Machiavellian: Gangsters of New York, Book 1

by Di Corte, Bella

  Keely stirred the cup and then took a seat. She tucked a fiery red curl behind her ear. “What I’m getting at is this. I wonder if she was stopping her happiness, therefore mine. I hate—hate—that she was murdered, but even before, I was thinking it was time for us to part ways. Now that she’s gone, I feel…lighter.”

  I set the decorative four-leaf clover in the box, resting my hand against her shoulder. It was tense. Sierra had no family, like me, and all that she had left behind went to Keely. It took a lot out of her to make decisions for a woman that no one truly knew. Not even Keely.

  “I agree,” I said. “There was something about her that made me feel…heavier, too. It’s hard to explain.”

  Keely stared at her tea, a distant look in her eyes. “Maybe her new start was just about to happen. Maybe her darkness was about to get lighter. The job she was telling me about. She never got to go to the interview. The dress is still on her bed.”

  “Do you know what that was all about?”

  I hadn’t told Keely what I’d done or what had happened. I still had no clue what the job was or what it had entailed. After I got home that night, Keely was asleep, and I tiptoed into Sierra’s room and put everything just as Sierra had left it. I had my extra set of clothes stashed in my bag, so I changed in the car in case Keely was up waiting for me. I hadn’t looked in Sierra’s room since.

  “No,” Keely said. “But I got the feeling she thought the job was it for her. She wasn’t going to have to struggle anymore. I have no idea what kind of job brings that much security, but she was certain of it.”

  Certain. I got that feeling, too. Whatever the boss had in store for one of those girls, she’d never have to work again. I still couldn’t figure it out, though. What would be worth that much to him, or to anyone?

  “Hey,” Keely said, squeezing my hand. “Let’s talk about something else. You never told me what you did the other day. You were gone a while. Did you go looking for another job?”

  The first time I left her alone was to take a trip back to Macchiavello’s. I sat against the wall again, coloring, waiting to see if the man in the suit would show up. It was stupid, so, so stupid, but something about him inspired trust. With all of the problems building around me, it felt good to see someone who really seemed to have their shit together. He seemed so capable. Like he would know what to do in any situation. He would have the answers to any problem that plagued him.

  My waiting wasn’t in vain. He showed up about an hour after I did, looking as cool and as fine as ever. Maybe it was my imagination, but as soon as he stepped out of his expensive car, his face turned toward mine like he knew I’d been waiting for him.

  We stared at each other until I decided to do what I’d come to do. I unzipped my bag, took out the ice pack, lifted it up, and then set it along the wall. Then I turned and left.

  I swore to myself that I wouldn’t go back. I had issues, issues that wouldn’t be solved by waiting around a restaurant that catered only to the rich. Staring at some unavailable (to me) millionaire in a fine suit was not going to solve anything.

  The urge to tell Keely everything that had happened surged up in me. I felt guilty about using Sierra’s dress, her perfume, her shoes, her invitation to the mysterious side of The Club, and not telling Keely that I had.

  I wanted to tell her about the guy in the suit. I wanted to tell her that no matter if Harrison loved me or not, I had never felt anything toward him except brotherly love. Compared to what I’d felt over the last couple of days—for the guy in the suit and the boss— I knew how different my feelings for Harrison were. Platonic. Nothing more.

  Keely was all I had in the world, and I hoped she’d understand the reasons behind what I’d done. I hoped that she’d be able to hear the truth behind all of my feelings.

  It was time to purge the demons and come clean.

  I squeezed her hand and then took a seat next to her. Staring at her cup of tea, I said, “I need to tell you something.”

  The words seemed to tumble from my mouth. I started with the guy in the suit, then went into what happened the night Sierra died. I told her every detail about The Club. Then I gave her a second before I ended it with my feelings about her brother.

  I couldn’t read her face, and when the silence became too much, I whispered, “Say something.”

  “You didn’t tell me something,” she said. “You told me things. Lots and lots of things.”

  “I was holding in a lot,” I said.

  “You think?” She shook her head. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  I shrugged, picking at my broken nail. “I didn’t want to disappoint you. I basically stole a dead girl’s clothes, shoes, and perfume, and pretended to be her. If I failed, which I did, it seemed like such a low blow. A final blow. You would’ve told me not to go. That whatever Sierra was going to do was not worth it. But it was. It was. For me. And now…I…I’m still not sure what I’m going to do, Kee.”

  “She was a waitress at The Club,” Keely said. “Sierra. That’s where she worked. And the guy who owns it is not an ordinary citizen, Mari. He’s rich, like multi-millionaire status, or more. He’s reclusive. But the shit she would sometimes talk about, the people who frequented the place, like the Faustis, made me understand that it was more than just a club.

  “So you’re damn right. I would have told you not to go. What were you thinking? What if he would have sold you to the highest bidder? Or…used you for some kind of weird sexual fantasy? You don’t belong there, Mari! I don’t want you there. You deserve more from life than to be bought. You deserve a man who’d never put a dollar amount on you because no amount of money in the world would be enough! You deserve a man who doesn’t think he deserves you!”

  “I didn’t get the job, Kee!” I stood, not able to sit. “I failed at that, too! I couldn’t even sell my body. I’m worthless! I can’t keep a job. I can’t even stay in school! So I took a chance. It was my last chance. And I failed at that, too! My nose or my fucking mouth! I got smart with him at the end.”

  “Good!” she shouted. “The bastard should be told off! He was probably there to buy a woman for the night!”

  “No.” I shook my head. “I got the feeling this was different. This was for the long run. For good.”

  “What does that even mean?”

  I shrugged, not sure how to explain it. Living for the rest of my life instead of merely surviving, for starters.

  A knock came at the door and we both jumped. Keely looked at me and I looked at her, both of our eyebrows rising in suspicious surprise.

  “Grab the cast iron skillet Mam gave me,” she mouthed to me.

  “I’ll stand behind you,” I mouthed back.

  She opened the door a crack, and I stood behind, hiding the skillet behind my back. If it were Armino, he wouldn’t see it until I knocked him over the head with it.

  It wasn’t Armino Scarpone. It was Detective Stone and Detective Marinetti again. It felt like they lived around here these days.

  We stood back and let them enter. Detective Stone raised his eyebrows when he noticed the skillet in my hand but didn’t comment on it. Figuring they were here to discuss something with Keely, I turned to go back into the kitchen.

  “We need to speak to you this time, Ms. Flores,” Detective Marinetti said, gesturing toward the sofa.

  I brought the skillet with me as I took a seat. Keely took one next to me. The two detectives stood in front of us.

  “Are you familiar with a man named Merv Johnson?” Detective Stone asked.

  “Merv the Perv?” Keely scrunched up her nose.

  Stone grinned at her and his eyes softened.

  “I know him,” I said, staring at him until he looked at me. “But not well. He was the super at my last apartment, if you can even call it that. A place to sleep that’s not outside is more like it.”

  “Yeah,” Detective Marinetti said. He seemed so tired. Done. He sighed. “We gathered that.”

  “What about
Merv?” Keely sat up a little taller. “If you’ve come to tell us that he’s dead, good riddance.” She fake-spit on the side of the sofa. Something I saw her Mam do all of the time when something disgusted her.

  “Merv Johnson is dead,” Detective Marinetti said bluntly.

  I elbowed Keely and she started to cough. It seemed like she was shocked that he actually was. She probably thought they were coming to question me about his character after one of the girls in the building had gone missing.

  “What happened to him?” Keely said, stealing the words from my mind.

  My mouth was dry, my body full of sweat, and my heart raced. All I could think of was his stunned face after I had hit him in the temple with Vera. Did I kill the bastard? I didn’t stick around to find out. And there was no telling how long he had been in the apartment if he was.

  The place’s personal best was two months. Merv didn’t check until the second month the rent was due. He was trading sex for rent with some of the women in the building and went to collect when he needed to get some. I was sure no one, no one, went looking for him until the smell became too much. They probably thought it was me, if he was still in my old apartment.

  “Murdered,” Detective Stone said. “The reason we’re here is because we’re wondering if you happen to know of anyone that might have wanted him dead, Ms. Flores. Since the incident with Ms. Andruzzi, Detective Marinetti and I felt we’ve already established a relationship with you. No one at the complex will talk. Mr. Johnson doesn’t seem to have many friends.”

  Keely opened her mouth to speak at the same time that Detective Marinetti sighed. He took a chair from the kitchen and placed it in front of the sofa, taking a seat. He looked bored to death, like he knew where this conversation was headed. Merv had no friends here either.

  “When was the pervert killed?” Keely got out. Once you crossed her, there was no going back. Keely hardened herself toward anyone she felt did her or her family wrong. She would forgive, but she’d never forget.

  “Yesterday.”

  That ruled out Vera and me.

  “Ms. Flores, can you give us anything at all to help us bring the person responsible for this crime to justice?”

  I went to open my mouth, but Keely spoke up. Her neck had turned red and it started to creep up her cheeks. She stared Detective Stone in the eyes. “I can give you something. Merv Johnson assaulted my sister.” She grabbed my hand. “Did you notice her face the other day, Detective? He did that to her. He tried to abuse her in that rat-infested place he called an apartment. He traded sex for rent. If you said no, he’d take it out on your face.

  “So, no, neither of us know who could’ve wanted him dead, because the list is too long. But I will say this. I don’t wish death on anyone, but I’m glad he’s dead. Justice? Whoever has done this has served it for the good of all mankind. Now, if you have no further questions, this has been a long week for us. And after you’ve gone, we’d like to be thankful for the death of a predator in peace.”

  * * *

  Four hours later, another knock came at the door.

  I looked up from the box that I was packing and blew a wild tendril of hair out of my face. It had slipped out of my makeshift bun. I heard Keely moving toward the door, and swiping the skillet from the sofa, I met her there.

  “I’ll answer this time,” I said.

  She took the skillet from me and hid it behind her back. “I have a lot of pent up aggression, so I got this.” She nodded toward the door. “Open sesame.”

  I took a step back, running into Keely after I had opened the door. “Guido.” His name slipped out before I could stop myself. He held a gold wrapped box in his hands.

  “Do I have to whack him?” Keely whispered.

  I shook my head. “I don’t think so.”

  “Good,” she said. “His face is too fine to mess up. If that singer who writes about all of her old flames ever saw this dude, she’d be writing songs about a guy named Guido.”

  Guido eyed us both in the way that men do when they think the women in their presence are unstable. Then he grinned and said, “There is no need for violence. I have come in peace.”

  We both gasped a little. It transformed his face.

  “I used your name,” I blurted without thinking. “The night at The Club. It was wrong, but I thought they were going to bust me. I remembered you from Home Run, when Scarlett came to pick up the framed jersey for her husband.”

  “Be careful,” he said, his tone serious, but there was mischief in those dark eyes. It made him hard to read. “My name is well known, but not all that know me like me. They might have turned you away due to my name alone, or put you behind bars for my enemy to take apart. The name Fausti does not always guarantee safety. Sometimes it attracts trouble.”

  “Shit, Mari!” Keely slapped my arm. “The Faustis!”

  I turned a little and gave her a dirty look.

  Guido seemed unfazed by her outburst. He held out the package for me to take. “Il capo.” He paused, fighting a grin. “He sent me to deliver a message. All that you need to begin is in the box.”

  “Does she get to work from home?” Keely egged him on, taking this situation more seriously since she knew I’d scored the job, whatever it was.

  “Instructions are in the package,” was all he said as he turned to leave.

  “Guido,” I called, my voice barely above a whisper.

  He stopped and turned to me. The sun hit his dark chocolate eyes and they glistened. Fucka me. What were these men eating in Italy? They were almost too good looking to be true.

  “What does il capo mean?” I asked.

  “It means the boss in Italian.” He laughed. He laughed all the way to his expensive, fast car.

  Gangsters with a sense of humor. Who knew?

  After I shut the door, I rested my back against it, because my knees felt like they had turned to putty. The box in my hands could have been a gift or an explosive device.

  “Mari,” Keely said, forcing my eyes on her. “This just got really serious. The Faustis!” She kept repeating the name like it would make them disappear if she said it enough.

  I held my pointer finger up. “Shh. I need a minute.”

  “I need a drink!” she said, and I knew she was going for Irish whiskey.

  I slid to the ground, letting my weight take me while the door braced me. After five minutes, ten hours—who knew?—with trembling fingers, I opened the box.

  A pair of really nice tennis shoes was tucked underneath a thin veil of paper. My size. A note sat on top of the pristine white shoes.

  Ms. Flores,

  You should always go into an important meeting with shoes that fit properly. A first impression can be your last.

  This is the first pair of many. The cost has already been deducted from your wages. Wear them. No excuses.

  I did for you. You’ll do for me next. This is not personal. Merely business.

  He signed off with “Capo.”

  “Smart ass,” I muttered.

  A smaller card was below the handwritten one listing the time and date of the meeting. Two days. Monday. 11:11 A.M. The address was listed in Manhattan, some swanky building, no doubt. A driver would be sent to “fetch” me.

  Fucka me.

  Was I really going to do this?

  My eye caught the swirl of amber liquid that suddenly appeared in my line of sight.

  Keely dangled a shot glass filled with whiskey in front of me. “I would tell you not to do this, but what good would it do?” She took a seat next to me on the floor, careful not to spill her own glass. She sighed, leaning her head against mine. “Promise me you’ll be safe?”

  I lifted my glass and she lifted hers. I couldn’t promise her something I had no control over. We clinked and then downed, not even bothering with a toast.

  9

  Mariposa

  Monday, 11:00 AM on the dot, I sat in the high-rise building, in some swanky office, in my plastic flip-flops, waiting
for Mr. Rocco Fausti to call me back into his office. His secretary gave me a strange look when I asked her what it was that Mr. Rocco Fausti did. There was no writing on the door.

  He was a lawyer, she had said, and judging by the riches around me, a very successful one.

  At 11:07 on the dot, Rocco Fausti came out of his office and greeted me. His accent was strong Italian, but not hard to understand. He held out his hand and I almost didn’t take it because I didn’t want to dirty his pretty skin. I felt like a kid about to soil some important marble statue with handprints.

  He was tall, much taller than me. His hair was black, his skin gold, and his eyes…sea green. His lashes were thick and black. His lips full. And he smelled…whatever equaled to better than good. His body. There was no hiding the muscular physique underneath the custom-made suit. Whoever this Capo was, he surrounded himself with beautiful people. Competent people.

  People unlike me.

  If I didn’t already know how basic I was in the looks department, and accepted it, maybe I’d have grown a complex.

  We passed what seemed like Rocco’s office—it smelled like him—stopping at a room with a long table in its center. There were twelve chairs situated around it, six on each side, and a circular tray in the middle with glasses and a pitcher of water. He gestured for me to take a seat close to the streak-free glass wall that stretched the backside of the room.

  Once I had, he took a seat at the head of the table, right next to me. A minute or two later, his secretary came in and delivered a file full of papers. Before she left, she poured three glasses of water, setting one in front of her boss, one in front of me, and one to the right of him. A third person would be joining us then.

  “Mr. Fausti?”

  He looked up from his papers, the green in his eyes sparking from the sunlight pouring through the windows. “Rocco will do.”

  I nodded. “Rocco. Why am I here?”

  While he stared at me, I took the glass of water, drinking some of it down.

  11:11 AM on the dot, the water went down wrong and I started choking. I shot out of my chair, waving my hands in front of my face, trying to fight the clog. The third person had walked into the room just as the water tried to go down.