by Bethany-Kris
And those times were blank spaces—memories painted with a black brush, and she couldn’t see through it to remember what happened. A lot of it was because of her brother, and the spirals he had gone through, but she didn’t blame him for that. She just … needed her space now.
“Yes, well,” Lucian said, sighing, “I don’t get out of bed before eight for anything less than a hundred grand, but today is for something priceless. Precious, even, vita mia.”
Liliana glanced up at her father, and knew he was talking about her. “Oh?”
“Mmhmm.” Lucian ticked a finger at her. “Someone told me I was playing a dangerous game, and they were right. I’m going to make it a little safer, now.”
“This is about Rich, isn’t it?”
Her father’s smile was cold, and calculating. Joe hadn’t really answered her question, but gave her something else to fill in the blanks. She wondered if Lucian would answer her, instead.
“From the moment he put his hands on you,” Lucian said, “it was only a matter of time, and it has always been about that bastard. You’ll need to pack a bag. Say, enough for a few days at the very least.”
Liliana glanced up. “What, why?”
“You’re leaving the city today. I need you somewhere safe for a while.”
To where?
She thought to ask, but …
Joe’s words remained in the back of her mind. Not to question too much. There was a reason for everything, and probably that, too.
Liliana asked nothing.
“Okay, Daddy. After we eat.”
Lucian smiled widely, and waved a bite of pancake. “He’s a damn good cook, too. Thank his mother for that. I’ve met the woman—this is all her, trust me.”
Thank her, he’d said. Not if you get the chance. Or, maybe someday. No, just thank. Like there was no doubt in his mind that Liliana would be doing exactly that.
Huh.
“Well, he’s definitely good at something, yeah.”
Her father gave her a side-eye.
Liliana only grinned.
Liliana stepped off the escalator at Chicago’s O’Hare, and her gaze was immediately drawn to a man she had seen once or twice with her uncle, Giovanni, over the years. She wasn’t entirely sure of his name—he’d never really been properly introduced, and didn’t stay long enough for someone to ask when he did come around.
She figured he was probably the one waiting for her, but it was only compounded by the sign he held in his hands.
It simply read, L. Marcello.
The man was handsome—in an aging well kind of way—but she guessed he had to be around the same age as her father, or somewhere in there. His light brown hair had been dragged back as though he had been pulling his fingers through the strands, and his brown gaze drifted over the crowd, but not looking for anything in particular.
In his three-piece suit and shined shoes, he looked entirely out of place with the rest of the waiting people who were dressed rather casually, for the most part. Not that it seemed to bother him, really.
“Still trying to figure out who I am?” the man asked.
Liliana smiled.
He hadn’t even looked at her.
“A little,” she said.
“Theo DeLuca,” he offered.
Liliana nodded, still not entirely sure why he had been the man picked to grab her from the airport once she landed. Never mind the fact she didn’t know what kind of business he did here in Chicago, but she figured it didn’t matter.
“Liliana Marcello,” she replied.
Theo did turn to look at her, then, and with a sly smile. “Oh, everyone knows who the Marcello principessas are, sweetheart. No worries there. Do you have a bag to grab from the arrivals carousel?”
“Just one.”
“Follow me—we’ll grab it, and then head out.”
“To where?”
Theo only gave her another smile, and extended his arm for her to take. She did, and then he was directing them through the crowd with a confident stride that said he knew the airport and its layout quite well.
“Your father wants you to call him once you get settled in tonight,” Theo said.
Liliana nodded. “Okay, but I don’t have a phone.”
Theo cleared his throat. “No, I imagine they took that from you to keep you from being traced, didn’t they?”
She realized then that this man knew quite a bit about whatever was going on. Clearly, more than she did, and all her knowledge was based on guesses and assumptions.
“Yeah, that’s what I was told,” Liliana finally replied.
“No worries,” Theo said, waving a hand as if to dismiss her concerns. “I will pick you up a burner, but there is also a landline at the house you can use.”
Liliana gave him a look. “A house?”
“That’s where you’ll be staying, yes. A house in Melrose, to be exact.”
“Your house?”
Not that Theo DeLuca didn’t seem like a nice man—and she was sure he was—but Liliana didn’t quite know how she felt about being made to stay with someone she didn’t know personally. She would much prefer to lock herself away in a hotel, or something.
Theo chuckled. “As much as my nephew likes me, he made it very clear where you’re to be staying, actually.”
“What?”
“Oh, here we are. Look for your bag—they can go pretty fast. I’ll grab it when you point it out, Liliana. You don’t need to be carrying it.”
For the moment, Liliana’s attention was distracted by the bags swiftly moving on the baggage carousel. Her blue leather, rolling luggage ended up being somewhere in the middle of all the mess.
Theo easily plucked it out while a couple of others missed their chance to move between the people to grab their own. He said nothing as he flicked out the handle, and the wheels hit the ceramic tiles of the airport floor with a click-click.
“Ready?” he asked.
Liliana shrugged. “I don’t really have much of a choice, do I?”
Theo laughed. “Oh, if I had to guess, I think you’ll enjoy your stay in Chicago. Sure, it’s a little different than New York, and you don’t know very many people, but that’s not really the point of you being here. Is it?”
“No, I guess not.”
“And besides,” Theo said, moving forward and gesturing for Liliana to follow along, “I think you’ll meet a few people who have been … well, curious about you.”
“Why would people here be curious about me?”
Theo smiled. “You’ll see.”
It only took maybe twenty to thirty minutes before Theo had pulled his black Rolls-Royce in the small driveway of a moderately-sized Melrose home. The white, two-level home with an attached three-door garage seemed dark and maybe empty given there didn’t seem to be any life inside, and yet … Liliana still felt strangely welcomed.
Theo was right, too.
Chicago didn’t seem to be all that different from New York in a lot of ways. Sure, his accent was a little different, and she didn’t recognize the streets. The wind picked up more when she stepped out of the car onto the black-tarred driveway, but she didn’t feel at all cold.
“I’ll walk you in,” Theo said, “but I need to get back to my wife before she thinks I forgot about her show tonight.”
Liliana turned to him. “Her show?”
“She owns a gallery. I like to be there.”
“Oh. Sorry to take you from her.”
Theo chuckled. “No worries. This is part of the job sometimes. Eve knows that better than anyone.”
The two climbed the front steps, and Theo handed over a key to Liliana.
“For you to use while you’re here,” he said.
“It’s not my house.”
Theo’s expression didn’t change. “You have free run of the place while you’re here. He wanted you to be comfortable.”
“My father?”
“Not even close. Open the door.”
What was with these strange men
sometimes?
Liliana shook her head, and then proceeded to unlock the door. Once it was open, and the two were inside, Theo set both of her bags to the corner.
She took the moment to look around the hallway, and some of the pictures hanging on the earthy-toned walls. The cherry hardwood floors gleamed, and the small decorative table still held a bowl full of knickknacks, gum, and even a set of keys.
Like the person who lived here had expected to come back shortly after they left, or something.
“You good?” Theo asked.
Liliana looked back at him, but a photo hanging above a tall plant sitting on a small rug caught her eye. It was the man in the picture, and the other man clinging to his back like a fucking monkey that made her smile. The two couldn’t deny that they were somehow related—brothers, likely. Both wore three-piece suits, wide smiles and in the background, white chairs had been set up.
Maybe a wedding?
Anyway, she finally figured out who lived here. And, of course, why this house had felt comforting to her at just the sight alone despite the fact she didn’t know anything about it, and had never even seen it before.
“This place is Joe’s,” she said.
Theo nodded. “Welcome to Chicago, Liliana.”
“Knock, knock! Anybody home?”
Liliana jumped away from the books she was perusing on the shelf, and sloshed her morning coffee on her hand at the same time. “Shit.”
Thankfully, it wasn’t hot enough to burn.
“Jesus, Cory, stop acting foolish,” came a man’s voice.
“I don’t know why you bother,” followed a woman.
“Someone has to tell him.”
“It’s too late for Cory.”
“Hey, there she is.”
Liliana spun around to find a man—younger than her, definitely—standing in the doorway of Joe’s living room. She only needed one look at his face to know exactly who he was. Cory Rossi—the same man in several pictures inside the home, and Joe’s younger brother.
“You busy, girl?” he asked.
She blinked. “What?”
“You … busy … now.”
An older gentleman, with similar features and kind eyes, slid in beside the young man, and at the same time, smacked the back of Cory’s head without ever taking his eyes off Liliana. The same man who she had first seen at the Marcello mansion when she met Joe, but he hadn’t stayed long enough to have dinner with the rest of them.
“Quite enough of that, Cory.”
“Ouch, Dad. Fuck.”
Dad.
Joe’s father?
So that must have meant the woman pushing between the two men with a wide smile and food in her hands was Joe’s …
“Lily Rossi,” the woman greeted, “and you must be Liliana.”
Liliana smiled. “I am.”
“I have been waiting quite a while to meet you.”
A part of Liliana wanted to feel awkward, but how could she when this sweet woman with her blonde hair and brown eyes was smiling like they were the oldest of friends?
“Why?” Liliana asked.
She wiped her hand off on the side of her pants to get rid of the coffee she had spilled while Lily talked.
Shooting her youngest son a look, Lily said, “Someone doesn’t know how to keep his mouth shut, that’s all.”
“Not entirely all,” Cory grumbled.
Lily shrugged, and grinned. “And maybe I pestered Joe a lot when he called yesterday to explain some things.”
“And you came over here?”
“Who wants to eat breakfast alone in a big house?” the older man asked.
“Like Damian said,” Lily added, “we just wanted to say hello, maybe have some food, and make you feel welcome.”
But why?
“Is that her? Move.”
A small girl—maybe ten or eleven—with her mother’s eyes, and her father’s hair, who looked a hell of a lot like the feminine version of Joe and Cory, pushed through the people. She wore an oversized sparkly, pink sweater and black leggings. Her Nike sneakers were also pink and black, and her dark hair curled in perfect ringlets.
The girl peered up at Liliana with curious eyes.
“It is her, right?” she asked Lily.
“Yeah, Monica,” Cory said.
Oh.
Joe’s little sister.
Monica smiled widely at Liliana. “My brother says we have to be nice to you, Liliana. So, Ma made you food, Dad will take you out to get you anything you want, and Cory’s not going to be a shit. Mostly.”
“Mon!” Lily cried, “Language.”
Well, this made a hell of a lot more sense, now. Liliana thought it was terribly sweet that Joe had thought to ask his family to make Liliana feel welcome during her stay, so she wouldn’t be so alone. And honestly, it gave her a chance to get to know the people who he came from.
It made her heart swell, really.
Beat fast and hard.
Only Joe did that for her. Only he could do that without even being there. The realization that came down on Liliana in that moment was kind of terrifying, but at the same time, it wasn’t scary at all.
She would just have to wait a little longer to tell Joe what she knew now. Hopefully, not too long, though.
Liliana couldn’t suppress her grin if she tried. Bending down so she could be at least close to eye-level with Monica, she asked, “Is that what Joe said?”
“Yep.”
“And why would he say that?”
Monica did a little bounce in her shoes. “I guess ‘cause you’re his person, you know? He said we’ll love you.”
Liliana stilled. “Is that so?”
The girl smiled widely. “Guess so.”
The room went quiet.
Or maybe that was just her.
His person.
His. Person.
Huh.
THIRTEEN
“NO ONE TOLD me we were having a buffet,” Joe said from the dining room entryway.
Dante, who had been lost in conversation with his brother, looked to Joe with a smile. “Yes, well, that wasn’t the plan. My mother likes to cook when she’s nervous, though. Come in and grab a plate. Don’t let it go to waste, Joe.”
“Where’s Lucian?”
Because that’s the only reason why Joe showed up to the old Marcello mansion this afternoon. He’d spent the day before fielding phone calls to make sure Liliana was settled into his place in Chicago, and gathering the last bit of intel he needed on Martin Abraham to make the Chief of Police’s hit successful, and clean.
Joe was not going in on that mark half-cocked.
It would be stupid.
“Lucian took a phone call from Liliana in the next room,” Giovanni said. “Sit, Joe, and tell us what you have. We can pass the message along if he doesn’t get back in time.”
Joe wished it was him taking the call from Liliana. Right now, though, she was just a distraction he couldn’t afford to mess around with. He needed to be as detached as possible from his mark, but especially when he finally went in on the man. That way, there was little chance of his emotions taking over the kill, and fucking up the whole clean aspect he needed to maintain.
They all needed to make it out of this unscathed, after all.
Problem was, should Joe talk to Liliana, he was going to hear her voice. And then he was going to remember the way her voice sounded when she told him how a man had helped to cover up the fact Rich beat her, and then that same man proceeded to threaten her family and father’s freedom to keep her quiet.
And yeah …
Joe didn’t need to be focusing on that right now. He needed to remain disconnected from the reason why he was doing this in the first place, even if that reason had been overtaken by Liliana, and what happened to her.
“Well?” Dante asked.
Joe came into the dining room as he spoke, and grabbed a plate to start filling with food. “Tomorrow—Saturday—Martin will be heading to his va
cation home in Long Island. I guess he has a pond, or something where he fishes. Relaxing, I bet.”
“The point?” Giovanni asked.
“Well, he’s not going to make it there, but it’ll look like he was trying.”
Joe didn’t really like giving the details of his plans when it came to the actual murder. Mostly because some men in this business got off on that shit, and he wasn’t killing for the excitement of others. He killed because it was a job that needed to be done more often than people cared to admit, and he was fucking good at doing it.
He’d been damn good at it since his first at fifteen when an enforcer called his aunt, Abriella, a whore, and Joe beat the man to death after luring him into the backyard. The guy hadn’t even seen him coming. Joe didn’t even think about it, really. His uncle, Tommas, hadn’t said very much about it, but he did tell Damian to take Joe to confession.
That was the first time he ever used confession.
He usually went back a couple of times a month, now.
Dante rested back in his chair, and steepled his fingers. “And you’re certain this will be as clean as the hit on the Senator?”
“Cleaner, maybe,” Joe replied. “With that stupid fuck, I had to avoid security cameras and shit. Martin doesn’t even have that in his home, and no security around the perimeter. He’s just a fucking cop—and no different from other cops, despite his title, at the end of the day.”
“His wife—”
“Heading to a breakfast with some friends at the golf club she frequents,” Joe cut in. “I called in a favor, and had a friend hack into their Wi-Fi. That then allowed us into their phones, and their digital calendars. The woman has breakfast with the same three ladies every Saturday unless it’s a holiday, or some other occasion. At least, according to her calendar.”
“Tomorrow could be the day she wakes up sick, and decides not to go,” Giovanni pointed out.
Joe passed the man a look. “You must think I’m a dumbass.”
“No.”
“Then, you must think I’m new to this.”
Giovanni cleared his throat, and passed Dante a look. “I’m not sure how many marks you’ve successfully carried out hits on.”
“One hundred, twenty-two,” Joe said, “since I began at fifteen, anyway. On average, that’s six a year, if you’re curious. To be fair, some were done in small groups of several. Some were brought to me to see what I could gain from them first.”