The Good Daughter: A Mafia Story

by Diana Layne

  “Forgetting something?”

  She paused, looked back over her shoulder. He patted his pocket where the property listings were. She also caught sight of Murray, who no doubt by now thought they were having a lover’s quarrel.

  Shrugging, she started forward again, focused on getting away. “Keep them,” she called. “I’ll get another copy.” She remembered enough of the addresses to send Sandro on a search until she could. She glanced at her watch. If she didn’t get upstairs soon, a shower was out of the question.

  “Where are you going?” He fell into step beside her.

  “Isn’t it obvious? I do live here.”

  “And then where?”

  “No. Where.”

  “Luigi?”

  She clenched her teeth, hating he brought that up. “I never go to Gigi’s until later. I have time to nap first.”

  “Is Sandro meeting you here then?”

  They passed the gym entrance, turned the corner and the elevators were in sight. “No.”

  “You keep looking at your watch. What are you late for?”

  “Questions, questions. I’m late for a shower, and then bed. That’s all I have on my mind.” And bed in more ways than one since his kiss. Unfortunately, Dave was a fantasy and Luigi was her reality. She swallowed a lump of distaste.

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Fine. Wait down here. See if I leave again.” She focused on the elevator button, she was within ten steps.

  “And let you slip out the garage entrance because you know I’m waiting out front? I don’t think so.” He rushed ahead and punched the button, which lit under his finger.

  She stopped, crossed her arms and stared at him. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going up with you. You lost me earlier. You’re good, I’ll give you that. And you in heels, too.” He glanced down at her feet then back to her eyes. “I can’t risk losing you again. You’re going to need me.”

  His words sounded suddenly ominous. “You think so?” she forced out past the sudden chill.

  “Trust me. You will.”

  He didn’t know how close to the truth he was; she had to convince Sandro of the fact.

  The ding echoed in the quiet marble-lined hall, the elevator doors opened. Dave urged her inside.

  She sighed. “Look, Dave . . .”

  The doors slid closed. “What time are you going to meet Sandro?”

  She punched the number for her floor. “I’m not--”

  “Stop lying, Princess. And don’t think you can pacify me and make me leave by getting in the shower and pretending to get ready for bed.”

  The elevator surged upward. She tottered on her heels at the motion. Distracted by Dave she forgot what a rocket-like launch these elevators had. “What if I really plan to go to bed?”she asked when she regained her balance.

  “I’ll sleep on your couch. Unless you invite me to share your bed?”

  “Don’t get your hopes . . .” she paused and glanced at his crotch before meeting his gaze again . . . “or anything else . . . up.” Yes, she thought she pulled that off nicely.

  “You have a dirty mind. I like that.” He grinned. “What time are you meeting Sandro?”

  “Why do you insist I’m meeting--”

  “My guess is midnight.”

  Her gaze sharpened. She had to admit his persistence was wearing on her. “What makes you say that?”

  “I’ve noticed you have a thing for midnight.”

  She still hoped to get rid of him. “By midnight, I plan on being asleep.”

  He crowded her into a corner and leaned close. “You wouldn’t be lying, would you?”

  She couldn’t stop focusing on his lips. Lips that moved closer and closer until they touched hers. Again.

  And she wasn’t objecting. Again.

  “What do you think?” she whispered against his mouth, not giving an inch.

  She needed to object.

  “I think you’re definitely lying,” he said before he turned the teasing into another real kiss. His hand encircled her throat. She arched into him in spite of herself. He deepened the kiss, and she still didn’t object.

  No matter how she tried to keep her distance, there was something about him that made her want to get as close as possible. In spite of his sometimes crude behavior which she suspected was just an act to keep his distance. She sensed his goodness, and it had been a long time since she had been close to anything good.

  It was that thought which forced her to break away from firm, warm lips that had the power to melt her bones. “Don’t. We can’t do this.” She struggled for control, more obvious this time than the last.

  While in contrast he barely looked flustered. But she had felt his erection against her stomach.

  “Why?” he asked. “You weren’t serious about the goodnight thing were you?”

  She knew his composure was an act, just as likely as his jerk routine was an act. He was good at both.

  But she could be as composed as he was, she thought, drawing herself together, calling on years of experience to help her. “I don’t like it.”

  A smug grin settled on his face. “You can’t tell the truth, can you?” Cupping the back of her head, he pulled her closer for another kiss.

  “Dave,” she warned when his lips left hers to travel down her neck. He nibbled at the Florentine cross necklace hanging around her neck, her breasts swelled as if in hope his mouth would move lower.

  “I like this necklace,” he whispered.

  She blinked to catch up through the haze of desire. “It was my grandmother’s. She gave it to me when she was on her death bed.” Marisa fingered the cherished necklace. He kissed her hand, making her grip the necklace more tightly. “I never take it off.”

  “Never?” The word hung heavy with meaning.

  The elevator stopped, saving her from having to answer. She slipped out as soon as the doors opened. At her apartment, she paused. This whole incident with Dave was repeating a familiar, ominous pattern. She couldn’t get involved with a law enforcement official again. The results last time had been tragic.

  Better cut it off now. “Dave, follow me if you must. But stop trying to seduce me. You’re not going to throw me off,” she said bluntly.

  “Is that what I’m doing?”

  “Yes, I know you’re not really interested--” at his raised eyebrow she amended, “maybe you’re interested but you won’t act on it. You know you’d be breaking all sorts of rules.”

  “No doubt.” He nodded. “But I bet I’ll be breaking a few when I help you and Sandro with whatever you have planned.”

  Did he mean what she thought? “Nia means that much to you that you would risk your career?”

  “I’ve known her since she was a baby. I’d do anything to keep her alive.”

  “Including sleep with me?”

  “You think that’d be torture?”

  That was the answer she wanted to hear, she told herself. “Is that why you’d do it, though? To save Nia? She’s Sandro’s wife, you know.” Marisa didn’t want to hear he wanted her for herself. It was easier that way.

  And she really tried to believe it.

  “You sound as if her life isn’t important. Do you still love Sandro?”

  “What?”

  “You two were once engaged.”

  “How--”

  “I have my ways, you know that.”

  She opened her apartment door. “I’ve known Sandro many years. I love him like my . . . like a brother.” She was compelled to share part of her life with Dave as with no other aside from Sandro. “It was my father’s idea for us to become engaged. My father loves soccer.” Most of what she’d done in her life had been her father’s . . . idea.

  “Yet you didn’t marry Sandro.” Dave followed her inside and shut the door behind him.

  She dropped her bag by the accent table and switched on the Tiffany lamp. “I met. . .someone else.”

  Dave’s eyes narrowed. “Lui
gi?”

  She was startled. “No. Gigi . . .” She raised her hands, searching for a good answer. “Is useful.”

  “This someone else . . . you didn’t marry him either?” Dave stepped closer.

  “He’s dead.”

  Dave stopped.

  “He was a policeman,” she added, careful to keep the pain tucked away.

  “Oh. I’m sorry.”

  “I didn’t tell you for sympathy.”

  “Was it a warning then?” Dave moved closer. “You think you’re bad luck for cops?”

  Instead of answering, she made a point of looking at her watch once more, noting the time quickly slipping past. It was becoming obvious she wasn’t going to get rid of him.

  “I’ve had a long day. I’m going to shower.” She turned away, walked toward her room, all the while wondering what Sandro would say about Dave tagging along.

  “Marisa.”

  She stopped and turned to face him. The lamplight crested a halo about his dark hair--but he was obviously no saint.

  “If we have sex,” he said boldly, “it will be because we both want it. Not because I’m trying to use you for information.”

  Her heart sprang to her throat, and she couldn’t make a sound, couldn’t swallow. Couldn’t even think of an answer.

  Dave moved closer. She would have stepped back, but he took her arms and held her in place. “If I want information, I’ll just ask you,” he said softly before adding, “And if I want to have sex with you, I’ll just ask you.”

  Somehow that seemed far scarier to her than if he used sex as a way to get information.

  “Go.” Dave turned her back toward her room when she didn’t answer. “Get your shower.”

  While Marisa showered, Dave explored her apartment. Exquisitely furnished, but cold, he thought, like a magazine ad, the only splash of color was the Tiffany lamp. No pictures, no memories. He felt the apartment was a cover, maybe even from herself. From their kisses, he knew a fire smoldered underneath the cold, beautiful exterior she presented to the world.

  Buried with the dead boyfriend, perhaps. Buried too deep? He thought not. But having loved and lost himself--he could certainly understand her need to protect herself.

  Marisa’s strength and independence reminded him of Nia, but Marisa had vulnerability lurking beneath the surface that he’d never seen in Nia. It almost made him feel protective toward the Mafia princess, something he’d never experienced with a woman before.

  Twenty-five minutes later she walked out of her bedroom, looking refreshed in designer jeans and a casual, expensive sweater.

  “You always blow dry your hair and wear makeup and jeans to bed?” he asked.

  “I’m in a hurry,” she said. “I don’t have time to fool you, and you’re too stubborn to leave. So, follow me if you must.”

  She walked out the door.

  “No need to follow you. I’ll just go with you.” He glanced at his watch. “Yep, almost midnight.”

  She shook her head. “Men. Why must they always act like such know-it-alls,” she said to the elevator doors.

  “Where are we going?”

  They entered the elevator and she punched the button for the first floor.

  “You don’t need to know everything. Just keep quiet and stay out of sight. Sandro’s upset enough as it is.”

  “So what’s new?”

  “He’s armed this time.”

  Dave blinked. “He bought a gun?”

  “I gave him mine, but he went to buy another.”

  “You carry a gun?”

  “Of course.”

  “You know that’s illegal.”

  She shot him a you’ve got to be kidding look.

  Yeah, stupid thing to say, Armstrong. “And Sandro has it and is buying another?” When that sank in, Dave looked heavenward. “Another inexperienced hothead with a score to settle, loose on the streets of New York.”

  Marisa narrowed her eyes. “He is not a hothead. He is even-tempered. And as for the weapons, he is very familiar with guns. A crack shot.”

  “I’m in awe,” Dave mocked. “Is there anything the great Sandro can’t do?”

  She granted him a look and a sly smile as they left the elevators. “Jealous, Dave?”

  He didn’t answer. He didn’t want to admit, even to himself, that he’d been jealous of Sandro for way too many years.

  Instead, Dave nodded his head at Murray as they walked past.

  “Goodnight, Murray,” Marisa said to the surprised looking doorman.

  On the sidewalk, Dave took her arm. “I have my own list of great qualities, too.”

  “Do you?”

  “I can tell you some if you like.”

  She slid her look provocatively up and down his body. “I can see a few . . . imagine a few others. That’s enough for now.”

  Her words sent heat straight to his groin. She obviously knew how to play with fire. But for the moment, he couldn’t have the flames stoked. Later, though . . .

  “Tell, me,” he said, “where are we supposed to meet Sandro?”

  “I’m meeting Sandro,” she pointed out. “You’re waiting out of sight.”

  “I never agreed to that. For the safety of you and Sandro, I think I should know what you two are planning.”

  “Sandro wants no more leaks.” She turned into a schoolyard.

  “And that’s why we’re meeting here at the . . .” he waited a moment until her direction became obvious. “. . . at the school playground. I’m alone. Just you, me, and him. Nobody but us, and we’re all trustworthy.”

  “How do I know that? You could be wired.”

  Dave held out his arms, raised his eyebrow and gave a smug little grin. “Feel free to pat me down.”

  She hesitated, then ran her slender hands over him, carefully avoiding the part he most wanted her to touch. Holy Mother, help him.

  “You missed a place,” he managed to choke out, sudden need burning away any previous smug thoughts.

  She followed his gaze downward. “I can see there’s something definitely there.” She brought her gaze back to his face. “But I don’t think it’s a recorder.”

  “What’s he doing here?” Sandro stepped out of the shadows.

  Marisa whirled, her normal calm seemed a little ruffled.

  The need to play hero came on strong. “I didn’t give her a choice,” Dave said, placing his hands protectively on Marisa's shoulders.

  Sandro gave him a stone-cold look, taking in Dave’s protective gesture.

  “He’s alone,” Marisa said, her voice breathier than usual. She cleared her throat. “He’s willing to work outside the law to help us--”

  “To help Nia,” Dave corrected, her outside-the-law comment somewhat cooling his ardor. Marisa stiffened under his hands.

  Sandro’s cold look didn’t waiver. “We wouldn’t want to forget that you are doing this to help my wife.”

  “But Sandro, whatever his reasons, he can help--”

  “We don’t need his help.”

  “What about Roberto?” she asked.

  “Yeah, what about Roberto? The accountant?” Dave wondered aloud. What would Roberto have to do with anything? Of the mob guys, Roberto seemed the least threatening.

  Sandro shook his head. Dave released Marisa and pulled the papers from his pocket. “Then what about these?”

  Sandro’s narrow gaze barely concealed the anger and frustration boiling under the surface. As ridiculous as it sounded, Dave found himself fighting not to squirm under the deadly, probing look.

  “What are those?”

  Marisa glanced at Dave before telling Sandro, “A list of my father’s properties--places he might be holding Nia.” She turned back to Dave. “I told you I could get other copies.”

  Sandro took two steps forward and pulled Marisa to stand beside him. “If she can get others, then we don’t need those.” The message was clear. We don’t need you, either.

  Marisa hadn’t even given a squeak of objectio
n to standing beside Sandro. And there Dave thought he’d made progress with her. He supposed her loyalties couldn’t be shifted easily. That was a good thing, he told himself.

  Still, Dave couldn’t squelch the urge to taunt.“No?” Unreasonably jealous or not, Dave twisted his point to a sharp threat. “Perhaps you can get other copies, but if you don’t let me help you, I’ll have to bring my Task Force up-to-date. They can help me search these properties.”

  Sandro, his face even more hard and menacing, if possible, stepped forward and squared off with Dave. “The last help your task force gave me nearly got me killed and it did get my wife kidnapped. I will not let you risk her life again.”

  His angry response made Dave feel he’d evened the score. He softened his tone. “Then let me help you. Work with me here.”

  Sandro slowly shook his head. “You have obligations to your job. You can’t go off on your own and keep your task force uninformed.”

  “I can tell them what they need to know without jeopardizing my career.”

  “No.”

  “Damn it, I have resources you don’t have.”

  Marisa turned to Sandro. “I think he’s being truthful.”

  “At some point you’re probably going to confront her father,” Dave said. “How do you plan to walk away alive?”

  Sandro remained silent.

  “You know he’ll never meet you alone, and even if you hold some sort of information that will let you walk away, he’ll have his mobsters follow you and kill you after they get what they want. I can have men in place to help you.”

  Marisa said something to Sandro in Italian. He answered, and they went back and forth for at least two minutes. Dave stood, waiting, trying to remain patient. Still, he clenched and unclenched his fists, fighting the urge to wrap his hands around them both and shake some sense into them.

  Finally, he moved between them and broke into their conversation. He laid his hands on Sandro’s shoulders, in a begrudging offer of friendship. “Sandro, you’re right. I put her at risk. Let me work with you now. Let me correct my mistake.” He swallowed a feeling of distaste and added, “Please.”

  Sandro’s gaze searched Dave’s face. Time hung suspended between the three of them while Sandro made his decision.