Machiavellian: Gangsters of New York, Book 1

by Di Corte, Bella

Keely came down the street at the same time they walked toward her.

  Achille stopped, watching her walk past. It was hard not to notice her. She was a bright flame in complete darkness. Her hair was curly, wild, and flaming red, and she’d pulled it up on the sides, making her seem much taller than what she was. Drawn to her, maybe because he was so fucking cold, he watched her walk all the way to her car, where he noticed me sitting next to her. His eyes narrowed and he took a step closer. He whistled and his son and Bobby came to stand next to him. He nudged Bobby in the ribs.

  “Keely.” My voice came out so low that I made myself talk louder. “Get us the fuck out of here!”

  “You know them?” She narrowed her eyes in their direction, while she started the car.

  “Fucking go!” I shouted.

  “All right! All right!” She swerved into traffic, barely missing a taxicab. He shot us the bird as he whizzed past. Then he got in front of us and kept tapping on his brakes. “Was that the Scarpones?”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Fucker!” She laid on her horn. She whipped around the taxi driver, giving him the bird as she passed him up. Then she did the same thing to him. Cut him off and then started tapping on her brakes. “I’ve heard things. I was curious so I looked them up online. I didn’t find anything too juicy, but those tattoos mean something, don’t they?”

  “It doesn’t matter.” I waved off the tattoos, trying to downplay the fact that my husband had one, too. “They kept staring. It scared me.”

  “It should. They’re insane.”

  “Yeah, I got that.”

  “Bad news.” She blew out a breath. “No more figurines.”

  My heart pounded overtime, but at that, it sank. “What happened to them?”

  “Someone wiped them out.” She checked her outside mirror and then went a different way. “Maybe you can find another store that has them. They’re French, like you thought. Antiques. The seller said they’re rare. Expensive. He told me to try a place in Paris. He wrote down the name. I have it in my pocket. Maybe you can ask Scarlett if she knows anything about it. I remember her saying that she lived there for a while.”

  I shouldn’t have risked the trip for the figurines. I should’ve asked her to look when she was alone. When I wasn’t in the car. It bothered me that someone had bought them, but what bothered me even more was what I’d done.

  Maybe I’d put my husband in more danger. If Achille connected me to Italy, to Amadeo, maybe he’d make sense of something. Or become curious enough to find out what I was doing on his territory, after he’d seen me on the church steps in another country, the day of Nonno’s funeral.

  To make matters worse, the figurines were gone. The risk wasn’t even worth it.

  It took me a few minutes to realize we were headed in a familiar direction. “Where are we going, Kee?”

  “Harrison’s. I told him I’d swing by later, but then you called. I’ve been meaning to give him his baseball glove from when he was little. When we moved out of Mam’s place, somehow it got mixed with my stuff and I kept telling him I forgot it at home whenever he asked me for it. I took it to Home Run without telling him and had Caspar frame it with his old jersey. I was hoping to surprise him. I never bought him a house-warming gift. And he got a new puppy. I’ve been dying to see it.”

  “I don’t think that’s such a good idea, Kee. I should go home.”

  “Come on, Mari. You can still be friends with him. We don’t have to stay long.”

  I thought about it for a minute. If the Scarpones were tracking us, maybe it was better not to go home right away. I didn’t think they were. I’d been staring out of the outside mirror since we left, but chancing it wasn’t worth it. Maybe I’d have Giovanni pick me up from Harrison’s. Or better yet, wherever we went shopping after leaving his place. Yeah, that was a better idea. I wouldn’t even mention Harrison or the house on Staten Island.

  I didn’t want to have to deal with my husband’s fury when he found out that I’d slipped out without telling him right away, or any of the men at the house. I’d played them all and knew I was going to have hell to pay.

  24

  Capo

  Did she really think I wouldn’t find her? Just because she didn’t take her watch didn’t mean I couldn’t track her a different way.

  It didn’t take me long to find them. It didn’t take me long to realize where she’d gone first and who stared at my wife. The Scarpones. She must’ve realized it, too, because not long after her friend got back to the car, they took off like the devil was on their heels.

  He was, but the wrong one.

  I followed them to Staten Island. My gut told me they’d be headed that way. After her friend parked the car and they stepped out, Harry Boy met them at the door, the biggest fucking smile on his face when he noticed his sister wasn’t alone.

  The smile was for my wife.

  She smiled back, but not as wide. When he got closer, she held up her hand, and he looked at it a minute before he caught on. Instead of hugging him, she offered him a high five. His smile dropped a little, but I knew it wouldn’t deter him for long.

  Then a puppy came bounding out of the door, a white German shepherd. My wife sat on the porch, letting the dog attack her with his tongue, while she laughed that laugh that twisted my heart in a weird fucking way. Harry Boy ate it up with an invisible spoon.

  So this was where she went when she ran from me.

  She told me she loved me.

  She fucking loves me.

  Then she runs to her old stomping ground and into Harry Boy’s safe house.

  It took a lot to stump me, and Harry Boy was far from it. Even though he bought the house without me in mind, he knew someday, when we’d fight, she’d run to him—to a place she felt comfortable.

  Fuck. That.

  Fuck Harry Boy, too.

  Fuck love.

  Where is the loyalty she vowed to me?

  My wife stood, trying to keep the dog down, and then said something to Harry Boy. He made a gesture like, you don’t have to ask, and a second later, she disappeared behind the front door. His sister stood outside with him, putting her hand on his arm. Then she went to the car, dug around for a second, and after, brought him a framed picture of a baseball glove and a jersey.

  He hugged her, but the woman inside was more important.

  He said something to his sister. She said something back. And then he turned around in a circle, running his hands through his hair.

  I wondered if Harry Boy’s sister told him about my wife’s pregnancy.

  He didn’t seem happy. In fact, he was livid.

  I smiled.

  His sister nodded and then touched her stomach before she touched him on the arm, and when he waved her off, she left him outside by himself. She must’ve been confirming the news. Mariposa was pregnant with my child.

  The time was right. Tempers had ignited from both sides.

  With each step that I took, the clocks reversed, and I was seventeen again, going after my adversary. The one who kept trying me, but this time, it was over a woman, and that woman was my wife.

  There was a moment of clear clarity between my boots on his lawn and the first hit, but that shocking word flashed across my mind in that thin space. Jealousy. It felt like a poker right out of hell that wouldn’t stop stabbing me in a raw spot. I was jealous that this motherfucker had my wife’s attention.

  She refused to talk to me. She refused to look at me. She refused to feed me. She refused to sleep with me. She refused to fuck me. But here she was, strolling down memory lane with this loser, petting his hairy dog.

  He had seen me coming, so it was no surprise when my fist slammed into his face. I wasn’t here to kill him, but to fight him. Death was easier. This. This was fighting for her honor. I wanted him to know and to remember. I wanted him to remember my fist hitting his jaw when he thought about her.

  This fight felt like it was a long time coming.

  He
was giving just as much as I was. Before long, neighbors started bringing their lawn chairs out, watching us go at it like two snarling dogs on his front lawn, fighting over a piece of territory.

  “You stole her from me!” he grunted out.

  I landed a blow to his ribs, and the neighbors made a collective ooh sound. “She’s always been mine, Harry Boy. You couldn’t steal her even if you tried. She’s in my fucking front pocket.”

  He landed a blow to my mouth and one of the neighbors hooted. “I told her.” He swung at me again but missed. “When you fucked up, she’d be here with me. And where is she? In my house.”

  I rammed him like a bull with my head, right in the gut, and we went down to the ground, grunting, landing punches wherever we could.

  The first watery hit didn’t register, not until the cold clung to it. Adrenaline pumped in my veins and my blood ran hot. The sprays kept coming. Harry Boy jumped up first, lifting his hands in surrender, spitting blood from his mouth. I stood right after and received another sharp spray to my chest.

  His sister had the hose. “That’s enough!” she yelled. “The both of you!”

  “I—” Harry Boy went to defend his actions, no doubt, and his sister hit him with the spray again, this time in his mouth.

  “Harrison.” Her voice was mean. “Knock it off. You know I won’t let up until you stop with the excuses. Now get your ass inside before you catch cold!”

  “Sissy boy,” I muttered.

  She hit me with the hose again. “You! I’ll get you some dry clothes, but only if you shut it!”

  I narrowed my eyes at her, and she narrowed back. No wonder Cash Kelly wanted her. She wasn’t fucking playing around. She was an archer, too, and from what Mariposa had told me, she had unchallenged aim.

  Instead of staring at her, I looked toward the porch, where my wife stood, holding on to the railing. The dog sat next to her, looking up, tongue hanging out. She had his loyalty already.

  “What are you doing here, mio marito?”

  Not Capo. My husband. Not that I minded, but she refused to use my name, my real name. The one she’d given me. It was the only name I called mine.

  Her friend took the hose and started rolling it up, going to the side of the house. Giving us privacy but not.

  “I’ve come to collect my wife. She ran out on me.”

  “No.” She bit her lip and shook her head. “I needed some space.”

  “There’s enough of that between us.”

  “You’re not mad that I left on my own?”

  “No. I’m not mad.” I rolled my teeth over my bottom lip. “I’m livid.”

  She watched me for a moment. The sun fell on her just right, and something in my heart twisted again. Her sweater showed the bulge of her growing stomach. I swallowed hard, ignoring the fact that my throat strained.

  “You’re owed that,” she said.

  “But nothing else.”

  “No, that’s the problem. You’re owed everything.”

  I took a step toward her. She didn’t move. She stood her ground while my entire world rocked.

  “You owe me nothing,” I said.

  “Not even loyalty?”

  “You give it if you want to.” I took another step toward her. This time she went right, toward the steps, and after I took a step up, she looked down at me. “I refuse to accept anything that’s not given anymore.”

  “From me?”

  “Only from you. I’ll take what I want from the rest of the world and not give a fuck. But you, if it’s good, I want you to give it, and once you do, never take it back.”

  She nodded. “I didn’t come here to see—”

  “It doesn’t matter.” In that moment, it didn’t. Being close to her again felt like living to me. Her absence in my life felt like death. True death. I knew the difference.

  “It doesn’t?”

  I stopped when I was right below her and fell to my knees on the steps. “I don’t bend. I don’t fucking break. I kneel for no mere man on this earth.” I didn’t look at her, so I used my fingers to guide me. I took her hips in my hands and rested my forehead against her stomach. “Except for you, Mariposa. You can bend me. You can break me. You are the only woman who has the power to bring me to my knees. I need your mercy.”

  “You wounded me deep,” she whispered, a tear slipping down her cheek, landing on my arm. It wounded me deeper than the scar around my neck. It broke the heart I’d had no idea I had until her. “You should’ve told me. Why didn’t you?”

  “This.” My voice was shredded. I held on to her tighter. “Us.”

  She ran her hands through my hair, kissing the top of my head. “I love you, Capo. I’m so in love with you that it’s hard to breathe sometimes. You…crash into me and I want to be swept away. I don’t care if I drown in you. Per sempre. And I don’t love you because of loyalty either. I love you because I…just…love you.”

  I looked up at her, and her eyes were so damn sincere. It wasn’t easy for her to say those words, but she did with a honeyed tongue. Maybe she thought she was hurting me again. Or maybe she was trying to heal something no one else ever could.

  “I didn’t come here to run away from you, Capo. Keely wanted to give Harrison a gift that has been in her trunk for too long. I went inside because I had to use the bathroom. The baby.” She touched her stomach. “That’s it.”

  “Have you seen that car before?” Her friend appeared from the side of the house, looking toward the street.

  Mariposa and I both looked at the same time. It was a typical car, meaning nothing stood out about it, except for the tinted windows. I stood, keeping Mariposa behind me.

  “No.” Mariposa peeked around me. “I haven’t.”

  “I have,” Keely said. “It’s passed a few times.”

  The window started to roll down.

  “Down!” I roared. I pushed my wife to the ground, but her friend froze, watching as the gun pointed toward the house, about to spray bullets all over the front porch.

  I jumped on her, bringing her down just as the first spray of bullets crashed into the house. From my place on the ground, I pulled out the gun from behind my back, aiming for the tires.

  Target hit, two of them blew out. As soon as the car came to a stop, I jumped to my feet, watching the doors. Two men jumped out, and before I could take them out, the driver put a bullet in the passenger’s brain. He must’ve had orders, and those orders were to make sure that no one talked. Including the guy in the passenger seat.

  This was retribution from either the Irish or the Scarpones. The Irish were at war. Cash was battling for the streets of Hell’s Kitchen after his old man had been murdered. Or Achille had somehow tracked my wife to this house. His whiz kid son probably found something that tied her friend’s car to this place. I’d been too busy fighting an internal war when I should’ve been present in the physical one.

  I was about to find out who the man belonged to, but before I could, more racket came from the house, and when I turned to look, it was Harry Boy, gun in his hand, aimed at the driver’s chest. The driver was about to take off on foot, but for some reason had turned toward the house again.

  Harry Boy must’ve come outside sometime during the attack, his body over my wife’s. Not going to lie. He had decent aim, but the motherfucker made a grave mistake. He killed the asshole before I had a chance to grill him.

  The dog whined from inside, wanting to be let out. After Harry Boy sat up, my wife tilted from left to right for a second, blinking.

  “Mariposa.” I got down on one knee next to her and touched her face. When she focused on me, I ran my hands all over her body. “You’re fine.”

  She nodded but pointed to my arm. “You’ve been shot!”

  “I’m all right. Get in the house.”

  Harry Boy helped his sister from the ground, and after she made it up the steps, she told me she’d take Mariposa into the house.

  Harry Boy followed me as I approached the car. If this was
a gift from the Scarpones, there might be a camera in the mirror. The Scarpones sometimes required proof that the hit they ordered was carried out. They started this after my death. They didn’t want more than one ghost lurking around. I doubted this particular car had a camera, though. It wasn’t one of their cars—they were fond of cars with deep trunks—but then again, maybe they were trying to do something different.

  Achille’s youngest son, a whiz kid, was the one who monitored the cameras. He had a twin brother who was ten minutes older than him. The whiz kid knew how to make evidence disappear after they got what they wanted.

  Either way, they wouldn’t get a good look at my face. Not today.

  I took out my phone and texted Harry Boy so he could get in touch. “Let me know how this plays out.”

  “How’d you get my number?”

  I waved him off. “Call Kelly and fill him in. He needs to know about this. There’s no telling who he fucked with and pissed off. This might be retribution in the form of a life he considers important to him.”

  “How did you know about—”

  “Get to work, Harry Boy. It’s not safe to chat in the street.”

  Sirens grew closer. I needed to get my wife and get out.

  “Mac?” Harry Boy called.

  I didn’t even turn around.

  “You saved my sister.”

  “Make sure you tell Kelly he has a tab.”

  25

  Mariposa

  “Capo,” I said, squeezing his hand. “Talk to me.”

  He’d rushed me out of Harrison’s house, given me the keys to a truck that seemed faster than a sports car, and had told me to drive.

  He gave me directions, but it was to a place I’d never been before. He called Uncle Tito and told him to meet us at the “rendezvous” spot.

  After he hung up, I kept talking to him because the amount of blood he was losing scared me. He told me it was a good thing Keely had hosed him down with cold water and it was freezing outside. The cold worked like a tourniquet to slow his bleeding. I wanted to put the heater on in the car, but he refused to let me.