Chasing The Bodyguard: An Irish Mob Action Adventure Road Trip Romance

by Grace Risata

  The guys let this sink in and I continued to unravel some more mysteries.

  “Give me an update with Seamus and Hawk. What else do we know and where are they now?”

  Shorty broke into an evil smirk and gave an over-exaggerated shoulder shrug.

  “No one has seen Seamus in three days. Strangely enough, he hasn’t made contact with any of the other guys. Rumor has it that he took off after you went missing.”

  “Oh really?” How interesting.

  “Yes. One logical explanation would be that he realized there was no way to ambush someone he couldn’t locate…so he blew town after a failed mission. Our guys have their eyes open to let us know if he makes an appearance or tries to cause any trouble.”

  “But he won’t, will he?”

  “The odds of that aren’t very likely,” Shorty responded, casting a side glance at Samuel. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what he wasn’t saying out loud. Seamus had been properly disposed of after a lengthy interrogation, and that type of information was being kept from my bodyguard. Samuel tended to be uncomfortable regarding matters of death and dismemberment. The fewer people that knew where the bodies were buried, the more likely that secrets would be kept secret.

  “Well done,” I said, applauding lightly. “And Hawk?”

  “Ian and I had a little ‘business meeting’ with the man. I addressed the rumors of his sticky fingers, which were of course instantly denied. We pulled him off collection duty and placed him on unpaid leave until your return. Since you hired the fucker and he’s banging your best friend, I decided to stay out of that whole situation.”

  “Wise choice. He is to remain on ‘unpaid leave’ as you so eloquently phrased it. Arrange a meeting with Barsotti tomorrow night and let me figure out how to handle Hawk in the meantime. Make it known that I will only sit down with Angelo Barsotti and no one else.”

  “Will do, boss,” Shorty agreed, pulling out his phone to make the call.

  “Get the word out to everyone else on our crew that shit’s about to happen tomorrow. Every last one of my foot soldiers goes on high alert. We’ll either make a deal with the Italian devils, or die trying. It could go any direction. Either we feast in victory, or the streets are covered with the blood of our enemies.”

  The three men solemnly nodded and prepared to go to war. As for me…it was a hell of a lot easier handling matters of death and destruction than trying to deal with emotions and feelings like love and betrayal.

  Why does life have to be so fucking complicated all the time?

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Leandra

  I tore my eyes away from the car window, foregoing the brilliant lights of New York City at night, in order to take one last look at my watch.

  Seven forty-five.

  Right on time.

  In roughly fifteen minutes, we would arrive at one of Angelo Barsotti’s restaurants and I would be face to face with the main man himself. As always, I made damn sure to be fully prepped on my intended target.

  Angelo Barsotti was the head of the Italian crime family and ruled his minions with an iron fist. Unfortunately, things did not always run smoothly. A fact that I intended to exploit as heavily as possible. I knew Angelo had three sons, two of them still alive, and none were wise choices as his successor. Unlike my father, Mr. Barsotti was fucked when it came to passing down the family business.

  His eldest son Carmine started off well enough, but eventually grew power hungry and began dabbling in cocaine. That usually never ended well.

  The middle child, Sergio, was more of a lover than a fighter. Last I heard, the lothario had flown the coop with his best friend and was now toiling away in obscurity.

  “What’s the name of that gin business that Barsotti’s son started with his buddy? Satan’s Sin Gin or some lame-ass crap?”

  Shorty laughed his ass off from the driver’s seat and slowly shook his head.

  “It’s Olde Devil Gin, boss. You weren’t even close. It’s actually a good quality product.”

  “Should we not be focused on more important matters?” Samuel suggested, certainly inconvenienced to be riding shotgun while I happily stretched out with the backseat all to myself.

  Ignoring him completely, I turned my thoughts to the third and youngest son. Sadly, he was murdered a few years go. Nothing was ever proven, but supposedly his father ordered the hit himself. Never does the rumor mill run so rampant as when someone has their own family taken out. It had everything to do with betrayal on the son’s part, and I heard his father banned all mention of the guy’s name out of deep misery over the whole situation.

  My dad was completely ruthless, but he would kill himself before he harmed either one of us. Some parents were never meant to have children. My eyes couldn’t help but wander to Samuel and wonder what his future held. Would he continue to support those monsters, or finally break free and cut them off?

  Taking a deep breath and trying to force calm upon myself before the inevitable shitstorm, I turned my attention to the exquisite outfit currently adorning my masterpiece of a body.

  This little number set me back a solid four grand and was worth every cent. While I normally wore short dresses to these types of meetings, tonight’s situation called for different apparel. Namely, I had to be able to conceal a small pistol and be ready to run if necessary.

  Trading my usual sky high stilettos for black leather boots, I also opted for a midnight blue jumpsuit with plunging neckline and lace sleeves. Sexy, yet lethal. Honestly, I felt like one of Charlie’s Angels from the television show. Or maybe a Bond girl. Either way, I was out to kick major ass.

  “Are you sure that’s appropriate?” Samuel asked as though reading my mind and turning around in his seat to complain about my attire. “Everyone will be staring at your assets instead of focusing on the task at hand.”

  “Just because you can’t keep your eyes off my tits, doesn’t mean everyone else in the world shares that same weakness.”

  Suck it, asshole.

  After giving me a dirty look, he turned around and kept quiet.

  In no time at all, we finally arrived at our destination. Shorty wisely parked across the street in order to avoid the valet and having to relinquish the keys, and my little group of three began our nightly adventure.

  Proceeding to the entrance of a nondescript brick building, we were instantly shown inside and taken to a round booth in a darkened corner. A very plain looking brunette waitress passed out menus and said she’d be with us shortly.

  “What the fuck is this?” I asked my companions in annoyance. “Obviously they know who we are, otherwise they wouldn’t have ushered us to a table without asking for reservations. I’m not actually ordering food. This is highly disrespectful.”

  But it was about to get worse.

  Two of Barsotti’s mid-level goons slid into the booth and smiled at us like we were all old friends.

  “Hello, Dante. Gypsy, I haven’t seen you around in awhile,” Shorty greeted them as though delighted to be reunited with his buddies. I, however, knew the truth. He used their names in order to make me familiar with our two companions. It wasn’t necessary. I already knew who I was dealing with.

  “Leandra, I’m not sure we’ve had the pleasure of a formal introduction,” Dante commented, holding out a hand and laying on the charm a bit too thick. This asshole had an arrogance about him that I did not care for. He reminded me of a male model wannabe with his overly tanned complexion, well-defined cheekbones, and fake smile that never seemed to properly reach shifty eyes.

  In response, I simply ignored him and turned to his associate.

  Gypsy was more of a mystery than anything else. He began as a ‘fixer’ for the Barsotti family, content with staying out of the public eye and cleaning up their messes. Literally. Gypsy was known for his efficiency with handling the disposal of bodies that inconveniently had a way of piling up whenever Carmine’s orders went awry.

  “Gypsy,” I ad
dressed him with a slight tilt of my head. “Nice to see you again. I trust you’ve been well?”

  He gave me a small smile and nodded in the affirmative. I had never actually heard him speak before, and I’ll admit it piqued my curiosity. With dark hair cascading past his shoulders, a perfectly straight nose, and crystal blue eyes that had a somewhat eerie emptiness behind them, the man had an unusual aura. I’d given up trying to decide if he was either extremely intelligent or completely stoned most of the time.

  No one knew this, but we ran into each other on occasion and I always tried to entice him into joining my motley group of Irish misfits. Every single time he would smile politely and shake his head.

  Turning back to Dante, I impatiently tapped a manicured fingernail on the table and raised an eyebrow questioningly.

  “Were you planning on taking me to Mr. Barsotti anytime soon?”

  “He sent us to handle things in his place, Leandra. I’m quite certain we can come to a peaceful agreement without needing his involvement.”

  I licked my lips and leaned forward, puffing out my chest for entertainment purposes.

  “I don’t recall giving you permission to call me by my first name. You will address me as ‘Ms. Donahue’ or you’re apt to find one of my boots directly up your ass. Clearly you also don’t understand that as the acting head of my family, I should be shown the proper amount of respect. It is quite rude to expect someone of my standing to negotiate with a lowly piece of shit such as yourself. If there is no one of authority to have this meeting tonight, I’m afraid all bets are off and we can part ways. You have three seconds to produce someone higher up on the food chain.”

  The two men on opposite sides of the booth from me had very different reactions. Dante’s eyes widened in shock while Gypsy merely smiled.

  “Your attitude is not appreciated and I’m sure---” Dante began foolishly before I cut him off.

  “One,” I growled, holding up a fist and instantly raising my index finger.

  I hadn’t even made it to ‘two’ before the sniveling moron jumped out of the booth like his ass was on fire. Gypsy soon followed and they stomped down a back hallway.

  “That went well,” I sighed in annoyance. “We’ll give them two minutes and then leave. Shorty, start the timer on your phone.”

  “This was a mistake,” Samuel responded. “We don’t need them. We were fine on our own.”

  I turned to my bodyguard, trying desperately to ignore the scent of his musky cologne and the way that dark gray Armani suit clung to his every muscle.

  “Relax, cowboy. The man-eating whore knows what she’s doing.”

  While it’s true I had a hard time ignoring my lusty thoughts about Samuel before we left on our ill-fated road trip slightly over a week ago, things had gotten even worse now that I knew what he looked like naked. It was impossible not to find myself staring at his hard body and remembering the intoxicating feel of his touch on my skin.

  Thankfully, Dante the douchebag returned after a minute and a half, motioning for us to follow him into a more private area.

  We were led to a back office, making Samuel and Shorty explicitly unhappy. The room had one entrance and no windows, therefore trapping us like rats if any funny business should take place.

  “Welcome, Leandra. Please sit down.”

  The door was shut behind us and I had about thirty seconds to scope out my surroundings. It was a small office with one large mahogany desk, two heavy leather armchairs, and some very expensive oil paintings adorning the walls. Let me not forget to mention the overconfident man behind the desk leaning back in his plush seat as though he didn’t have a care in the world.

  “Carmine Barsotti,” I declared, not making one single move to sit. “Where’s your father?”

  “He’s around somewhere,” he replied vaguely with a flick of his wrist. While his two soldiers had been somewhat attractive, Carmine shared none of their good looks. With thinning hair in a comical comb-over, a pale complexion marred by an abundance of pock marks, and an obvious need for some weight loss, the eldest Barsotti son was nothing special in the slightest.

  “Might he be making an appearance at our little get together?” I asked warily. I figured a bit of respect was in order since a lot of responsibility rested on the shoulders of an eldest child, a fact I knew all too well.

  “There’s no need for that. We can work out the terms of our arrangement without needing him to meddle in situations that do not concern him.”

  “Here’s the thing,” I began, deciding right then and there that I would give this dumb fuck exactly three more minutes of my time before walking away completely. “I’m not here to negotiate with you. I’m only willing to talk to the main man in charge.”

  “That’s not up for debate, doll. I have one offer, and one offer only. You hand over sixty percent of your profits, and then you get to live to see another day. If that is unacceptable to you, then things get ugly and I paint the streets red with the blood of the Irish. Do we have a deal?”

  I licked my lips and grinned broadly.

  “The only thing that would make your offer more appalling is if you told me to go behind your desk, bend over, and take that teeny tiny cock up my ass,” I spat in total disgust. “Here’s my offer, asshole. How about if I walk right out of this shithole restaurant, go across town to the Russian Federation, and form a strategic alliance with them? Ever since the head of their family lost his daughter Ursula to such senseless violence, which may or may not be directly your fault, I heard he’s been out for revenge. I’m sure he’ll be willing to give me a much better offer. Fuck off, Carmine.”

  I turned on my heels and made a move to open the door, absolutely certain that Shorty and Samuel had my back if Carmine should try anything funny.

  But the door was locked.

  Of course it was.

  Swiveling back to face the idiot, I squared my shoulders and remained patient while I gave him a little explanation.

  “Did you wonder why I only brought two bodyguards, Carmine? The rest of my soldiers are spread out over various locations in the city, waiting to strike at a moment’s notice if things do not go our way this fine evening. Open the fucking door, or I’ll let them loose.”

  Pulling out my gun, I turned and took aim at the lock just as Carmine began yelling and his two minions threw open the door.

  Within minutes, I was safely inside the backseat of my Mercedes and headed to Angelo Barsotti’s personal residence. Of course, Carmine didn’t know that. After he cleaned the shit out of his pants, I assume he busied himself calling all his thugs and making sure things were quiet around town.

  “Leandra, you know we don’t have the numbers for an all out war,” Shorty stated politely as though I wasn’t already keenly aware of that fact.

  “No one wants war. That’s why Angelo tried to set up the arranged marriage between that Russian bitch Ursula and one of his highly ranked enforcers. A few skirmishes here and there are to be expected, but anything more is unacceptable. Once the body count goes up too high, the cops get involved and start asking questions.”

  “What’s the plan?” Samuel asked, running a hand over his face and probably wishing he was back in Kansas getting a hummer from Elly May like back in the good old days when things were a lot easier.

  “We go knocking on Angelo’s door and hope he answers.”

  Yes, it wasn’t the brightest idea in the world, but I really had no desire to go crawling on my hands and knees to the Russians. They were batshit crazy.

  By some complete miracle, not only was Angelo Barsotti’s house pretty easy to find, but it was also lacking in guards. Shorty pressed the gate’s intercom system button, claimed we were there to deliver a pizza, and the door opened right up.

  “This is an ambush,” my favorite cynic replied wearily. I took a good look at Samuel’s face and noticed he had some severe bags under his eyes. Was someone not sleeping very well? Perhaps guilt had a way of seeping into his cold, dead he
art after all.

  Everything seemed to be going all too well, from the way we just drove on up to the house, to the convenient parking spot right by the front door, to the lack of bullets that rained down upon us as we walked to the entrance.

  I tugged on Samuel’s jacket sleeve in order to get him to bend down so I could whisper in his ear.

  “I just want you to know that if we die tonight…I won’t have any regrets about a single experience we shared together. My feelings haven’t changed for you, Sam.”

  Yes, it was kind of pathetic and spur of the moment, but I lived this life on my terms. If there was something I needed to get off my chest, so be it.

  In response, he gazed down at me with an extremely conflicted expression…as though wanting to make a confession of his own, but refusing to allow himself to do so. Or maybe he just ate too much for dinner and had a bad case of indigestion. It wouldn’t do me any good to read too much into a situation when I had no concrete proof to back up my suspicions.

  When it became clear he had no intention of speaking, I walked ahead confidently and focused on the task at hand. As we arrived on the front step and I stuck out a finger to ring the bell, Samuel grabbed my arm.

  “Lee…” he whispered before trailing off, unable to formulate proper words.

  Fed up with our bullshit, Shorty knocked on the door and nearly jumped out of his skin when the damn thing instantly opened.

  We were greeted with the sight of a tiny woman surrounded by two machine gun carrying goons.

  “Mr. Barsotti is expecting you, Ms. Donahue. I’m afraid it’s necessary for you and your companions to leave all weapons on the table,” she advised, pointing to a large oak shelf next to the door. “They will be returned to you at the end of your visit. Please follow me.”

  We did as she requested, each of us removing a single handgun and placing it on the empty shelf. I still carried a switchblade in my boot, and I knew Shorty and Samuel had alternative weapons should the need arise.