Making the Break

by Lexy Timms

  “We have thing for each other, but we can’t work it out. She’s hung up on what her family would do to me if they found out.”

  “Look at yourself,” said Louis. “I think the lady has a point. And now that your boy has ditched you, who the hell is going to take care of you?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Chrissy saw the policeman before he tapped on her window. Cold dread swept through her. One thing that was drilled in her since childhood was that you did nothing to gain the attention of the police. Rationally, she knew the police were there to serve and protect, but childhood programming was difficult to ignore.

  Especially when an officer of the law was staring at her, unsmiling.

  Chrissy rolled down the window as her heart raced against her efforts to remain calm. “Is there something I can do for you, Officer?”

  “License and registration, please.”

  “Do I do something wrong?” Chrissy knew she didn’t. She was just sitting here. Why was he asking for them? He couldn’t have probable cause for a crime.

  “Is there a particular reason you’re parked here?” A small snort escaped his nose. “Crying?”

  “I wasn’t feeling well, and pulled off until I felt better.”

  “Not feeling well?”

  “Migraine,” she lied. What was she going to say? That she was crying her eyes out over a man she loved but couldn’t have?

  “How long have you been here?”

  Chrissy looked at the clock in her dashboard. “About fifteen minutes.”

  “See or hear anything suspicious?”

  “No, Officer.”

  “You sure?”

  Yeah. Chrissy was sure. She had her head so far up her butt about Saks that she couldn’t notice anything else if she wanted to.

  “Yes, Officer.”

  “Don’t drive off,” said the policeman.

  What the hell was she supposed to do? Here she was in Westfield, miles from home without her phone, which she stupidly lost in her own house, and she was told by a police officer not to leave the scene of whatever was going on behind that crime scene tape. How badly did she fuck up now?

  In a week full of screw-ups, missed communications, and physical mayhem, she felt like all she could do was screw up.

  Then her phone rang.

  From her purse.

  What the hell? She opened the bag and fished out the lighted device. Gloria’s number was displayed on the screen. “Hey,” she said.

  “Where the hell are you?” said Gloria snottily.

  As if she needed this from her sister today.

  “Why the hell do you care?”

  “I don’t. But Grandpa wants to talk to you.”

  “I’m busy. Tell him to call me later.”

  “Yeah. Right. Grandpa operating a cell phone. That’s a good one. And because you didn’t answer Mom’s or Dad’s calls, I have to do this.”

  Chrissy checked her messages and swore. “I was busy. I thought I’d lost my phone.”

  “No excuse. You’d better get over here before all three of them pitch a fit.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m a little tied up.”

  “You’re not getting kinky in your spinsterhood, are you?”

  The policeman came to the window. “Ms. Serafini?”

  How did he know her name?

  “Come with me, please.”

  “Who’s that?” asked Gloria.

  “A policeman.”

  “Ms. Serafini,” he said more sternly. “Put your phone down.”

  “I have to go, Gloria.”

  “What? Why? What did you do?”

  Chrissy imagined Gloria’s over-glossed lips opening and closing like a fish as Chrissy hung up on her. Good. Serves her right for being so nosey. Chrissy hung up the phone. “Am I under arrest, officer?”

  “No, ma’am. But you may be a material witness to a crime. The detectives would like you to go to the station to give your statement.”

  “What crime?” She shook her head. “I’ve got nothing to say.”

  “You mean you won’t cooperate?”

  “No. I mean I didn’t see or hear anything.”

  The policeman frowned. “Ms. Serafini—”

  “How do you know my name?”

  “Ran your plates. Ms. Serafini, I’d appreciate it if you could just come with me. Your car is part of the crime scene now.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Because a man has been shot here, Ms. Serafini.”

  Shot! This was something she definitely should not be near.

  “We don’t want to have impound the car, but if you can come with me, and you talk to the detectives, I’m sure we can clear this up quickly.”

  Chrissy saw no other option. If she made a fuss they may arrest her anyway, and an arrest was far worse than being asked to make a statement. She had nothing to add, so this shouldn’t take long. “Okay, Officer.”

  At the station they placed her in an interview room, which made her nervous. If she was only making a statement, why did they put her there? She stared at the lime green paint on the cement block walls with distaste. But beneath her cool facade her gut clenched with anxiety. She sat for a least an hour as her stomach turned.

  The door opened and a familiar-looking man strolled into the room. It took her a couple seconds to remember who he was.

  “Ms. Serafini?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m Detective Anglotti.”

  Saks’ cousin. “I remember you from the hospital.”

  “What do you know about Robert Spencer?”

  “Who?”

  “Hades’ Spawn call him Hawk?”

  “Nothing. We barely met.”

  “And where were you around six this evening.”

  “I was with your cousin.”

  “Cousin. Which one. I have two dozen.”

  “Saks. Anthony Parks.”

  “And what were you doing with Saks, Ms. Serafini?”

  “I don’t see how that’s relevant.”

  “Really? A man’s been shot and you don’t think it’s relevant?”

  Chrissy wasn’t sure what Anglotti’s game was, but his questions were out of line. “Fine. We fucked, then argued. Then I left. Satisfied?”

  “No,” said Anglotti. “Stay away from my cousin. You’re not good for his health.” He opened the door to leave.

  “Wait!”

  “What?”

  “What about me?”

  “You’re free to go.”

  “So, you brought me here for nothing?”

  Anglotti shook his head. “Most people are happy to leave this place after questioning.”

  This guy had a chip on his shoulder the size of New York. “What the hell’s your problem?”

  “You. Fucking with Saks’ head. And his life. Just get out of Westfield and leave him alone.”

  Chrissy’s jaw tightened. How dare this, this Rocco, say anything to her. “You’re out of line,” she snapped.

  Anglotti shut the door and turned to face her. “Am I? What the hell are you doing? What game are you—a Serafini—playing? First you all act like you want Saks to marry into the family. Then you act like he’s not good enough to spit-shine your shoes. And now you’re over there, fucking his brains out.”

  “It’s none of your business,” snapped Chrissy.

  “Yeah. I heard that line already. All I know is that my cousin has a gunshot wound from someone your family hired.”

  “That’s not true. It was the Rojos who hired those men.”

  “What? How do you know that?”

  “My grandfather did some checking, found out who those men are.”

  “And who are they?”

  “Associates of the DiMea family.”

  “The Jersey boys?” Anglotti’s face twisted as he processed this new information.

  “It seems the Rojos weren’t happy with how the Roccos messed with their drug business last yea
r and they got a little revenge. On Saks.” She snorted. “Figured you, being a detective, could figure that one out.”

  “That almost makes sense.”

  “Almost?”

  “Still doesn’t explain why you’re messing with Saks.”

  “I don’t have to explain anything to you, Anglotti.”

  “I think you’d better start explaining things, Ms. Serafini. Because a Hades’ Spawn was shot today. The last person to see him besides the pharmacist was Saks. You were the second to last person to see Saks when I left him. And you were sitting in the parking lot where the man was shot.”

  She sucked in a breath. Suddenly, she was confused, frustrated, and very scared. She hadn’t done anything wrong, at least not anything illegal, but this man was questioning her as if she were a criminal.

  “It’s awfully coincidental that a member of one of Connecticut’s largest crime families is smack dab in the middle of a shooting.”

  Chrissy stood. Her hands clenched at her sides as she shook with the need to strike back. This was a dangerous mood for Chrissy to be in, one of the reasons she stayed away from the family business. She absolutely hated when her hot-blooded nature rose to the surface. It reminded her of all the things she disliked about her family. “Don’t even try to imply that I have anything to do with this, Anglotti. Everything points to someone trying to start a gang war between my family and the Roccos. Why don’t you work that angle instead of harassing a woman who has nothing to do with this?”

  “It’s my job to look at all the possibilities. You’re guilty.”

  “Then do your job. And isn’t it innocent until proven guilty?” she sneered. “Am I free to go?”

  Anglotti held out his hands. “Sure, why not?” he said dryly.

  “Great.” She snatched her purse from the table and stalked out of the room.

  “Oh, and one more thing,” said Anglotti.

  “What?”

  “Your car’s impounded.”

  “What?” She spit out, in an octave higher than usual.” Why?”

  He gave her a snarky smile. “Only customers are supposed to park in that lot. The owner had it towed at your expense.”

  Chrissy’s eyelids formed slits. She was brought here on the suggestion they’d impound her car if she didn’t go with the police. Now they impounded it because she did. “Anglotti?”

  “Yes?”

  “You’re an ass.” She stalked out of the interview room, every nerve in her body fired to do something dangerous if anyone crossed her. This is what she got for crossing the line and thinking anything was possible with a Rocco. She was done. Finished. She’d never have anything to do with Anthony Parks again.

  It wasn’t until she was outside the police station, standing in the cool New England night time air, that she realized she had no way to get home. So, she did the only thing she could think of.

  She called Marcus.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Saks tried calling Oakie, but couldn’t get through. Louis watched as Saks dropped the phone on his lap. He sat on the couch, feeling like shit. Despite telling Louis to leave several times, the detective refused to budge.

  Louis’ phone buzzed with a tone for text message. He looked at it and his lips drew a tight line. “I have to get back to the precinct.”

  “Then go.”

  “I’m not leaving you alone here, idiot. Someone shot one of yours and I’m not sure if you’re next.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “Those words are evidence of severe blood loss. Maybe it got lost on the way to your dick.”

  “Ass.”

  “Idiot.”

  “We should’ve been brothers,” said Saks with a shallow laugh. It stung anyway because of the movement of his chest.

  “We talk like brothers. And I’m going to look out for you like you’re one. My mother would kill me if she found out I left you here.”

  “Moms are lethal.”

  “Rocco moms are. So, you have a choice: The hospital or your parents’.”

  Saks groaned. What did he hate more? The overbearing and intrusive nurses of the hospital, or the nosiness of his mother and his sister.

  At least his mother had lasagna. And not the cheap stuff you get out of the grocery freezer.

  “My parents’.”

  Now settled into his old bedroom, staring at the memorabilia of his childhood, the Kurt Cobain poster, his collection of Transformers, his sports awards, he did feel like a child.

  Or, rather, less of a man.

  The whole thing with Chrissy? What a clusterfuck. He didn’t know what set her off. But she was nuts. One minute she made love to him in the sweetest way possible, and then when he asked her to marry him she got weird. What was that about? She knew he loved her. He was pretty sure she loved him.

  Okay, he hadn’t helped things but getting angry with her. But there was only so much a man could take. He’d sustained more physical injuries in one week of knowing Chrissy than he’d received in his entire life. And that included high school football.

  His father called in the guy he used to patch up associates who got hurt on the job. Saks didn’t know his name and the guy never gave it out. Saks didn’t know if the guy was an actual doctor, or nurse, or some paramedic. But the man’s hands were steady as he looked at Saks’ wound, cleaned it, and put a fresh dressing on it.

  “You need several days’ rest.”

  “Yeah,” said Saks. “I got that now.”

  “No more time in the sack with the lovelies until that wound stops draining.”

  “Got it.”

  “Not that you shouldn’t walk around. You don’t want pneumonia or a blood clot from inactivity.”

  “That can happen?”

  “Yes. More with older people, but you don’t want to take a chance.”

  “Fine.”

  “Dress the wound every day. And no showers without covering it up watertight with plastic.”

  “Sounds like fun.”

  “Wise guy, eh?”

  Saks shivered. Wise guy was the slang for Mafia members. Saks had avoided that lifestyle like the plague. Now, he was on the outs with his boss and best friend, he’d lost his girl, one of his brothers in the club had been shot, and he was holing up in his parents’ house.

  When did his life turn to muck?

  The medic saw him shiver, and stuck a thermometer in his mouth.

  When it beeped, he studied it. “No fever. Good. But if you do get one, go back to the hospital. You do not want this to get infected.”

  “I’ll remember.”

  “You have any pain medicine?”

  “The police confiscated it for evidence.”

  Without missing a beat or questioning Saks’ explanation, he pulled out a bottle of pills and counted out ten. “This should get you through a day or two. No more than one every four to six hours. I’ll have more delivered to you in the morning.”

  “Thanks,” said Saks, marveling at the service. Uncle Vits must pay him well.

  “No problem.” He left as Terri, Saks’ sister, sauntered in, rubbernecking the medic as he left.

  “He’s cute.”

  “I have it on good authority that his boyfriend would take exception to your predatory statement.”

  “You lie,” she accused.

  Saks chuckled and stopped. His shoulder hurt too much. “Get me a glass of water so I can take a pill.”

  Terri came back with a tiny paper cup from the bathroom.

  “Gee. That’ll slack my thirst.” He downed one of the pain pills and took the water like a shot of whiskey.

  “Momma sent me in here to check on you.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You look like shit.”

  “Is that your considered medical opinion?”

  “It’s your sister’s opinion, which is more important. Damn, Anthony. Why did you have to get shot?”

  “I was protecting our cousin, that’s why.”

  “Which co
usin?”

  “Luigi.”

  “The detective? The police detective needs you to protect him?”

  “You weren’t there. Yes. It had to be done or we’d be attending his funeral.”

  “Not me. He’s a blood traitor.”

  “When you grow up, you’ll understand this shit better,” he said, in mock imitation of his father’s voice.

  “If you’re going to be disagreeable, I’ll leave.”

  “Go. I need to sleep. Doc said to rest. Can’t seem to get that anywhere.”

  As soon as Terri left, his mother came in with a plate of lasagna. Damn, were they lined up in the hall to see him?

  “I have your favorite, Anthony, to help you get back your strength.”

  Saks smiled tiredly. He was hungry, but didn’t have the energy to eat. In fact, food seemed pointless now. “You’re a good woman, Ma.”

  She put the tray on his lap.

  “You’ll find one of your own someday.”

  “What?”

  “A good woman.”

  “I’m not so sure,” he said, looking out the window.

  “What? What’s wrong, Anthony?”

  He sighed. “I’ve screwed things up badly.”

  “Language, Anthony.”

  He huffed with wry amusement. Only his mother would think the word “screw” was swearing. “Sorry, Ma. Anyway, I did find a good one. Only, she doesn’t want me.”

  “Then she isn’t a good one.” His mother said this with absolute certainty, and he chuckled.

  “She was. Beautiful, like you, Ma, and she knows her mind, just like you, and she loved me like no other woman.”

  “Who is this paragon of virtue?”

  “Christina Serafini.”

  “Serafini?” said his mother with disbelief.

  “Yep. Chrissy.”

  “I thought you hated her.”

  “Hate is a little too strong a word. Don’t get me wrong. When we get together the sparks fly.”

  “They do?”

  “But we are just as apt to argue as make love.”

  “You went to bed with this woman?” Her mouth gaped open.

  “Don’t act so shocked. I’m a grown man, you know.”

  “But Pandolfo Serafini said—”

  “I wouldn’t listen to him. He didn’t gauge Chrissy right at all.”

  “He didn’t?”

  “I asked her to marry me.”