Witness Protection 9: S.N.A.F.U.

by Holly Copella

  “Considering this isn’t exactly Bureau sanctioned,” Holden remarked, “I’m happy for the extra pair of eyes.”

  “Front gate camera has been tampered with as well,” Gil reported.

  “Tampered with?” Holden remarked. “The thing was smashed beyond recognition.”

  “Made me hesitate before pulling up too.” He then eyed the box of chocolates. “What’s with the chocolates? Wining and dining the mob?”

  “Long story,” Holden muttered and again looked around. He focused his attention back on Gil. “Just let me do the talking, okay?”

  “There’s a reason Jackie sent me over the other guys, Holden,” Gil insisted with little emotion.

  Gil had the best disposition of all the guys, having the perfect combination of intimidation and quiet observation. Jackie knew what she was doing when she chose Gil to provide backup for her husband. Both men headed up the steps to the large porch.

  “By the looks of the security camera at the gate, it’s possible we’re not the only ones here,” Holden informed Gil. “We need to proceed cautiously.”

  “You’re the boss,” Gil announced with little emotion.

  Holden paused before the double doors, hesitated only a moment, and then rang the bell. As the elegant bell chimed, Gil stood just behind Holden and kept a watchful eye on the area surrounding them, almost as if expecting an ambush. The door opened, revealing Vinnie’s man with an AR-15 in his hands aimed at Holden and Gil. Holden twitched and fought his first instinct to reach for his own weapon.

  “What do you want?” the man demanded in a gruff, hostile tone.

  Holden, who already had his badge in hand, flipped it open. “I’m Special Agent Holden Falcone here to see Vincent Scartelli.”

  “If you don’t have a warrant, I suggest you call ahead and make an appointment next time,” the man snarled. “Vinnie isn’t taking any more callers tonight.”

  The man was about to shut the door when Holden spoke up. “I brought him white German chocolates.”

  There was a moment’s pause as the large man suspiciously eyed Holden. “You did?” he asked with some surprise, then eyed the box of chocolates.

  “It’s important I talk to Vinnie,” Holden insisted.

  The guard lowered his weapon, although keeping his finger near the trigger. He then nodded to Gil. “Who’s he?” he demanded.

  Holden seemed to scramble for a response when Gil smiled and flashed his own FBI badge.

  “Special Agent Rafferty,” Gil replied.

  Holden cast a sideways glance at the badge but only caught a glimpse of it before Gil closed it and slipped it back inside his jacket.

  “Fine,” the guard huffed and moved out of the doorway. “You can see Vinnie, but keep it brief.”

  Holden and Gil slipped past the large man and entered the foyer. The guard shut the door behind them. The first thing they noticed was the second guard positioned at the bottom of the stairs with his own intimidating weapon. The first guard took the box of chocolates from Holden’s hand and inspected it. Since it was still in its original, untampered wrapper, he seemed convinced it was safe. Rather than return it, he headed past them.

  “This way,” the guard announced and headed down the grand hallway.

  Holden and Gil followed the large, armed man down the hallway to the third door on the right. Holden cast a look at Gil and raised a curious brow.

  “That’s my suit, isn’t it?” Holden muttered.

  “I certainly didn’t jet back to the lodge to fetch mine,” Gil muttered without looking at Holden.

  The guard tapped twice on the door, then opened it and entered. Vinnie remained in his plush chair and set his grandson's photo on the end table alongside him.

  “Who was at the door?” Vinnie asked, then cast his eyes upon Holden. His expression dropped to disappointment. “You let the feds into my house?” He glared disapprovingly at his man. “What’s wrong with you?”

  The guard approached his older boss and handed him the box of chocolates. “He brought these for you.”

  Vinnie eyed the box of chocolates a moment before accepting them. He hesitated, then looked at Holden and offered a somewhat pleasant smile.

  “Please, forgive my manners,” Vinnie announced, then indicated the nearby sofa. “Have a seat. Would you like a drink?”

  Holden and Gil sat on the antique sofa. Gil seemed unusually relaxed, although Holden remained slightly rigid.

  “No, we’re good, thank you,” Holden replied.

  “And you gentlemen are--?” Vinnie pressed.

  “I’m Special Agent Holden Falcone,” he announced, then hesitated and indicated Gil. “And this is my associate, Special Agent Gil Rafferty.”

  Vinnie unwrapped the plastic from the box of chocolates while eyeing both men. “I’ve never had federal agents bring me chocolates before,” he remarked and raised a somewhat suspicious brow. “I’m not sure what to think.”

  Holden watched as Vinnie opened the box. The older man eagerly eyed the assorted, white chocolates. He then smiled and extended the box to Holden.

  “Have a chocolate,” he announced.

  Holden was about to decline when Gil suddenly jabbed him and indicated the box the older man held extended toward him. The look Gil shot Holden spoke louder than any words. Holden and Gil each stood and took a chocolate from the box. Vinnie watched as both men savored the expensive chocolate. He then smiled, satisfied that they weren’t poisoned. Vinnie removed one of the chocolates for himself and bit into it. He savored the flavor, taking longer to eat one piece of chocolate than most people would. He finally eyed both men while maintaining his smile.

  “So what brings the feds to my home,” Vinnie asked.

  “We heard about the death of your grandson,” Holden remarked then hesitated. “We’re sorry for your loss.”

  Vinnie drew a deep breath and seemed to tense for the first time. “Which one of the rat bastards told you?” he snarled with some irritation. “That’s why you’re here, right? You heard about what happened to my grandson.”

  “Yes, we heard about what happened to your grandson,” Holden gently replied, wanting to keep on this man’s good side. His age aside, Vinnie had a frightening reputation, and there was no doubt he wouldn’t think twice about killing both of them. “We’re trying to catch a killer. We’re not here because of what you did or didn’t tell the police. As far as my associate and I are concerned, we were never here.” Holden drew a deep breath. “We just want to find this guy.”

  Vinnie suddenly sneered. “It was Giovanni, wasn’t it?” he scoffed in irritation. “Every hitman in the region is hunting his son, and he wants you to get him off the hook.”

  “I’m not getting anyone ‘off the hook’,” Holden insisted. “I just want to stop a killer.”

  “Well, fortunately for you, I’m possibly the only person other than Giovanni who doesn’t think Marco is the killer,” Vinnie informed Holden.

  “Why’s that?” Holden asked while attempting to hide his surprise.

  “I have two grandsons, Agent Falcone,” Vinnie remarked, then hesitated and sneered. “Well, I had two grandsons. When my daughter-in-law died, my younger grandson wanted to live with me, and the other went to live with his father.” Vinnie plucked another chocolate from the box and again savored it. He then returned to reality. “Although born a year apart, they were almost identical. Most people had a difficult time telling them apart. Vincent is a reckless boy with a broken moral compass. Anthony, on the other hand, was a wonderful boy.” Vinnie managed a tiny smile while sinking into his own thoughts. “He wanted to be an artist.” He cast a quick look at Holden. “I had private teachers out to the mansion for his art classes when he was a boy. He even turned the pool house into an art studio. Some artsy people from the city wanted him to do an art show. His life was coming together perfectly.” Vinnie then sneered. “His worthless brother, on the other hand, had been following a destructive path since he was a young teenager. My son l
ost control of Vincent several years back. The kid thought he was invincible. About five years ago, he killed a police detective in front of the woman he was dating at the time.”

  “I heard about that,” Holden remarked, remembering the story. “She was going to testify against your grandson, but she was killed along with a couple of U.S. Marshalls in the safe house where they were keeping her until the trial.”

  The older man frowned, then nodded. “That’s when my son realized he’d lost Vincent. Having that young girl killed was the final nail in his coffin, I’m afraid.” Vinnie sank into thought a moment and again met Holden’s gaze. “I’m far from a saint, but I’m glad I got out when I did.”

  “Fifteen years ago,” Holden announced. “Around the time you took in your grandson.”

  “Yes, Anthony was fifteen when his mother died.”

  There was an unusually long silence as Vinnie seemed to drift out a moment. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair and met Holden’s gaze.

  “I read about the other killings. They were all bad men.” He raised his brows. “The sort of man I was in my youth. Anthony was the reason I retired. When Anthony moved in with me, I knew it was time to get out of that business.”

  “Why do you think Marco is innocent?” Holden finally asked.

  “Yes,” Vinnie announced and shifted in his chair. “I sometimes lose my train of thought. You see, Marco knew Anthony and Vincent. He knew them quite well. Your killer has been targeting bad men. Men who were killers themselves. He meant to kill Vincent, not Anthony, and Marco knew Vincent didn’t live here. The killer you seek must have followed Anthony thinking he was Vincent. If he knew either of my grandsons, he didn’t know them very well. He killed the wrong man.”

  Holden sank into thought then met Vinnie’s gaze. “What happened the night Anthony was killed?”

  “Anthony ran out to the art store for some painting supplies,” Vinnie replied. “I was already in bed when he got home.” He indicated the big man standing just inside the doorway with the weapon aimed down at the floor. “My man found him the next morning in his studio out back.” Vinnie suddenly sneered. “His throat had been slit. Just like all the others.”

  Holden tensed slightly. “I’m sorry you had to go through that,” he remarked. “Was there any sign of a struggle?”

  Vinnie shook his head in response. “My other grandson, Vincent III, insisted it had to be someone Anthony knew. Someone he trusted betrayed him. He’s the one who convinced me not to go to the police.”

  “None of the victims showed signs of a struggle,” Holden informed him. “But we don’t think they knew their killer. We think the killer watches his victims; studies them and their surroundings, searching for the perfect time and place to attack.”

  “I want my grandson’s killer to pay,” Vinnie informed Holden, “but I’m positive it wasn’t Marco.”

  Chapter 13

  Once Giovanni had left Sal’s mansion, Sal locked the door and set the alarm for good measure. He didn’t need any additional surprises that evening. It was almost eight o’clock, and his maid, Rosa, would be returning soon. Despite what Giovanni said about his son, Sal still wasn’t convinced that Marco wasn’t responsible for the killings. Not so long ago, when Giovanni last showed up unannounced, he had been concerned about his son’s behavior after his wedding massacre. Giovanni claimed his son blamed everyone for what happened, including Whiskey Tango Foxtrot and Sal’s daughter, who had been personally responsible for taking down Marco’s monster bride. Still, Giovanni was an old friend, and he deserved Sal’s best effort. In the morning, he would pay a visit to the guys, who were camping out at Jackie’s house for a few days before heading back to their remote mountain lodge.

  Sal returned to the kitchen in search of something sweet, being his promised cheesecake had been devoured by Giovanni’s ravenous thugs. As he entered the kitchen, he saw a young woman dressed in black casually sitting on the main counter. Sal jumped with surprise then seemed to relax when he recognized the woman.

  “Jesus, Nevada,” he scoffed. “You scared the crap out of me. You’re lucky I don’t walk around armed these days.”

  “You really should,” Nevada informed him without cracking a smile.

  Nevada was best described as a beautiful temptress of mass destruction. The young, female bounty hunter was possibly in her mid-twenties and stood almost five-foot-eight. Her bronzed, caramel-colored skin was nearly makeup-free yet flawless in complexion. Nevada’s wavy, golden-brown hair hung below the shoulders of her extremely athletic body, and her wardrobe consisted of what could best be described as a black stalking outfit, which was both low-cut and form-fitting. Her ensemble was completed with a short, black leather jacket and mid-calf, black leather boots that were functional rather than fashionable. Nevada’s piercing, emerald green eyes all but conveyed her total and complete lack of empathy for everyone. There was no denying she was a frightening mix of sexy and malicious.

  “Does anyone knock anymore?” Sal finally demanded.

  “Considering the company you’ve been keeping, I’m guessing you know why I’m here,” Nevada remarked, ignoring the question.

  “I’m not as stupid as I look,” Sal informed her. “Unfortunately, I’m not in the mood, Nevada. I don’t know anything more than anyone else about Marco.”

  “Marco’s daddy stopping by tells me you do,” Nevada replied while raising a cocky brow. “That million-dollar bounty on Marco’s head would be life-changing for me, Sal. I can finally afford to get out of Zack’s ‘my way or the highway’ program. Let me have Marco. You know I’ll bring him in alive.”

  “Maybe you should make a deal with Giovanni then,” Sal replied with little interest.

  Sal approached the pantry, opened one of the doors, and removed a package of cookies. There was a sticky note attached to it. It read, ‘eat healthy’. Sal groaned, ripped off the sticky note left by his doting house manager, and opened the package of cookies.

  Nevada suddenly let out a humored laugh as her eyes widened. “I actively avoid Giovanni,” she informed Sal. “And now that his son has a price on his head, I’m staying well below that man’s radar. If he even sees a bounty hunter in his crosshairs, he’s firing first and asking questions later.”

  “That really is your problem, Nevada,” Sal informed her while munching on a cookie.

  Nevada frowned and jumped off the counter. “You know, I really thought you’d be a little more accommodating,” she remarked.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Sal remarked and extended the pack of cookies toward her. “Did you want a cookie?”

  She sneered her irritation with him. “Fine, I’ll find him without your help,” Nevada scoffed, then turned to leave. She suddenly stopped, turned back toward him, and snatched a cookie from the pack. “I skipped dinner.”

  Nevada bit into the cookie while maintaining her glare, then turned and left through the back door. Sal watched her go and shook his head.

  “Girl needs a better hobby,” he remarked, then tossed the package of cookies on the island counter.

  Sal was about to approach the refrigerator when he seemed to consider something and looked toward the back door. The green ‘activate’ light wasn’t lit on the security system. Nevada certainly hadn’t deactivated it between the time he’d set it until the time he’d reached the kitchen, which meant Nevada had already been inside the house when he activated the alarm. Why was it now deactivated? Sal suddenly became alarmed. He hesitated only a moment before rounding the island counter and reached beneath it. He removed a carefully hidden semiautomatic from its concealed compartment and listened to the mostly silent house. A creak was heard just outside the kitchen from the hallway. Sal partially lowered himself behind the island counter, resting the gun on the counter aimed at the doorway.

  An armed man stepped through the doorway into the kitchen but saw Sal too late. As the man aimed his weapon, Sal squeezed the trigger and fired a round into the man’s shoulder. The intruder flew back
against the doorframe.

  “Drop the weapon, or the next shot takes away all your pain,” Sal announced in an oddly calm voice.

  The man, riddled in agonizing pain, dropped his weapon to the floor with a loud clatter.

  Sal then indicated the kitchen table. “Have a seat, son.”

  The young man clutched his bleeding shoulder in agony and approached the table. The shooter was a reasonably good looking man in his mid-twenties with a military buzz cut, suggesting he either just got out of the military or he was a mercenary wannabe. The young man kept a nervous eye on Sal then took a seat. Sal tossed him a dishtowel.

  “Put some pressure on that, would you?” Sal remarked. “You’re bleeding all over my kitchen floor. My housekeeper hates that.”

  The intruder placed the towel on his shoulder wound and applied pressure.

  “How many friends are with you?” Sal asked.

  The man shook his head. “Just me.”

  “Don’t lie to me, son,” Sal announced with a deep sigh. “You aren’t very good at it.”

  “I’m new to the game,” the young intruder replied.

  “Yeah, well, you won’t make it very long at the rate you’re going,” Sal informed him. “You may want to make a life-altering decision while someone pokes around in that wound digging out that bullet.” Sal raised an arrogant brow while watching the young man, who almost seemed to be going into shock. “First time being shot?”

  The young man nodded.

  “Hurts twice as much coming out as it did going in,” Sal informed him. “Where’s your friend?”

  He nodded toward the doorway. “Study,” the man replied, now looking a little pale.

  “If the sight of a little blood bothers you, you’re in the wrong profession,” Sal remarked.

  There was a loud commotion from the hallway. Sal aimed his weapon at the hallway entrance. A man was launched through the swinging door and struck the island counter. He attempted to straighten, not even paying attention to Sal. Nevada passed through the swinging doorway with her eyes locked on the intruder.