Hidden Worthiness

by Susan Fanetti

  “There’s a chance,” Donnie put in, carefully, “they will amplify their messages until we can’t ignore them. If they make a move on Bev, or Tina, or the girls ...”

  “Or your tiny dancer,” Angie added. His mouth canted up in a muted impression of his usual teasing grin. “What’s her name again?”

  “Arianna. And she’s not my anything. She was a one-night stand, and she’s just caught up in this by bad timing. She’s nothing to me. But she’s innocent, and I don’t want her hurt, either.”

  “Beverly was a one-night stand who got caught up in our business, too,” Nick said.

  Donnie wasn’t sure what to say to that, but he’d watched in stunned disbelief last year as Nick had conspired like some old nonna to get Trey and Lara together, so he wondered if the legendarily ice-blooded don was trying to make a similar connection here. Apparently, as Nick aged, he was getting a soft spot for romance.

  If he was, Donnie ignored the attempt. “My point is, Bev and Tina have already been hurt by our business. And the Bondaruks went for Lara twice last year and really hurt her. I think we make a mistake if we discount them.”

  “I agree,” Angie said.

  Nick leaned back and steepled his fingers before his face. “Do either of you have a suggestion for how to respond that doesn’t make us look the fool?”

  “At a minimum, don, they disrespected us. Even if they only meant it like a nasty middle finger, it was a threat to our loved ones.” Angie felt strongly about this, clearly, because he was pushing dangerously hard.

  “You’re giving me more argument, Angelo. You made your case. If you want me to change my thinking, give me a suggestion I will consider.”

  Donnie had it, he thought. “We do it quiet. We take them down—one team, or the team leaders, or every one of them on the ground, we take them down. But we don’t say a word. We make the ones who put that envelope together hurt, long and hard. Then we put them in the ocean and go on. No message. No claim. We just do it, and move on. Put Bondaruk back to square one.”

  Nick thought about that. At Donnie’s side, Angie finally relaxed. He liked the idea.

  “To be quiet, we’d have to take them all, in a single sweep. No witnesses.” Nick asked Angie, “Can you do that? Two teams of how many?”

  “Eight men in all. I need a couple days to put it together, but yeah, I can. They’re not using the watch shop. They’ve got a new base in the back of a video store—one of those places that rents movies from the old country. After hours, it’s just them. Might be some collateral loss of a couple hangarounds, but that’s it.”

  “That’s a lot of moving parts to get in sync.” After another moment’s thought, Nick stood, and Donnie and Angie stood with him. “You pushed for this, Angie. And you, too, Donnie. I’m going to let you run with it. If you get it done, I will gladly make these insects who threaten our women suffer. But if you fuck this up, and hang me out in the air, that’s not a mistake you come back from. Capite?”

  There was no backing down now. Donnie and Angie both nodded and answered, “Capiamo.”

  ~oOo~

  What the fuck was he doing?

  He could tell himself he was checking up on Arianna’s guard detail, and that was exactly what he’d told himself when he’d left the house. But why had he taken his Porsche and left Round Ollie, his own detail while Dre had some time off, to chase after him?

  Now he’d seen that Keith and Sandy were on her, staying back at a shadow distance, doing their job, so why was he still here? Why was he on the theatre parking lot, twice as close to her as her guards, sitting behind the wheel in a black hoodie like a goddamn stalker?

  The hoodie was just what he’d been wearing when he’d left the house. The hood was up because—he didn’t know why. He didn’t know when he’d put it up. Probably some shame reflex because he was being a fucking idiot.

  Six weeks since their single night together. He’d almost set it aside, stopped digging at the strange sore spot she’d left in his psyche, stopped wondering if he’d kicked away something good, something real, if he’d spent the past twenty years of his life kicking away the chance for something good and real.

  No. He knew he had not. He had all the good and real he ever would, and all the proof he needed that that was true.

  He’d almost mastered this unpleasant twitch in his head that wouldn’t forget her, he’d almost reclaimed his equilibrium, and then that envelope had arrived. Seeing her threatened, those awful images of the threats envisioned, had awakened something inside him in a place deeper and darker and more desperate than he’d known before.

  What the fuck was he doing? Making sure she was okay. Seeing her with his own eyes and knowing it was true.

  She was in a relationship with Trewson; she had to be. She’d lied to him, the evidence of that had been obvious from before he’d spoken a word to her, but now he’d heard her tell Trewson she loved him, saw him carry her as he himself had that night, sweeping her off to bed.

  It pissed him off, but it didn’t matter. He needed her to be safe. She’d shared a late dinner with him, and now she was caught in the net of his night world.

  The stage door opened, and Donnie’s attention narrowed. A couple of dancers he vaguely recognized, women, came out. He knew Arianna’s schedule; Calvin had hacked in or jacked in or whatever he did—he’d gotten access to the theatre’s computers, so they could use her work information to build a plan to shadow her.

  Arianna was signed up for an hour of private rehearsal time this evening and tomorrow afternoon, and she had an audition at one o’clock on Tuesday.

  Her hour had ended twenty minutes ago.

  He didn’t need to be here. Keith and Sandy were here to watch over her.

  But he couldn’t leave until he saw her.

  Another ten minutes passed. Where was she? Could somebody have gotten to her inside the theatre?

  Once that thought struck home, he couldn’t shake it. He had to know. So he got out of his car and headed toward the stage door. He didn’t bother to be stealthy. He wasn’t trying not to be seen. Now he just had to put his eyes on her, any way he could.

  The door opened when he was about ten feet away. Arianna stepped out, with fucking Julian Trewson right on her heels, as ever.

  She was finishing a sentence, looking back at her lover as she spoke. Donnie stopped where he was, and she nearly ran into him when she turned around. Reflex had his hands up and around her arms before she did.

  In the space of a breath, her expression went from simple surprise at the near collision, to confusion, to shocked recognition, to an infuriating, gut-wrenching dread. The dread held. Her body went stiff.

  “What? Why? What are you ...?”

  “We need to talk.”

  Behind her, Trewson was just catching up and sensing danger. To his credit, he didn’t pussy out. He tried to yank her back. Donnie gripped more tightly at first, but when she winced, he let her go.

  Trewson put Arianna behind him and stood to his full height—a couple inches shorter than Donnie—and puffed up, almost bumping chests with him. “Who are you and what do you want?”

  Remembering that his hood was still up, Donnie pushed it back. The lights outside the theatre threw long shadows and cast an eerily gold tint over everything they illuminated, but Donnie saw the guy go pale with fearful recognition. Good. His fucked-up face was worth at least this: making assholes afraid.

  At the same time, he heard the deeply familiar click of a nine-mil’s slide being racked, and he spun and sidestepped, pulling his Beretta from his waistband and putting himself between Arianna and the bullet coming their way.

  It was Round Ollie, who pointed his gun to the sky the instant he was aimed at Donnie. “What the fuck, boss?”

  Donnie turned the muzzle of his gun toward the sky as well. “Stand down, Oll. I don’t need you here.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes. Go back to your truck.”

  “It would be easier to do my job
if you’d tell me what you’re up to.”

  He hated having a round-the-clock guard on him and resented having to check in with underlings. If for no other reason than this weeks-long pain in his ass, he wanted Bondaruk blood. “Go back to your truck. I’ll let you know when I’m ready to leave.”

  Round Ollie hesitated another few seconds, long enough for Donnie to consider aiming his gun again, and then backed—slowly—off.

  Donnie turned to Arianna and her lover. Both were frozen in front of the door—no one else had come through it and into that scene, thankfully. Trewson had his arm around Arianna, holding her back from Donnie. Donnie wanted to cut that arm off and shove it up the bastard’s ass.

  To Arianna, as he put his gun back in his waistband, he said, “I’m sorry to come up on you like this, but I do need to talk to you.”

  “Why?” She gave Trewson a gentle push and extricated herself from his clutches.

  “Wait, Ari—you know him?”

  Arianna ignored him. “Why are you here? What could you possibly want?”

  “I’ve been plain. I want to talk. It’s important.”

  “So talk.” Her tone dripped poison. “Or wait—if it’s your oh-so-generous offer again, don’t bother. My answer is the same. Find yourself a real whore.”

  “What the fuck is going on, Ari?”

  Donnie noticed that Trewson’s protective courage had cooled quite a bit since he’d understood whom he faced. Since then, he’d been little more than a baffled audience, throwing out questions neither Arianna nor Donnie heeded.

  “It’s not that. I’m not here to bother you or hurt you. But I do need to talk to you.”

  She crossed her arms in defiance. God, she was beautiful. Her hair was up in its perfect, sleek bun. She wore no makeup he could see, and had on a dusky jacket over dark sweats, legwarmers, and sneakers, but she was as elegant as if she were in costume as Giselle.

  “So talk,” she said again, in that decidedly bitter, inelegant tone.

  “Ari, dammit!”

  Donnie glared menace at Trewson. “Not here, and not with him around. In private.”

  Trewson laughed. “Forget about it. Ari, tell him to fuck off and let’s go.”

  But she didn’t tell him to fuck off. Instead she stared at him, her wide, lovely eyes narrowed in concentration. Her cheeks quivered lightly, as if powerful emotions were barely contained, barely concealed beneath their surface. Donnie wanted to reach out and hold that face in his hand, to run his thumb over her trembling skin and soothe her.

  “I don’t want to hurt you, Arianna. I’m truly sorry that I did.”

  She blinked. “There’s a diner down the street. Brightly lit. Lots of people. We can talk there.”

  “Ari, Jesus! Is this the guy who—? What the hell are you doing, love? This is not okay.”

  Donnie wanted to rip out the tongue that called her ‘love.’ Shit, he was jealous. Violently, dangerously jealous.

  “It’s okay, Jule. I’ll be okay.” She looked back at Donnie. “Right? I’ll be okay?”

  “You will. I promise. I need half an hour, and then I’ll be gone.” He hated brightly lit restaurants, so he wouldn’t want to linger, anyway.

  She turned to Trewson. “Julian, just go home. If you don’t hear from me in thirty minutes, you can call for any help you want. But for now, just go home, and I’ll see you later.”

  “This is so stupid, Ari. This is who had you crying for two days, isn’t it? This is the dumbest thing you’ve ever done. He can do a lot of harm in thirty minutes. Jeremiah only needed five.”

  Arianna surprised them both by wheeling around and slamming her hands into Trewson’s chest. “Fuck you for that. Go home.”

  Trewson glared for a second, then gave her an angry nod and stepped around her. He came up to Donnie, mastered his fear, and said, “I know who you are and what you can do to me, but if you hurt her again, I’ll do what I can to hurt you before you send me to the fishes or whatever you people do.”

  “Go home,” he replied.

  Trewson looked back at Arianna, who tipped her head toward the parking lot.

  “This is so fucking stupid, Ari.” He walked away.

  Donnie watched him go. When he was in the parking lot, far enough away that they had some semblance of privacy, he turned back to Arianna. “Who’s Jeremiah?”

  “None of your business. You want to talk, so let’s go. I’m on a clock here.”

  Trouble in her past wasn’t his chief concern, so he dropped the question and held out his hand. “Thank you.”

  “Please don’t make me stupid again.” She put her hand in his.

  ~ 14 ~

  What the actual fuck was she doing?

  As Donnie opened the passenger door of his Porsche and she slid in and settled on the leather seat, Ari tried to stir up the sense of doom the situation warranted. Summing up the past five minutes: Donnie Goretti had shown up right outside the stage door, out of nowhere, after more than a month. Within like a minute of that shocking development, a big guy had emerged from the night, pointing a huge gun right at her, and then Donnie had a gun, too.

  He’d put himself in front of her. He’d heard the guy coming, or something, and he’d jumped in front of her.

  The guy had turned out to be working for Donnie, but Ari didn’t think he’d known it when he’d put himself between her and a gun.

  Maybe that was why she was sitting here, in Donnie Goretti’s fancy sportscar, now.

  Julian was livid. If something happened to her, she’d never hear the end of it—not that his endless chorus of ‘I told you so’ would be her primary trouble. Even assuming she were alive to hear it.

  That thought made little impact. She couldn’t work up the worry the situation clearly required.

  He got in behind the wheel. He reached to the passenger side, opened the glove box, and set his gun inside. She didn’t know how she felt about a loaded gun resting so close to her, but she supposed if she needed it, she was closer to it than he was. Not that she knew how to shoot it.

  “Thank you,” he said again as he settled back behind the wheel.

  Ari turned to him—and was struck dumb for just a second. From where she sat, as he faced front and started his car, she could see only the scarred side of his face. It occurred to her in a flash that she’d never seen him like this. In the time of their acquaintance, he’d always positioned himself so that she saw his left side—either only his left, or straight on. That might be because of his hearing, but she didn’t think it was the only reason. He presented his best side every chance he could. He moved through the whole world always aware of the way he was seen.

  Without realizing it, even when she’d been looking right at him, or imagining him since, she’d seen or thought of only the left side of his face. It wasn’t that she’d forgotten he was scarred. She could describe his scars as easily as she could the rest of him. But she didn’t think of them. She thought of him as a handsome man, but this side of his face was devastating. God, what had happened to him?

  The shock lasted only a second, but he seemed to sense it. His shoulders went stiff, and he put the car in gear—it was a manual transmission—and backed out of the space with more vigor than necessary.

  “Turn left out of the lot, then right at the light,” she said, raising her voice a bit to make sure he heard her. “The diner’s three blocks down on the right. The Minuteman.”

  He nodded and followed her directions, but didn’t speak.

  When he’d taken her to dinner, they’d ridden in the back seat of a large SUV, and another man had driven. Donnie had sat on her right. To cover the tense silence, she asked, “That man with the gun isn’t your driver?”

  “Not tonight.”

  “So he follows you around? Is he following us?”

  “Yes. He won’t get in our way.”

  “I thought you just had a driver. You have a bodyguard.”

  He glanced at her, then back at the road.

 
Ari sat quietly and considered how dangerous Donnie’s life must be. Uncle Mel was too low in his organization to warrant a guard, she supposed. Or maybe he had one and she just didn’t know. It wasn’t like she was a part of that world. She’d grown up thinking of what Uncle Mel did as a job, the same way she thought of her father’s dental practice. Just the things grownups did. Not until she was grown had she really understood what Mel did. Even then, growing up where she did, in the Italian-American neighborhood that was the home ground of the Romano Family, she didn’t think it unduly strange or have a lot of curiosity about the Romanos’ inner workings.

  She didn’t have long to ponder on past or current events. Donnie passed the diner and turned the corner, finding a spot on the street about a block down. After he turned off the car, he reached over and collected his gun again. He meant to go into the diner armed.

  “What’s going on, Donnie?”

  “Not in the car. We’ll talk inside. Wait. I’ll come around.”

  She waited, and he came around. Before he opened her door, he checked all around them. This was a level of caution and wariness he hadn’t shown the last time they were together. Then, he’d been alert, but not on guard. Now, he was ready to take a bullet for her.

  There was some kind of danger, and he’d just pulled her into it.

  He opened the door and offered his hand. Ari sat where she was. The sense of doom the situation warranted had found her at last.

  “What are you pulling me into?”

  A slap of guilt went across his face, and he flinched—subtly, but unmistakably. “I’ll explain inside, Arianna.”

  She’d deserve every verse of Julian’s ‘I told you so’ chorus. She took Donnie’s hand and let her lead her into the diner.

  ~oOo~

  The Minuteman was just a diner, a seat-yourself, menus-on-the-table, pay-at-the-register diner—nothing like their evening as the most esteemed guests at a ritzy Italian restaurant. Since it was so close to the theatre, the dancers ate here fairly often. Tonight, Ari was the one the staff knew, and she offered a friendly nod to the servers they passed as Donnie led her to the back.