Making the Break

by Lexy Timms

  “Well, they tried and didn’t, so score one for me.” He grinned at her again and she thoroughly lost it.

  “How can you even joke?” Chrissy was beside herself. This reminded her of the nights when her father’s associates would turn up bloody and her father would call the local doctor he had in his pocket. And the men would laugh at how the other guy got it worse, and drink themselves stupid as the doctor stitched their wounds. Chrissy realized now that other guy would be a Rocco, part of Saks’ family. She was horrified.

  “Hey, Chrissy. Don’t cry.” He tried to sit and fell back against the bed. “It’s okay. I’ve had worse.”

  “Worse? Worse?” How could she get involved with such a man? Someone who considered a bullet wound no biggie? This was bad. She’d never wanted this life. Worked hard to avoid it. Now, in Saks’ unconcerned eyes, it stared her in the face. What it meant to be the woman of an organized crime member. Waiting for the man to come home. Wondering if he died that night when he wasn’t back when he said he’d return.

  “I’m glad you’re okay, Saks,” she said between the tears. “But I have to go.”

  “Oh,” said Saks. Disappointment showed in his eyes. “Sure. Come see me tomorrow. I won’t be so loopy. I promise.”

  “’Bye, Saks.” She walked out of the room and, gathering speed, out of the hospital as tears spilled over her cheeks and blurred her vision.

  She couldn’t see Anthony Parks, aka Saks, again. Ever.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Chrissy left and suddenly he was all alone. She wasn’t coming back. He knew it in his gut.

  The beeping of the monitors went haywire as he struggled to sit up, to try and call her back, to just talk to him.

  He couldn’t stop her. Hell, he couldn’t get out of the bed. And, man, was he stoned.

  Life fucking sucked.

  The nurse came in and tsked as she reset the machine. “Mr. Parks, if you need help you should use the call button.”

  Saks settled back into his pillows and fisted his hands at his sides. The nurse was only being nice, and he should thank her, but right now he was too consumed by his anger that Chrissy had left, again.

  The morphine machine whirled and pumped again, sending a dose straight to his heart. He should tell the nurse to take the damn thing away. It was just messing with his head. But his hands unclenched as he slipped into a half-sleep. He was aware of what going on but he just didn’t care about responding to it.

  Look, Saks, old boy. She doesn’t want you. You should move on.

  But it was shitty time to take off when a slug of metal’s carved out your shoulder. Maybe wait till I’m outa the hospital. Or maybe not leave at all.

  Better you know now. All this girl does is rabbit when things get tough.

  Saks snorted in frustration. Arguing with himself was the most useless exercise ever.

  “Hey, buddy, you awake?”

  Saks didn’t open his eyes, but nodded. Luke had come in during his mental argument and was now standing beside his bed. “Yeah,” he said through parched lips. “I could use a glass of water.”

  “Let me see what the nurse says.”

  Luke came back shortly with a cup. “You can have ice chips.”

  “Fuck.”

  “When the anesthesia wears off, you can have something to eat.”

  Saks reached to take the cup Luke offered and weakly dropped his arm. It felt like too much work to lift and hold. “Take it. I’ll get some later.”

  “How do you feel?”

  “I’m in no pain, and the colors are beautiful.”

  “Smart ass.”

  “I thought you had a business to run.”

  “Rob’s watching the shop. He sends his best. Says the best way to beat a bullet is through.”

  “Through what?”

  “Like in ‘the best way out is through.’”

  “He’s weird.”

  “Yeah, but he should know. He’s been regaling me with stories of his DEA service. He was quite the cowboy, back in the day.”

  “Gibs was like that, too. A grumpy old cowboy.”

  Luke laughed. “He’d hit you on the head for that one.”

  “I miss the guy.”

  “Me, too.” Luke cleared his throat. “You’re looking tired.”

  “Probably from the hit on the head, the bullet, and then the major surgery. Hand me an ice chip?”

  Luke did as he asked. “They’ll be moving you to a room soon. One of the guys will stay through the night. We’re taking shifts to make sure no one takes any more shots at you. Still trying to figure out why those goons came after you.”

  “No bloody idea.” He sucked on his ice and closed his eyes. He didn’t want to talk or think about Chrissy.

  “The police will come to talk to you tomorrow.”

  “You mean my cousin?” He sighed and opened his eyes.

  “Maybe,” said Luke. “This investigation has become quite the thing. There’s even something about it on the news.”

  “Really? I’m a freakin’ media star.” He made an arc with his good hand. “All rainbows and butterflies from over here.”

  Luke chuckled. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

  “My family’s gonna be mortified. Did they come by?”

  “Yeah, all of them.” He paused. “But the doctor told them to go home. There was too much of a ruckus between them and the Spawn.”

  “And the Spawn won? I’m touched.”

  “Hey. You’re our brother. Don’t forget that.”

  “How’s Emily?”

  “Fine as long as I supply her steadily with peppermint ice cream and saltines. Speaking of, I should probably get going.”

  “Tell Emily I say hi. Thanks for coming, Luke.”

  “I’ll drop by tomorrow. Get better or I’m docking you for these days.”

  “Ha-ha,” said Saks with a weak grin. “Emily does the payroll.”

  Luke turned to go. “Later, bro.”

  Saks sunk back into his pillows, thankful to not have to talk anymore, or try and think. He closed his eyes and—

  “Hey,” said a voice as rough as sandpaper.

  Saks knew it well. “Hey.” He didn’t open his eyes, just took a deep breath.

  “I’ll be sitting with you for a while.”

  “You don’t have to.” He sighed and rolled his head to look at Oakie.

  Oakie shrugged. “We’re not leaving you alone. There are some bad dudes after your ass. We take care of our own.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Damn, Saks. What shit did you get into?”

  “Family stuff.” He reached for an ice chip and pulled a half-melted one out and popped it into his mouth.

  “Worse kind. But I thought they disowned you.”

  “Nah, ignore me mostly, until they need something.”

  “Some Mafia types were in prison with me. Quiet guys mostly. Didn’t go around and strut their shit. But don’t cross ‘em. They have long memories and sharp shivs.”

  “That would be right,” agreed Saks.

  “They aren’t afraid to get their hands dirty. I’d never seen anyone truly not care who they hurt until I met those guys. It’s not personal with them. You get up in their shit, they’ll get up in yours. But with the Mafia guys it’s all business, all the time. And personal by taking out your family. Shit, they’d take their own out as well.”

  “Yeah,” said Saks, “it’s fucked.”

  “So how come you’re different? Coming from that and all?”

  That was a very good question. Saks wondered about that many times when he became aware of who his family was and what they did. Maybe it was how his cousins acted, too tough for their age and full of themselves.

  He remembered an incident when he was about eight years old. A boy who wasn’t Italian tried to be become friends with Saks’ cousins who hung out with their own little clique. They teased him cruelly, and made him do stupid and dangerous things to prove himself. It was bullying and me
an as shit. Saks distanced himself from his cousins starting back then. He couldn’t bear to watch the boy’s daily humiliation.

  It wasn’t something to easily explain to man who did time in prison where worse things happened.

  “The organized gang gene must have skipped a generation.”

  Oakie snorted. “Not sure that’s how it works.”

  “I’m not into the bullshit. My mom shielded me from a lot of it. She wanted me to be a priest.”

  “Really?” Oakie let out a deep barrel laugh. “You mean we lost the opportunity to call you ‘Priest’?”

  “Don’t start.” He yawned and let his eyes drift closed. “Sorry, Oakie. Feeling kinda tired again.”

  “Sure, man. I’ll be right here.”

  Saks slept though it was interrupted by nurses checking on him, and there was rumbling as the bed moved through the halls. He woke briefly when orderlies transferred him to another bed, but fell asleep again.

  Sleep was good. He didn’t hurt when he slept. He didn’t have to think about Chrissy.

  “Anthony?”

  “He’s okay, Maria. Let him rest.”

  “But, Whit, he’s so still. And all those tubes.”

  His parents. He didn’t need this right now. “I’m fine,” groaned Saks. “I was sleeping.”

  “You rest,” said his father.

  “No.” Saks opened his eyes and fumbled for the controls to raise the bed. He managed to move the head so he could sit up.

  “Oh, Anthony.” His mother’s eyes were lined red.

  Saks winced when he tried to pull his body to a more upright position. He noticed the morphine machine was gone. Oh, well, he didn’t like how the morphine made him feel anyway. “Ma, I’m fine. Really.”

  “This is worse than when they brought you home after you got beat up by that gang.”

  “Ma, it’s nothing. Really. I’ll be walking around in no time.”

  His mother turned to his father. “This is your fault. Our boy nearly got killed over Uncle Vits’ crazy scheme.”

  “Maria,” said his father, “we don’t know what happened. Louis has the cops investigating it now.”

  “You never should’ve dragged Anthony into this.”

  “Ma, stop. Please. There’s no need for this.”

  “Anthony,” said his mother sternly. “I want you to go to Florida and work for your cousin, Angelo, okay? Get away from this crazy place and these nutty goombahs!”

  “Maria!”

  “Ma!”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, grabbing Saks’ hand. “I was wrong. You knew what you were doing the whole time. You’re a good son and tried to make everyone happy. Only, you can’t make these people happy. So, leave Connecticut, please, before you die.”

  “Ma, I’m not going to die and I’m not going to leave Connecticut. I have a job here, one I like. And my club.”

  “Your job,” she said, wringing her hands, “your club. What about your poor mother, eh? I couldn’t take it if I lost my only son.”

  Saks was at a loss for words. His mother had no chance to get out of this life. Mafia kept their wives and children ignorant to the realities of their profession. Mafia women lived in their own isolated society. There was money in the bank, food on the table, and a nice car. Their husbands and children were the center of their worlds. Maybe his mom had hoped her children could escape when she couldn’t. She played like she didn’t know...

  Until today.

  “Mom, I’m a grown man. I make my own decisions.”

  His father nodded. “Leave the boy alone.”

  Saks shot his father a look. “Hey, Ma. How about you bring me some of your lasagna? That stuff can heal anything.”

  “Sure, Anthony. I’ll do it.”

  A nurse came in. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to check Mr. Parks’ dressings.”

  “We’ll see you later, son,” said his father. He firmly steered his wife out of the room.

  After the nurse changed the dressing and checked the wound, his cousin Louis walked in.

  Saks wondered if he’d get more rest at home. At least he could lock the door and not answer it.

  “Hello, Anthony.”

  “Hey, Luigi.”

  “Don’t call me that.”

  Saks grinned. It was a joke that never got old.

  “You look better now than in your apartment.”

  “Don’t say that to my mother. She nearly had a nervous breakdown.”

  “A bullet does that.”

  “I guess so. What did you find out?”

  “About those two lugs?” He shook his head. “They didn’t talk. Lawyered up. They aren’t from Connecticut, though. The DMV has nothing about them. I’ve got a request in to the FBI to research their IDs.”

  “So that means one thing, doesn’t it?”

  “Yup. Someone in Connecticut hired them, or one of the families from out of state sent them in.”

  “Great,” said Saks. Here the Spawn were worried about war with the Rojos. Now, because of Saks, they could be going to war with a Mafia family.

  Only, nobody knew which one.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Chrissy stepped into her office at an abnormally early hour, annoyed with herself for not buying a latte on the way in. No one was in the office yet, not even her assistant who arrived promptly each morning at eight. The whole office was unearthly quiet, and she couldn’t shake the sense she was sneaking in with plans on thieving anything she could lay her hands on.

  She shook her head at the ridiculous notion. So, she was early. Big deal. She hadn’t slept last night, especially after the harrowing family dinner where her grandfather laid down the law that she was not to see Anthony Parks again.

  It was a waste of time.

  She had no intention of doing so.

  The whole family seemed genuinely shaken by the whole ordeal. Her grandfather didn’t eat a thing, though he attributed that to Maria Parks’ lunchtime lasagna which, he said, rivaled anything his sainted mother prepared. Chrissy suspected, however, it wasn’t her great-grandmother’s lasagna he missed, but that of Anthony Parks’ grandmother, the woman stolen from her grandfather by Saks’ grandfather, though the circumstances how that happened apparently remained a taboo subject at the table. The only thing sure was that Pandolfo Serafini still held his grudge against the Parks family.

  What a fucking mess!

  A big part of Chrissy’s jumble of emotions was her ambivalence at being from such a twisted family. She loved her family but hated what they did. And she didn’t understand how otherwise-loving people could put misery on others for profit. It just didn’t make sense to her. But, she supposed, that was the reason Mafia men kept the details of their lifestyle from their wives and daughters.

  Another part of her angst manifested from the lust Saks evoked in her. She’d never wanted a man as much. He was the shore to the tides of her passion which would inevitably and irrevocably flow—a magnetic draw regardless of the irrefutable logic of her mind. Not just lust. She wanted to give him her heart. To be with him. The fairytale wedding and happily ever after kind of life.

  It was stupid.

  There was no way getting involved with a member of a crime family was good for her.

  Which only made her want him more.

  Her conscience knew better, but her body stubbornly rebelled against her decision. Her heart ached with each beat, and her body warmed at thought of his.

  It was torture.

  For the first time in her life, she understood the songs of love and loss that musicians wrote and played.

  The long breath she blew was part sigh, part release of the tension that coiled in her shoulders. Though her heart beat with a mournful thud she would get over this, over this man. There were tons of fish in the sea. All she had to do was find one that wasn’t a shark.

  And sharks? Well, she had plenty of them circling—the president of her company, Drummond Walker, and her boss, Richard Hamilton, her prospective employ
er, James Pearson, and even Charles Grayson. All of them wanted something she wasn’t willing to give, but at this point her options were disappearing quickly.

  She turned on her computer and went through her emails. One from James Pearson sat in the queue, marked with an exclamation point meaning “high importance.” Chrissy rolled her eyes. This man was as much a drama queen as her sister.

  Ms. Serafini,

  I hope you didn’t get the wrong idea at our last meeting.

  Oh, no, thought Chrissy. I got exactly the right idea.

  Finding a woman with your intelligence and skill set, as well as, if you allow me to add, your polished professional appearance, is quite rare. If you give me a chance, I hope to persuade you of that tomorrow night at dinner. Name the time and place, and I will be there.

  Sincerely,

  James Pearson

  This man had it bad. What it was, Chrissy wasn’t sure.

  Her phone rang, which was strange since it was only seven in the morning.

  “Hello, Chrissy Serafini.”

  “Chrissy!” effused Charles. “Aren’t you the go-getter. In the office at this time of the morning.”

  “Good morning, Charles.”

  “So, you’re going, right?”

  “Going?” she said with all the innocence she could muster. There was only one reason he would call her. How did he know Pearson sent her an email?

  “Have you read your email?” he asked with barely-concealed exasperation.

  Chrissy checked and cursed under her breath. Pearson had cc’d Charles. Of course he would. It would be unethical otherwise, though she doubted Pearson cared much about ethics. “Yes, of course I have. And, no, I haven’t decided.”

  “Chrissy,” said Charles in warning. It was the first unpleasant tone she’d ever heard from him. “I’m afraid that if you continue to be difficult about this, I can’t keep you as a client. Nor can I recommend you as a client to any others in my industry.”

  Whoa. Now Charles was playing hardball. Or more like he slammed her against the wall instead of the ball. Threatening to blackball her? That was rough.

  Unprofessional.

  Cut-throat.

  And so totally like her own family that she understood exactly where she stood. And what to do.