I swirl the dregs of my bourbon in my glass, watching her quietly seethe. She flops down beside me, bristling with rage. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“I’ve made up my mind,” she says, turning her head to face me. “I don’t want them at our wedding. I mean it. I’m not going to change my mind.”
That wasn’t what I meant, but I go with the flow. “Whatever you want, Firefly.” I brush my fingers along her cheek, over the faint mark left behind by the stitches. The doc says it should fully heal in time, and I hope it does. I don’t want her to have any permanent reminders of that day.
“I’m so mad I could spit.”
I circle my arm around her, pulling her close. “What did they say?”
“That they were protecting me!” she hisses before narrowing her eyes at me. “If I ever hear that excuse again, from anyone, I’m liable to commit murder.”
“Noted.” I finish my drink and set the empty glass on the end table.
She heaves out a sigh. “You were right. Father didn’t want me to know anything, but Serena said she has harbored huge guilt over all the lies she has had to tell. She said she came close to fessing up so many times, but she put herself in my shoes, and she wouldn’t want to know.” Her hands clench into balls, and I curl my hand around one of hers, gently unfurling her tense fingers. “She said she hated she had no choice. But she failed to realize in keeping it a secret she was doing the same to me! She could’ve mentioned a little and asked me if I wanted to know more. At least I wouldn’t have been completely ignorant of the truth then.”
She slumps against me. “Mom wasn’t apologetic at all. She told me if she had the chance to do it again she would still conceal the truth from me because I have had a better life not knowing.” Angry tears fill her eyes as she looks at me. “I get wanting to protect your child. I would die for Rowan, and I don’t want him to know about this life yet. But he must be told when he is eighteen, if he hasn’t figured it out before then. I couldn’t lie to him about something this big. Mom doesn’t seem to realize how betrayed I feel. I could never do that to my son.”
I am surprised she doesn’t ask me about initiation and Rowan’s future life, and I can only guess her distress has clouded her mind. It is something we will need to discuss at some point but not now. We have had enough of the heavy for one day.
I wasn’t given a choice with this life, and I won’t do that to my son. I never expected to have an heir, assuming one of Natalia’s stepsons, or any child she may have with Gino, would carry the Mazzone name and keep our legacy alive, but things have changed. I hope to have more children with Sierra, and they will have the right to decide what they want to do with their lives. I won’t stop them if they want to join la famiglia, but I won’t force them if they choose to have nothing to do with this life.
48
BEN
A few days pass and I’m getting more and more impatient for new intel. I peer out the window of my office at Caltimore Holdings as I wait for Phillip to arrive to debrief me. I can’t shake the sense something is lingering outside my peripheral mind. That something obvious is staring me in the face and I’m missing it.
In positive news, we held the Bratva at bay when they attacked Philly two nights ago, slaughtering their men, leaving the dregs to slink off with their tails between their legs. We needed that win to send a powerful message to our allies within The Commission, to the Russians, and to all our enemies.
Yet still The Outfit is reticent. I tap my fingers on my desk. Why is that?
“Come in,” I call out, as a sharp rap sounds on my door.
Phillip hurries into the room, carrying a few files. My secretary closes the door behind him, and I press the ‘do not disturb’ button on my desktop phone.
I meet him at the large table in my office, the one I usually conduct my meetings at. He dumps the files on the table, before we claim our usual seats. “What do you have for me?” I ask, placing my arms on the table.
Clearing his throat, he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “I have completed my background check on Terry Scott, and it was as you assumed. He was a soldier for The Outfit. Initiated when he was seventeen. His death was covered up. The real autopsy results were hidden, but they hadn’t been properly deleted from the ME’s system, so I was able to access the report.” He slides it across the table to me, and I skim over the neatly typed sheets of paper.
“He died of multiple gunshot wounds. There was no evidence of any cancer,” he adds.
“What about the house and his will?”
“The attorney who handled his affairs mysteriously vanished a couple of days after Terry’s house went up in flames. His business and his home were packed up, and I can’t find a trace of him or his family anywhere.”
“Someone helped him to disappear,” I say, setting the report down and trying to make sense of it in my head. What was Terry concealing from The Outfit that was so important to hide? Was it about me? Could this be the reason why The Outfit is stalling? It seems like a far reach, but I’m ruling nothing out now. “What else did you discover?”
“Several people I talked to confirmed Terry did leave a box for you, but no one knows where it is now.”
“I think we have to presume the attorney took it with him or it burned down with the house.”
“Those were my conclusions too, Mr. Mazzone.”
“What about Lawson?”
He squirms a little in his seat, and his nose scrunches. “I have exhausted every avenue over the past few weeks I have been working on his case, and I have hit a dead end. Johnny too,” he adds, referencing one of my PIs who has been working closely with Phillip on the Lawson file. “It’s like the man didn’t exist before he married Georgia Lawson.”
Lawson Pharma is a multibillion-dollar corporation, and it’s not unthinkable that Joseph Lawson uses his internal tech resources to control what information is in the public domain. It’s what I do. However, you will find details of my past on the web, and I have spoken about my mother in interviews and at relevant charity events. I have hidden the mafia part of my persona to protect myself and la famiglia, but I haven’t attempted to erase my past in the way Lawson has done. To wipe all trace of his background proves he is hiding something.
But what?
I scrub a hand over my jaw, more troubled than I’d like to admit.
“There is one thing I find especially odd,” Phillip says while he gathers up his files. I urge him to continue with my eyes as Leo knocks on the door and slips into the room.
Phillip glances uneasily at my underboss, like he does every time Leo is in proximity. I find it comical that Phillip is more afraid of my number two than me, but it’s not surprising. I’ve spent years hiding my dark persona behind a corporate veneer, so most people suspect nothing. Leo isn’t as skilled at hiding his true self, nor does he care to. He is mostly polite around the office, but the majority of my employees give him a wide berth. He has this way of cutting a person down with one look, without even realizing he’s doing it, and it scares most people away.
“You can speak freely in front of Leo,” I say, eager to get this done now. If Leo is here, it means the girl is ready for me.
“I find it strange that the man changed his name when he got married. It’s usually the other way around.”
“That is a little odd,” I agree because I have pondered the same thing. “But Lawson is a name that carries considerable weight around Illinois, and he knew he would one day be running Lawson Pharma. I can understand his logic, to a point.”
“A man like Joseph Lawson doesn’t strike me as the type of man to readily give up anything or the kind of man who would bow to his wife’s name in place of his own, even though you raise valid points,” Leo says, lounging against the door frame. “I agree with Phillip. It’s more than odd.”
“He wants to keep his name a secret,” I surmise as prickles of awareness dance over my skin. I look at Phillip, standing the same time he does. “H
is name must be on his marriage certificate.”
“That’s the other odd thing. I can’t find any record of their marriage, and there is no certificate on file anywhere.”
We are onto something. I know it.
“I will ask my fiancée,” I say. “She might know where they keep it.” It’s a long shot, considering Sierra’s family kept so much from her, but Serena might know if Sierra doesn’t. Things are still frosty between them, but it won’t last forever. “Thank you, Phillip. That will be all,” I say, grabbing my jacket off the back of the chair behind my desk.
He leaves as I slide my arms into my sleeves. I eyeball Leo. “We have her?”
He nods. “She’s terrified. Cried nonstop the whole trip from Montana, apparently.”
One of my PIs came through, and he found Lucille hiding out on a godforsaken ranch in Montana. It’s the second good piece of news this week. “Let’s hope that means she is ready to reveal all.” I don’t torture or kill women, but Lucille was complicit in the attack on Sierra, and if she won’t speak freely, I will inflict pain until she tells me what I need to know, and I won’t lose any sleep over it.
* * *
“Here’s the deal,” I say, pulling over a chair and placing it in front of the quivering woman. I told my men to take Lucille to the dungeon we use to house guests on purpose. I want to scare the living daylights out of her so she will readily give up what she knows. Her feet and wrists are bound to the chair she’s sitting on, and the frigid temperature has raised obvious goose bumps on her arms. The less than welcoming surroundings combined with the way her wild eyes keep darting to the torture tools lined up on the table beside me lead me to believe I’ve accomplished my aim.
Removing my jacket, I hang it off the back of the chair, deliberately letting her see the gun holster on my waist. “This can be easy or hard,” I continue, rolling the sleeves of my shirt to my elbows. “I don’t enjoy hurting women, but I will make an exception in your case, if necessary.” I drill her with a menacing look, and tears stream down her face while a trickle of urine flows down her legs. “You see, Sierra Lawson is my fiancée, and you helped the men who tried to kill her.”
“I didn’t know they were going to do that!” she shrieks. “Daddy said they wouldn’t hurt her, I swear! I really like Sierra. She is the only one who took the time to explain things to me at the center.”
“Your father made you do this?”
She nods, and her eyes dart to the torture tray again.
“What’s his name?”
She gulps, and more tears leak from her eyes. “What are you going to do to him if I tell you?” she cries.
“Your father doesn’t seem to care about your predicament, so why should you care what happens to him?” I deadpan, deliberately palming my gun.
“He’s still my father,” she whimpers.
I remove my gun from its holster, and terror skates across her face.
“Don’t hurt me. Please don’t hurt me! I didn’t have a choice.”
I rest my gun on my thigh, and she audibly gulps before spewing her guts. “They were going to kill my dad if I didn’t do this. They made me apply for the job with a fake résumé, and they told me to wait for further instructions. Then they gave me stuff to put in Alesso’s coffee and Sierra’s tea, and they…they kidnapped me. Please. I didn’t want any of this,” she sobs. Snot coats her nose, and she’s a hot mess.
“His name,” I repeat, and she gives up the fight.
“Jasper Ford,” she mumbles, and I nod at Leo. He leaves the room to place the call to Phillip while I try to figure this out.
Lucille joined the center three weeks before the attack, which means the Russians knew about Sierra before the gala event. If they were planning to take her to get at me, why didn’t they go after Rowan because they must have known about him too if they had been watching her. Or was this something to do with Sierra and unconnected to me? My brain spins ideas without any answers, and I’m growing more frustrated at my inability to connect the dots. What the fuck am I missing?
“Who are they?” I ask because I don’t want to assume anything.
“The mafia. My father told me they were after him because he owed them money.”
“I need more than that,” I growl. My patience is stretched thin.
“The man my father brought me to meet was from Chicago though he did speak some words in a foreign language.”
“Russian?”
She shrugs.
“Or Italian?” I add, going with a hunch.
She shrugs again. “Maybe. I don’t know. I’m not exactly advanced in Languages 101.”
Her flippant comment enrages me. Reaching out, I grab her around the throat. My gun slides to the floor with a thump. “Do you think this is a fucking laughing matter?” I snap, snarling at her.
She shakes her head, trembling and crying and peeing herself again.
I let her go, and her hysterical cries bounce off the walls, grating on my nerves, but I force myself to calm down. Taking my gun, I secure it in my holster and try to summon patience. She is scared, and it’s obvious she’s a pawn in a game she doesn’t understand. Sierra liked Lucille, and she wouldn’t want me to hurt her, so I slam a lid on my temper and force my tone to a more pleasant one. “I’m going to show you some photos, and I’d like you to tell me if you recognize any of these men. Okay?”
She sniffs, and her lower lip wobbles. My new temporary bodyguard, Nario—a man Leo suggested—shifts behind her, looking bored with this, and I almost miss Ciro’s grumpy face. Nario is one of our most brutal soldiers, and he’s bloodthirsty. Leo has had to rein him in a few times with close calls. We thought he would be a good fit to take over until Ciro gets out of the hospital because he is vicious, so he’ll protect me well, but I thought I could teach him a lesson too. To show him there is more to this business than killing. Yet I can already tell he’s a lost cause and I should probably cut him loose.
Extracting my cell, I run with my hunch, opening a file on Chicago and The Outfit, scrolling to the images. I kneel beside her, and she flinches, her cries getting louder again. “Calm down,” I say. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’m just going to show you these men, and you let me know if any of them are the man you met with your father.”
I scroll through them one at a time, growing more disheartened as we move through the photos and there is no flash of recognition.
“Wait!” she screeches. “Go back to the previous picture.”
I swipe left, and my breath catches in my throat as I stare at the familiar face. “Him,” she says. “That’s the man who told me to do it.”
“Are you absolutely sure?” I ask as Leo returns to the room.
“One hundred percent. That’s him. That’s the man who tried to kill Sierra.”
49
BEN
I sip my bourbon, looking at my watch for the umpteenth time since the plane took off, wondering why the flight from New York to Chicago feels like it’s taking forever instead of the usual two hours. My foot taps anxiously on the floor, and I’m strung as tight as a cello.
I spoke to Sierra before we boarded the plane to reassure myself she and Rowan were okay. I wanted to tell her my discovery, but I don’t want to freak her out either. Leo spoke with Ian and Alessandro, so they know to be on their guard. I’m probably overreacting, but this has shaken me to my core.
“If you are right, this changes everything,” Leo says, propping his elbows on the table.
“I know, but it’s the most logical conclusion. I can’t believe he’s been under our nose this entire time.” I bark out a laugh. “You’ve got to hand it to him. It’s a stroke of genius.” I don’t have all the missing pieces, and I know the other four dons are a little skeptical of my reasoning, but they didn’t stop me from confronting Lawson.
“Why the fuck would he try to kidnap or kill his own daughter?” Leo asks.
“I don’t know, but I’m damn well going to find out.” Fury simmers undern
eath my skin, and I can’t fathom how I’m supposed to tell Sierra this. There is little love lost between them, but he is still her father. This will devastate her.
If my assumptions are correct, I can’t kill Lawson despite how much my hands long to feel his blood coating my skin. Accardi made me promise not to touch him, and this is one tradition I can’t ignore.
For now.
At last, the pilot tells us to buckle up for landing, and I finish my drink, mapping out how to play this in my head.
However, I didn’t factor on a welcoming committee waiting for us on the tarmac.
“How the hell did he know we were coming?” Leo hisses in my ear as we step out of the plane right into an ambush. Three blacked-out SUVs are idling before us, and twelve armed men point guns at our chests.
“We have a mole,” I murmur, and the realization does not reassure me. My thoughts instantly flicker to Sierra and Rowan, and I’m regretting not going home first and moving them someplace. I have a real bad feeling about this now.
“Mr. Mazzone.” A surly guy with a shaved head and a mean expression steps toward me. “You’re to come with me.”
“On whose authority?” I ask.
“Mr. Lawson’s,” he replies, prodding me in the chest with his gun. “I will need all your weapons.” He jerks his head sideways. “Same goes for your men.”
I nod at my guys, letting them know it’s okay to relinquish their weapons. We can’t exactly have a shootout on the airfield with cameras around, and we are outnumbered two to one. Besides, Lawson clearly has an agenda, and he won’t risk that by killing my men and enraging me.
I follow Brutus to a sleek black Mercedes waiting behind the last SUV. He opens the back door, and I slide into the seat where my soon-to-be father-in-law is waiting for me. Gifoli is in the passenger seat, and he turns around, palming the gun on his hip. “Don’t try anything, Mazzone. I won’t hesitate to put a bullet in your skull. Unlike the armored glass, the privacy screen isn’t bulletproof.” I guess The Outfit’s regard for traditions has truly flown out the window. He holds out his hand. “Cell phone.”
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