Machiavellian: Gangsters of New York, Book 1

by Di Corte, Bella

  When the men grew closer, Capo pressed even harder, and then came down and kissed me, the hand with the tattoo in my hair. As they passed, I could smell whiskey like a fire in the air.

  Capo’s entire body trembled beneath my hands. He was sweating. And after the men had gone, I truly noticed his eyes. His pupils were dilated, all of the blue chased out by black, and he looked…mad. Not angry, but almost insane.

  Four more men came from the alley a second later, and it felt like my heart was stuck in my throat. The brick dug into my back from the pressure.

  These guys were younger, and they didn’t even bother to look at us. One of them looked familiar to me, though. He reminded me of Armino Scarpone. I tried to see if any of them had the wolf tattoo, but they moved too fast, leaving behind strong scents from the restaurant.

  It still wasn’t made clear to me how my husband knew the Scarpones, or what he’d done for them, and why he had saved me from them, apart from the fact that he felt I was innocent in whatever war my father had gotten himself into. Capo had told me that much. My father’s actions had set the Scarpones on my mother and me. We were to pay for his sins.

  Even after the men had gone, Capo still held me against the wall, not moving. It was getting hard for me to breathe. “Capo,” I whispered, sliding my hands underneath his arms. “It’s all right. Come on. Let’s find somewhere else to eat.”

  He didn’t answer me. It was freaking me out. He had never acted this way before.

  “Capo,” I tried again. “I’m cold. We can eat at home.” I squeezed his coat, resting my head against his chest. I kissed him there, hoping he felt it. “We have leftover lasagne al forno. Let’s just go home. Call Giovanni and have him pick us up. I’ll press the button on my watch.”

  Finally, his hands covered mine. He pulled me to the side of him, almost making me stumble, and before I could say another word, he forced me to walk. Keep up with him was more like it. As we passed the alleyway, he moved me faster. Not fast enough that my eyes missed it, though. The area seemed colder, and steam rose in white, ghostly shapes from the kitchen. I shivered, and goosebumps rose on my arms.

  I had no idea why the sight of it scared me, but that night, I had a nightmare.

  Capo’s blood collected on the cement right outside of the kitchen in large, dark pools. The smell of iron was thick in the air. His eyes were too blue for his pale face. His lips were almost white. The rosary I’d given him was clutched in his bloodstained hands. His warm breath in the cold night made fog.

  Once. Twice. Then he took his final breath.

  His third breath. The devil comes in threes.

  My limbs were too heavy to move. Frozen solid. I couldn’t save him, and I screamed out in agony—the same noise that I’d heard from one of the zia’s when they closed Nonno’s coffin. Someone had taken my Capo away from me and torn my soul in two.

  Forcing my eyes open, I reached out for Capo with one hand, and with my other, the rosary on the bedside table. As I set the light beside the bed on the softest setting, my eyes were drawn to a spot on the rosary that was stained with what looked like rust. His old watch had stains of the same color.

  A sob almost tore out of my throat when I realized it wasn’t rust, but blood.

  23

  Mariposa

  February was brutal with cold. No matter how many layers I wore, I still felt the chill. But I often wondered if it had to do with the weather, or the freeze that had settled over us after what happened in December, after Keely’s Broadway debut.

  Capo had never felt so far from me. He worked more than he ever had, and not once had he brought up the baby. I knew that it was my decision. He was my responsibility in the real sense, but I was hoping Capo would at least show some kind of emotion toward having a son. I hoped that someday he would look at him with more on his mind than what Rocco had called him in the meeting—Capo’s financial responsibility.

  A son. He. The ultrasound technician had said that, even though there was a possibility she could be wrong—we still had what she called the “big ultrasound” to confirm—the tech was almost positive the baby was a boy. His tiny parts were already visible to her. Capo had come with me to that appointment, and it was the first time since Dolce that I’d seen some kind of emotion flicker across his face. It died as soon as we were out of the doctor’s office.

  I tried to talk to him about it, about everything, but he’d always change the subject. I wasn’t any closer to the “heart” and the “veins” he had promised me during our arrangement meeting.

  When? I often wondered. When will he trust me enough to share his secrets?

  Whatever happened that night in front of Dolce had hardened him, and I found myself on the outside again. He had drawn a hard line without giving me an explanation, setting us back. His demands on me became harder, too. The places I could go were limited. The Faustis sent in more reinforcements to watch over our place. And Giovanni was on higher alert at all times, to the point where I felt smothered.

  I couldn’t take it anymore, so I decided to call Keely and ask her if she wanted to grab a bite to eat. We agreed to eat at Macchiavello’s. Giovanni deemed it safe since it was listed on his “allowed places to go” sheet.

  “I’m driving,” I said to Giovanni. Capo had surprised me with a candy-apple red Ferrari Portofino for Christmas. It was automatic, so I wouldn’t have a problem with gears. He had taught me how to drive in Italy. He’d even made some joke about keeping me off the main roads until I was a safe enough driver to not run some poor three-wheeled car off the mountainside. I hadn’t driven the Ferrari yet, and I wanted to. It seemed like the perfect time.

  I needed some kind of control in my life. I needed to… just do without having to get permission from a man who reminded me of an Italian version of Shrek. Keely had put the thought in my head after she had seen Giovanni. She wanted to know why I got the ogre when everyone else had Italian gods to guard them.

  Giovanni really didn’t look like Shrek. I tilted my head. Much.

  “Not today, Mrs. Macchiavello.” Giovanni swiped the keys from my hand too fast for me to even jerk them back. “Mac’s orders.”

  Forget looks. He acted more like Shrek at the beginning of the first movie. Instead of get out of my swamp! it was gimme those keys!

  I called Mac. “Why can’t I drive?”

  He sighed. Impatient. “It’s not safe. I’ll see you tonight.”

  I looked down at my phone. He had hung up. “Uomo scortese.” I stuck my tongue at his picture on my screen. I had taken it of him in Greece, his eyes challenging the water for who wore the color blue best.

  Giovanni’s mouth twitched. He didn’t want to outright laugh. I had called his boss a rude man.

  We beat most of the traffic and made it to the restaurant at the same time Keely did. Bruno looked up from where he was cleaning a table. His eyes flew back to the dirty dish he was placing on a tray when he realized it was the bug, me.

  We were brought to the private room. The man who usually waited on Capo, Sylvester, came in, taking our orders. Keely and I had the steak. It was cold out, and besides, the crab dish was seasonal. When Sylvester came back in with Keely’s drink, she stopped him before he left.

  “Wait. What do you want to drink, Mari?”

  I lifted my water. “This.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “You’re not getting a cocktail? They’re so—” Her eyes widened.

  Sylvester left without a sound. So quiet compared to Keely’s screech.

  She slapped the table. “You’re pregnant!”

  I smiled and gave her all of the details.

  “I’m going to be an aunt!” She lifted her glass, toasting to me, to every chair along the table, pretending like there were people sitting in each one. “That baby is going to be so pretty.” She took a sip of her drink. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

  I shrugged, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “The thing with Harrison—I didn’t want things to get more aw
kward. I’ve been…staying away. I don’t want to lose you. And I don’t want to make him feel bad.”

  She watched me for a minute before she held my hand. “Things have been different, right? I’ve been giving him time. You, too. But no matter what, you’re my sister till the end.”

  I squeezed her hand and we both smiled.

  After our dinner came, conversation flowed, as easy as it ever was. This time, though, both of our lives seemed to be moving in the right direction, and it was fun to talk about all of the positive things instead of survival tips. We laughed more than we ever did.

  I asked her questions about Broadway. She asked me questions about Capo and the baby.

  “Is he excited?”

  I shrugged. “Hard to tell. He’s been working a lot.”

  She still didn’t know about our arrangement, so it was hard to open up. I couldn’t tell her a version of the truth without giving her the complete truth.

  “Hmm.” She took another drink. “You’re not being totally honest. I’ve kept quiet long enough. I know he loves you, Mari, but you’ve been keeping something from me.”

  My fork hit the plate with a loud clang! when it fell from my fingers. “He loves me.”

  She threw back her head and laughed. “Duh. You goof. He’s your husband. Of course he loves you. At least, I’d hope so. Or why would he marry you? Just for your smoking bod? You have one, but in New York, and with a man as fine as him, bodies are a dime a dozen. There has to be more. Animal attraction. True love. I see and feel both.”

  I didn’t want to seem overly excited, so I kept my tone even. “You can?”

  “Actions, Mari. Not words. I can tell by his actions. I saw the look on Capo’s face when Harrison confessed his undying love for you in the kitchen. Jealousy is a mean bitch, and she was slapping Capo all around. Then in Italy. The way he’d look at you when you weren’t looking. When you walked down the aisle? I doubt anyone else existed in that moment. I could tell the wait was killing him. One of his gorgeous friends— Rocco?— had to put a hand on his shoulder to keep him in place.” She sighed. “Your first dance. The way he was rubbing your feet under the arbor.”

  “You saw that?”

  “Yeah. I sent the photographer over to take a picture. I didn’t want you guys to see. It was so...touching.”

  “That’s one of my favorite pictures,” I said.

  She smiled at me. “I’ve never seen you so happy, Mari. And honestly.” She looked around. “I know it has nothing to do with…all of this. Money seems like the answer to everything when you have none, but when you’ve been hungry for more, for things like passion and love, even security, you find out what you were truly starved for when you get what you never knew you wanted or needed.”

  She was right. I couldn’t measure my hunger for love and passion when it had been overshadowed by basic survival. Fear sucked the life out of everything.

  Fear of being too cold or too hot.

  Fear of being attacked on the streets and having no one to protect you.

  Fear of becoming so hungry that’d you resort to digging in the trash.

  Fear of dying before truly living.

  I took a sip of my water and looked out of the peeper window. My breath caught in my throat. Achille Scarpone sat right next to the mirror, laughing with one of the young guys from the alley. The young guy had a wolf tattoo on his hand, too.

  Keely turned to see what I was looking at. “That’s kind of creepy.” She scrunched up her nose. “It’s not as bad as having one in the bathroom, or in a dressing room, but still, I’d hate it if I was eating and someone I didn’t know was watching me without me knowing.”

  “You wouldn’t hate it,” I said. “You wouldn’t know.”

  “You know what I mean.” She squinted. “Capo has a tattoo like that. Do they know each other? What does it mean?”

  “I don’t know,” I whispered, like Achille could hear me. “He’s not a friendly, though.”

  A minute later, the young guy put his elbow on the table and Achille did, too. The younger guy got up after they shook and moved out of the window’s frame. Maybe he had left? Achille stuck around, ordering another drink from the waitress.

  I hit the side button on my watch, the screen turning into a touchscreen keyboard, and sent Capo a text. One of the men from Italy is here. Sitting right outside of the peeper window. Achille. I hoped that I’d spelled his name right. It was odd. A-kill-ee.

  My watch lit up a second later. Stay in our private room. I’m on my way.

  A knock came at the door and I looked up. Sylvester. “Mrs. Macchiavello, I hate to disturb you, but Detective Stone requests a word with you.”

  I stared at Sylvester for a moment. What fucking timing. Detective Stone wasn’t allowed in this room. It was used exclusively for Capo and his guests. Stone was not on the guest list. And if I met him out front, Achille might see me and recognize me, and then maybe he’d hang around more. The thought of being close to him made the steak feel like jerky stuck in my throat.

  “Can he come back? I’m having dinner.” It was almost gone, but he didn’t know that. “Or have him call and make an appointment.”

  “No.” Sylvester shook his head. “He says he needs to speak to you now. If you are eating, he will wait until you finish dinner.”

  “Have him meet me in the kitchen,” I said.

  “I’m going to get going.” Keely stood abruptly, throwing her purse over her shoulder. She gave me a hard kiss on the head. “Call me tomorrow. We’ll go shopping soon for our baby boy.”

  “Keely.” I stopped her. “What’s going on with you and Stone? Is that why he’s here?”

  “Nothing. Between us, I mean. I’m not sure why he’s here. If it’s about me, tell him you have no idea what’s going on.”

  “I don’t.”

  “You’re better off.” She threw me a kiss and then left.

  Giovanni escorted me to the kitchen, his hold tighter than normal.

  “Do you think I’m going to run to him?” I yanked my arm out of his grip.

  “I apologize,” he said. “Detective Stone wants to speak to you. Alone.”

  “What for?”

  Giovanni shrugged. “Mac is not going to like this.”

  “Let’s hope I can answer his questions before Mac gets here.” I entered into the kitchen alone. It bustled, and all of the hustling bodies and stoves made it feel like a degree before hell.

  Detective Stone stood in the corner, trying to stand out of the way, and when he noticed me, he called me with a finger.

  Before I could get to him, I overheard Bruno talking to one of the other busboys. He was talking about how he couldn’t wait for someone to take “Mac” out. He hoped Stone would do it.

  I tapped him on the shoulder. He froze. A second or two later, he turned around slowly, facing me.

  “You’re fired,” I said. “Gossiping about my husband’s business is not tolerated. You signed the agreement when you started working here. Get your shit and go.”

  “Fired?” he repeated.

  I opened my eyes wide, trying to press the point. “Do you need a dictionary?”

  His face turned a mean shade of red. He opened his mouth to say something, but then he closed it as soon as Stone came close to us. Bruno turned and left, and after, a few of the kitchen staff applauded softly.

  Stone took me by the arm after the kitchen drama and led me outside. I protested, but it was no use. He said that he refused to speak inside of the restaurant. Why? Then I worried about Achille rounding the corner, seeing me. He couldn’t kill me in front of a detective, could he? I guess that depends on if Stone is in his pocket, I thought cynically.

  “You could’ve let me grab my coat!” I crossed my arms over my chest, trying to ward off the cold. It was like going from one side of hell to another in the span of a second. “What’s this about?”

  “Where’s Keely?”

  “I don’t know.” I shrugged. “If it’s Keely you w
ant, go find her. It’s freezing out here!”

  “What do you know about Cashel Kelly?”

  “Besides his name? Nothing.” I held up a hand. “Honest.”

  He watched my face for any signs of dishonesty for a minute. Maybe looking for a tell? I stuck my hands in my pockets, not wanting to fidget.

  “It seems like you girls keep a lot of secrets from each other. I thought ya’ll were friends.”

  “You’re right. We’re not. We’re sisters.”

  “Well, that makes more sense. Sisters don’t always get along as well as friends.”

  “Is this visit about Keely?” Smoke purled out of my mouth.

  “Yes and no.” He watched me again, this time with his hands on his hips. He had a coat on. Gloves. A hat. Maybe he thought if he made me stand out in the cold I’d break sooner. “Do you girls always go for the bad boys you’ll never be able to change?”

  “That sounds like a lot of nonsense to me, Detective Stone.”

  “I’m a little late on the congratulations, Mrs. Macchiavello. I heard you married Mac Macchiavello, one of the richest men in New York. He’s a man whose face is rarely seen. He glides just under the lines.”

  “No need to wish me well in my marriage. You hardly know me. And again, nonsense. I’m out here freezing my ass off for nonsense.”

  “What do you know about the Scarpone family, Mrs. Macchiavello?”

  “At this moment? One of them is sitting inside of the restaurant. Having dinner.”

  “His name is Achille Scarpone. He’s Arturo Scarpone’s youngest son.”

  “I assume the other guy that was in there with Achille a few minutes ago is Arturo’s—”

  “Grandson,” Stone answered for me. “Achille Scarpone has four sons. Well. Had. You remember Armino Scarpone?”

  “Yeah.”

  “He’s presumed dead.” He let that hang in the air between us.

  “So…?”

  “So. It seems like ever since you hooked up with Mac Macchiavello, everyone who has threatened you in some way has disappeared.”

  “Like who?” I lied.