Bene (The Guzzi Legacy Book 5)

by Bethany-Kris

  Really, she could tell what the woman wanted because it was written clearly all over her face. She needed to get the hell out of that room, and away from Mario. The same exact thing that Vanna wanted, but was unable to achieve, now.

  For the rest of my life.

  She didn’t fault the woman.

  No.

  Simply envied her freedom.

  “No problem.”

  Courtney wasn’t gone from the room for more than a few seconds before Mario took another step toward Vanna. Even if she couldn’t see his goddamn figure in the mirror, she could still feel his presence. Oh, she was still able to sleep in the bed adjacent to his bedroom. He had yet to force her into anything, but it was coming. Every day, his control snapped a little more, and he crossed yet another line.

  How would it be on the wedding night?

  That terrified her.

  Even if she wouldn’t admit it.

  Mario came to stand directly behind her, his thumb skimming across the back of her neck as he admired the sight of her in the red lace. “Look at you, huh?”

  She shivered.

  Not from lust, though.

  The disgust was strong.

  “Could you not?”

  His hand landed to the side of her neck at that response, flexing tightly enough to take Vanna’s breath away, but not quite hard enough to hurt. After all, he left that for places where his marks and bruises wouldn’t be seen by others. They were getting married in a month and had dinner after dinner to attend leading up to it which meant dresses, and blouses that would show off the column of her neck.

  Makeup could only do so much.

  “That mouth of yours …”

  “What about it?”

  She was done playing games.

  Done playing along.

  If he was going to hurt her, force her into this life with him, and do whatever the fuck he wanted with her, then he was going to have to fight for every piece he took from her. She settled herself on that, and it wasn’t changing. She would give him nothing willingly.

  Not after everything.

  His fingers tightened again, almost hurting, as he leaned in close enough to murmur in her ear, “Don’t worry—your mouth will pay for every comment you make to me. You’ll only act like an ungrateful bitch for so long before you’ll either learn to like the pain, or straighten up. It’s your choice, Vanna, so choose wisely.”

  Fuck him.

  That time, she didn’t even bother to give him the decency of a response. However, if he wanted one, she couldn’t be sure because the ringing of his cell phone coming from his bedroom across the hall had him spinning away from her without hesitation. Vanna might have breathed a sigh in relief, but she knew it would only last so long.

  He would be back.

  They both lived here.

  This was her hell now.

  Not sure how long it would take Courtney to get back with the wedding dress, Vanna decided to step out of the bedroom she used to sleep in, and head down to the bathroom where she left her silk robe the night before. Then, at least if Mario came back before the seamstress, she would be slightly more covered from his view.

  Coming back down the hallway, Vanna heard quiet murmurs coming from Mario’s bedroom. Not unusual, if he was chatting on the phone. He’d even closed his door, or tried, but it looked as through it caught on the tip of a shoe. The man was a total mess in his private spaces, and she didn’t have the first clue how he could stand to be around it. Like a hurricane constantly went through his room, everything was everywhere.

  Shoes kicked off where they fell, clothes tossed anywhere they landed, and more. For someone who looked so put together on the outside, Mario was a mess otherwise. Or maybe it was that he was just a spoiled man who needed someone to follow him constantly and pick up his shit like his mother had done his entire life.

  The woman did come over to clean.

  Often.

  Although, his mother was quick to let Vanna know that once the two of them were married, it would be her responsibility to keep the house, and the man, in appropriate condition.

  Right.

  She kept it in mind.

  Not.

  Vanna stopped directly outside of Mario’s bedroom instead of turning right to enter her bedroom. Not because he was talking on the phone, he did that all the time, but because of the voice that spoke back to him.

  He thought he closed his door.

  And put his phone on speaker.

  The idiot.

  Constable Keefs—the detective Vanna had been feeding information on the Guzzis—spoke to Mario as if the two of them were familiar, and this wasn’t the first time they had a conversation with one another. She wanted to be surprised as she neared the crack in the door, and listened to them share a few words, but she couldn’t be.

  As Vanna had come to learn, Mario knew a lot.

  About her.

  The shit she did behind his back.

  Her life away from him.

  The man watched her more than she thought, and it only landed her in hot water. She was more interested in why Mario would do something insane like risk being attached to a cop, even if said cop was a fucking dirty bastard.

  His next comment to Keefs on the phone explained exactly why. “No, with the Guzzis distracted elsewhere, they can’t cover all their points of business, which is giving our clan ample time to creep in where they can’t be at the moment. And yes, you’ll certainly be reimbursed for your help here. I never thought she would take the bait like that, but Vanna has a way of surprising me whenever I think I have her figured out.”

  Oh.

  That was it, huh?

  Her meeting with Keefs wasn’t because he thought she would be the perfect informant for his purpose, but because Mario thought she would be the easy ploy to use to further his endgame? Just how long had he known what she was doing with Bene?

  The whole time, she bet.

  Asshole.

  Vanna had a good mind to enter his bedroom, and let him know she heard everything, but the smarter part of her brain had a better idea. Spinning on her heel, she headed for her bedroom as fast as she could go without making noise. A sense of victory spread in her heart at the item the seamstress had left sitting on the table next to the bed.

  Her phone.

  Vanna no longer had one of her own. Mario took it from her, and refused to give it back, citing the fact she could use it to call that Guzzi bastard as a reason. Like he couldn’t just check her history and go through everything if he wanted it. Really, she figured it was just another way for him to control her.

  Nonetheless, someone else’s phone would do the job, and she’d noticed that the seamstress didn’t seem to keep her device locked with anything more than a swipe on the home screen. Knowing how dangerous it was, and if she was caught … well, she might not make it to her wedding, not that she cared, Vanna headed back across the hall with the phone in hand. She already had the text messages up, and a familiar phone number typed in to ready for sending. Putting the video on record, she stuck the phone into the crack of the door, letting it pick up any sounds of the conversation Mario was still having with the detective.

  Had she missed the good bits?

  The stuff that might help?

  Vanna didn’t know.

  But she had to try.

  A part of her heart had never given up hope that she could somehow fix this mess she made—that eventually, Bene would hear her apologies, and understand that she knew she had made a horrible mistake.

  This wasn’t the apology, but it might help him. It wouldn’t get her out of the marriage, but it very well might help his family somehow. And if it meant sacrificing herself, if he only used what she sent him to help his family and not her … well, Vanna would understand.

  She wouldn’t blame him at all.

  The phone sent through the first recording, stopping at the max time it could record before it started recording again.

  “And you’r
e still good with the ten thousand a week transferred into the account?” Mario asked.

  Keefs was quick to respond with, “Well, if you’re doing better because of my work, then I’m not opposed to you paying me for advancement.”

  “Is that a demand, or—”

  “It’s whatever you want it to mean, Mario. I’m not sure how your father would feel about the fact you worked with a cop to get your clan further ahead in controlling Toronto, but if you think he’d like to sit down with me and have a chat about it, I am willing to do that.”

  “No need,” Mario muttered gruffly, “an extra ten percent on top of the pile, then?”

  “That’ll work.”

  “It’ll be in the next payment.”

  The phone automatically sent the next text message.

  Vanna couldn’t afford to record more, however. Downstairs, she heard the front door to the house close, letting her know the seamstress was done with her break—it was never about going to get the dress, she knew—and was now coming back.

  Not wanting to risk it, Vanna headed back to the bedroom, texting a simple, I’m sorry, Bene, and I hope this helps. Don’t respond, it’s not my phone. –V.

  Bene would know who it was. He could do with it what he wanted. She had done what she could. It took all of ten seconds for Vanna to go back and delete the text message thread so that the seamstress wouldn’t know someone used her phone.

  And by the time the seamstress was back in the bedroom, Vanna was already pulling down the straps of the red lace bra, readying to slip into the wedding dress that would surely feel more like a prison than it would a fairy tale.

  Not that she could focus on those thoughts—her heart couldn’t afford it, and she was not going to become that blubbering, weak woman who just gave in. That wasn’t her, and it wouldn’t be her simply because everything felt hopeless right now. Besides, she was already heartsick, it simply wasn’t over the man she would marry in a month.

  No, it was over the one she couldn’t have.

  The one she hurt.

  The one she’d been meant to hate.

  Every single night … Vanna cried for him. When no one could see, and no one would know, she broke down. She allowed herself to think of him, their short time together, and what might have been. He filled her thoughts all the time—day in and day out—but it was only at night, when she was truly alone, that she let herself be weak over it.

  In a way, it felt like a punishment.

  One she deserved, after everything.

  He probably hated her now.

  She deserved it.

  And no matter what, she would do everything to help Bene fix this mess she made. At the risk of her own life, she would do it.

  Today wouldn’t be the first time.

  Vanna settled on that.

  What else could she do?

  “All right,” Courtney said, tossing the wedding dress in its protective bag across the bed, “let’s get this on, and do a quick fitting. I suspect this will be the only one we’ll have to do, considering you’re quite trim, and haven’t changed in size since last month when you picked the dress.”

  She hadn’t picked it.

  Mario’s mother did.

  Vanna didn’t correct the woman.

  “Sure,” she said, turning away from the mirror.

  “And be quick about it,” came Mario’s order from the doorway. Vanna met his stare, and he raised an eyebrow right back at her. It didn’t seem like he was aware she knew his secret, or that she had been spying on him. “Because we have dinner at my parents with the rest of the clan in two hours, and I don’t want to be late.”

  If the clan would be there, then business was happening.

  Or talks of it.

  Vanna wondered … what else she might be able to collect about the Detti Camorra? No doubt, a lot if she cared to try. She had focused on gathering damaging information on the Guzzi family, but tides changed all the time.

  Right?

  Vanna smiled at Mario. “Can’t wait.”

  “Unless something happens to Constable Keefs,” Marcus said, “seeing as he’s acting as the verifying witness to the information that was provided by the … informant, and he’s the only one that can prove those documents came from your office seeing as how your name wasn’t actually on the contract for the farms well—”

  “We can’t kill him,” Beni snapped. Still on his sabbatical from Chicago to help them out until their father was released, or otherwise, Bene’s twin had to state the obvious. Which only earned him a glare from Marcus. “I’m just saying, we can’t do that, but you posed the statement like it might be an option.”

  “I didn’t pose anything,” Marcus replied heatedly.

  “Relax,” Chris muttered, “both of you.”

  In the corner of the room, standing in the only portion of shadows, Corrado scrubbed a hand down his face, his sigh echoing. “Marcus and Beni are both right. I mean, if you want to get technical, and Chris has a point—stop snapping at one another. It doesn’t help, and it gives me a fucking headache.”

  “You,” their father said from behind the metal table where his hands rested on the top, wrists cuffed, and connected to a bitch link in the middle, so he couldn’t even stand from his position, “need to go back home to Ginevra, Les, and the baby.”

  Corrado dead-stared their father, saying nothing. His lack of words said it all, anyway. He, like the rest of them, wasn’t going anywhere until this was said and done. Until they either got their father out of jail, and off these bullshit charges of wire fraud and attempted money laundering, or they figured something else out. Which so far, was proving impossible.

  “As I said,” Corrado drawled slowly, turning his attention back to their brothers, “Marcus is right in that something has to be done about the detective. Constable Keefs is the star witness to all of this, it’ll be his word that seals the deal on the authenticity of the photos of the documents taken from Papa’s office. The only thing saving us right now is the fact that when they raided the house, all of those documents had already been destroyed. So, what they have is his word, and if they don’t even have that …”

  Yes, because their father only kept something that showed illegal activity just long enough to look it over, do what he needed with it, and then he burned everything. Keefs was the only person, considering the informant—Vanna—was no longer cooperating with the investigation.

  Apparently, for the protection of the anonymous witness, as the police had stated in their last media conference, they would not force her in to testifying when they had enough using the Constable on the stand for trail, should they make it that far.

  “Except we can’t kill him,” Chris said to Corrado.

  “No, and Beni was right on that, Marcus, so chill.”

  Marcus, the only one of the five brothers sitting at the metal table with their father, considering there had only been two uncomfortably hard chairs placed in the private conference room at the jail for them to visit with their dad, scowled but stayed quiet. Because he knew Corrado and Beni were right, no doubt, but it still pissed him off a great deal.

  Bene didn’t blame him.

  “Killing him,” Corrado continued, ignoring their oldest brother’s attitude, “would instantly come back to us, no matter how we framed it. And when we get Papa off these charges, because we will somehow, we need as little attention on us as possible. Then, he can slip back under the radar, and we won’t have someone up our asses every single time we do business. It’s the smart thing to do, but killing that bastard? That’ll ruin everything. We need to figure out another way to make the detective unreliable to his superiors and the judge.”

  Things were not simple.

  It wouldn’t be easy.

  This was bad all around.

  No one needed to say that out loud for the rest of them to know it was true. Whenever they were around their ma or dad, the boys kept an upbeat demeanor. They never made it seem like this was a hopeless situati
on, and Gian would be stuck right where he was until he was found guilty, and then moved to a prison. Never did they suggest to their ma that her husband wouldn’t be coming home to her.

  Still, there was a chance.

  They were running out of time to figure it out.

  “I hate that detective,” Gian muttered. “Just like his fucking partner years ago. They’re cut from the same cloth, and it isn’t like ours.”

  Bene did well to keep his mouth shut at his father’s comment. Not that Gian was wrong—he also wasn’t entirely right. The phone burning a goddamn hole in his pocket constantly would confirm that, given the recorded phone call Vanna sent him a couple of weeks prior. The detective was just as bad as any of them when it came to dirty money and bribery, but he liked for everyone else to think he was the good guy cop at the same time.

  Still, he kept his mouth shut.

  Now wasn’t the time.

  And … well, if he were honest, it wouldn’t end well for Bene if he outed to his brothers and father during their weekly jail visit that he was still—even if it was only through random text messages from phone numbers he didn’t recognize—attached to Vanna Falco. No, he wasn’t seeing her, and he sure as hell wasn’t fucking her, even if she made regular appearances in his dreams, but he was in contact with her.

  He was using her for all she gave.

  She was willing.

  He had to do something for his family because no one else was getting anything done on their side of things. Their father was still in jail, his first bond hearing denied because he was considered a high flight risk what with his available funds and ties all over the world. His brothers pulled every single string they had, called in every contact they might be able to use, and still nothing.

  So yeah, they might hate him later.

  They’d be pissed he used her info to help.

  Bene would do what he had to—if it worked, and it got his father free, then wasn’t that all that mattered at this point?

  He thought so.

  Now, it was just a matter of figuring out how to use the info he had been given from Vanna on the detective, and more recently, about the men of the Camorra. Mario, and the bastard’s father … their people. All their recent, illegal business dealings were on his phone to be used whichever way he saw fit, but he just hadn’t figured out how yet, or if it would even help.