by Tami Lund
Lola recalled her brother, at his wedding, whispering to her that the guy with the cold, soulless eyes sitting at the bride’s parents’ table was Gino Sarvilli, the head of the Detroit mafia.
That was the only real-life experience she’d had with the mob, and honestly, she hadn’t believed her brother at the time. But she’d seen enough mafia movies in her day, and the similarities between those shows and Samuele’s life were really, really concerning.
“Well, we can’t do Hawaii since we can’t get on a plane right now. But pretty much anywhere else that is within driving distance, yes, you can choose. Although I’d prefer you go farther away than, say, Chicago or Cleveland.”
Her mind immediately began to skim over all the places she’d ever wanted to visit within the continental United States. And Mexico. But she put it all on pause.
“Do you know Gino Sarvilli?”
He sighed. “So you’ve put it all together finally.”
She barked out a laugh. “Not hardly. But I am starting to see similarities between you and The Sopranos.”
“I told you I was a bad guy. I warned you that we shouldn’t have started anything.”
“Don’t you dare try to pin this on me,” she snapped, tossing him a furious glare.
“I’m not pinning anything on you, Lola. Not even Vito’s death. He deserved a lot worse than what you gave him. I would have shot his fucking kneecaps off first, then his fingers, then his—”
“Stop or I’m going to puke.”
“Sorry.”
“Did you and Vito work together?”
He didn’t start immediately talking, and she glanced over to see him staring out the window, absently scratching the dog’s ear. Tippy had curled up in his lap, not a care in the world. Lucky puppy.
“Yes. Sort of. Vito was on Gino’s payroll. I was a contractor. Worked whenever Gino offered me a job; otherwise pretty much did my own thing. The day before you and I met, Gino offered me a full-time position on his payroll. I was taking that jog to try to clear my head.” He paused. “I was trying to figure out if there was a way to say no.”
“Why? Don’t mobsters make really good money?”
“You think that’s all that matters?”
She shrugged. “It certainly helps matters.”
“Your brother was killed for money. But you already knew that.”
“I guessed he was killed because he couldn’t stop sleeping around on his new wife.”
“And money talks. Someone paid Gino, who paid a guy like me to off him and make it look like an accident.”
She clenched her teeth. “Was it you?” And then she held her breath.
“No.”
She slowly exhaled.
“If it helps, you just killed the guy who did it.”
Oh God, what did that make her if it did help? “I think my brother killed my parents.”
“That fucking sucks. I’m sorry, Lola.”
“And you’re right: it all comes down to money. He was broke, and he couldn’t figure out how to fix his circumstances. He knew they had a pretty hefty insurance policy. And he knew how to make traffic accidents look exactly like that, an accident. Afterward, he stole my Social Security number, took my share, opened a bunch of credit cards in my name, and charged them all to the max.”
She could see Samuele’s fist out of the corner of her eye, clenching and unclenching.
“I’ll make sure you never have to worry about money again, for the rest of your life.”
She laughed, but there was no humor in it. “How?”
“I have plenty. I’ve been socking it away for years. I’m going to sign a bunch of it over to you. Free and clear. No strings attached.”
“Why would you do that?”
“You know why, and I’d say it, but I doubt you want to hear it right now.”
He was right.
“So what’s the next step?”
“Well, I’d like to get some dinner, although I’d prefer to be a few hours out of town first. You need to start thinking about where you want to go. When we’re ready to stop for the night, we’ll find a no-name motel that takes cash, and you’ll go to your room to sleep, and I’m going to start moving that money around and arranging for a new ID for you. Tomorrow morning, we’ll find a used car dealership so I can buy us each our own vehicle, paying cash, of course. I’ll probably need your help ditching my truck, shoving it into a deep body of water or something. And then, you’ll be free.”
“Free?”
“I keep telling you, Lola, I’m not good enough for you. As soon as I can make sure you’re set financially, we’ll go our separate ways. You can start fresh, get settled and find yourself a nice guy who compliments your sweetness, and, hopefully, with time, forget all about this part of your life.”
9
It’s My Life And I’ll Choose It If I Want To
They made it to a place called Effingham before they finally pulled over for the night. Lola had hardly spoken to him after he’d promised to set her up and then set her free.
She answered when he asked if she needed to go to the bathroom or if she was hungry; she gave him noncommittal responses when he tried to talk about the weather over dinner. She grunted when he commented on what a good traveler Tippy was.
He wanted to ask her where she thought she might go, but he shouldn’t. Best to avoid the temptation of showing up one day just to check on her. Unlike Enzo, he wasn’t a stalker, and he didn’t need to give his stupid heart any ideas.
It was two in the morning. Gino’s meeting had long come and gone. Samuele’s condo was likely burned to the ground, and the ID on the body was, hopefully, still unclear. Vito’s car, which he’d left in long-term parking, wouldn’t be found for weeks.
Lola was all alone in the world; her disappearance may not be noticed until the utility companies realized she wasn’t paying the monthly electric and gas bills on that house she’d been working on. The only person who would pay attention to his disappearance was Gino.
Until the authorities figured out otherwise, they’d assume Samuele perished in the fire, and it was likely no one would even connect him and Lola. Vito was the only person who had seen them together, and he was charred like burnt toast, so he wouldn’t tell anyone.
Samuele had ditched his phone, so he couldn’t check the news online, couldn’t even listen to Gino’s voicemails to try to get a hint at what was going on back home.
And he was okay with that. Time to let that life go. He was more than ready. Hell, he’d been ready for years.
Both he and Lola were going to start over. Fresh new lives. It was a damn shame they wouldn’t be together, but he’d have to be satisfied with knowing she would be safe, that neither Vito nor Enzo were threats any longer, and she was now free from all that debt her brother had buried her under. Samuele was going to set her up with enough capital that her only worry would be choosing a place to settle down.
He left Lola and the dog sleeping in the truck and went into the lobby of the motel and secured them a room. He started to book two, to reassure to her that he really was going to let her go, but at the last second his worry for her safety overcame him, so he booked a double instead. He wasn’t quite comfortable with the idea of leaving her alone in the middle of nowhere yet, even if he would be right next door.
He carried their luggage inside, roused the dog so he could piss, and then lifted Lola into his arms. She blinked drowsily and smiled as she looped her arms around his neck, and, holy fuck, he wanted to kiss her so badly it was a literal ache in his chest.
As he carried her into the room and lay her gently on the bed farthest from the door, she said, “Washington. Or Oregon. Do you think it would be nice to settle there?”
He reached up and tried to unwind her fingers, which had tightened behind his neck. “Yeah, sure. I think you’ll be happy out in the northwest. You’ll give the place some much needed sunshine.”
She stared up at him; his gaze was on some point across
the room, probably letting it land anywhere but on her. He thought he was about to lose her, and it was clearly tearing him up inside.
Reaffirmed her decision, at least.
Because, yes, she’d made her decision, and no, it did not involve she and Tippy making their own way in the world, alone. Heck, if she let Tippy choose, she was pretty sure the dog would choose Samuele over her.
And she was okay with that.
“I will be. If you’re there too.”
He froze, hovering over her, his hands covering hers, his gaze finally dropping to her face, his brows furrowed.
“Uh, I’m pretty sure I didn’t hear you right.”
“I’m pretty sure you did.”
She finally relinquished her hold around his neck so that he could sink onto the side of the bed. “Lola, listen to me. You and me, we aren’t good together.”
“I beg to differ. The time I’ve spent with you has been the best of my entire life.”
“Yeah, but I’m a bad guy.”
She reached over, lifted his hand, and twined her fingers with his. “I told you I dated Enzo, that he was abusive, but I didn’t tell you exactly what happened.”
“You don’t have to relive that, Lola. I don’t need to know the specifics.”
She ignored his comment and barreled on. Samuele knowing this information was important to their future relationship.
“One day, Enzo came to visit me at my apartment. I was outside with my dog, Gus. I’d had him since I was in eighth grade, and the poor guy was deaf and blind, but he was still getting on okay, and I was more than happy taking care of him.
“Enzo pulled into a parking space, and Gus wandered over to greet him, like he did everybody. But then Enzo decided he didn’t want to park there because he was too close to the car next to him, so without even looking, he backed up…and ran over my dog.”
Samuele pulled his hand out of her grip, wrapped his arm around her shoulder, and pulled her into his side. “Oh fuck, Lola, I’m so sorry.”
More reassurance that she was making the right decision, as if she even needed it at this point.
“As you can imagine, I was extremely upset. I started crying and couldn’t stop. Enzo was getting annoyed, demanding I quit blubbering and get over it. He said, ‘It’s just a stupid dog, Lola. Dogs are nothing but a nuisance anyway.’”
Samuele shook his head. “Maybe, but they’re loveable nuisances.”
“The thing was, Gus wasn’t a nuisance. Not like Tippy is. He was this super-chill dog who was just happy to have a scratch behind the ear and two meals a day. He was never underfoot, didn’t beg, didn’t do anything to justify Enzo’s opinion. Not to mention, he’d been my baby for fifteen years. More than half my life at that point. He helped me through my parents’ deaths.” She impatiently swiped away the tears; she wasn’t telling this story to garner sympathy. She had an entirely different point.
“Anyway, I didn’t stop crying, and Enzo lost patience with me, and that’s when he hit me.”
Samuele’s muscles bunched, his grip around her shoulders tightening.
“He slapped me so hard I fell on my butt in the grass. Gave me a bloody lip. I remember sitting there for the longest time, tasting my own blood and staring at my dog’s body, laying on the cement behind his car. And then I stood up, went into my apartment, grabbed my purse and keys and phone, and I got into my own car and drove away, all without saying a word to Enzo.
“He called me before I could even get out of the parking lot, demanding to know where I was going, and I told him it was none of his business because we were through.”
“I’m sure that went over well.”
“Exactly as well as you’re imagining. He stalked me for the next six months. I finally quit my job and moved across town to crash on a friend’s couch just so I wouldn’t have an address linked to my name. And I cancelled my cellular plan and asked my friend to add me to hers, again, so Enzo couldn’t trace me.”
Samuele cupped her head and kissed her temple. “I’m sorry you had to endure all of that.”
“My point in telling you all this is, you are not like Enzo.”
“Lola, I’m still a bad guy.”
She twisted so that she faced him. “The day we met, Tippy got underfoot and you twisted your ankle. The next time we saw each other, you brought dog treats. There is, well, was, a dog bed at your place, even though, until last night, we’d never spent the night there. And earlier, when that guy Vito was in your backyard, I saw him point his gun at Tippy. And you risked your own life to protect my dog.”
He raked his hand through his hair, his gaze shooting every which way, his lips pursed. “But Lola—”
“And let’s not forget all you’ve done for me. You didn’t have to help me fix up that house. And even if you did decide to do it just because you enjoy remodel projects, you spent way more money than you should have. You’ve been feeding me for the past two weeks. You’ve been keeping me safe—I know that’s why we finished the master bedroom first.”
“Yes, but—”
“And the entire time you were doing it, you were keeping me at arm’s length, trying to convince yourself we were just friends. You had no expectations other than helping me and ensuring my safety.”
He shook his head. “I wanted to sleep with you that entire time.”
“But you didn’t do anything about it. Not until we went out dancing.”
“You aren’t the type of girl I normally hook up with.”
“Maybe you knew you wouldn’t want just a one-night stand.”
He glanced up, caught her eye, and shifted his gaze away again as he grunted.
“And then when I shot Vito, you immediately went into coverup mode.”
“That’s just proof that I’m not a good guy.”
“No, it’s proof that you care about me, that you are willing to do everything in your power to protect me. Answer me this: are you a bad guy, Samuele, or were you?”
He stared at her.
“Are you planning to resume the same lifestyle once you’re settled?”
He shook his head again. “I’ve been planning for the day I could walk away from that lifestyle almost since I took my first contract.”
“So you aren’t a bad guy. Not anymore.”
“I think your definition of bad guy is a little skewed.”
She cupped his cheek. “I love you.”
“Fuck, Lola, don’t tell me that.”
“Why not?”
“Because it just makes me want to hold onto you all that much harder. It’s killing me to let you go right now.”
“Then don’t.”
“I have—”
“No, you don’t. We’re starting over, right? Clean slate. I don’t want to start over alone. I want to start over with you. I want to make a new life, and I want you in it. You, everything you are, although I wouldn’t mind if you left the killing aspect behind.”
“The killing aspect died in that fire I set. Well, unless someone threatens you. Or, apparently, the dog. Oh, and any kids we have. And then all bets are off.”
She laughed. “You’re so sexy when you’re being badass and yet sweet at the same time.”
He arched a brow. “Oh yeah? You think I’m sexy?”
She laced her fingers around his neck again. “I do.”
He rolled onto his side, taking her with him, until she was under him on the bed. “You know what I think? Well, actually, I know.”
“What’s that?”
“That I love you. And if you’re serious, and you’re going to let me, I’m going to prove it to you every single day for the rest of my life.”
“I like that plan.”
He kissed her. And then again. And each one was better than the last.
She had a feeling it would be like that each and every time he kissed her for the rest of her life.
THE END
TRAPPED BY THE MOB BOOK 2
Detroit Mafia Series
Bo
ok 2
“Trust me, once you get caught in Gino Sarvilli’s web, you never truly get out again.”
One minute, Phoebe Cavanaugh is minding her own business, trying to recover from a weeknight hangover; the next, she’s witnessing a child kidnapping in progress. What’s worse; the child’s mother doesn’t want her to involve the cops.
Why not? Because her ex-husband, Gino, is a mafia boss.
Hey, at least Phoebe’s week takes a turn for the better when she meets—and begins to date—the funny and attractive Antonio, who may or may not have inside information regarding the kidnapped child.
1
The Good Samaritan
“I swear, I’ll never do that again,” Phoebe Cavanaugh muttered to her reflection, which stared back at her with mussed hair—and not the sexy bedhead kind, either—and bags the size of Lake Michigan under her eyes, accentuating a horribly pallid complexion.
“I am not a bad girl,” she added before shoving the toothbrush into her mouth and attempting to scrub away the cotton and lingering taste of tequila. Or maybe that was worm. God, the end of the evening was hazy, but she suspected her evil co-workers had convinced her to eat the damn thing when the last shot had been poured.
“Why did I think I could keep up?” She hadn’t been a heavy drinker when she had been in college, let alone in the five years since graduating. “And on a weekday, no less.”
She trudged back to her bedroom and huffed out a sigh. The digital clock on her bedside table flipped to 8:02.
Phoebe should have been to work an hour ago, and she hadn’t even showered yet. Hell, she was still wearing the jeans and boatneck, striped shirt she’d worn to the bar last night.
Not to mention the roiling in her stomach. Ugh. How the heck did one cure a weekday hangover?