by Freya Barker
“Sounds like you’re having a really great time,” I tell my daughter, while I look at Rita and Sal who’ve been able to listen along. Both of them are smiling.
“This place is so cool, Mom. You’d love it.”
“I’m sure I would, baby. Maybe one of these days.” From the corner of my eye I see Joe get up, pull his phone from his pocket, and walk into the kitchen. “It’s late there. You should get yourself to bed, Trinny. Love you. Can’t wait to see you.” My eyes stay focused on Joe, who has his back turned.
“Me too, Momma. Love you lots.”
“She sounds sweet,” Rita says, as I hang up and put the phone on the coffee table.
“She is, although I warn you, her appearance might throw you off. I’m actually glad you get to hear her before you meet her.”
Joe still hasn’t moved and I miss what Rita says next because suddenly I can feel the tension radiating from him. Apparently I’m not the only one who notices, because Sal suddenly jumps up. “Right. I feel like a walk and an early night. Let’s go, Rita.”
“But we’ve just had dinner,” she protests, but apparently Sal has a strong will of his own, because he pulls her off the couch and wraps an arm around her waist.
“Exactly.” He bends down and whispers something in her ear that has her blush and send me a smile over her shoulder as Sal guides her firmly to the front door.
“Night,” I manage to call after them before the door closes.
By the time I turn back, Joe is facing me and mouths, Cruz.
“Right. I’ll let her know.” He ends the call, puts down the phone, and holds out his hand. “Come here, Sweets.”
I’m frozen in place. “What happened?”
“Come here.”
“Christian?”
“Baby, come here.”
“Tell me what, Joe?”
Apparently sick of waiting, he stalks over to me and pulls me close, his arms banding around me. “That was Cruz. The good news is, your brother is awake and talking.” I plant my face in his shirt and let out a deep sigh of relief. “The bad news is, he had lots to say, but not all of it good. I think maybe we should sit down.”
“What?”
Ignoring me, he aims us for the couch. He sits, pulls me down, and immediately rolls us so I’m on my back and his body is partially covering me. “Brace, baby,” he whispers and a chill runs down my spine. “Guisseppe Montenegro knows where you are. He knows about Trinny and he’s known for a while.” My breath catches in my throat and acid starts churning in my stomach, but my eyes never leave Joe’s. “You’ve gotta breathe, baby.” I nod, inhaling through my nose. “Four months ago, your brother was asked by one of the senior partners in his firm to look over some paperwork on a living trust. Trinity’s name and an address were on that trust.”
“A trust?”
“Yeah, in Trinny’s name. Stick with me, baby. He freaked, started to talk to the feds, but then got cold feet and ran. He says he tried to warn you. Tell you to relocate somewhere else. He told Cruz he didn’t want Trinny to grow up knowing she’s the granddaughter of a mobster. He wanted to keep your names out of the investigation.”
“Holy fuck.” I can barely get myself beyond the fact Montenegro has known about Trinny. “How is that possible? That doesn’t even make sense.” I’m confused. “What about that chat on Trinny’s Messenger? The texts on her phone? Why try so hard to find out where she is when they clearly already knew?”
Joe strokes his fingertips down my cheek. “Smart too,” he mumbles. “Montenegro knew. Trivisonno did not.”
“Why not?”
“Good question and one Cruz hopes to resolve tomorrow when he’s bringing in the big fish, although there is one good theory.”
“Which is?” This is when Joe grins down at me.
“Montenegro isn’t after you.” Reading disbelief on my face, he clarifies. “Think about it—he’s obviously had the information for a while and never acted on it, other than to set up a trust for Trinny. Trivisonno clearly didn’t know, or he wouldn’t have spent so much time getting the information through other means.”
“I’m getting a headache trying to figure out what to make of this,” I mumble, my head spinning with puzzle pieces and ways to fit them in. Not the least of which is how the man found me in the first place.
“Don’t,” Joe says, dropping a kiss on my lips. “Tomorrow, hopefully, we’ll have some more pieces, but for tonight your daughter is safe, you’re safe, and as a bonus, my parents disappeared. Let me help you get out of your head.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
This time the shiver skimming over my skin is of the delicious kind, and I grin up at him. “Your dad announced he was looking forward to an early night, marched your mom out of here, whispering in her ear. She was blushing.” My grin turns to a chuckle when his face scrunches up.
“I’m gonna ignore that and enjoy the fact we have the night to ourselves. Love my parents, but they’re seriously cutting into time with you.”
He slides a hand down my side, back up and under my shirt, as his lips descend on mine. When his thumb brushes my lace-covered nipple, I moan around his tongue and arch my back.
The kiss turns wild, with tongue, teeth and hands that are everywhere. Yanking his shirt from the back of his jeans I shove my hands down and squeeze the firm globes of his ass.
“Fuck, baby,” he mumbles, his mouth trailing along my jaw and down my neck. “I need you naked and in my bed.” Before I can voice my protest, he’s off the couch, lifts me up in his arms, and carries me upstairs.
-
“Please, honey…I’m so close.”
I’m on my side in bed, my right leg up on his shoulder, his cock powering inside me. So deep. He already got me off with his mouth and fingers, and I didn’t think I’d have it in me, but I can feel myself coming a second time.
“Hold on for me.” His eyes burn into mine as sweat drips down his forehead.
“I can’t…”
“Yes. You. Can,” he grunts in rhythm with his thrusts.
I can feel the edge slipping from my hold.
“Joe, please…”
“Now, baby.” Then his thumb is at my clit, pressing down hard, and I’m flying, crying out, as he groans his own release.
I let my leg slide off his shoulder and roll onto my back, welcoming his weight on me. Each of us trying to catch our breath, I can feel both our heartbeats against my chest and I hold him even closer.
“Joe?”
“Mmmhmm.”
“I’m falling for you.”
His head shoots up, eyes burning in mine. “Baby…”
“I know they say decisions shouldn’t be made under duress, and I realize we’re under a fucking mountain of stress, but technically this isn’t really a decision. It just happened. I know it’s—”
“Shut up, Ollie,” he growls, his mouth already slanting over mine.
That’s when I discover with the right motivation—and the right man—I can fly three times in one night.
Chapter 27
Joe
“Pops, could you do me a favor?”
I just popped in for lunch to find my father on the deck with a beer, overseeing Ma and Ollie who seem to be digging plants up from my flowerbeds, the dog dancing around their feet.
He twists his head around when I step outside. “What’s that, Son?”
I walk over and lean on the railing, noting they must’ve been at it a while since most of my beds are bare. “I’ve got a contractor coming at three to give us a quote for repairs on Ollie’s place. I just found out I’ll be stuck in a meeting.”
“No problem.”
I watch Ollie toss a small shrub over her shoulder, aiming for the big pile on the lawn, but Bugsy jumps up, catches it and shakes it like a rag, dirt flying everywhere. “Do I even wanna know what’s happening here?”
Pops snickers behind me. “Beats me. I was watching the morning news when your girl pulled ou
t a sketch pad to show your ma something. Next thing I know, the two of them are out here diggin’ up your yard. Grabbed myself a beer, and am enjoying the view.” I know he’s doing more than just enjoying the view—he’s keeping an eye out. I get my protective gene from my father. His way may be less obvious, but his eye is sharp and it hasn’t escaped me he’s been keeping it peeled since Ollie filled him in on her predicament.
“I see that,” I still note dryly when Ma spots me.
“Joey! You want I make you some lunch?”
Now Ollie looks up as well and I raise an eyebrow. She glances at the havoc she’s wreaking in my garden before sliding her eyes back to me.
“No thanks, Ma. Don’t have much time.”
I watch Ollie come up the stairs, wiping her hands on the cutoff jeans she’s wearing. She stops a few feet from me, so I close the distance and lift a hand to brush some dirt off her cheek.
“Care to tell me why you’re digging up my yard?”
“We’re weeding.”
I pointedly look at the empty flowerbeds, and the piles of discarded plant material, before turning back to her. “Weeding? Looks more like annihilating. There’s nothing left.”
“That’s because we found just seven actual plants.” She points to seven scrawny plants lined up on the pool deck. “Those…” she indicates the pile on the grass, “…are all weeds.” Then her face falls when she turns back to me. “I should probably have checked with you first, but—”
“I don’t care,” I bend my head and brush her lips with mine as I wrap my arms around her.
“I’ll get your shirt dirty.” She struggles to keep distance, but I just tug her closer.
“Don’t care about that either.”
“Joe…”
“You wanna muck around in my yard, have at it, Sweets. I assume you know what you’re doing.”
“I have a plan,” she says on a half-smile.
“Good to know.” I grin back before looking over at Ma standing in the dirt, a clump of something in her hand, but her eyes on us and her mouth smiling. “Seeing as you two have your hands full, Pops is useless in the kitchen, and I have a meeting that might run late, I suggest pizza tonight.”
“Okay.” Her eyes are soft on me, as is her smile.
“Pops is gonna meet the contractor at your place for three. I’d prefer you and Ma locked in when he does.”
Her expression changes to concern. “Still?”
I give her a quick squeeze. “We’ll find out soon. Conference call with Livingston up in the FBI office shortly.”
“Fingers crossed,” she whispers, lifting her face for a kiss, which I don’t hesitate acting on.
“Gotta go, baby,” I mumble, and with another peck on her nose I let her go, throw a smile at Ma, who’s still watching, and wink at Pops in passing.
-
“Montenegro is gone.”
The room is deadly silent after Livingston’s voice on speakerphone drops that bomb.
“How the fuck did that happen?” This from Gomez, who shoves his chair back and stalks to the window.
“Had eyes on him, man. He got home to his place outside the city just after nine last night. Lights in the house went off eleven forty-five. Showed up with my team at eight thirty this morning, armed with an arrest warrant, gained entry, discovered his wife dead on the floor of his office, and Montenegro in the wind.”
“Shit.” I shoot out of my chair and start pacing. “How’d he get out?”
“Sonofabitch was prepared, brother. A fucking tunnel straight from his office to a barn on a neighboring property. Only reason we spotted it was because the wife’s hair was stuck underneath the bookcase covering the entrance.”
“Tell me about the wife,” Gomez prompts.
“Garrote. Normally a coldblooded method of killing, but there was some serious anger in play here. He all but severed her fucking head.”
“Why?” Dylan pipes up. “What tripped him?”
“Hard to tell at first sight,” Cruz shares. “Left my team to process it. I went to see Trivisonno.”
“I’m guessing you shared the news?” I suggest.
“Damn right I did. Told him flat out. The fucker wailed for ten minutes straight, but then he started spilling.”
“Well, don’t leave us in fucking suspense,” Gomez barks.
“Gina was his second wife, thirty-five to his seventy-two. Trivisonno says she was biding her time while stringing him along. When the old man was diagnosed with prostate cancer in January, they thought they were home free. His only son was dead, his first wife OD’d self-medicating her grief—Gina was first in line for the business and the fortune attached to it. Or so she thought.”
“Trinny,” I offer.
“Right.”
“She found out about the trust fund?”
“Actually, according to Trivisonno she was snooping through his desk drawer and found a picture of a girl who bore a striking resemblance to the portrait of his son, Vittorio, he kept on his desk. Just her name had been scribbled on the back—Trinity.”
“How the fuck did he get a picture of Trinny?”
“No clue, but it set Gina off. She’s the reason Trivisonno pursued the girl and made an attempt on Ollie. The woman wanted to make sure any possible roadblocks to her money were eliminated.”
“So we’re still guessing as to the why,” Dylan points out.
“I could come up with a few possibilities,” Cruz offers. “But the only one who can tell us for sure is Guisseppe Montenegro.”
And no one fucking knows where he is.
Ollie
Today has been a good day.
I step out of the shower, dry off, and use my towel to wipe the condensation from the mirror.
I got some sun. Forgot to put on sunscreen, so it’s more like a burn, although with my skin it’ll be a tan by tomorrow.
Rita had asked about my work yesterday, so I pulled up some pictures I’d taken of the various projects. This morning I decided to show her the sketches I did for Joe’s backyard. She loved my ideas and I was surprised to find she knew quite a bit about plants. She was out the door, down the stairs, and dove right into the first flowerbed.
“We’ve got a week,” she said when I joined her. “Sal wants to get to Moab a week tomorrow, so we should get on it if we want this done.”
After being mostly cooped up inside for nearly two weeks now, with little to do but twiddle my thumbs, the prospect of getting my hands dirty was exciting, so I didn’t bother arguing.
Sal just left to go across the road to show the contractor around my place, and Rita is waiting downstairs with a pot of tea and a notepad when I hit the kitchen. Bugsy’s ears perk up and he cracks one eyelid, but quickly goes back to sleep when he sees me. Probably tired from goofing around in the yard.
“I’m thinking for a good splash of color in fall, we plant a few burning bushes along the back. Maybe three Japanese maples, for some full season color, and a bit of height? What do you think?” Rita jumps right in.
I smile at her enthusiasm and sit down, accepting the cup of tea she hands me. “I like, but I’d maybe add some witch hazel for contrast and texture.”
For the next hour or so we work our way through the seasons, coming up with hardy plants that can handle the mountain climate, and will keep the garden in color from spring until fall. Despite the great discount I get at a local nursery, from my quick mental tally I can tell this project is going to cost a whack, and suddenly I’m not so sure this was a good idea.
“Don’t worry,” Rita says, putting her hand over mine, catching on to my frown right away. “I’ve been waiting for an opportunity to do something nice for my Joey.” Then she grins deviously. “I’d like to see him try and return plants when they’re already in the ground.”
“Planting will take a couple of days,” I point out. “The most work will be the prep. Relaying the beds. Salvaging any sod we cut away for reuse. A lot of work.”
“Right,”
she agrees. “But the boys get back tomorrow, and they can help. It’ll be good for them to help create something they can enjoy for a long time after.”
She’s not wrong.
“Trinny too,” I offer. “Especially if she can lounge around the pool after.”
Rita jumps up when the phone rings, grabbing it from the counter.
“Benedetti residence.”
I turn my eyes down to hide the snicker. She sounds like a British housekeeper straight from Downton Abbey.
“Hi, Grace—yes, she’s here.” Her eyes come to me. “One moment, please.” She walks over and hands me the phone.
I just talked to her yesterday when I called to ask her to break with tradition and come for dinner tomorrow instead of next Saturday. Joe’s parents will still be here and the boys are going to be back. Trinny should be arriving around dinnertime, but Kim’s parents are dropping her off on their way home from the airport, so the whole gang will be here.
“Don’t tell me you’re canceling dinner for Bingo,” I tease her.
“No, although it would serve that ho, Lettie Driver, well. She’s been a burr up my butt since I knocked her off her damn throne last week. Spreading rumors that I’ve been sneaking into Mr. Costello’s room at night.”
“Mr. Costello?”
“He’s in 2D. Ninety-three years old and can barely lift his eyelids, let alone anything else. I swear that woman is killing my rep,” she snaps indignantly. I have to slap my hand over my mouth to stifle my giggle. “Anyhoo,” she continues. “That’s why I’m calling. I’m plotting revenge, but I can’t remember if it was the calla lily or the daffodil that can make you sick enough to shit your pants.”
“Grace!” I bark out a disbelieving laugh. “You can’t poison the woman.”
“Can’t take this lying down, Ollie. In just one week, any gains I’ve made in beating her ass at Bingo have gone down the toilet. Best payback to send her there as well.”