by Molly Greene
“Sounds about right,” Ralph said.
“Sorry, Ralph.”
“Don’t be. We were naïve.”
“I had no idea how badly I was mistaken,” Vitelli said. “We were involved in something that was too complicated for us. How do you say it? I got us in over our heads.”
“Why did you keep John on at the store?”
“At first I didn’t want him to suspect that I knew, then, after they found out I knew Vitelli, they threatened me that I’d better not fire him. They wanted him there to keep tabs on me. Lassiter told me they picked him up a while ago, thank God.”
Gen turned to Luca. “So how much of the story you told us is true? Is your mother alive?”
Luca shook his head. “Mom got sick, and my father left. He made her stop talking to Grandma and Grandpa years ago, and she was too proud to tell them how bad it had gotten. When she died, I was supposed to go and live with Dad, but I took off and came here to find them instead.”
Vitelli clasped Luca’s shoulder. “Family was the reason we came to San Francisco so long ago. Because of my work, my life had been threatened many times in Italy. My wife finally convinced me to leave, so I brought them here. I wanted them to have a normal life. But my daughter married a man who did not like us, and they moved across the country. We lost her and our grandson. We lost them both.”
Gen could see the pain on Vitelli’s face; his thoughts were in the past. She wondered if he’d gotten involved to try and make amends for the things that had gone wrong so long ago. “So you put the coin back in my purse that day so nobody would take it.”
“I knew they would come,” Vitelli said, “and I did not want them to steal the coin. So I put the bag in your purse. When the Carabinieri appeared that morning, I suspected Angelo was working with them. I knew Ralph did not call them in, so the only other possibility was John. Sadly, we did not know about Luciano and Salvatore before we came up with our pitiful scheme.”
“They threw a wrench in the works,” Gen said.
“I did not know what to do. If I gave the coins to Angelo my family would lose their heirlooms. If I did not, I might never see my wife again. I turned to my old friends in Italy to try and get something on these people that I could use, but I came up empty-handed.”
Mrs. Vitelli put an arm around her husband.
“I got scared and gave the rest of the coins to you, Genny,” Luca added. “I wanted to tell Mack the truth, but I couldn’t. I owed it to my grandpa to stand with him.”
Gen snorted. “Thanks, kid. What about me?”
Luca looked her in the eye. “I thought you could make this right.”
“Getting their hands on those coins would have been incredible good luck,” Ralph Zuccaro said. “Angelo and the Carabinieri and their entire outfit could have retired and gone anywhere in the world. But I suspect things started to fall apart as soon as Genny got involved, and Angelo wouldn’t let them harm my aunt in order to apply more pressure to Uncle Vincenzo, so their hands were tied.”
The door opened and Lassiter came into the room. “Whose hands are tied?” he asked.
“No one’s anymore,” Luca replied. “Genny showed me how to get out of zip tie handcuffs. It was way cool.”
Mack came in behind him.
Vitelli must have recognized Mack from the day he was sitting outside, waiting for Gen in his pickup. He rose and headed over with his palm extended. “Thank you so much for keeping my boy safe. My wife and I owe you more than I can say.”
Mack’s lips curved as he shook Vitelli’s hand. “It was my pleasure, sir.” He clapped Luca on the shoulder. “We’ll talk about the Camaro later.”
Luca winced. “I’m sorry, Mack. I had to take it.”
“I understand, kid. Looks like no harm done. I have a tow on the way. They’ll put it on a truck and take it home, and down the road we’ll figure out a way you can make it right.”
When Mack turned to Gen his eyes were soft, and she saw a veil of worry pass across his face. “Mike says you’re done here, Genny.”
Then he was back to his cop expression, unperturbed but unsmiling. Not that she’d expected him to rush in and scoop her up and plant kisses all over her. Not in front of a crowd, and not when he was there as a policeman. But a wink or something even slightly intimate would have been nice.
Chapter Forty-One
It must have been eight o’clock in the evening by the time Gen said her good-byes and followed Mack out through the parking lot. There were cops everywhere down there, uniforms and plainclothes alike, and the whole area was cordoned off so no one could enter or leave without going through a guard.
She caught sight of Rudy and Carla, handcuffed and sitting in the back of different cars, looking mighty unhappy with the way things had worked out.
“I saw the BMW on the way in,” Mack said. His tone was natural, not solicitous or accusing or tired. Just Mack.
“I guess I’m lucky it’s still there.”
He took her arm with one hand and held up his badge with the other, and they were nodded through the milling uniforms and back out onto the street.
She was exhausted, walking there beside him. Part of her wanted to fall into his arms, and the other part knew why it wasn’t happening.
Mack didn’t coddle.
He would let her stand on her own two feet. He would think it was disrespectful to assume she needed to be held just because she’d done her job. A man wouldn’t crumble into a woman’s arms because he’d had a rough day in an attic, would he?
“You must be worn out,” he said. “You ready to head home?”
Gen didn’t reply. But if she had, she would have said no. She didn’t want to go home, she wanted to go to his house. Then, when they were at the Beemer’s door, she remembered she couldn’t open it. “I don’t have my keys. They took them.”
He reached into his pocket and held out her keychain. “The boys went through the place and confiscated everything they could find. They had a pile, and I recognized yours.”
She nodded and took them, then stuffed her hands in her pockets and looked away. “I don’t want to go back to the city, Mack.” She turned to him, careful to keep any hint of neediness tucked away. “I want to go home with you.”
His laugh was low and quiet. “That’s what I meant.” He reached out and brushed her bangs off her forehead. “Listen, I think it might be better if we left your car here overnight. You don’t need to be driving right now. Ride with me. We’ll come back and pick it up tomorrow. Nothing’s going to happen with all the police personnel milling around.”
He drew her to him and held her. “You sure you’re all right?”
She nodded into his chest.
“You look like hell. Where you been?”
“In a hot, rodent-infested attic.”
“Did you have your stun gun with you up there?”
For some reason she laughed, thinking about the conniption she’d imagined he would have when he found out she’d left it behind. That was way back when her hands were tied. Now, here they were, having the conversation. “I plead the fifth,” she said.
“You scared the heck out of me, Genny, being so late and not calling. I was worried something bad might have gone down.”
“I would have felt that way, too, if you’d done it to me,” she replied. “It’s our jobs, Mack. It’s going to happen to both of us.”
He sighed. A minute later he dropped his arms and she unlocked the car and got her purse, then took his hand and let him lead her to the truck. They were on the freeway headed for Piedmont before anyone spoke again.
“How are you doing over there?”
“I’m all right. Tired. Mack?”
“Yeah.”
“Will you get your hand slapped for not taking Luca to social services?”
“I don’t think so. Lassiter gave me the short version of the story. Sounds to me like Vitelli and Zuccaro were lucky.”
“What about the Camaro? I thought you’d
go ballistic.”
“It’s just a thing, Genny. It doesn’t have a heart. It doesn’t bleed.”
“What will happen to the coins?”
“What coins?”
“Ha ha. They belong to Ralph Zuccaro, the pawn shop owner.”
“That’s what I heard. If you mean the coins you have in your safe deposit box, it’s up to you. I’d just wait a decent amount of time, then give them back to Zuccaro.”
“That would be good. Do you think everybody involved will keep their mouth shut?”
“Maybe. Lassiter’s a pretty stand-up guy. Says he knows about them, but he’ll forget if everybody else does. They’re not stolen from a church or a museum or a shrine, so it kind of puts them in another category as far as ICE is concerned.”
“What about Angelo? Seems like he’d scream about the damn things, point his finger at Vitelli so his family wouldn’t be able to keep them.”
“He might. We’ll have to wait and see. They have to catch him first.”
“He got away?”
“He made like smoke and disappeared.”
“Hunh. Mack, what do you think about the whole revenge thing? Have you ever felt like going over to the Mideast and killing a bunch of Taliban, to make it even for Jimmy?”
“Killing or hating, none of that stuff would ever make up for losing Jimmy.”
“How do you deal with it, then? How can you get through something like that, and other people try to get even over something so much less important?”
“I don’t have an answer, Genny. I just know retaliation doesn’t hurt anybody but me. It would be like a prison I built and locked myself away in.”
“Like a tomb.”
“Exactly.”
“Have you ever wanted vengeance for anything?”
“Sure, but I got over it. Now I think being happy and living well is the only revenge that lasts.”
“Yeah,” Gen replied. “I get it. So let’s go do that.” She dropped her head on his shoulder. Her eyes were closed, but she could hear the smile in his voice when he spoke.
“Sounds like a plan.”
Ten minutes later they pulled into the drive. She grabbed her purse and handed it to him and said she wanted to walk around to the back and see the vegetable garden before she came in. He didn’t question her, just cupped her face with a palm and went inside.
She went to the side gate and let herself in.
It was the first time she’d been at his place since Luca planted a winter crop, and she walked through the rows, sizing it up. When she finally looked back at the house, she saw him in the kitchen uncorking a bottle of wine. Mack turned on the yard lights, poured her a glass, and brought it out.
“I’ve been thinking that maybe I’ll work out here a little,” she said. “Try to get the hang of it. It’d be a shame to let it go after all the work Luca did to get it in shape.”
“Stella would like that.”
“How about you?” She turned around.
“You know how I feel. I want you to do what makes you happy, not what I want. What are you thinking?”
“That I want to learn to wait patiently for the little tiny tomato plants to grow up and ripen big fat tomatoes. I want to trust that you and I will work and the garden will be a long-term thing. Cole says it shows him what’s really important in life. I want to understand, too.”
“What’s wrong, baby?”
“I don’t know, Mack,” Gen said. “I’m tired, and when I’m this tired sometimes I feel sad. My condo is so empty. Livvie is as good as gone, Maddy’s about to have a baby. I guess I’m not sure where I belong anymore.”
“Sure you do, Genny.” He walked over and folded his arms around her, careful of her glass. “With me.” His lips brushed her hair. “You belong with me.”
She didn’t know if he meant here in this house, or here tonight, or just generally part of his life, but it didn’t matter. They would figure it out. “Okay, but I’m only going to say it once: I’m screwed up. Perfect is about ten miles in the opposite direction from me.”
“That’s what makes us such a good team.”
She smiled against his chest and listened to the sound of his own quiet laughter.
“Hey, no offense intended, woman, but you smell pretty ripe. Can I interest you in a bath? Maybe another nice glass of red while you soak?”
“Oh my gosh, yes, please. That sounds like heaven.”
“You hungry?”
“Maybe later. The rat thing has me off food for the time being.”
Mack put on some music, filled the tub, turned the lights low, and set her up with more wine.
When she came out half an hour later wrapped in a towel, Stella was sleeping on the floor outside the bathroom. “Where’s Mack, girl?”
The dog stood and sauntered down the hall to his bedroom. The door was ajar. Gen pushed it open quietly, wondering if he was asleep.
The lights were dim. Mack was lying in bed, reading. He lowered the book when she opened the door, and she stood there in the threshold for a minute, taking it in. He’d filled the room with a dozen candles, and their glow cast half his face in shadow and reflected off his smooth, muscled skin.
Gen turned to the dog. “Sorry, Stel. You’re on your own for a while.” Then she closed the door behind her and walked to the bed.
Mack smiled and eased down the covers on her side, and Gen dropped the towel and climbed in beside him.
# # #
Thank you so much for reading my book!
I hope you enjoyed A Thousand Tombs, Book 4 in the Gen Delacourt Mystery series. I explore Gen and Mack’s relationship further in Book 5, Swindle Town (an excerpt starts on the next screen), and I’ll drum up some sort of mystery with Madison and Cole (from Mark of the Loon), and Bree and Garcia (from The Last Fairytale), in the future. The question is, what kind of trouble should they all get into down the road?
Email [email protected] and tell me what you loved, what you’d like to read about in upcoming books, even what you didn’t enjoy so much. I’d love to hear from you! And now that you’ve finished A Thousand Tombs, please write a review. Reviews make a difference. I would deeply appreciate it if you posted a few words.
Here are a few links for A Thousand Tombs:
Amazon US • Amazon UK • Amazon Canada
Thank you so much for reading my books and spending time with my beloved characters. I am so grateful! You can find them all on my Amazon Author Page. For freebies, giveaways, deleted chapters, and periodic news about upcoming releases, join my Reader’s Club.
Molly Greene
An excerpt of Swindle Town starts on the next screen.
Swindle Town ~ Chapter One
The lights were low when they walked into The Cosmo Club that night. It was the first time Gen had been there, and later she’d remember how sultry the room felt. Sexy and smooth.
The crowd was fashion-forward, dressed to the nines. Gen swore she saw a face or two that had recently graced the tabloids, but she didn’t stare and couldn’t be sure. The venue was standing room only and the patrons were having a good time, but their enjoyment was low key. They were jaded, it seemed. Either that, or their level of sophistication allowed no more than the occasional burst of loud laughter, even though the liquor was flowing.
This wasn’t a college bar, that was clear.
The exclusive nightclub was a cosmopolitan gathering place, the kind found in every major city with an affluent population. Although not a members-only club, the clientele was carefully screened and subject to a strict entrance policy. Admission was off-limits to the general public. You had to be on the guest list to get through the door, and no amount of tip-palming could overcome that.
At least two dozen tables rimmed a small dance floor, with booths lining two sides. Nearly every one was full. The bar was stretched along the third wall, and the customers were keeping the bartenders busy. A trio of cocktail waitresses in short skirts and tight, sequined black t-shirts skimm
ed through the crowd, smiling and plying the tables with drinks.
Directly in front of the dancers, a jazz quartet on a raised stage occupied a section of the fourth wall. They were covering a well-known tune, and a dozen couples swayed to the music. Discreet spotlights lit the band, highlighting the two guitar players’ finger work, but when the piano man opened his mouth every eye was riveted on him as he sang.
All the women’s, anyway.
He looked and sounded like a young James Taylor, prior to his dive into heroin and before he lost his hair. Plaintive. Soulful and bluesy. Gen could feel every female in the room lean forward to watch. She wondered how many wanted to send him their phone numbers on a cocktail napkin.
Half, she’d bet on it.
Mack Hackett tugged her hand and she moved with him, navigating around the people spilling out into the walkways. Then they were skirting chairs, and soon he was pulling out one for her.
A card in the middle of the table read reserved, and it didn’t take two minutes before a waitress showed up, wearing her spicy outfit and a welcoming grin. Glitter-infused body makeup accentuated her eyelids, neck and cleavage. All the waitresses wore it, and they sparkled like jewels in the low light.
“You with the band?”
Mack mouthed yes, and she picked up the sign.
“I’m Trudy. What can I get you folks tonight?”
“Red wine, I think.” Mack looked at Gen with a question in his eyes. “May we have a wine list?”
“Of course,” Trudy replied. “I won’t be a minute.”
As the music wound down, the bass guitar drew out one final, gorgeous riff and the dancers slowed, then parted and clapped. The piano player stood and spoke into his mike with a voice that melted a handful of hearts. The Southern tinge was there, but subtle, just like Mack’s.
“Thank you,” he said. “We’ll be right back.”
Canned music leaked softly from the room-wide speakers. The sound of Bonnie Raitt crooning I can’t make you love me brought their eyes together, and Mack scooted his chair closer and took her hand. He squeezed it, then held up their clasped fingers and brushed his lips across the back of her wrist.