by Diana Layne
“No. I must do something for myself.”
Her lips tightened. She expected no less.
“Just get me some clothes so I can get out on the streets,” he continued. “I’m too recognizable to everyone in these warm-ups.”
He didn’t mean ‘everyone’, of course. Although avid soccer fans would likely recognize him, true, since his image was splattered over sports magazines and the Internet. But the ‘everyone’ of whom he spoke was the people he would, of necessity, have to be around. The mobsters. They were the ones more likely to recognize him in his customary warm-ups.
She set her drink down on the nightstand and pulled a notepad and pen out of the drawer. “What sort of clothes do you want?”
He gave her a list, and added that he wanted one of those razors to shave his head.
She blinked. “You’re cutting off your ponytail?”
“It will help disguise me.”
Sadness overcame her, he’d had that curly ponytail for as long as she could remember. But it would grow back. His safety was most important, she agreed.
He unzipped the front pocket on his warm-up pants to pull out his wallet. Surely he did not intend to pay? He passed her a debit card. “I could only get three hundred out of the ATM in the lobby. I need that for a gun. You should have no trouble using my card, I’ll give you my PIN.”
Shaking her head, she handed the card back to him. “I will pay. You’re in this because of my family.”
When he refused to take it back, the stubborn Italian, she added, “We’re stealing poppa’s money anyway, what is the difference?” Stepping closer, she smiled at the grim look on his face. Before he could object, she stuffed the card back into his pocket. “You know I’m right.”
Chapter 13
Nia released her homemade rope and dropped to the ground. Mikey examined the tied-together blankets and sheets dangling from the third floor window.
“Pretty slick, bitch.” He nodded. “I figured you’d try something. You’se got the look of a fighter about ya.”
And fight she would, if she thought she’d stand a chance. But that gun in his hand definitely made her think twice. Still. Giving up was a hard thought to process when freedom had been so close.
A black Lincoln Town car pulled into the drive, distracting Mikey’s attention for a moment. “Ah, Giovanni’s arrived with the foo--”
Nia seized the chance. Swinging her foot up to kick Mikey’s wrist, she heard a sickening crack before the gun went flying.
“Fuck!” Mikey screamed cradling his hand. “You broke my wrist, bitch.”
With only a vague idea of how to use it, Nia made a mad dash for the gun. Technical know-how or not, she wanted it with her.
She scooped it up and kept on running, heading for the wooded area behind the house. It would soon be dark. If she could reach the trees, perhaps she could lose them and hide until they gave up searching. Then she could find help.
“Hey, what’s going on?” she heard the man named Giovanni ask as he climbed out of the car.
“Stop the bitch. She’s getting away. Damn it, she broke my wrist,” Mikey whined, but Nia heard him take off after her. He wasn’t too injured to run it seemed.
Giovanni, who was at least a hundred yards away, started running at her from the right. She swerved left.
Instinct, honed from years of being chased for possession of a soccer ball, told her Mikey was fast closing behind her. Giovanni still wasn’t close enough to be a threat. The trees were just ahead, but what once before seemed a welcome haven, now was a hindrance. Mikey was too close; she couldn’t outrun him by weaving and darting between trees. The tangle of branches would slow her too much.
Panic threatened. She forced it down. Stay calm, she told herself.
Just then, she sensed Mikey making his move. He lunged. She twisted and sped away, now running parallel to the trees. He leaped forward again, managing to touch her. He wasn’t close enough to grab her, but he shoved at her.
“Shit!” he yelled. “My wrist.”
Injured wrist or not, his move had pushed her off balance while she had been running full speed. She struggled to keep her balance, but she stumbled, stuttered, then slammed into a tree.
The impact knocked the breath from her. The gun fell from her limp fingers.
Mikey grabbed her hair, jerking her head back, twisting her around to face him. She hadn’t yet recovered from the collision with the tree. Too much pain. She gasped, trying to breathe.
“You broke my wrist, you fucking bitch.” He waved his hand in front her face.
Blinking, she tried to make her eyes focus.
“That hurt, damn it.” He slammed his right knee viciously into her stomach.
She cried out in shocked agony. The baby! “No, not my stomach,” she whimpered.
He let go of her hair and she slumped forward, clutching her stomach. Before she hit the ground his left fist caught her right cheekbone, snapping her head back. She staggered into the tree again, this time the back of her head colliding with the unforgiving tree. She slid to the ground.
“Mikey, what the fuck you doing?” Giovanni caught up to them. “You ain’t s’pposed to hurt her.”
“She broke my fuckin’ wrist.”
Their voices came at her from a growing distance. Over the reverberating in her head, she wished he’d shut up about his stupid wrist.
Mikey jerked her hair again, tugging her to her feet. The pain nearly blinded her.
“Leave her alone.” Giovanni stepped between them. “She ain’t no good to us dead, asshole.” He shoved at Mikey, forcing him away from her.
She nearly crumpled to the ground again.
Giovanni caught her. “Jesus, she can’t even walk.” He swung her into his arms.
He was a lean wiry man who reeked of garlic and cigarettes. Her head swam, sweat dripped in her eyes despite the cool weather. Her stomach protested over the dull throbbing pain. “No . . .” she muttered. “Lemme . . . go.”
Ignoring her, he carried her at a steady pace to the house. “Mikey, get the food out of the car,” he yelled over his shoulder.
“My damned wrist’s broken. How am I s’ppose to get the food outta the car?”
“Just quit your fucking bellyaching and get the damned food, asshole.” While still holding her, Giovanni managed to open the screen and the wooden back door without causing her more injury. They entered into the kitchen. “Hey, Angie, get me some wet cloths and an ice pack.”
Angelo, more commonly known as Angie, met them at the entrance to the dining room. “What the--”
“She tried to escape and Mikey got a little too ambitious.”
“Mikey? Where the hell is he? I’m gonna--”
“Let’s take care of her first.” Giovanni carried her into another room and laid her on a sofa.
Angie brought two wet dishcloths and a plastic bag with ice cubes. “Move outta the way,” he told Giovanni. He lowered his considerable bulk to the floor beside the sofa. “Ah, Bella, what was you doing?” he muttered.
Disappointment, anger, heartache robbed Nia of the ability to speak, if Angie even deserved an answer to such a stupid question. She barely winced when he washed her bruised cheek.
“Not too much blood for such a nasty cut.”
She looked dully at the cloth. She hadn’t even realized she’d been bleeding.
“But you will have a big, ugly bruise. Already, it is very swollen.”
It felt like it. It felt like she had a bag of bouncing marbles sewn inside her cheek, while someone else had another bag and was pounding it on the back of her head.
“Anywhere else?”
“The back of her head hit a tree, and Mikey kneed her in the stomach,” Giovanni answered when she didn’t.
Angie swore in Italian, and then his gaze settled on her hands still clutched in a shielding gesture across her midsection. He laid his hand on top of hers and made as if to move them.
“No,” she said finding her voic
e at last.
“You hurt here?”
“Don’t touch me.” She curled her legs protectively inward.
He nodded, made a tsking sound. “Let me see the back of your head, then.” He helped her to a sitting position. More tsking noises. “Yes, a very big knot. What the hell was Mikey thinking?” He spoke in a mild tone, yet Nia could see the anger burning deep in his brown eyes. His sympathy brought no relief.
“She was trying to escape, Angie,” Mikey whined from the doorway. “She broke my wrist. I had to stop her.”
“You know she is not to be hurt. You were very careless. I told you she is athletic, and grew up with many brothers. She’s bound to know how to fight.”
Nia’s blood grew chilled at the realization that these mobsters knew so much about her.
“You’re taking your own life in your hands to hurt her,”Angie warned.
“That’s a bunch of shit, and you know it. He’s gonna whack her, just as soon as he gets Sandro out in the open.” Mikey taunted her with his eyes, then awkwardly reached across his body with his left hand and pulled his knife out of its holder. “And when they’re both dead, won’t be any reason for the kid to live, either.”
“No!” She lunged off the couch, going for Mikey’s throat. Angie barely caught her in time. She shoved against his restraining grip. “You hurt my son and I’ll rip your heart out, I swear I will,” she promised Mikey, anger making her voice shake.
Laughing, Mikey popped open the wicked looking knife blade with his left hand. “Won’t be a thing you can do about it, bitch. When I slit his little throat, you’ll already be dead.” He made a cutting motion across his throat. “Just like butter.”
She made a growling sound, struggling wildly against Angie. “I’m going to break every bone in your body before I kill you,” she promised grimly, never before having been filled with such hatred and fear at the same time.
He laughed again. “I’m really sca--”
“Mikey, you fucking crazy? Shut up,” Angie told him. “Get the hell out of here. Go back to town, get your hand fixed. Giovanni, get him outta here.” He nodded his head in a dismissive gesture.
Giovanni placed a hand on Mikey’s shoulder.
“Yeah, I’ll go now, but I’ll be back. I owe her.”
Nia spat toward Mikey. He took a threatening step closer. She tugged against Angie’s grasp.
“Go!”Angie commanded. Giovanni grabbed Mikey’s jacket and led him away. “Lie down, Bella,” Angie told her, wiping the saliva from her mouth with one of the cloths. “Do not upset yourself. Your head must hurt.”
Nia only glared at him. The back door slammed.
“Here, hold this ice on your face. Do I need to tie you up, or can I trust you to stay put while I eat?”
She still didn’t speak.
He laid a cloth on her face, then propped the ice bag on top. He examined his work. “I will trust you for now. Giovanni, bring the food in here.” He pushed up from the floor and settled in a chair across from the sofa. “So, how did you manage to get away from us?”
She refused to answer, instead analyzing all she’d learned, knowing she had to find another way to escape. But her mind was too jumbled and her head hurt too much for her brain to work. And her stomach was sore, too. But fortunately no cramps. Yet. That had to be a good sign. Maybe that brutal knee didn’t hurt the baby. She was only a few weeks pregnant after all. Surely the baby was small and safe deep inside her womb. She sent up a prayer.
Giovanni walked in with take-out Chinese and answered Angie’s question. “She tied the sheets and blankets together and climbed out the window.” He went back to the kitchen.
Angie nodded, looking impressed. “Very resourceful. Of course you know you’ll now have to sleep without any linens on your bed.”
She started to spout off she didn’t plan to sleep until she found a way to free herself from them, but she’d said enough for the night. Threatening to kill a man wasn’t included in her everyday conversation. Yet she had meant every word to Mikey.
Discovering the depths of violence she was capable of shocked her. Yes, she was aggressive on the soccer field; otherwise she was pretty easygoing. Never violent. But this was her family they were threatening. Her very life.
She’d known Sandro was in some sort of trouble, but this kind of trouble she never would have imagined. Having the Mafia calmly discuss wiping out her and the two people she loved most as if they never existed.
Tremors started deep inside her. She fought the helpless feeling, knowing that somehow she had to free herself. Save her family.
Angie sat calmly unpacking the take-out Chinese from the white plastic bag. He looked at her. “Tomorrow I’m going to cook my pasta primavera. But tonight there wasn’t time. Giovanni, did’ja get my sun-dried tomatoes?” he called to the kitchen.
Giovanni walked back into the room carrying two cans of beer. “Yeah, I got ’em. That fresh garlic you asked for, too.”
“Good thing for you.” Angie opened a container and sniffed. “Hm, pork chow mein. Smells pretty good. Here, take a whiff.” He held the container across the coffee table. “Hey,” he said to Giovanni. “Where’s her drink? You want something to drink, don’tcha? You wanna brewskie? Vino?”
The smell of the food made her nauseous. With fear churning acid in her stomach and that knee in her gut, she was already on shaky ground.
She was going to be sick.
“Nah, you’re an athlete. You probably don’t drink,” he continued, apparently unbothered he was talking to himself. “How about a soft drink? Giovanni, what we got?”
“I need a bathroom.” She tossed the ice pack aside, interrupting his rambling monologue.
“Angie, she don’t look so good. She looks kind of green.”
Angie turned his gaze back to her. “You okay? You gonna be--”
“Please,” she interrupted. “A bathroom?”
“Yeah, sure.” He pointed. “Right over there.”
With one hand splayed on her roiling stomach, and one hand covering her mouth, she stumbled toward the bathroom.
“Giovanni, go keep a watch on her.”
“Minghia! What the hell for?”
“I haven’t had a chance to check out that bathroom, have you?”
“No--”
“There could be something in there she could use as a weapon.”
“Yeah, like what? Eyebrow tweezers?”
They laughed. “Yeah, eyebrow tweezers,” Angie chuckled. “She’s gonna come back out here and kill us with tweezers.” Abruptly he stopped laughing. “Get the fuck over there now!”
With a look of distaste, Giovanni went to stand outside the bathroom door.
“Angie, she’s really heaving it up in there.” Giovanni got a queasy feeling in his stomach. He walked closer to Angie, where the retching noises in the bathroom weren’t so loud. “Maybe she got hurt from the knee in her stomach.”
“Could be.” Angie shoveled in a bite of chow mein.
Giovanni didn’t know if he’d be able to eat now. “Or all that talk about killing her and her family could’ve made her sick. Damn Mikey and his stupid ass big mouth.”
“Listen, get back over there and wait for her to stop. Don’t give her time to look around.”
Reluctant, and still feeling green himself, Giovanni went back to stand by the door. Finally, he heard the toilet flush. He knocked briefly and opened the door. Nia paused in the act of blowing her nose. Her eyes were puffy, her hair tangled, and her cheek swollen and turning purple. She looked like shit.
“Do you mind?” she said.
“Sorry.” He shrugged. “Angie said I gotta watch ya.”
She finished wiping her nose, then tossed the tissue in the toilet. Ignoring him, she went to the sink and washed her face and rinsed out her mouth. “I don’t suppose you bought me a toothbrush when you were at the store?”
He looked blank. “Uh, no. . .guess I didn’t. I’ll pick you up one tomorrow.”
She dried her face, turned off the light. “Don’t bother.” She walked past him.
“Feeling better?” Angie asked.
“Just peachy.” She plopped on the sofa.
“Listen, I know Mikey upset you. I wanna tell you ain’t nothing gonna happen--”
“Let me tell you what’s upset me,” she said, leaning forward with a burst of renewed energy. “This morning I found out I was pregnant. And who’s the first person I’m telling? You . . . some half-ass mobster. When I should be telling my husband.” Was it only this morning? It seemed ages ago.
“Only he’s not home,” she continued before Angie could say anything. “He’s left me. Said our marriage was over and walked right out of my life. But now I’m thinking he was just trying to throw me off track while he drops out of sight. Because for some unimaginable reason you jerk-offs are after him. Wanting him dead. My husband. Who has never to my knowledge ever received even so much as a traffic ticket.
“And not only is he supposed to be killed, but one of your asshole thugs beats me up and threatens my life, the life of my unborn baby and my innocent two-year-old son.
“Yeah, I’d say I’m a little pissed, Angie. So, what the fuck are you gonna do about it?” She leaned back and crossed her arms.
Angie gaped at her, his fork frozen halfway to his mouth; Giovanni had the same, stupid open-mouthed look on his face.
Putting his fork down, Angelo closed his mouth and used his napkin to wipe his face. “I gotta keep you here, Nia. I don’t got any orders to kill you . . . or your son. Mikey was just mouthing off. As a matter of fact, Mikey’s liable to get whacked for what he did to you--”
“Killing Mikey is too good for him.” There was that surprising violent streak again.
“Probably.” He shrugged. “We’re supposed to hold you here and make sure you stay safe.”
“But you have orders to kill Sandro.”
He didn’t answer. She looked to Giovanni, whose gaze slid away from hers.
“But why? What has he done?”
Angie wouldn’t give her a direct answer. “Carlo’s supposed to be here tomorrow night. Ask him your questions.”
“Will he answer?” She divided her attention between them, trying to figure out what they weren’t telling her. It was their lack of responsiveness that confirmed her worst fears. Sandro was definitely in danger.