Relentless: A Bad Boy Romance (Bertoli Crime Family #1)

by Lauren Landish

  He turned and left the bedroom, leaving me and Mom. She'd been silent since the doctor finished his stitching, standing with her back against the wall, a growing bruise forming on the side of her neck. “You doing okay, Mom?”

  She stood there for a moment, then smiled, laughing until she was nearly crying. I understood and went to her, where we held each other for a long time, crying and laughing and holding each other. “Adriana, oh, my baby.”

  “I'm okay,” I said, still crying and laughing. “How's your neck?”

  Mom let go of me and chuckled, rubbing her neck. “He knows exactly where to put someone down, that's for sure. Considering he's knocked me out and called Carlo an arrogant wop, I'd say he's got more guts than anyone else I've ever known.”

  “He called Uncle Carlo an arrogant wop?” I asked, amazed. “And he didn't get shot over it?”

  “He was about two seconds from it, according to what I heard,” Mom told me. “When he wakes up, maybe he can tell you the story.”

  “I'd like that,” I said, looking back at him. “If you don't mind, I think I'm going to sleep here tonight. Not with him—he needs his rest—but on the floor next to him. He protected me for so long. He beat back the demons that threatened me. I think it's my turn to protect him for a while.”

  “I agree, honey,” Mom said. “But first, let him sleep, and you and I will get some dinner. I think there are some leftovers in the fridge.”

  “As long as we eat here,” I said, indicating the space in front of Daniel's bed. “He even had a TV in here. What a wonderfully luxurious living situation.”

  Mom looked around the tiny broom closet-sized space and chuckled. “I think you might be marrying a monk.”

  “Yeah, of the Shaolin variety,” I joked back. “Come on, let's get some food. I bet there will be a report on the fire at the motel on the super early morning news, and I'd like to watch.”

  In fact, the news reports were already on the cable networks, as it had been a relatively slow news day otherwise. While I ate some leftover pizza and Mom ate some lasagna, we got to watch as the fire department struggled with two pumper trucks to get the blaze under control. “Wow,” I commented, munching on a piece of bell pepper, “Pietro really outdid himself with the pyrotechnics.”

  “He was rushed. Better to do too much than not enough,” Mom replied. “He probably had to focus on the bed you were kept and the room itself. That's a lot of accelerant in a really short amount of time.”

  Daniel stirred behind us, mumbling in his sleep, and we both turned to check on him. He quieted after a moment, and we watched the news story continue.

  “In another shocking development, police found the body of a nude man outside the hotel as well. Reports are still preliminary, but sources are telling us that the police suspect that the body might be that of Vincent Drake, the suspect in two recent murders. Please note—these reports are preliminary, and the police are not confirming or denying anything at this time.”

  “Guess we're going to have to get the lawyers on this one,” Mom said, taking the last bite of her food. “I'm pretty sure the cops are going to want you to make a statement. You might want to start going over the particulars now. A lot of stuff has gone on, and not everyone is going to be willing to keep their mouths shut. The university, for one. The cops are going to want to know why you took a sabbatical, all that kind of thing.”

  “Uncle Carlo can't get this all swept under the rug?” I asked, curious but unafraid.

  Mom shook her head. “The police won't be chasing this too hard. Drake was a murdering psychopath, but they will still want to make sure all their paperwork is done right. Drake had military connections and who knows what else. The people who made this monster are going to want to make sure their asses are covered, so as long as they know they won't have someone chasing them down and that Drake is well and good in the ground, they'll keep their noses out of it. Still, they will have questions.”

  “And I don't want to give them a reason to keep poking around Bertoli business,” I said. “That's a lot of stress.”

  “Which I am sure you will handle well,” Mom said, relaxed. “You're a Bertoli, and less than an hour ago, you got the Godfather of this entire area to tearfully apologize to you. I'd say you've got the nerve.”

  Mom was right. The next day, after I had crashed for six hours from sunrise until noon, I was invited down to police headquarters to make a statement on Vincent Drake's death. Daniel was still sleeping, but Mom promised me that she would stay by his side, so I changed into my best clothes and went down with Uncle Carlo and his lawyer, a guy named Dominic Petruzelli, whom I'd met occasionally but never had the chance to seriously talk to.

  As Uncle drove—something totally unlike him—Dominic briefed me in the back of the car. “Miss Bertoli, I strongly stress that you only answer questions related directly to Vincent Drake's murder. The police have no reason to ask you about why you went on sabbatical or your rather—ahem—public display of running away from your uncle's employees.”

  “So what am I supposed to do? Plead the Fifth?” I asked, incredulous. “Won't that just make me look guiltier?”

  “The law is not about what people know, but what they can prove,” Dominic replied. “The Seattle police, I am sure, know more about your uncle than they will ever tell us. They are probably also quite sure that someone affiliated with your uncle was involved in killing Drake. However, what they suspect, what they know, and what they can prove in a court of law are three entirely different things.”

  Carlo chuckled up front. “Listen to him, Bella. The man knows what he is talking about.”

  The interview was conducted by two detectives, Fritz and Taguchi, who obviously knew who I was. However, they weren't the cops I'd met before who worked Angela's murder case. “Hello, Miss Bertoli. Would you like a coffee?”

  “No thanks,” I said. I took a chair while Dominic sat down next to me. “I did ask Mr. Petruzelli to join us today, guys, just to make sure things are on the up and up. What can I do for you?”

  “Why would you have a lawyer if we just asked you to come down so we can clear up some details about Vincent Drake's death?” Taguchi asked. He had a sort of faux hawk look, with the sides of his head nearly shaved while the top was about two inches long. To me, he kind of looked like a rooster. “That makes no sense to me.”

  “It makes no sense to me that a man who killed two people, looked like Mr. Potato Head, and was on the wall in every police station from here to Sacramento was able to get within two hundred yards of me on a regular basis and was killed at an abandoned motel less than a mile from a police station,” I replied evenly. I nodded to Dominic, who reached into his briefcase and took out a digital recorder, which he placed on the table and turned on. “Now, I'm not interested in pursuing the Seattle PD for being incompetent, or for putting my personal safety at risk. I just want to make sure I'm not turned into some sort of scapegoat by someone looking to cover his own ass. That's all.”

  Fritz and Taguchi exchanged a look, and I knew that I'd won. Despite what they'd said, they were hoping to use the investigation to get something, some sort of angle that they could use to pry at the Bertoli family. They weren't going to get that from me.

  Fritz sighed and opened his case file. “All right then, Miss Bertoli, can you tell me . . .”

  The interview took two hours, and at the end, I could see that both cops were cracking. Each time they strayed from anything other than the time surrounding when Vincent was killed, Dominic was there, shutting them down. They tried tricking me. They tried cajoling. In the end, they were both nearly crying, they were so frustrated. I realized that Dominic was right. Fritz and Taguchi knew what had happened. They knew that Mom had driven her Maserati in the area of the fire. They didn't have a shot of the license plate though, because of a supposed weird trick of light that didn't allow the traffic cameras to get a clear image. They knew that a Beretta had been used to shoot Drake. They knew that Drake had also fir
ed his own pistol, having dug a bullet out of the burned wall. They knew that someone had been strapped to a table. They were sure I'd been kidnapped, and they were sure of so many things. They knew. They knew.

  But they couldn't prove a damn thing. Maybe in the future, if Daniel's DNA was ever logged, they'd be able to fix him to the crime scene. Maybe, if some cop wanted to track it down and some prosecutor was willing to run the risk of taking a man who killed a multiple murderer to trial. But until then . . . they could prove nothing.

  The afternoon sun was low in the sky, the day still bright and clear when I walked out of police headquarters with Dominic. Uncle Carlo dropped us off to head to work, promising that he'd send a car if we wanted it afterward. “You handled yourself like a pro in there, Miss Bertoli. Sure you haven't done this before?”

  I smiled and looked at Dominic out of the corner of my eyes. “Now, Dominic, after all that talk you gave me about suspecting, knowing, and proving, are you really going to ask me to confirm something to you?”

  He chuckled and shook his head. “No, not at all. But if I may say, Miss Bertoli, you have the guts and brains of your father and uncle. If your cousins don't want to take over the family business, you might entertain the idea of doing so yourself.”

  I shook my head, still smiling. “No thanks. I'm perfectly happy being a budding artist. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to take the public transportation back home. It's been a long time since I felt safe doing that, and I'm going to enjoy the experience.”

  Chapter 26

  Adriana

  I felt out of place wearing the blue cocktail dress. It had been so long. “Mom, I wish we could skip this,” I muttered as she fussed with my hair. “It's a family dinner, not a dinner with the President.”

  “It's your engagement dinner, sweetie. Besides, Carlo's boys came back from college for this. And you might as well humor Carlo. I know he's been looking forward to this part of your life for years. I bet he already has a speech all prepared for your reception.” Mom was wearing a nearly identical dress in deep wine red with her best heels. “To tell you the truth, I've been looking forward to it too. Actually, if I remember right, Carlo now owes me a dollar, too.”

  “Oh, why's that?”

  Mom blushed, then laughed. “When Tomasso was born, you were still only two, so you probably don't remember, but Johnny and Carlo, they made a bet as to which of their children would get married first. With Tommy and Angelo growing up so handsome, and you being not so much a social butterfly as just independent, I was wondering for a while.”

  “Tommy and Angelo aren't social butterflies, Mom,” I replied with a laugh. “They're players, maybe even more than Daniel was.”

  “And look how that turned out,” Mom reminded me. “You have to admit that it kind of caught all of us, you included, by surprise.”

  “Surprise? Sure,” I said, picking the string of pearls up from my changing table and putting them on. It felt nice to be back in my old room, and not the interior safe room I had been using. For one, I had windows and light. “But in a lot of ways, it kinda feels like fate, if you know what I mean.”

  “I do,” Mom said. “You two were good friends when you were little. Even back then, he looked out for you when other people might try and tease or make fun of you. I guess in that way, things never changed.”

  We left my room and went downstairs to the grand dining room. It wasn't used often. After all, the table could hold twenty-four, but with Carlo, Mom, Tommy, Angelo, Daniel and myself, it was more than the normal dining room table could hold too. “You know, Mom, we need to get a smaller table, or maybe something we could do outside. Say, something for twelve or so?”

  “Why?” Mom said with a grin. “Give it a few years, and there'll be enough for more of the table to be filled. What with Tommy and Angelo eventually finding girlfriends, and then your . . .”

  “Whoa Mom, talking children already?” I asked, flabbergasted. “A little early to be talking about that, isn't it?”

  “It kind of happens when you get married, especially as amorous as you two are,” Mom replied, her smile widening until it was nearly laughter. “But I'm not trying to pressure you. Just saying.”

  “We can discuss that later, Mom. Let's get me through college first.”

  I took my seat at the table, second from the right side. We were following a pretty formal arrangement, with Carlo and Mom at the head of the table. Daniel would be to the immediate right, next to Carlo, while I would sit beside him. Tomasso and Angelo would sit across from us, Tomasso closest to the corner. All the men were wearing suits, and I had to remind myself that I was in company because Daniel looked so handsome. The bruises had faded, the bandages had come off, and while he was sporting an impressive new scar on his shoulder, he was back to his normal self.

  “You look beautiful,” he whispered to me as I took my seat, causing me to blush slightly.

  “The sentiment's returned,” I whispered back, and cleared my throat, looking at Uncle Carlo. “Sorry.”

  “No reason to apologize, Bella,” Carlo said. “Before we sit, I'd like to offer a toast to you and Daniel. Despite the roadblocks, most of which I will admit I was more than responsible for, you two found love. Bella, for years I wanted you to find the perfect man, when I never realized that he was already right in our house. Salud.”

  Everyone raised their glasses, and we took a sip. Carlo continued. “Daniel, I already apologized to you in private, but I think that deserves a repeating here and now. You came to my house, and you have lived your entire life as an honorable man—even when I didn't realize it. You fought for, you bled for, and more importantly, you have loved this family. It is my honor, and I most humbly request that you accept my blessing on the engagement between you and Bella, and I offer you a place in our family.”

  “It is my honor to accept, Godfather,” Daniel replied, his face shining. “If Mrs. Bertoli also offers me the same, of course. No offense, but it's her daughter, after all.”

  We all laughed as Mom raised her glass and the toasts were complete. We took a seat, and Carlo lifted the lid on the serving platter, a beautiful roast that was certainly not in the Italian tradition. “What's this?” I asked, surprised. “I'd expected something more . . . Italian.”

  Tommy laughed and set his wine glass down. He looked a lot like Dad did when he was young, with thick, lustrous brown hair that had just a hint of wave, hazel eyes, and a thick build that reminded me a little bit of a wrestler or bodybuilder. He didn't have Dad's height, though, topping out at only five foot ten. Still, his good looks and natural charm let him be quite the ladies' man.

  “We can enjoy some sophistication from the other cultures that are going to make up our family, can we not?” he asked in his accentless voice. While Carlo had hung onto his Italian accent, Tommy's only came out when he spoke Italian. “Of course, I tried to convince Papa here to do haggis and sauerkraut, but that was a no go.”

  “That's good, Tommy. I'd hate to drink you under the table again,” Daniel teased back, smiling. “Remember that trip to Vancouver?”

  Tommy's smile disappeared, and he set his glass down. Mom laughed. “It's going to take some getting used to, Daniel being able to talk back to you two. I'm actually glad. Gives you someone your age who won't care about telling you when you two get out of line.”

  Angelo nodded, not happy but accepting it. He'd always been the baby of the family, and at nineteen, was just coming into his adult body. “Honestly though, it is surprising that you'd be the first of us to settle down, Daniel. Not that you aren't a great guy, but just . . . you were pretty one-track minded. Well, two tracks I guess.”

  “I still am,” Daniel replied. “Actually, I'll whittle it down more now. I'm one-track minded. What can I do to make and keep Adriana happy?”

  “And that is a mantra that I think you should live by the rest of your days,” Uncle Carlo said, taking the carving knife and slicing up the roast. “In fact, Daniel, I also wanted to tell
you something else tonight. I thought I'd save it for after dinner, but why not now?”

  “What is it, sir?” Daniel asked, a bit concerned. I shot Mom a questioning glance, and she returned it with a shrug. She had no idea what was going on.

  “Daniel, I ask much of my men, especially my enforcers. And while you obviously proved your dedication and courage with rescuing Bella, you still showed a rather disturbing streak of not obeying orders. And that, I can't have. So . . . you're fired.”

  “What?” Daniel, Mom, and I all said at nearly the same time. I added, despite the fact that Daniel and I had talked about this exact subject with Carmen in her apartment, “Uncle Carlo, that's not fair!”

  Carlo held up his hands until we quieted down. “Will you let me finish? Daniel, you're fired as an enforcer. However, I did have a discussion with Pietro, and he thought of a new way that the Bertoli family could expand our enterprises without running afoul of the law. So, we're going to look at starting a private security firm. Of course, it's going to start relatively small—bodyguards, security escorts, stuff like that. But, I think with the right man in charge of the company, it could grow to be quite profitable. Daniel, can you think of anyone who might be good at this?”

  “It might need a team, sir,” Daniel said, his smile returning. “After all, someone would need to stay behind and run the office side of things while others are running all over the place pretending to be Kevin Costner.”

  “God, that movie sucked,” Angelo grumped, then took a bite of his roast. “At least the roast is good.”

  Carlo ignored his youngest son and nodded in agreement with Daniel. “Oh, of course. I was thinking . . . maybe a staff of two or three to start? President, secretary, and then the field operatives? Also, I wouldn't want to risk the money all myself, of course. I was thinking a man who might be willing to buy in fifty-fifty with me? That'd make him co-owner and managing partner, of course.”