Betrayed (Chianti Kisses #3)

by Tara Oakes

  “V…” I begin.

  She slams the door to my home office closed behind her. I exhale deeply and pinch the bridge of my nose, clenching my eyes tight. She’s been going off for the last thirty minutes and I let her get it all out, but it’s done a real number on me.

  Every word she says is true, how can it not be? I never intended for my life to turn out this way. We were supposed to leave this way of life behind, buried with our fathers.

  I get sucked back into it, and just when I think it’s safe to leave, after the nasty business with Rizzo and Moretti, I find I’m deeper than ever because of what happened to V’s dad.

  How can I walk away from that? How can I simply just forget that this conspiracy happened and go back to life the way it was, the way V needs it to be? I can’t.

  The only hope is to figure out this mystery and hopefully not lose my wife and my family in the process. Then, then just maybe we can return to normal and try to find some balance we can all live with.

  The door flies open and I jump to attention fully expecting and hoping it’s V.

  It’s not.

  “Dom, we have to talk,” Theresa is insistent.

  I push past my chair and kick it aside. “Not now, Tre! I’ve got enough to deal with!”

  Carmine is quick to follow behind her, entering my office and carefully closing the door for privacy.

  “Boss, I’m so sorry. She- she just-- I tried to stop her.”

  Theresa abandons me momentarily to address her pursuer. “Yeah, good luck with that.” She rolls her eyes at him.

  His neck begins to flush. “Don’t test me, woman.”

  I slam my fist down hard on the desk, interrupting their little moment. “Enough!” I yell.

  They both stand in shock, but my sister is quick to recover.

  “I know about it. I read it. V’s dad was a rat, and dad had him killed.” She throws down a pile of papers in front of me. “It’s true, isn’t it?”

  What. The. Fuck.

  My eyes harden and set on Carmine.

  “How did my sister get these documents?” My voice is as cold as steel.

  He looks like a condemned man ready to accept his fate as he answers me.

  “She went through them when I wasn’t looking. It’s my fault. You have every right to-“

  Theresa interrupts him. “He’s not going to do anything, Carmine. You didn’t give these reports to me. I looked through them on my own. This has nothing to do with you.”

  See… that’s where she’s very, very wrong.

  “I told you no stops, no detours! Enough of these little games you two are playing. You think I didn’t know? Wouldn’t find out? I have half a mind to bury you six feet deep.” I turn my attention from Carmine to my sister, “and send your ass to a convent! This is over, whatever the hell this is between you two!”

  Theresa’s nostrils begin to flare and she doesn’t cower, doesn’t back down the way I’m used to having my men react when I give an order.

  “The hell it is! This is over when I say it’s over!” she informs me defiantly, pointing her finger between herself and her little lover boy.

  “Don’t I have a say in that?” he asks her.

  “No!” my sibling and I shout at him simultaneously.

  He steps back and finds his way over to a leather-bound chair where he tries to take a seat as inconspicuously as possible.

  “You’re not the only one with power here, Dom. You may be their boss, but you’re not mine. You hurt him, you transfer him, blackmail him, or do anything to get in the way, and I promise you, I’ll make sure everyone knows what kind of a back-stabbing son-of-a-bitch Dad really was. I mean, killing Uncle Joe?”

  I close my eyes and lower my tone.

  “We don’t know that, Tre. That’s what these reports were for. They were to help me figure out what the hell really happened…. before people start jumping to conclusions and making this any worse of a shitstorm than it already is.”

  “Well, I want to help,” she responds out eagerly.

  “No!” Carmine and I both shout at her, simultaneously, this time.

  He gets up eagerly and grasps her by the shoulder, pulling her to face him.

  “This is nothing to do with you, Theresa. You’re not going anywhere near this, you hear me? It’s too dangerous.”

  I can tell he’s sincere and for a short moment I admire his protectiveness over her. It’s a very short moment, though, as I quickly remember it’s his fault she even knows about this to want to get involved.

  “You want to help?” I ask her.

  She nods furiously as Carmine growls at her.

  I smile. “Then sit your pretty little butt down over there,” I point to one of the English leather sofas, “and stay quiet while I read through these.”

  The last thing I need right now is Theresa and her big mouth running around with a secret like this.

  “You,” I snap my fingers at Carmine and point to a small chair in the far corner of the room, “sit there. Think you can manage that without fucking it up?”

  Neither of them replies, but each obey me regardless. I shake my head at what a mess this whole situation has turned into, and try to sit as calmly as I can behind my desk to begin reading through the classified FBI reports that the crooked agent supplied us with in return for forgiveness of his gambling debts.

  ~*~

  “See!,” she squeals from her seat anxiously. “He was a rat! He was going to turn states evidence and betray everyone.”

  I’ve just finished reading the documents and slumped back in my chair digesting the plethora of cold hard facts that I’ve just learned of.

  Carmine keeps a watchful eye from his perch.

  “That’s not exactly what it says, Theresa.” It’s not. But it’s damn close.

  Wire taps, phone conversations… the reports are pretty clear that the FBI had my late father-in-law by the balls. They had enough evidence on him to send him away on racketeering charges, conspiracy, obstruction of justice, mail fraud, customs fraud, money laundering, tax evasion, and even smuggling charges. He would have been looking at a combined total of seventy years to life.

  That’s what they hit him with when they scooped him up one afternoon for questioning. They also made him an offer. An offer he couldn’t refuse, apparently.

  They offered him a deal.

  The only kind of deal the feds make guys like us. To go against everything he was taught, everything he believed, everything he swore to uphold… and to turn state’s evidence. To rat out everyone and everything that would save his own hide and guarantee him a spot in witness protection in some small town in Boise, Idaho, with a new name, a new story, and a new beginning.

  But none of those would ever make up for what he’d lost.

  His soul.

  Could this be why the commission had given my dad permission to have him whacked?

  Could my dad have found out about the investigation, have found out that his oldest and dearest friend in the world was about to turn rat and ruin everything? Is that why he went to the commission in the first place, to get the authority and permission to carry out a hit like that?

  This is so not what I was expecting. But, if it’s true… it changes everything. It would mean that my dad wasn’t killing without good reason, without justification.

  Guisseppe Lombardi would have not only ruined his own life, but he would have ruined the lives of his family, his children. They would have been forced to live with the consequences of having a rat for a father. They would have been uprooted in the middle of the night from everything they knew, everyone they loved, to become completely different people in Midwestern suburbia.

  And even there, they wouldn’t have been completely safe.

  There are rules. The bosses wouldn’t have rested until Guiseppe was found and made to pay for his crimes against them. He would be a constant target. And, by extension, his family would be targets as well.

  Even on the off chance
that he would leave them behind, they never would have been safe. They would have been shunned by our community, left with no resources to support themselves or provide for the lifestyle, the education that those children would need. They would have been just as good as dead… they would have been ruined.

  And that’s not to say they wouldn’t face physical danger as well. John, Tony, and Mike might have been too much of a liability to lie in wait until they got older and possibly wanted to carry out vendetta for their father. They most definitely would have been at risk for being taken out before they even had that opportunity.

  That’s only the danger that the Lombardis alone would have faced. That says nothing of the heartache my own family would have suffered if my dad was implicated and charged, taken from us.

  ATH would no doubtedly have been seized by the government, taking our livelihoods with it as well as that of every person who worked for us.

  The arrangement made between my family and V’s for both of us to marry one day would have absolutely been abandoned. There is no way, love or not, that my dad would have allowed it. I probably would have grown up despising her, in my immature young mind that wouldn’t have yet been capable of seeing past the sins of her father, to the beauty that is her soul.

  It would have all been different.

  But, it’s not.

  Because Guiseppe Lombardi was murdered before he ever had a chance to follow through with it. Could I have been looking at this all wrong? Could my dad have been the hero in all this instead of the villain?

  I’m trying to reconcile all of this new information, and know that there is no way I can abandon this now. I have to know. I have to know for sure.

  “Pack your bags, Carmine. You’re going to Italy.”

  I reach into my lower filing cabinet draw and pull out the false bottom, exposing the hundreds of thousands of unmarked green bills. I take a wad out and toss it to him to cover expenses in the foreign country.

  “I’m going, too,” Theresa steps forward.

  “No!” We respond harshly.

  She doesn’t even flinch. “Yes, I am, or I’m marching right up to V’s room and I’m letting her know all about this.”

  I slam the desk drawer closed. Theresa’s in no position to negotiate.

  “Think about it, Dom. It’s the perfect cover. Two lovers going on vacation to one of the most romantic countries in the world. It’s a helluva lot less conspicuous than a hitman skulking around Italy asking questions.” She turns to Carmine, “Sorry, but your look just screams, Wannabe Gangster.”

  “Wannabe my ass,” he defends himself.

  She’s right. Not only will they probably be able to get where they need to go unnoticed, but it will also keep her and her big mouth away from here and the people who any carelessly leaked information would hurt the most.

  “You wanna go so bad? Then go. Enjoy. Live it up. ‘Cause the second you get back, and this mess is over, this little Romeo and Juliet thing you two got going on is over. Finito. Capisca?”

  ~*~

  “I come in peace.” I stick my hand between the door and the jamb holding out my white handkerchief and waving it around slightly to catch V’s attention.

  “I’m not in the mood to fight, Dom.” I can tell she’s still emotional.

  I drop my hand and use my forearm to push the door open the rest of the way, balancing the cold bowl in my other palm.

  “Good. Because the only thing I’m in the mood for right now, is ice cream.” I use all my sales skills to display the medium-sized white bowl like a cheap Vanna White impersonator.

  Her feet are up, resting on a small ottoman as she lounges in her favorite chair, book open and now lowered to acknowledge me.

  Her eyes settle on the peace offering starting to melt. I catch her checking out her favorite flavor as I approach cautiously before she quickly turns back to her novel.

  “Whatcha doing?” I ask in a smooth voice.

  I see her eyebrow twitch. “Trying to calm down.”

  Ouch.

  I try a different approach. “Whatcha reading?”

  She smirks. “A romance novel about my dream man.”

  That… was below the belt. And, not the way I usually like her to touch that area.

  “Well, then, looks like I arrived just in time to save you from reading another smut-filled page, because… your dream man has officially arrived.”

  She watches me quizzically as I gently take the book and toss it over to the bed. Before she has a chance to object, I replace the void in her lap with the creamy bowl of mint chocolate chip homemade sundae.

  Next, I lift her fuzzy slipper covered feet and take a seat on that same ottoman, letting her feet drop onto my thighs.

  “So, I’m thinking… one of your favorite movies… you know, one of the chick flicks that make you cry at the end. A bowl of your favorite dessert, and a handsome piece of husband eye candy ready and willing to rub your tired, swollen, achy feet. Maybe I’ll even rub your shoulders.”

  I think I’ve made a compelling argument.

  “You sure you’re not too busy?” she bites back.

  She’s not cutting me any slack. “V, I’m sorry. You were right. Everything you said… you were right. I’m here on my knees to apologize and convince you that it’s going to change. It’s going to get better.”

  She licks her spoon clean but remains silent.

  “You’re my number one priority.” I reach forward and rest my hand on her small baby bump. “You both are my first priority, and I’ve been an ass. I’ve lost sight of what’s really important and you helped to show me that I’m not willing to jeopardize my family. To jeopardize losing you.”

  She’s listening to me, I can tell, as she swirls her spoon around. “You forgot the rainbow sprinkles.”

  I laugh. “I’ll never forget the rainbow sprinkles again.”

  I can see her warming up, inching closer to forgiveness. “What movie did you bring?”

  Almost there.

  “Whatever you want, I’ll go get it from the shelf.” Her eyes cast up at my offer. “Please don’t say The Notebook, please don’t say The Notebook, please don’t say The Notebook,” I beg.

  She smiles wickedly, looking to inflict just a little bit more punishment on me to make sure I’ve learned my lesson.

  “You read my mind… The Notebook it is.”

  I drop my head in mock defeat and concede. “Fine. I’ll go get it. And I’ll bring a box of tissues.”

  By the time I return, with movie in hand, V’s already set up in the little loveseat by the window with a knit throw around her legs. I can still feel a slight bit of awkwardness between us and know that it will take more than a few words and a foot rub to make up for the ass I’ve been to her these last few days.

  “I have an idea…” her eyes follow me as I cross the room to the wooden nightstand by my side of the bed.

  I pull on the decorative knob and fumble inside for the small envelope, the gift given to me not long ago. I hold it up like a hard-won prize and move to take the seat next to my wife.

  She sits up straight, allowing me to take her in my arms.

  “Now?” she asks. “You want to open it now?”

  I quirk my eyebrow in question. “Can’t think of a better time. I meant what I said, V. I’m in this 100%. No matter what, you come first.”

  My thumb slips in to the tight opening in the corner of the sealed flap and wiggles to get a good grip before moving across the length of the top, carefully tearing an opening.

  We’re both silent, waiting.

  Reaching in, I handle the inner contents as if they were gold, and unfold the piece of parchment.

  I knew it.

  I hear her swallow hard next to me, knowing her angle hasn’t given her view of what I’ve seen. She shifts to try to get a better view but I snatch it away playfully.

  “Hey!” She play punches me in the arm. Her sour mood from before now getting feisty.

  I reach my h
and behind her neck and hold her still.

  “I promise… I will be the best role model for him.” I coyly let her in on the secret.

  Her eyes widen and I watch the balls of her cheeks rise, seeing the first smile from her in days.

  “Him?” she asks softly, as if unsure.

  I nod, and rest my hand on top of my son. She covers it with her own, weaving her small fingers through mine to form a protective web over the baby.

  “I know you will, Dom. Just like your dad was to you.”

  Her words slice like invisible daggers, unaware of the painful irony in the statement.

  I don’t answer, I just hold her closer.

  “I-I know you probably wanted to name him after you, Dom. But… it would really mean the world to me if we named him after my dad. Guiseppe DiBenedetto. We could call him Joey.”

  Her eyes are doe-like, soft, all traces of anger gone. I would do anything to spare her hurt, and nod in agreement.

  “Anything you want, V… anything.” I kiss her on the forehead and pull her in, resting my cheek against her hair.

  Sure. What else would we do other than name our son after the man my father murdered?

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  THERESA

  He’s still pissed.

  Whatever, he can be pissed all he likes. I have every right to be just as mad as him.

  “Can you close your window shade please?” I ask loudly to be heard above the roaring engines of the small jet.

  I’m not scared to fly… but I’m not exactly thrilled to be doing it either. Especially thousands of feet above the Atlantic Ocean.

  He ignores me, instead concentrating on the stupid magazine he’s pretending to read. He’s been stuck on the same page for twenty minutes. He’s not reading a damn thing, just occupying himself with anything that will prevent him from having to acknowledge me.

  Fine!

  You know, there’s a difference between being distant and being plain rude. I unbuckle my seatbelt and quickly take the seat next to his, reaching across to shut the fabric shade myself.