by Anna Blakely
Mac sat in the very back row of the familiar Catholic church located in downtown Jersey City. She listened attentively as the priest’s echoing lies filled the intricately arched space above the crowded pews.
When she first met Father Medina years before, he’d seemed like a nice, caring man. Living proof that looks could be deceiving.
There was no way the holy man believed the crap he was spewing. He’d been around far too long and had heard way too many confessions to think for a second the man lying in the coffin was anything but a cold-hearted bastard. Still, Medina continued on with his fraudulent ramblings.
According to the good Father, not only was Anthony Moretti a wonderful, caring human being, he’d also been an upstanding citizen with a deeply seeded love for his city.
I think I’m going to be sick.
For the next several minutes, the congregation heard wonderful stories of Moretti’s kindness, followed by a list of the deceased man’s selfless acts of community service.
Mac’s stomach lurched with each word crossing the priest’s lips, because she knew the truth.
Tony Moretti had been a cold, calculating, manipulative bastard willing to lie, cheat, or kill to get what he wanted.
Mac would know. She shared his blood, after all.
So far, no one had recognized her, but they would. She was counting on it. Wearing a dress full of color and life, there was no way she wouldn’t stand out amongst the enormous sea of black.
As the misguided priest continued on, Mac shifted her body against the uncomfortable wooden pew. Muscles that had been gloriously used two nights before still pulled, conjuring up a picture of her and Coop, together in her bed.
In the image forever locked inside her memory, Coop was on top of her. Thrusting himself in and out of her greedy core as he filled her in the most exquisite way.
Another picture followed. One where Coop’s head was between her thighs, his fingers and tongue moving in ways she’d never imagined—
Someone in the pew across from her coughed, ripping the erotic image from her mind. Mac shifted in the seat again, crossing her legs to ease the sudden ache there.
She mentally cursed herself, locking those and every other memory from that night away. This wasn’t the time or place for any of that.
She had to stay focused while she was here. Coop’s life depended on it.
After a few more songs and prayers—all futile, since Moretti’s soul was damned a long time ago—Father Medina invited any relatives or close friends to the front for a final viewing of sorts.
Mac’s heart beat a little stronger.
Showtime.
She stood. Making her way down the church’s long aisle, the whispers following her nearly made her smile. Mac knew people were staring, probably wondering who she was and why she was here. Why she’d wear such a vibrant dress to such a somber occasion.
The better to see me, my dears.
The rumor mill would no doubt be winding up before long, but she didn’t care about any of that. There was only one man who needed to see her. One Mac hated with every fiber of her being.
Luca Marino, Moretti’s most trusted business associate, dutifully stood at his rightful place near the casket. He wore a mournful expression as he shook hands with those passing by to pay their respects.
The closer Mac got, the more forceful her pulse began to beat. With every fiber of her being, she wanted to see the bastard suffer and die, but she couldn’t kill him.
Not yet.
Though she hid it well, Mac’s insides were quivering with both fear and anger. Fear from the haunting memories seeing Luca created. Anger for allowing him to have even an ounce of power over her, after all these years.
Not for long, though.
No, by the time she was finished, Luca Marino would be joining his predecessor in the only place they both truly belonged.
Hell.
After covering what felt like the longest aisle in existence, Mac finally reached the front of the church. Glancing down, she stared at the shiny, black urn placed on top of a wooden pedestal. Her stomach clenched at the thought of its contents.
Beside the pedestal, an enlarged picture was carefully displayed on an intricate, metal easel. The cold eyes staring back at her from the canvas were as evil in print as they’d been in life.
Outwardly, no one looking at her would be able to tell, but inside…inside, she felt like she might break apart.
Murmurs and soft musings surrounded her as guests commented on how much the ‘poor man’ would be missed. Mac resisted the urge to roll her eyes.
“Thank you for coming.”
The voice from Mac’s nightmares reached her ears as she looked down at the outstretched hand. With utter clarity, she remembered the violence that hand was capable of. What that hand had done to her.
Sliding her palm against his, Mac swallowed down bile and formed hers into a firm grip. “My condolences on your loss,” she offered softly as she brought her gaze to his.
Recognition flared to life the instant their eyes met, but Luca Marino was good.
He didn’t gasp or glare. There was no dramatic scene where he threw her ass out.
In fact, the large man’s only reaction was to gently shake Mac’s hand and give her a slight nod.
“Thank you.”
To those watching, she was simply another mourner among the masses. Luca knew better. It was there, in the way his grip tightened slightly. In the set of black pupils dilating with sudden recall, followed by what looked a hell of a lot like arousal.
Asshole.
Mac moved on, following those who had gone before her through the church’s enormous wooden doors. Once outside, she waited until she was away from the crowd before drawing in several deep, nearly gasping breaths.
Running a shaky hand through her long, blonde hair, she tried to stifle the nauseating memories seeing Luca again had brought forth. It pissed her off that, after all she’d been through and done in her life, this one man could still affect her like this.
Mac remembered the black car parked across the street. She couldn’t see through the tinted windows but knew the man behind the wheel was watching her.
On shaky legs, she made her way down the sidewalk to the car she’d rented for the trip. She’d only just made it to the vehicle when a voice from behind her called out.
“Miss Moretti!”
God, I hate that name.
Mac looked over her shoulder to see the one friendly face she remembered from her time here. Despite knowing what the man did for a living, she couldn’t help but smile.
The sixty-year-old, round-faced attorney had been one bright spot in that period of her life.
With his bald head—minus the two tiny puffs of silver hair on the sides—and kind smile, Henry Doyle had quickly stepped in to an almost grandfatherly-like role after her parents’ death.
“Hello, Henry.”
“Abigail.” The man’s face lit up like a kid at Christmas. “I thought that was you.” He pulled her into a big bear hug, one she reciprocated in kind. “Let me look at you.”
Feeling as though she’d been transported back into her teenage self, Henry’s hands remained on her shoulders while he gave her an assessing glance. “My goodness, you’ve grown into such a beautiful young woman. Not that I had any doubts.” His hands fell to his sides, but he continued grinning from ear to ear.
“And you look exactly as I remember.”
When Henry would come by the house to do business or have brunch, the sweet man always made time to speak to her. He treated her like a person. Like someone who mattered.
Mac had clung to that like a lifeline.
The slight belly he’d developed since she’d last seen him bounced beneath his dress shirt. “I think maybe your eyesight has diminished over the years.”
Mac shook her head. “Nothing wrong with my eyesight. Trust me.” A sniper’s eyes are their most important weapon, aside from their rifle. “I’m sorry
you lost your friend.”
It was true, she felt bad for the loss Henry had experienced. That didn’t mean Mac was sorry her uncle was dead.
Sadness filled the older man’s brown eyes. “I will miss him dearly. I know you and Tony parted ways in a sudden and…unexpected manner. But he cared about you more than you knew.”
“I’m not so sure about that.”
“Well, I am. And I have proof.”
“Proof?”
“I wasn’t going to do this here”—he reached into the inner pocket of his suit coat—“but I suppose now’s as good a time as any.” Henry handed her a folded document made up of several stapled papers.
Her eyes glanced over the top sheet. “You’re giving me a copy of Tony’s will?”
“Keep reading.”
Doing as she’d been told, Mac continued scanning the papers. She felt her jaw drop when she got to the bottom of the second page. Her eyes shot up to his.
“He left me his estate?”
Henry smiled. “I told you he cared about you. Now, Luca Marino, you remember your uncle’s assistant, right? Anyway, Luca had been staying with your uncle for the past few weeks. With Tony’s health deteriorating so quickly, he needed someone to be there around the clock. He didn’t want a bunch of strangers staying in his house, so his doctor came by a couple times a week. Luca moved in so someone would always be there in case he needed assistance.”
Luca playing nursemaid? Yeah, that definitely doesn’t sound odd at all.
“Henry, this makes no sense. Tony and I hadn’t spoken a single word to each other since the night before I left.”
“Apparently that didn’t matter. Despite your differences, your uncle said he wanted to make sure you were taken care of. Those were his exact words to me the day he changed the will.”
Mac was shocked. “I-I don’t know what to say.”
“Say you’ll have lunch with me tomorrow. You can sign all the required documents and get the keys, and you and I can catch up before you go take a look at the old place.”
Mac’s mind was still a swirling mess. “Um…sure. O-okay.”
“Excellent. Why don’t you meet me at my office, and we can go from there? You remember where its located?”
“Still in the same building on the edge of town?”
“The very same.”
“One o’clock okay?”
The man beamed with excitement. “Sounds perfect. That way, we’ll miss the lunch rush.”
“I guess I’ll see you then.”
“Until tomorrow, Abigail.”
Stunned by the unexpected turn of events, Mac glanced up the street at the black car again. She wondered if the man inside had witnessed the conversation.
Deciding not to wait for the funeral procession to begin, she slid inside her rental and took off for the cemetery. As expected, the black car pulled out behind her, following her the entire way.
With a plan in place, she called upon her training to clear her head and keep an eye on her surroundings. She needed to stay focused and remember why she was here.
By the time she got to the cemetery, Mac felt like her calm and steady self again.
Nearly a half hour later, she stood at the gravesite with the others, listening as Father Medina recited one final, departing prayer for Anthony Moretti’s soul. Several had chosen to come to the outdoor service. Once it had concluded, however, it took no time for the crowd to dissipate.
Mac stayed long after the others were gone. Ignoring the slight chill in the early spring air, she kept her weight on the balls of her feet to prevent her expensive heels from sinking into the soft earth.
She stared down at the shiny new headstone. Some people simply deserve to die.
Those words had never rang truer than they did today.
“I liked you better as a brunette.”
Speaking of someone who deserved to die…
Mac turned to see Luca walking toward her, the slight limp in his stride filling her with smug satisfaction. Studying him from behind her dark sunglasses, she hated to admit the years had been surprisingly kind to the heartless prick.
At thirty-two, his tall, strong physique appeared even more muscular than she remembered. The subtle lines around his eyes and mouth wrote a story of a hard life. One of strength and character she knew to be fiction. Mac also noticed a few sprigs of gray imbedded throughout his jet-black hair that hadn’t been there before.
Those features, combined with his sharp cheekbones and square jaw, framed a strikingly handsome face. One she wanted to destroy with her bare fists.
“Luca.”
Smiling, the arrogant man slipped his hands into his pockets as though he didn’t have a care in the world.
“Eleven years and that’s all I get?”
Better than a KA-BAR to the nutsack, which was what she really wanted to give him.
With a casual shrug, Mac gave him a sugary-sweet smile. “Looks to me like you’re still enjoying my last gift.”
A muscle in his jaw bulged. “Not a day goes by I don’t think about you.”
“Really? You haven’t crossed my mind at all.”
Not her conscious mind, anyway. Her nightmares were another matter altogether.
“Don’t be a bitch, Abigail.” His cold eyes purposely ran the length of her body and back up again. “It doesn’t suit you.”
The haunting words were a deliberate attempt to throw her off her game.
Times have changed, asshole.
“I go by Mac, now.”
Luca stepped closer, his voice turning low. A strong breeze rolled through, filling her nostrils with his musky cologne, nearly causing her to gag.
“Well, Mac. Why did you come back here?”
Like you don’t know.
Not ready to play her cards just yet, Mac ignored the question and went along with his little game.
“You look good, Luca. Better than the last time I saw you.”
“When was that again? It’s been so long, I can’t remember.”
“Don’t pretend to be stupid, Luca.” She smirked. “It doesn’t suit you.”
His bow-shaped lips curled. “You never answered my question, Abigail. Why are you here?”
“Why do you care?”
“Curiosity. After all, you did vanish off the face of the earth over a decade ago. All of a sudden, you show back up? Seems a little more than suspicious, don’t you think?”
“Tony was the only family I had left.”
“And you hated him.” Luca moved in a little closer. “So, I’ll ask one last time. Why are you here?”
“What I do is of no concern to you.”
“It is if you plan on sticking that pretty little nose of yours into my business.”
“I couldn’t give a shit less about your business, Luca.” Mac crossed her arms casually in front of her. “Although, from what I hear, you’ve been expanding Tony’s empire for a while, now.” She’d done her research before coming here. “Slowly gaining control over the past couple of years. In fact”—she glanced at the gravesite and back to him—“if I didn’t know any better, I’d almost think you were expecting this to happen.”
“You think I gave Tony heart disease?” He laughed. “Even I’m not that good, sweetheart.”
“You’re a smart man. There are all sorts of ways to kill someone without it being detected.”
This time he didn’t laugh. Instead Luca leaned in, attempting to use his size to intimidate her.
“Be careful, little girl. Your uncle may be gone, but some things haven’t changed. Go around pushing the wrong buttons and you might find yourself in one of these.” He glanced around at the nearby graves.
“Something you should know about me, Luca.” Mac stood her ground. “I don’t do well with threats.”
“I don’t make threats, Abigail.” His dark eyes gleamed. “You of all people should know that.”
No, he made promises. Ones he always kept.
“Oh, I remember.�
�� Mac smiled. “But this isn’t like last time, Luca. As you can see, I’m not a scared little teenager anymore.”
“Trust me, sweetheart.” His eyes ran the length of her body again. “I noticed.”
“There’s something else that’s changed.” Inching closer, Mac kept her eyes locked with his. “You don’t scare me anymore.”
Liar.
A slow smile crawled across Luca’s face. “We’ll see. You should come by the house for dinner. It’d give us a chance to”—he gave her another once-over—“talk.”
“Don’t you mean my house?”
Understanding flared behind his stare. “I see Henry spoke to you about the will. Your being here makes perfect sense, now.”
Mac didn’t understand why he continued with his charade. Everyone else had left, and they were alone. Why didn’t he just get it over with and ask for the money, already?
Maybe he isn’t the one who sent the pictures. If not Luca, then who?
Ignoring the thought—because, who else could it be—Mac continued playing along.
“I’m sure Uncle Tony appreciated you looking after him.” She smiled. “But since he’s gone, there’s no need for you to continue living there. I expect your things to be out of the house by the end of the day tomorrow so I can put it on the market. I’m sure you can find some strong arms nearby to help you with any heavy lifting you might need.”
Mac nearly smiled at her choice of words, considering Luca had strong-armed countless people for Tony over the years. Was she pushing him too far? Perhaps. But she needed to play the part of the greedy mobster’s niece to perfection.
It was the only way to figure out if he was, in fact, the person behind the threats she’d received.
“Like you said”—he gave her an agitated smirk—“it’s your house.”
The deadly man tipped his head before turning and walking away. She paid close attention to the black SUV he got into, mentally cataloging both it and the two goons sitting in the front seat.
Everything she’d found on him was right. The asshole had moved up on the food chain.
From the driver’s seat in his rental, Coop dialed Trevor’s number and put the phone to his ear. While he waited for his friend to pick up, he used a small pair of binoculars to keep an eye on the woman who’d skipped out on him two days ago…leaving him naked and asleep in her bed.