Reckless (Bertoli Crime Family #2)

by Lauren Landish

  Groaning, I rolled to my side, only to hiss when my right leg, which had been banging against the metal hinge of my brace all night, also decided to tell me what a dumbass I'd been not to take any pain pills. Lying on my back, I stared at the ceiling above my bed, wondering if I'd been wrong not to take any pills at all.

  I heard a soft knock on my door, and I struggled to a sitting position, making sure I was at least somewhat composed. "Come in."

  Luisa opened the door and stepped inside, wearing a t-shirt and shorts that looked better on her than the model in the catalog I was sure the company had used to sell it. "I just wanted to come by and see if . . . what's wrong?"

  "What do you mean?" I asked, trying not to show my surprise.

  Luisa crossed her arms and tapped her foot, giving me a nonplussed look. "I've been spending enough time with you over the past few weeks that I can tell when something is wrong. What is it?"

  I laid back down, giving in. "My ankle hurts. Seriously, this shit is painful."

  Luisa came over and sat down on the edge of my bed, looking in my eyes. "Okay. Do you trust me?"

  "That's a strange question," I replied, looking back into her beautiful face with those ebony orbs of mysterious darkness. I swallowed and nodded. “Sure. Of course I do,” I said, wondering what the hell she was up to.

  "Good," she said with a small smile. "Then close your eyes."

  For the next few minutes, I felt her fingers tapping, touching and pushing on various points in my leg, but also on other areas in my body. While she did, she talked in a low, soft voice. "Listen to me. Let my voice guide you. I want you to feel as I touch the areas of your body, and as I do, let your body feel the sensation. Accept it as it is, with no other meaning than that it is sensation your body feels. I want you to open your mind to the pain that is in your ankle. Accept the pain, and taste it. Let it wash over you and through you, accepting it for what it is, the signals from your body that say that you are not at a hundred percent. Recognize that you’re in control of that signal, and that you can control the intensity, just like you can control the volume of a radio or the speed of a car."

  She kept up her touches and taps, and as she did, I felt myself drifting, and the pain not so much stopping as becoming manageable, something I could accept and deal with. When she stopped and I opened my eyes, I was amazed. "What was that?"

  "A little bit of acupressure, point therapy, and what was it you called it? Oh yes, biofeedback bullshit," she said with a little smile. "My jiu-jitsu instructor learned under Rickson Gracie, who is into that sort of thing. I learned a little bit of it myself. Now, how do you feel?"

  "Better," I admitted, taking her help in sitting up. "Like you said, the pain is still there, but the volume's turned way down. Right now, the biggest thing I feel is hunger.

  She smiled. "Let me get your crutches."

  "So what's the plan for this morning?" Luisa asked as we ate. "I assume you don’t intend to drag everyone into the pool area and have me hold a gun to their heads until someone fesses up.”

  "Effective, but far too crude," I replied, contemplating. "We need to check the security video. Even if it doesn't show the actual phone call being made, we can see who was on the grounds at the time of your leaving that morning."

  "And then?"

  "We start narrowing it down."

  Luisa finished her omelet and set her fork on her plate. "You know what the most difficult part of all of this is going to be, I assume."

  "Making sure we don’t tip off whoever sold us out," I replied in appreciation of her foresight. I smiled before growing sober. "This is going to be difficult. I'm not as skilled as some of the men who work for my father. I don't pick locks, I can't hack computers, and while I can shoot, it'd look mighty strange if I started carrying a Beretta to the toilet. I've spent most of the past four years learning more about marketing, human resources, and sales plans than some of the nastier parts of our family's business."

  "And we have to come up with a reasonable explanation why I'm spending so much time with you," Luisa said with a slight blush. "I mean, I’m supposed to be a bitch to you, remember?"

  "You still can be," I replied lightly. "We just know that things have changed between us, haven't they?"

  She and I hadn't really talked much about that portion of our lives, perhaps out of the knowledge that regardless of what we felt, the obstacles that we might have to overcome were depressing. So, if we wanted to be friends—friends with occasional benefits, or maybe something more—it didn't really matter. We'd just have to let that go for now.

  "I'm sure we can figure something out,” Luisa said after a moment. There wasn't much else to say, and she poured herself another glass of orange juice.

  We finished breakfast, and I wiped my hand across my stubbly chin. "I know what I want to do first," I said as I struggled to my feet. "I need to take a bath and shave. I'm going to miss showers for the next few weeks, at least until I can keep my balance standing on one foot."

  Chapter 12

  Luisa

  "It's the only place on the property where Dad would be willing to keep it," Tomasso explained as he stumped along on his crutches to his father’s study. "There are more than a few layers of security, both physical and electronic. When your house is on the police's top ten list of places they want to raid, you have to have precautions."

  I nodded and pointedly turned my back while Tomasso pulled up the the system. "Only a member of the Bertoli family knows exactly how to get in here," Tomasso explained. Okay, I'm in. You can turn around, and thanks."

  I smiled and came around the desk, where a flat panel monitor showed the security camera footage interface. "We're lucky. This stuff is supposed to be blanked and recorded over on a weekly basis. There's keeping tabs, and then there is just idiocy.”

  I nodded and pointed with my chin to the monitor. "So how do you use this thing?"

  "Well, we start with a date and time search," Tomasso said, typing in the date of the accident. "Since I'm not sure what time we had our fight, I'll start it from when I got up. I remember glancing at the clock around then, and I went to get some food and to try and talk to you soon after that."

  I watched as the screen split into four parts, which would then rotate among different cameras. "How many security cameras are there on the property anyway?"

  "Twelve," Tomasso said offhand. "And no, there are none in the bedrooms or the showers. Ah, here I am!"

  I saw as Tomasso on screen came out of his room, walking casually but with still noticeable exhaustion out of his room. "Man, look how easy that was just a few days ago," he noted, sighing. "Think I'll ever walk that easily again?"

  "Yes. If you don't, I'm going to come back from Brazil and kick your ass so hard you’ll have to run away," I teased, ruffling his hair. "Don't think I won't. Especially as our fathers seem to be moving closer to a business relationship."

  "That’s a good thing," Tomasso said. "Now, as for this . . .”

  I looked as the video, which was playing in double time, continued. Tomasso on screen came into the dining room, where I'd been stewing over my cup of coffee. While there was no sound, it was clear that I was in a foul mood, and I got out of my chair, storming off and leaving him scrambling after me. "Yes, that is not my finest hour. I will admit that."

  "Okay, here's what we're looking for," Tomasso continued. He paused the video as on screen, I was getting into the Fiat that I had borrowed, and he pulled up four of the cameras. "Now, these four are the ones that are of areas that had a view of the driveway, inside and out. Hold on—let's see what we can find."

  He slowed the video down to normal speed, his eyes scanning the four screens. "Okay, in camera one, that's just the gardener. He always wears those things over his ears while he’s mowing. We could’ve been doing a Bollywood dance number and he wouldn't have noticed."

  "What's camera three?" I said, pointing. "Who's that?"

  "Hmm . . . that's Jessie," Tomasso said. "You met h
er, the maid? That would be the main library. She's not really looking out the window though."

  The other two videos were empty, and we sat back after five minutes, sighing. “Well, that's a bust."

  "Those two certainly didn't do anything, and the other cameras were blank. Now comes the hard part," Tomasso said. "We've got to watch the other eight."

  I looked around and saw a note pad and pen, scribbling down Jesus and Jessie, though they seemed to clearly be innocent. "I hope your reading is good, because my handwriting isn't."

  “I’ve seen worse," Tomasso replied after checking it out. "Like mine. Anyway, let's start with four more."

  The next four cameras had nothing, although we added another name to the list in Pietro Marconi. Finally, in the last four, I saw something, a blond head that looked familiar. "Is that your friend, Jake?"

  He rewound the video, pulling up just the one camera. In it, a man in a suit came around a corner, taking a phone out of his pocket before placing a call. He talked for about thirty seconds, then put the phone back in his pocket.

  "Maybe," Tomasso said, rewinding the footage one more time. "The hair is the right color, but there are two other guys who have blondish hair . . . and half the guys on the payroll wear suits like that."

  Tomasso pointed at the screen. “That's not a smartphone. That's an old-school flip phone."

  "A burner phone?" I asked. When he gave me a look, I returned it with an ironic expression. "Come on, don’t act surprised. My family is no different than yours. I know what a burner phone is."

  He nodded and turned back to the screen. "You're right, my fault. It might not be a burner phone, though. Look, he’s obviously using speed dial—he definitely didn’t put a number in that fast. Who takes the time to program a burner phone?"

  I watched, nodding. “You’re right. He only pressed a few buttons.”

  "I just wish we could verify who it was. It could have been Jake, or Brad Walker, or Petey Franks."

  "I don't know those last two," I said, thinking. I'd seen a lot of men around the past few weeks, and I hadn't exchanged words with most of the Bertoli men. It hadn't been something I was all that interested in.

  "Brad and Petey aren't family,” Tomasso explained, glancing back and giving me a warm smile that told me he understood my words, "just associates who sometimes do errands. But they've been in the house before."

  “I know what you mean. My father has similar employees,” I said, resting my hand on his shoulder. I rubbed at the back of his neck, smiling when he groaned softly. I stepped behind his chair, kneading the tense muscles of his shoulders and neck as I continued. “Our families seem to have a lot in common—not that I expected any different.”

  "Luisa . . .” Tomasso sighed, a soft need to his voice. "That feels awesome."

  "You're tense," I replied, the air suddenly warm and heavy. “Feels like you could use a good massage.”

  "You're doing an amazing job already,” he replied. "I just wish there were more."

  "I know," I said softly. "But we can't—not yet.”

  The next morning, I woke up early after a night of tossing and turning. I spent the entire night thinking about Tomasso and how we were growing closer. The sexual tension was still there, but there was more growing between us, something that I hadn't felt in a long time—something I wanted more of.

  When my alarm went off at six in the morning, I’d already been awake for nearly forty-five minutes. Instead of slapping the snooze and fighting for another few minutes of non-rest, I rolled out of bed and pulled on some exercise clothes. I wasn't a fitness freak, but that morning, I needed something to get me moving and to keep my mind off Tomasso.

  I was surprised when I got to the gym and found that I wasn't alone. On the treadmill already was Margaret Bertoli, power walking on an incline treadmill, sweat pouring down her face and darkening her hair. She saw me walk in and gave me a wave. "Good morning."

  "Good morning, Señora Bertoli. I didn’t think anyone would be using the gym right now," I said. "Would you prefer to be by yourself?”

  "Not at all," she answered, hitting a button on the console. The treadmill started to ratchet down some, the angle decreasing. "I've got about ten minutes left. You want on?"

  "Actually, I was going to do some yoga first," I replied, going to the mats in the corner. "It helps me think."

  "A clear mind is important. Me, I'm in here because I want to look good for my daughter's wedding. Carlo wasn't the only one unhappy with the way our clothes for the ceremony fit."

  I smiled and shook my head. If I looked as good as she did when I got to be her age, I'd count myself lucky. "You still have a youthful figure. If you ever come down to Brazil, you'd have no problem finding a young boyfriend who'd be counting his lucky stars to have you."

  "You're as much a flatterer as Daniel. He’s one of Carlo’s men. We took him in when he was just a boy.” Margaret laughed, slightly winded.

  I smiled, recalling the name that had been mentioned several times now, but I hadn’t had a chance to meet him. I started my first pose, just a simple opening of my chest and shoulders before going into a split-legged stance to start with my hips. “I know what it means to get compliments every now and then. Every girl needs them."

  "And attention from handsome young men," Margaret replied, breathing a little easier as she slowly eased off on the intensity of her walk. "I noticed the way you and my nephew were looking at each other when I came home the other night. Whatever tension may have been between you seems to have gone away."

  “I guess you could say that,” I answered, bending over and opening my lower back before stretching up, then repeating the process. “But there can’t be anything between us, though I think both of us want there to be.”

  "Why not? Family politics?" Margaret asked. "I don't know what your family's rule is, but Bertoli men are pretty much clear to do whatever they want. It may not be fair, but it's the truth."

  "Saint Paul wrote, all things are permissible, but not all things are beneficial. I don’t know your family's religious takings, but most of my family is still very religious," I said. "Not that I haven't broken most of the Ten Commandments. Have yet to commit adultery or murder. And while I have coveted, it wasn't my neighbor's wife—it was his Lotus."

  Margaret chuckled, then rubbed at her ribs. "Don't make me laugh. It hurts too much right now," she groaned, slowing down some more. "But I see your point. And of course, we're not men."

  "That's somewhat sexist, but a good point," I commented. Planting my forearms on the mat, I kicked myself up into my first inverted balance pose, holding my feet vertically while I kept my stomach and low back tight for balance. Exhaling slowly, I held the pose for five deep breaths before lowering myself down and putting my feet back on the ground.

  "Well, if you don't want to do family business, you can always open a yoga studio," she joked as she slowed to a strolling pace. "I don't think I could ever have done that."

  "The hard part starts when I hit the ground," I said, sharing a maxim I'd learned long ago. I continued through my routine, Margaret hanging around and watching. It wasn't long. I was just trying to get my head right, and besides, the yoga I learned wasn't the type that you could do for an hour non-stop.

  Margaret sat down on the mat next to me, doing some light stretches. "If you need any help . . . I raised a daughter in this household. I happen to know the rules better than most people. Of course, my daughter's fiancée ended up getting beaten with a shovel and having a gun held to his head. So, you might want to take any advice with a grain of salt."

  "Actually, I just might," I said as I crossed my legs into a meditative pose. "But I'm okay for now. Thank you."

  "Anytime."

  Chapter 13

  Tomasso

  A day later, Luisa and I were no closer to finding our culprit. We were able to eliminate Brad, at least, but that still left Jake and Petey.

  I didn't want it to be either of them, but if I had to ha
ve picked one, it would have been Petey. I'd known Jake Marconi since we were kids. We'd practically grown up together. He was one of the guys that I hung out with, and when I thought about the future of the Bertoli family, he was the guy I’d always seen in the position his father filled. There was a sort of generational completeness to the idea, and we'd both grown up knowing that we could always depend on the other for anything. That he was my friend as well just compounded the problem.

  Maybe that was the reason that I decided to talk to Petey first. It wasn't that I didn't like the guy. He'd always been a decent sort of fellow. A little thick, and definitely the sort of guy who thought with his fists before he thought with his head, but until now, I'd never had a reason to distrust him. But still, someone made that phone call.

  I tried to think of a reason that Petey or Jake would betray the family. It couldn't have been money. The Gaea Defense Force was the sort of group that did almost everything on the cheap. They rarely had two dimes to rub together. They wouldn't have been able to make a payment to a Bertoli man, not enough to buy one of our guys off, especially when they knew the consequences.

  I sat out by the pool, resting my leg on the stool in front of me, watching as Luisa swam laps back and forth, a nice view as she went down doing crawl stroke before switching over to back stroke for the trip back.

  Petey came out onto the deck at exactly noon as I'd asked him to. Pausing to watch Luisa's well-shaped backside cut through the pool, he shook his head before turning to me. "Hey, Tomasso. You wanted to see me?"

  "Yeah. Have a seat, Petey. How're you doing?" I wanted him relaxed, not thinking it was an interrogation. "Great weather today, isn't it?"

  "With a hell of a view," Petey commented, his eyes drawing toward the pool again. "If a home nurse like that comes with the package, I'm going to go break my ankle next week."