toward his, his grip firm, staring into my eyes for a second before he tilted his head. “Tell me you trust me, Alcina.”

  “I trust you.” It was them that I did not trust.

  He shook his head. “You trust me what?” He turned his ear closer to my face.

  “I trust you, Don Capitani,” I breathed in his ear.

  “That mouth is going to get you into fucking trouble, mia moglie.” My wife. Then he dunked me under the water. I could hear him laughing as I started to resurface, the sound of it deep and raspy.

  19

  Alcina

  Corrado had a car waiting to take us to Milan after our morning swim. I asked him what kind of car it was. He said it was an Aston Martin Vantage. It was not sleek, but strong and sporty.

  It sounded like an animal on the hunt as it raced against the twisting and turning roads that led us closer to the city. Since it only had two seats, Nunzio and Adriano stayed close behind in a fast car of their own. More men followed behind them in a van.

  “I have never seen you without them,” I said.

  “My grandfather ordered them to stay with me,” he said. “Extra protection.”

  “These men, these enemies—they really want you dead.”

  He wore sunglasses, but I could tell he glanced at me from the side of his eye.

  “I am not made of glass, remember?” I reminded him.

  “No, you proved that last night.”

  I lifted a finger. “This morning, too.”

  A slow grin came to his face before he answered me. “They do. My cousin Bugsy figured out that a man who was working for him was using his casino in Vegas to auction women. We don’t fucking stand for that.”

  “So you killed him.”

  “Them,” he corrected. “But yeah, that’s the short version of how things went down.”

  “I have time for the long version.”

  He reached across the seat and took my chin in his hand, stroking the side of my jaw. I wrapped my hands around his fingers, stopping him. “I am your wife,” I said in Sicilian. “I am sworn to the same secrets you are. I am bound by this life. I am here to be your highest council.”

  He squeezed my fingers, bringing them to his mouth, placing a long, warm kiss on my wedding rings. He stared out of the window for a few minutes, taking the turns as if he were a born racer. He cleared his throat. “Sì.” He nodded. “You are my wife. My secret keeper,” he said, answering me in the same language. “You are all the things the closest man in my family could never be to me.”

  He switched to English after, maybe not having the appropriate words. “Time and place, Alcina. There will come a time when life will revolve around my family, my business, and I will need your council then. More than I need it now. What’s done is done.” He paused. “Right now I’ll enjoy my wife, getting to know her, to spoil her on our honeymoon.”

  “I like the getting to know me part,” I said. Then I looked down at myself, at one of the nicest dresses I owned, which meant that it hadn’t first belonged to my mamma. “But I am fine with what I came with.”

  “Not the point,” he said. “You need new things. I’m your husband. It’s my job to provide you with everything. Or would you rather insult me?”

  “When you are being so romantico?” I laughed. “I would not dare!”

  “If I was acting like a bastard?”

  “Then I would reconsider.”

  “Yeah,” he said, a smile coming to his face. “Thought so.”

  We talked the entire time he drove about what we were going to do.

  Villages in Como that were worth sightseeing.

  Places worth eating.

  He told me he could drive a Vaporina, the kind of boats they used on the lake, and would teach me. We even discussed going across the border into Switzerland, since I had never been.

  A slow song came on in the background, the radio on low, and I asked him what kind of music he liked. He mentioned a few bands and artists I had never heard of. I told him I enjoyed the older stuff.

  “Like that song you were listening to the night—”

  “Sì,” I said, remembering the night we had under the moon. When he found me touching myself, and he came out of the darkness like a fantasy come to life. “To me, they don’t make music like that anymore.”

  “That’s what my grandfather says,” he said. “Bugsy agrees. He listens to Roy Orbison—music like that.”

  I reminded him of the song he sang to me the night he serenaded me under my balcony. That was old, too.

  “Yeah,” he said. “That’s a classic. So is the song we danced to the night of our wedding.”

  “That is my favorite song,” I said. “It will always be special to me.”

  He kissed my hand and then pressed a button on the dash. A second later the song came on. I understood then why mamma cried when a song she had danced to with papà came on. I had always thought it made her sad because she missed those times, but the music gave her the power to relive them.

  “Remind me to thank Bugsy,” he said.

  “Per?”

  “For teaching Dom the classics.” He turned it up some. “When we get back to New York, we’ll listen to it in my old Cadillac.”

  There was so much about him that I did not know. “Tell me something about yourself that will shock me,” I said.

  “You first.”

  “That is not fair!”

  “Agree or not.” He grinned. It was mischievous to its core.

  “Let me think.” I tapped at my chin. “I am so boring. All I did before you was hide and make candles.”

  “And touch yourself.”

  “No!” I laughed. It sounded wild in the car. “I thought about it a few times, to find the release, but I did not go through with it. Not until the night of the moon—ah! That is it. I go a little…wild…when the moon is full. It does something to me.”

  “That doesn’t shock me,” he said.

  “That is all I’ve got. Now tell me yours.”

  “You show me yours, and I’ll show you mine.” He laughed. “I enjoy the opera.”

  I thought about that for a moment. “I can see that about you,” I said. “The opera is…how do I want to say this?” I arranged the words in my mind for another moment. “It is refined, romantic, but there is something about the music that is…ruthless, at times. It is an emotional ride. You do not shy away from any of that.”

  “You ever been?”

  “No. I have not done much. But I remember watching it on the television with my zia once.”

  “My mother—” It was the first time I ever heard him hes
itate, but he went over it so smoothly that, if I had not been paying attention, maybe I would have missed it. “Emilia, she’s the one who used to bring me. She said it was a date, and one day, I’d bring the girls there to make them fall in love with me.”

  “Did it work?”

  He shrugged. “I never brought a date.”

  “Ah.” I smiled. “You did not need to bring them there. One look at you and…bang. Any girl would fall at your feet.”

  “You didn’t.”

  “I did.” I blinked at him, wondering if we were living in separate times when I had first set eyes on him.

  “You didn’t fall at my feet, Alcina.” He kissed my hand again. “You stepped up to my side.”

  “I can dodge a few bullets.” I grinned. “Tell me more about your mamma.” The only thing I knew was her name and that she had died right before Corrado came to Italy.

  “Emilia wasn’t my mother,” he said. “She was, but she was actually my aunt. My biological mother—Luna—died when I was just a few months old. Emilia stepped in and became my mother. I didn’t know until recently. Or who my father was.”

  Did he think him enjoying the opera was more shocking than this?

  “How did you find out?” The question came out as a whisper.

  His jaw was tense. The muscles in his neck strained. “Emilia was murdered by the Scarpones. They were looking for my little sister, Marietta. They thought Emilia knew where she was, or was hiding her. Marietta and I share the same father—Corrado—but different mothers.

  “The Scarpone family killed our father and her mother. Their bodies were found, but my little sister was never heard of again. For some reason, the Scarpones still think she’s close and want her found. Or they did, before someone took them out.”

  Scarpone. Scarpone. Scarpone. Why did the name sound so familiar?

  “You recognize the name?”

  It took me a minute to look at him. “No.” I shook my head. He was so intuitive that it was almost unnerving. “I thought…no.” It did sound familiar, though, but where had I heard it? “Why would I? I know the names here. I am assuming this is a famiglia in America.”

  He nodded but said nothing else. His mood slipped into the car. There was that danger again. It was coming out at the speed we were traveling at. He seemed to have an excess of it. It came out in creative ways when he wanted to burn some of it off.

  “The opera,” I said, squeezing his hand. “Tell me more about it. Which was your favorite? The most memorable?”

  “I haven’t been to that one yet.”

  “No?”

  “No.” He checked his mirror and then switched lanes. We were entering Milan. “The most memorable will be the one where you sit next to me. Not as a girl out on a date with a man, but a woman out on a date with her husband.”

  “I look forward to that,” I breathed out, and then kissed his hand.

  Comparing myself to the rest of the world made me feel the time I spent in hiding, though I did not feel like I had missed much.

  Milan was busier than what I was used to. I stood in the midst of the crowded galleria, watching as hundreds of people passed without noticing me. They were too busy taking pictures in front of the many boutiques with famous names.

  “Look,” Adriano said, nodding down.

  The floor mosaic was created to pay homage to Rome, Florence, Turin, and Milan. Four coats of armor were created. Adriano nodded toward the bull representing Turin.

  “According to legend, you have to keep the heel of your right foot on the bull’s balls while spinning counterclockwise. It brings good luck.”

  “I think I have plenty of that,” I said and smiled at him.

  He started laughing, his cheeks puffing out. “Savage,” he said, shaking his head.

  I turned to see if Corrado was still on the phone. After we had arrived, he said he had a call to make. His eyes were on me as he spoke to whoever. He nodded toward the boutique across from where we stood.

  “Come on,” Adriano said. “He’ll meet us inside. It’ll give you a chance to look around.”

  I sighed, not sure if I was prepared for this. Mostly, I was a simple woman. I enjoyed being outside, or making my candles. Fancy clothes were not something I indulged in. That was why my wedding gown felt so special. It was an occasion to dress up, to appreciate the feel of the fine lace and silk against my body, to feel like the most beautiful woman in the world when my husband looked at me.

  All of this—I looked around once more before I entered the shop—seemed like excess.

  Adriano held the door for me before I could open it.

  “Grazie,” I said, entering in before him.

  The shop was empty except for a few women who loafed around the boutique, straightening shoes and rearranging jewelry in glass cases. As if in a sci-fi movie, their heads popped up all at once.

  They said nothing to me. I said nothing to them. I moved around the displays and then laughed nervously when I noticed a price tag on one of the shirts.

  “This cannot be,” I said, narrowing my eyes. There were too many zeros for such a plain top.

  “It is,” Adriano said, sticking close to me. “Get used to it. Corrado doesn’t usually flaunt, but he has expensive tastes.”

  “Can I help you?”

  Adriano and I looked at the saleswoman who decided to leave her station and offer help.

  I opened my mouth to speak but then closed it when I noticed the other women staring at me, too.

  Adriano was dressed plainly, and so was Corrado. I had a feeling they usually wore suits, but maybe for my benefit—since my clothes were vintage and plain—they decided to dress down. The women eyed us with judgment.

  A wild laugh built up in my throat when I thought about the American movie Anna and I used to watch. Pretty Woman. It was the same scenario. The poor girl goes in for nice clothes and she gets judged for it. I had to fight the urge to lift pretend bags in their faces and say, “Big mistake. HUGE mistake.”

  Anna would have probably done it, but since my temper was starting to heat, I kept my mouth shut. It was sometimes easier to be quiet then to get started. It was hard to calm me once I was ready to fight.

  The door opened again, and again, every salesgirl turned at the sound of it. This time, except for the woman who stared at me, maybe thinking I was going to steal the overpriced shirt, everyone hurried to help him.

  He was dressed in a t-shirt and jeans, and they could sense something about him.

  Power.

  He commanded every room he walked into.

  “Signor,” one of them almost purred at him. “How can we help you?”

  He ignored her and looked for me. I waved at him.

  “My people called ahead,” he said. He gave a last name that I did not recognize. “The store is ours for an hour.”

  My mouth dropped. Then I snapped it shut. He had reserved the entire store?

  Corrado placed a hand on my lower back when he was close enough.

  The woman who had been judging me stood straighter, her cheeks turning red.

  “Of course,” she said. “Allow me—”

  “No.” I shook my head. “I do not want to shop here.”

  I looked at her when I said it. Her lips pursed even tighter. Corrado looked between the two of us and nodded. “I have somewhere else in mind then.” He applied pressure to my lower back, ushering me toward the door. When I got there, I decided to do it.

  I lifted the pretend bags and said, “Big mistake. HUGE mistake.” I grinned at the look on their faces as the door closed. On the way back to the car, I told him to bring me to a store that was not as fancy.

  “Nonsense,” he said. “Only the best for my wife. Fuck them and the commission they just missed out on.”

  The best, in his opinion, was the same designer label that had made the dress he had given me as a gift. Even though the atmosphere was completely different, it was still lush.

  Seeing that I was having trouble de
ciding, Corrado ordered the women to start bringing me outfits into the dressing room, which looked more like a five-star hotel, or nicer.

  I tried on clothes of all different styles, in all different fabrics and colors, but he seemed to like me in gold and black the best.

  “That one,” he said to an all-lace dress that lifted my breasts close to my chin. Usually all he did was nod, and I knew he wanted me to have it. One nod for him spoke a thousand words.

  “I like this one, too.” I smiled at him.

  He grinned at me, and then his phone rang. I did not hear him speak to Adriano on his way out of the room, but again, silence for him was not uncommon when he was giving the men orders.

  “Mi scusi.” I stopped one of the girls who were helping pile the clothes up. Corrado had told them that I would need a special gown. “The gown…I would like to try something in gold.”

  “Sì.” She nodded, looking me over once more. “I have the perfect one.”

  I hurried and tried it on before he returned. It was stunning, and it would look perfect next to him. I told the girl to add it to the bill but not let him see.

  He came back into the dressing room right after she had taken it to be wrapped. Through the many mirrors in the room, he eyed me with a hungry look. I had stuffed myself into a black lace bustier and was busy attaching the black stockings with little bows onto the garters.

  “Those heels.” He nodded toward a high black pair in the corner. “Put them on.”

  I did, moving slowly on purpose. My palms felt ultra-sensitive, as if I were looking down from an absurd height, my stomach dropping at the thought of the fall, when he moved a little closer.

  “Turn around,” he said in Sicilian, and when I did, he murmured, “Close your eyes.”

  A second later, cool metal touched my neck. I lifted my hand, feeling smooth and uneven textures beneath my fingers. Three necklaces seemed to be stacked one on top of each other.

  His breath fanned against the skin behind my ear as he said, “Open your eyes, Alcina.”

  The mirror reflected both of us as his finger traced the necklaces against my throat and my chest. They were three different lengths. The one around my throat had a filigree pattern. It was intricate, almost like lace. The other one was a little longer with the same pattern. The third one came between my breasts, and at the end was a diamond that reminded me of a golden moon. My tiny gold cross was hidden behind it.