Bullet From Dominic

by Giammatteo, Giacomo

  He shook his head. “I can’t think of anything,” he said, but I didn’t believe one word of it.

  We finished up and headed home in our own cars. I couldn’t help but wonder what the hell that note was all about, but I knew I’d never find out until Tip was ready to tell me.

  ***

  Tip drove home under the speed limit. He felt sick inside—dirty and guilty. If that message meant what he thought it meant—and he felt certain it did—he was responsible for killing a man in cold blood.

  On the other hand, considering what he knew, the text to Connie had probably also come from the same man, which meant that Dominic had saved his life. How could he be upset with someone who had killed Carlos, and at the same time, had saved Tip’s life?

  Now he understood a little bit about how Connie felt about Dominic. How she struggled with her feelings about family. If nothing else, he knew one thing—he could never tell Connie that he’d called Dominic.

  She’d never forgive him.

  Epilogue

  Three weeks later

  I was sipping espresso at the kitchen table and waiting for Tip to pick me up. A headline flashed on the TV and caught my eye.

  Body parts found outside of Victoria.

  A sick feeling roiled in my gut. I set my coffee down and turned up the volume.

  The body of Carlos Cortes, reputed leader of a drug cartel out of Monterrey, Mexico, was discovered in a shallow grave ten miles outside of Victoria, Texas. The body was in pieces, and according to the medical examiner, Cortes was alive when the dismemberment of his body took place.

  The rest of the news was all about drug violence and the troubles in Mexico and in the border states. The next day I got more information from Ben Marsh, the ME. He had talked to the Travis County medical examiner and gotten the details. He emailed them to me.

  Cortes was alive while being dismembered. His limbs showed signs of being stitched up after the amputations, and they displayed signs of healing. Cortes seems to have been kept alive for at least a week.

  The medical examiner said Mr. Cortes’ skin had been peeled from his face, and that burns covered almost 30% of his body. Seven of his fingers had been removed, and all of his toes. Also his genitals. The torture appears to have been carried out by someone with professional surgical skills.

  There were other details, but I didn’t need to read any more. I didn’t want to read more. From somewhere deep inside me, I knew what had happened. I knew it. And the knowledge made me come to grips with something that had been bothering me since I was twelve years old.

  For the first time in my life, I understood what my relationship with Uncle Dominic was all about. And that scared me. It scared the hell out of me. I cursed him, and I swore I hated him for being a gangster, but something inside me respected him.

  And still loved him.

  When I’d received the text about El Terrible, a lot of feelings had run through me—fear, curiosity, the mystery of who sent it, but one emotion overwhelmed me the moment I realized it was from Fabrizio—pride. I was proud that Uncle Dominic was still looking out for me.

  And I was thankful.

  I finished my espresso, moved the dishes to the sink, and started washing them. All the while, I tried suppressing my other feelings. The ones that had been keeping me awake at night, haunting me for the past three weeks.

  From the moment I’d realized that Fabrizio had been here, my dreams hadn’t belonged to me. The thought of Fabrizio in Houston, looking after me…it filled me with a feeling I hadn’t felt in years. And that realization frightened me more than anything.

  How can I be a cop and still feel loyalty and warmth toward a killer?

  As I pondered the paradox, the phone rang. It was Tip.

  “I’ll be there in half a minute,” he said. “Pack plenty of bullets.”

  “Why?”

  “Didn’t Coop call? We got us another killer to catch.”

  Thanks for taking the time to read the book. I hope you enjoyed it.

  Authors live and die on recommendations and reviews, so if you liked the book, please tell someone about it. And if you have a spare moment, I’d love for you to post a review on Amazon or Goodreads, or Apple or B&N.

  Connie and Tip will be back again next year. But be sure to sign the mailing list so you hear about all the special sales and new releases. Murder Takes Patience is up next, followed by Old Wounds, another Redemption novel with Gino Cataldi and Ribs Delgado.

  Thanks again for your time,

  Giacomo

  If you would like to be notified of future releases, click here to sign up for my mailing list

  If you want to email me about this book, please use: gg@giacomog.com

  Acknowledgments

  The tough part of writing a book is not the writing, it’s all the stuff that comes after that. I’ll take credit for the writing. For the tough parts I am honor bound to thank the following:

  My great copy editor, Annette Lyon.

  Natasha Brown for the fantastic book cover.

  Morgana Gallaway from The Editing Department, for the amazing layout and formatting.

  And most importantly the beta readers who helped me get this book into shape: Missy, Otto, Chris, Nick, Rose, Joe Michalcewicz, Carrie Shepherd, Shari Declet, Stefano Scaglione, & Elizabeth Hull. If I missed someone, please shoot me.

  It takes a lot of technical help to write a book like this. I owe a debt of gratitude to my good friend, Skip Oliver, Retired Major in the Harris County Sheriff’s Office. Whatever mistakes are in here, are mine alone.

  I also want to give special thanks to my niece, Emiliana, for making me laugh on many nights when I needed a laugh, and to Braden and Bella for all the wonderful video chats.

  Lastly, to my wife, Mikki.

  Ti amo con tutto il mio cuore.

  About the Author

  I grew up in a large Italian family in the Northeast. No one had money, so for entertainment our family played board games and told stories. I loved the city—the noise, the people—but it was the family get togethers and the storytelling that stuck with me.

  I still love storytelling, but now I write the stories instead of telling them.

  My wife and I live in Texas, where we run an animal sanctuary with 45 loving "friends.” One of them is a crazy wild boar named Dennis, who is my best buddy.

  Sometimes I miss the early days, but not much. Now I enjoy the solitude and the noise of the animals.