by Zoey Parker
When he spoke again, his tone was more gentle and concerned. “Carla, is it time for us to think about pullin' you out of there? Are you in a little over your head?”
“No,” she said immediately. “I said I was going to take Gio down, and I will. It'll just take a bit more time, that's all.”
“Are you sure? You know this ain't 'cause you're a woman. Plenty of male agents find themselves in too deep an' need to get bailed out.”
“What I need is for you to trust me,” Carla said. “Please.”
There was another pause on the other end. Finally, he said, “Okay. Of course I trust you. I just don't want to see nothin' bad happen to you, is all. Not if it could've been prevented.”
“I'll be fine,” she said. “And if it really does get to be too much, I promise I'll tell you. But it won't.”
Don sighed. “Fair enough. Try to get some sleep. After what happened tonight, it sounds like facing Gio tomorrow's gonna be a real doozy for you.”
“Good night, Don,” Carla said, hanging up the phone.
She flicked off the light in the kitchen and headed for the bedroom, feeling the rough splinters from the old hardwood floors dig into her bare feet. The house the Bureau had rented for her really was a depressing shithole, and the neighborhood was practically a demilitarized zone. But it was inconspicuous, and it was all the FBI could afford.
She unhooked her bra and slid between the sheets of her bed, staring at the cracked and mildewed plaster on the ceiling.
Was she in over her head? She hadn't wanted to sound weak when talking to Don, but now that she was alone with her thoughts, she couldn't help but wonder. Surely she wasn't the first agent to feel a little sorry for a criminal during an undercover investigation. Her empathy didn't just come from being a woman, and it certainly didn't need to impede her ability to do her job.
Did it?
Or was she just fooling herself because she was so determined to advance her career?
Her mind kept racing for several more hours. Just as she was finally starting to settle into a light sleep, she heard a strange sound from the kitchen. It took her a moment to realize it was a door closing gently. A few seconds later, there was a creak from the floorboards in the hallway.
She cursed inwardly. Had she remembered to make sure the lock on the kitchen door was secured? No, despite the fact that this was a dangerous part of town and she knew it.
And like an idiot, she'd been too preoccupied with thoughts of Gio to remember to bring her gun into the bedroom with her.
She sat up in bed and stared at the bedroom doorway, praying she'd dreamed or imagined the sounds even as her gut told her that she hadn't.
A moment later, the menacing silhouette of a man appeared at the door, looking down at her.
Chapter 12
Gio
Gio sat in his Special Room again. He was so enraged that the world seemed to present itself to him entirely in hazy shades of red.
How could Carolyn have turned him down so bluntly? Couldn't she see how much effort he'd put into their evening? Sure, he knew that girls had to put up a disinterested front at first so they didn't seem easy, and when they saw men get violent with other men, they felt like they had to clutch their pearls and act all shocked and scandalized even if they were secretly turned on by it.
And Carolyn clearly had her whole “classy professional lady” act going on, so she felt like she needed to go the extra mile with all that. All right. Fine.
But goddamn it, how long was she planning to keep up the charade? How long did she expect him to wait before she finally gave in?
Gio paced around the room like a caged animal in a zoo. Every time his eye fell upon one of his elaborate pieces of fetish furniture—the swings, the benches, the whipping posts—he imagined her secured to them, twisting and writhing in agony as he made her pay for acting like such a cock tease. He pictured the welts his paddles and riding crops would leave on her flesh, and the helpless, frenzied look in her eyes as she moaned with a ball gag in her mouth.
He stopped in his tracks, considering something new and frightening.
Could it be that she wasn't just stringing him along? Could it be that she really had no interest in him as anything other than a legal client? For the first time in his life, had he actually encountered a girl who couldn't be tempted into his bed by his charm, his wealth, and his status as a crown prince of the Chicago underworld?
No, he thought sharply, his hands curling into fists. No, fuck that. That's bullshit. Haven't I seen flashes of desire in her eyes when she thought I wasn't looking? I didn't make that up.
No, she's just some stuck-up tart in a pantsuit who thinks she can go around giving guys blue balls just because she has a fancy degree.
She's probably home in her bed right now, he mused, dreaming up new ways to screw with me and make me chase her. Or maybe she's thinking about me while she diddles herself and wishing she'd given me a chance tonight after all.
Whichever one it was, Gio decided he wanted to be there to see it. He suddenly ached to know what she was doing right then, at that very moment.
She wanted to play games?
Okay, Gio thought. I can play games.
He went downstairs, poured himself a tumbler of whiskey, and drank it down in two long gulps. Then he grabbed the keys to his 'Vette and left.
Chapter 13
Gio
Gio parked his 'Vette several blocks away from Carolyn's house, in front of a housing project complex with dark windows. It was a flashy car, and he didn't want to take a chance that she'd be awake and happen to see it out the window.
He didn't know if he wanted her to see him yet. He only knew he needed to see her.
He grabbed the black toolbox and carried it with him. As he did, he saw Bandana and several of his friends materialize on a nearby corner, shuffling and peering at him curiously like a row of crows perched on a telephone wire.
“You remember what I said earlier,” Gio said, gesturing toward his car. It wasn't a question.
Bandana held up his hands defensively. “Yo, I heard you, man,” he said. “Ain't no one gonna mess with your ride.”
“Good.” Gio continued toward Carolyn's house.
Bandana kept pace with him, looking down at the tool kit he was carrying. “Wouldn't have pegged you as a burglar in that outfit,” he joked.
“You trying to give me attitude?” Gio asked, bristling. He hadn't come here for a fight, but he damn sure wasn't in the mood to take lip from anyone, either.
“Naw, naw, I'm tryin' to help!” Bandana insisted. “You fittin' to break into that lady's house up the street?”
“What if I am?”
“Check it: Last summer, some old dude was livin' up in that place, an' me an' my crew decided to rip 'im off,” Bandana confided.
“So?”
Bandana rolled his eyes and spoke slowly, as though he were talking to a two-year-old. “So when we did the deed, we found out the front door's got three locks, but the back door to that kitchen? Only got one.”
Gio chuckled. “You're a back door man, is that it?”
“Yo, any chance I get, homie,” Bandana laughed. “Feel me?”
“Yeah, yeah, I 'feel you,'” Gio said. He reached into his pocket, pulled out his billfold, and peeled off a couple of hundreds for Bandana. “Thanks for the tip.”
“My pleasure,” Bandana replied, tucking the cash into the pocket of his baggy jeans. “Yo, you garlic motherfuckers ever got some room in your organization or whatever, keep me in mind, all right? D-Train from 35th Street. You can ask anyone.”
“Sure,” Gio said evenly. “Don't call us, we'll call you.”
When Gio got to Carolyn's house, he skulked around to the back. He still wasn't sure what he was doing here, or what he really wanted. His most immediate need was to know what she was doing right now, this moment. Sleeping? Doing dishes? Watching TV? Whatever it was, he wanted to watch her doing it.
And on some level,
he was still confident that if he were given another chance to seduce her, he'd succeed this time. He'd say whatever she needed to hear, act however she wanted him to in order to get her to acquiesce to him—but he needed her to be his, if only for one night. Just to get it out of his system.
Maybe two nights, though. Or three.
When he got to the back door, he kneeled in front of it and opened the toolbox. He reviewed its contents briefly before selecting a small device that resembled a glue gun, except instead of a spout for a tip, it had a long, thin metal rod engraved with a series of grooves. He'd used it many times in his criminal career, but it was the first time he'd ever utilized it for a personal matter.
Gio inserted the rod into the lock and twisted it carefully. He couldn't help but appreciate the sexual subtext of the activity, and as the lock opened for him with an obedient click, he felt his cock stiffening in his trousers. He withdrew the tool, put it back in its allotted place in the box, and closed it quietly. Then he stood up, opened the door, and stepped into the kitchen.
The room looked barely-used, and the trash was full of take-out cartons and plastic cutlery. He wondered how long she'd been living here as he surveyed the items on the counter. A pile of junk mail, a set of house keys...
And a gun.
And an FBI badge, with a picture of Carolyn next to the name “Carla Esposito.”
And a compact microphone and recorder, made to be worn on the body. He'd seen a couple of those before, most recently taped to the chest of the unfortunate mook six months ago.
Gio felt like the room was spinning around him. He took a deep breath, trying to clear his head and make sense of what he was seeing. He told himself that he should have known, should have at least suspected—but his father had practically presented her to him as a gift, and Gio had simply gone along with it, confident that Mario somehow would have conclusively cleared her beforehand.
In his mind, Gio tried to replay all of his interactions with Carolyn—no, not Carolyn; he needed to think of her as Carla from now on—to determine whether he'd said or done anything he could be charged for.
He couldn't think of anything, except for busting a bottle over Ronnie's head earlier that night. And that was hardly a federal offense, especially since Ronnie knew he'd be dead if he ever pressed charges.
No, she doesn't have anything on me, he thought. But I damn sure have something on her, and it's a whopper. Unless she wants her cover blown, she'll have no choice but to do what I tell her now.
The thought surprised Gio. Surely he wasn't thinking of letting a Fed keep infiltrating the Mancinis, was he? No, the only thing to do in this scenario was put her down, and then let Mario know they'd had a rat in the house.
Except when he tried to imagine killing her, he couldn't. The idea of holding something this big over her head—of putting her in a position where she'd have to cater to his every fantasy, no matter how dark or disturbing—was too tantalizing. Just shooting her through the head seemed like a waste, especially since she hadn't even managed to gather any real evidence against them yet.
He realized the stiffness in his trousers hadn't receded. If anything, its insistent throb had increased in intensity.
And anyway, what's the harm? he thought. So far, no one knows except me. Obviously she'll have to die eventually—it's not like I can keep a Fed as a pet forever—but until then, she'd be mine to do with as I wished. So why not?
All of these thoughts passed through Gio's mind in a matter of moments. He tucked her gun into the back of his pants, then scooped up the badge and mic and walked over to the hall adjoining the kitchen. He figured he'd find the bedroom in that direction, and sure enough, he saw that the door to the bedroom was ajar. He could hear slow, steady breathing inside, and realized she was still awake. She'd probably even heard him come in.
Bet you wish you'd brought your gun to bed with you, huh, Rat Lady? he thought smugly.
As he stepped into the doorway, he saw her in bed with the covers pulled up over her tits. Her panicked eyes seemed to gleam in the darkness.
To him, she'd never looked more beautiful.
“Trouble sleeping, Carla?” he sneered, accentuating the name. He found he actually preferred it to “Carolyn.” He held up the microphone and it swung on its wire slowly, back and forth, like a hypnotist's pendulum.
“Gio, listen to me,” Carla said. She was trying to keep her voice calm, but Gio could hear the fear quavering behind it and it excited him. “So far, you haven't done anything that can't be undone. You can let me go and I'll just disappear. But if you kill a federal agent, that's going to bring a whole new kind of trouble down on you, and you don't want that, believe me.”
“Wouldn't be the first time,” Gio answered casually. “Tell me something, Agent Carla. Are you scared right now?”
Carla hesitated, then said, “Yes.”
“Good. Do you want to live?”
Carla nodded.
“Don't fucking nod,” Gio snapped. “I asked you a question, and I want to hear you say the answer. Do you want to live or not?”
“Yes, I want to live, please,” Carla said softly.
Gio laughed. “'Please,' she says. That's nice. I like manners. Lower that sheet.”
Carla's eyes widened. “Why? What are you going to do?”
“This isn't about what I'm going to do, it's about what I'm doing right now,” Gio explained impatiently. “And right now, I'm giving you a chance to show me how much you want to live by doing what the fuck I tell you. From now on, there is no 'later' for you. There's only right now, represented by a yes or a no. Every yes means you get to live a little longer. Every no means you're finished living. Is that simple enough for you, Carla?”
“Yes.”
“I'm delighted to hear it,” he said. “Now, I told you to do something, and just this once, because I'm generous, I'm going to tell you again. But it's going to be the last time I ever repeat myself to you. Lower the goddamn sheet or I'll fill it with holes.”
With trembling hands, Carla lowered the sheet, revealing her perky breasts. Gio eyed them hungrily, relishing the way her small nipples hardened to pebbles. He'd always enjoyed the thin line between fear and sexual excitement, and this was the purest example he'd ever encountered.
“Very nice,” Gio said. “You have a gorgeous body, Carla.” He reached into his pocket and retrieved his cell phone, holding it up. His thumb pressed the camera option and Carla's half-naked body appeared on his screen. He clicked the button, taking a picture and saving it.
“Now here's what's going to happen,” he continued. “I'm going to hang onto this picture. Remember when I said you should come by my place sometime and see my stuff? Well, tomorrow night at eleven just became 'sometime.' You're going to dress up in one of your fancy suits, except this time, you're going to leave this fucking mic behind. And when you get there, you're going to do everything I tell you to, without questions or hesitation. If you don't show up—or if you disobey me, or fuck with me in any way—I'm going to make damn sure every wiseguy in America gets a copy of this picture, along with your name and your status as a rat. Your career as a Fed will be over.”
“Gio, I know you're upset, but please think this over,” Carla begged. The more rational and in control she tried to seem, the more Gio wanted to laugh at her for thinking she could somehow find a way out of this.
“Whatever you're planning for me, you know this won't work,” she continued. “How are you going to explain having a photo of a half-naked FBI agent? How are you going to make this look like anything except what it is...that you knew I was a Fed and let me go?”
“It sounds like you're making a solid case for me to just kill you now,” Gio said. “Is that what you want?”
“No, of course not, Gio,” Carla replied quickly. “But we're both in a tough spot right now, and I think if we try to stay calm, we can find a way out of it together. Gio, I know you're unhappy with your father. I've seen the way he treats you. I can help
you. I know that's hard for you to believe based on how you've been raised, but I can, I promise. You can trust me.”
Gio saw what she was trying to do, and a wave of anger rolled through him. He stepped forward and delivered a hard smack to her right cheek, stunning her into silence. “That's for telling me to trust you when you're a fucking federal rat who deserves a bullet in the head.”
Before she could say anything, he struck her again, this time on the left cheek. “And that's for using my name over and over, like you're in some stupid FBI course on hostage negotiation. That psychobabble ain't gonna work on me, understand? From now on, you keep my name out of your fucking mouth. You lost the right to address me directly.”