Code of Silence: Cosa Nostra #2

by Denton, Jasmine

  She managed a polite smile for the sake of their show, and then he stood. Just when she thought this terrible moment was over, he grabbed her. It all happened so fast, his arm looping around her waist, pulling her close. His lips closed over hers in a deep, passionate kiss. The crowd cheered, shouting wishes of good luck in Italian. Bela froze—turning as stiff as stone in his arms. Pushing him away would insult his family and make this entire ‘union’ seem false, but kissing him back would break his brother’s heart.

  Finally, Rafe shifted away enough to motion for a nearby waiter. Taking two glasses of Champagne, he handed one to Bela. With a beaming, charming smile, he lifted his glass to make a toast. “To peace,” he shouted, without using the microphone.

  The crowd repeated him, lifting their glasses in celebration. As they all drank to the toast, Bela caught Vincent’s gaze once again over the rim of her glass. It was gut-wrenching, seeing the mix of heartache and jealousy splayed on his handsome face.

  As soon as she could break away from Rafe and her father, Bela headed over to the bar for something stronger than Champagne. It was just good luck Vincent happened to be stationed there, with an open spot beside him. She gave a quick glance around and, after confirming nobody important was around, she slid onto the empty stool and ordered a martini.

  She kept herself facing the bar and didn’t look at him, but the mirror in the back allowed her to see his face in the reflection. He looked miserable, and it broke her heart even more. “Tell me this terrible night is almost over,” she said.

  “With the way Italians celebrate.” He gave a bitter chuckle and lifted his glass to his lips. “I wouldn’t bank on it.”

  In the mirror across from them, she watched him as he took a drink and also kept an eye out for their fathers or Rafe. “You’re hitting the Scotch pretty hard tonight.”

  “It’s the only way I’m going to keep my mouth shut.”

  “Tell me about it.” She stopped talking while the bartender brought her martini. She took a sip before she began again. “Look…about that kiss—”

  He dipped his head, his dark eyes focusing on the single ice-cube floating around in the amber liquid. “I’m sorry he did that to you,” he said. “Rafe likes to put on a show.”

  “I’m sorry you had to see it.”

  His expression altered to unreadable again. Looking over his shoulder, he gave a glance behind them. “You should go. We don’t want him to see us together.”

  “Right,” she said as she pushed off the bar stool. Taking her glass with her, she went to mingle. She was thankful when she found Mandi and Trey before she encountered anybody else.

  “This is so strange,” Mandi said as Bela approached. “I don’t know whether to congratulate you or apologize.”

  Bela chuckled. “Either would work, I guess.”

  Trey nodded toward Vincent. “How’s he doing?”

  “About how you’d expect.” She looked over just as the bartender served him another drink. “Do me a favor, would you?”

  “I’ll keep an eye on him,” Trey said with a nod.

  Just then, Rafe approached and took her by the elbow. She couldn’t help but notice the way he addressed Trey and not her when he said, “Mind if I steal a minute with my bride-to-be?”

  Trey glanced at Bela for approval.

  “Of course,” she answered with a forced smile. With a glance at Mandi and Trey, she said, “Excuse us.”

  She could feel Trey’s gaze—even and threatening—on Rafe as he walked her to the door and out into the lobby of the dining hall. Once they were alone, Rafe released her elbow.

  “I know it can’t be easy for you and Vincent to go cold turkey,” he said, “but try to keep it out of the public eye, all right? We have an image to uphold.”

  “I was just getting a drink,” she said, lifting the glass to show him.

  “Sure you were.” He looked around to make sure no one was nearby and then returned his gaze to her. “Look, I don’t want this any more than you do, but it is what it is. And if you had any other boyfriend besides my brother I’d look the other way. But sharing you with him is a little twisted, even for my tastes.”

  A rush of insult pumped through her blood. Anger snaked through her veins, hot and quick. “Let’s get one thing straight. They might be forcing me to marry you, but I will never be your wife.” Unable to control the rage—at him, at her father, at this entire messed up situation—she swung her arm and splashed her drink in his face.

  His jaw tightened as the cool alcohol dripped down onto his suit. She turned to walk away, but his hand clamped down on her arm, just above the elbow and pulled her back. His chest pressed into her arm as he leaned close to bring his lips to her ear. His low, threatening whisper sent a chill down her spine. “You’re stuck with me princess, so get used to it.”

  He released her arm with a jerk, then took a hanker chief out of his pocket and wiped his face. He shrugged out of his blazer, draped it over one arm and viola…he looked good as new. He gave her a chilling smile as he returned to the ballroom.

  ~~~

  “How hard can it be to get the warrant?” The next afternoon, Vincent paced across the abandoned warehouse in a rage. “I’ve handed you half-a-dozen felonies!”

  “Nothing big enough to nail Salvatore DeLuca,” Daniel said. He was sitting at the small meeting table strewn with files. His shoulders were relaxed and his legs were crossed, calm and casual, as if none of this mattered. As if everything Vincent cared about wasn’t riding on this case.

  “What about the murder of his wife?” he asked, a spark of hope. “We have proof he ordered the hit.”

  “Right,” he said. “A hit. At best it’s conspiracy. With a good lawyer, he won’t even see jail time. If he doesn’t flee the country the second he makes bail, and he will make bail.”

  Fed up with all of his work and sweat being in vain, he turned around and punched one of the poster boards, sending his fist right through the cardboard and everything written on it.

  “Look, I get it. You wanna stop your girl from marrying your brother, but—”

  “How do you know about that?” Vincent asked, turning to his handler. “I know I never told you.”

  “You’re not my only informant.”

  “You have someone else on my job?” Vincent demanded, his temper pulsing quick and hot.

  “No. I have someone else handling a different case. You know I can’t tell you more than that.”

  “Well I can’t discuss Bela,” he said. “So stop talking about her. Even with all of your informants, you don’t know shit. You got it?”

  “It all boils down to this,” Daniel said, standing. “If you want Sal out of the picture, then we’re going to have to catch him smack in the middle of something very big and very illegal. Which means you need in the inner circle. Following Junior around isn’t going to cut it anymore.”

  “How am I supposed to do that?” he asked. “I’ve only been working for Trey for a couple months.”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “But if you want to save your girl, you’ll figure it out.”

  ~~~

  In the solitude and safety of her new dance studio, Mandi practiced her art and tried to escape her thoughts. She didn’t like to admit it, but her pregnancy was drudging up too many painful memories from the past. She kept thinking about the time she’d tried to tell her adoptive mother that her husband had been sneaking into her room at night. That moment—the one where no one listened, the one where the woman who raised her had refused to take her side—was the moment her life turned to a shattered mess. It was when she stopped trusting people. Now, that very deep scar was making her afraid to be a mother herself.

  It was also unsettling, the way Sal had just traded Bela to his sworn enemy without a thought. And it was clear Sal had primed Trey to be just like him—probably ever since he was a child. Were those the kinds of things her child would grow up to endure to? Once she gave birth, would she have a voice in any of the d
ecisions, or would her opinion become as meaningless as Bela’s?

  Keeping with the rhythm of the music, she leapt in the air and came down in a spin, but missed her landing. She fell to the hardwood floor with one leg tucked under her body and one arm twisted under her torso. Straightening herself out, she let her body rest on the floor. Angling her head toward the mirrors, she looked into her reflection.

  In that wall of mirrors, she didn’t catch even a glimpse of a magical pregnancy glow. She saw the pasty, washed out skin and too-thin body of a former stripper. She saw dull hair pulled into a sloppy bun. Though her dance clothes were new and expensive, they looked like they belonged to someone else. Someone who wasn’t an orphaned, damaged stripper.

  Even if she forgave herself for getting undressed for money, she was still an orphan. Given up by her birth parents and kicked to the curb by the very people who’d adopted her after that. What did she know about parenting? What did she know about babies and taking care of people? What did she know about love?

  There was so much to learn, so much to process, and already Trey was talking about doing the honorable thing and making an ‘honest woman’ out of her. The thought of marriage, on top of everything else, made her want to flee. Still, she knew it was just a matter of time before he brought it up. No respectable Italian man would want his child to be born a bastard. Knowing that didn’t mean she was ready to be his wife.

  Deep down, she knew she should talk to Trey about all of this. She didn’t bother because she knew what he would do. He would talk her out of a decision she’d already made, a decision she knew was best for her right now. It wasn’t easy to admit, but she knew she couldn’t go through with this pregnancy. She had an appointment tomorrow, and after then, her troubles would be over.

  She knew Trey would be pissed. He’d see it as a betrayal. Their relationship might even implode and she might lose this dance studio. She’d lose him, for sure. If not right away, then he’d drift over time. Those were problems she could handle; issues she could conquer. The alternative—giving birth to a DeLuca heir—proved far too overwhelming to handle.

  9

  The Choice

  Mandi shifted in her seat of the crowded waiting room of the women’s clinic. She’d been here an hour and forty-five minutes already—and she’d handed the mountain of paperwork over at least an hour ago. Still, they hadn’t called her name. She wondered if this was some kind of manipulative ploy to see if she would change her mind, or to give her time to if that’s what she wanted.

  She’d considered it at least a thousand times already. It would be so easy to just get up and walk out the door, nobody would think twice about it. But then what? Then she was back to being confused and afraid and tied to the DeLucas forever.

  No. It was better this way. Now just wasn’t the right time to have a kid. Maybe someday, but not now.

  With a nervous sigh, she picked up a magazine and began to look through it without even taking the time to read any of the words.

  “Let’s go.” The sound of Trey’s voice stopped her cold. She froze with the thin page of the magazine pinched between her index finger and her thumb. Her heart leapt and began to pulse rapidly while her mind raced with a thousand fearful thoughts. All of this happened before she had the courage to lift her gaze to look at him.

  He was in his street clothes. The slick leather jacket against a white shirt and blue jeans combo he always wore when he was out collecting rent or intimidating street-corner dealers. Right now, he was looking at her like she was one of those lowlifes. The rage in his eyes was a type she’d never seen before, and it didn’t do anything to help her snap back into motion. Remaining frozen, she was helpless to do anything but stare up at him, silently begging for mercy.

  “Let’s go,” he repeated, just loud enough to embarrass her and make a few heads turn. When she still didn’t move, he reached down and looped his fingers around her wrist, giving her a firm tug onto her feet.

  Though everybody stared, nobody said a word as he hauled her out of the clinic. Once they were outside, he turned to her, infuriated, his hold on her wrist tightening. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  “How did you know I was here?” she asked, rage of her own building. Was he having her followed, now?

  “Answer my question. What the fuck are you doing?”

  “What do you think I’m doing?” she asked, her voice quivering. She motioned to the building behind her. “Why does any pregnant woman come here?”

  This made his jaw tighten, setting in a harsh, angry line. He shook his head and reached for her again. “This isn’t gonna happen.”

  “Stop telling me what to do!”

  “Mandi, this is a huge sin. I’m catholic, remember? This goes against everything we believe in.”

  “Right, I forgot. Tell me, how does God feel about you murdering people for a living?”

  Anger flashed in his eyes. “Is that all you see me as?” he asked. “A murderer? If you go through with this, you’ll be no better than I am. Only you’ll have the blood of an innocent baby on your hands.”

  That remark hit her harder than she expected. “You asshole.”

  “I’m the asshole? You were going to do this without even talking to me!”

  “Yeah, because I knew what you would say! I knew you’d never understand.”

  “I understand you’re scared. I know you don’t trust me and my job freaks you out, and the idea of being tied to me forever is terrifying to you. But I don’t understand how you could take all of that out on a child who hasn’t done anything wrong. This won’t solve a thing.”

  “Are you sure? Because from where I’m standing, it’ll solve all of those problems.”

  He stared at her. “Fine. If you want away from me so bad, then you can leave after the kid’s born.”

  “And what? Just hand it over to you? Abandon my own kid the way my parents did?”

  “It beats this, doesn’t it?” he asked. “At least they gave you a shot. They didn’t kill you just because they were too afraid to grow up.”

  “Fuck you, Trey.” She glared at him as she shoved past him and headed down the sidewalk.

  “Get in the car,” he said.

  “No! I’m not going anywhere with you.”

  “And I’m not letting you out of my sight,” he shot back. “Not after this.”

  “What are you going to do?” she asked, spinning to face him. “You gonna keep me locked up for the next eight months?”

  “If I have to.”

  She stared at him in disbelief. “So I’m your prisoner now?”

  “If that’s the way you want to see it.” A black car pulled up alongside them. Reaching over, he opened the door and waited for her to get inside.

  Even though she wanted to turn and walk the other way—maybe even throw in a slap and a few choice words—she knew he would just follow her. When Trey made up his mind, he didn’t change it. He stopped at nothing to get what he wanted. Right now, she was carrying the very thing he wanted most.

  “I know you can’t see it yet,” he said, his tone turning just a fraction softer. “But I’m just trying to stop you from the biggest mistake you’ll ever make.”

  “You’re right,” she said as she stepped down off the curb and ducked into the car. “I don’t see it.”

  He climbed into the car and shut the door. Settling into the seat beside her, he kept his icy gaze fixed straight ahead, refusing to look at her. “You will.”

  ~~~

  Sitting on the patio, Bela unenthusiastically flipped through one of the dozen bridal magazines Claudia had dumped out onto the table.

  “I’m thinking you need a cathedral train,” Claudia said as she flipped through the pages of a thick catalogue of dresses. “And I know you like halters, but with your shoulders, you could definitely pull off a strapless. I’m thinking white with a green sash. I know it’s an old tradition, but we need all the good luck we can get. Let’s face it, our families have been
feuding for ten years. Bela, are you even listening?”

  “Cathedral train, halter versus strapless, green sash, feuding for ten years,” Bela recited mindlessly.

  Claudia gave her a playful scowl. “Aren’t brides supposed to glow with excitement?”

  “And if I was marrying Vincent, I’d glow bright enough to light up the entire ceremony,” she said. “But this…I don’t know how I’m supposed to just put on a smile and go through with it.”

  “I’ll tell you how,” she said with a mischievous grin. “By throwing the most elaborate, expensive wedding you can. Daddy wants to break your heart? Fine. You can break his wallet.”

  Bela couldn’t help but laugh. “You’ve got style, Claudia,” she said. “That’s for sure.”

  Imagining the wedding was with Vincent helped her to make the plans. For the next few weeks, her life revolved around dress fittings and floral arrangements. To her despair, the wedding date was set for the end of July, only a month away. Sal, superstitious as he was, claimed marrying in August was bad luck and any later date would just keep their people waiting longer than necessary. It seemed everybody was just itching to trade her over to the Marcanos and get on with their so-called peace. Bela didn’t believe the offerings of reconciliation for one second, though. Everything inside of her told her something more sinister was in motion.

  10

  Date Night

  The restaurant buzzed with conversations and energy. People were at every table, either in couples or families or larger parties. They were even crowded in across the bar that ran the length of the room. Friday was one of the busiest nights at Signora Italiano’s—the one business venture of her father’s that Bela could tolerate. Sitting in a comfortable, private booth in the corner, she waited for Rafe to arrive. Gio was stationed right across the table from her, sipping on a Miller Highlife and watching the Nicks play on the flatscreen in the corner.

  Someone suggested—she didn’t know who, but she’d gotten the order from Trey—she should go out in public with Rafe once a week. Trey claimed this was so she could get to know her new fiancé better, but she suspected it was merely to keep up the appearance of a united front.