A Debt Owed-A Promise Made

by Destiny Blaine

  “It isn’t safe to return to either house, Dante,” she said, referring to his estate and Brooklyn’s home.

  “Maybe not,” he said. “But there’s something I need to do and it can’t wait.”

  The quicker he made himself visible, the quicker Santiago or the agents from IOCAG would find him. It was time to end this.

  * * * *

  Harry’s wife had taken the news better than expected. She’d invited him in for a cup of tea, which he’d refused. She then made a pass at him, which he’d expected. Finally, she cursed him for not taking care of his own woman. Then, she politely thanked him for stopping by, cursed him in another language, and slammed the door in his face.

  He was beginning to think Harry had played him. He probably couldn’t wait to leave town. He sure hadn’t objected when Brooklyn had hired him to stay with her mother and Ariela at the safe house.

  Dropping Mrs. Walker off at Penn Station, he’d decided it was time to part ways with the woman who’d seen his family through enough hard times. Plus, he couldn’t trust her. She’d never be able to stay off the phone long enough to keep their secret and he couldn’t risk taking her with them when he and Brooklyn fled the country.

  Kissing her cheek, he ignored the tears streaming down her face, reminding himself of how haughty she’d been to Brooklyn. Pressing an envelope in her hand, he said, “Severance pay.”

  “But you shouldn’t have to pay me if I’m not working for you anymore.”

  “Mrs. Walker, our family has put you through hell. It’s time you lived your life instead of living in the shadows of ours.”

  “I can’t take your money.”

  “It isn’t mine,” he told her. “It was Martino’s and he would’ve wanted you to have it.”

  “About as much as he would’ve wanted you to have his wife,” she snapped, the reason behind her animosity toward Brooklyn finally revealed.

  “Goodbye, Mrs. Walker,” he said, finality in his voice. “Live well.”

  As he trod across the steps, racing against time, he heard a delighted squeal. He turned in time to see Mrs. Walker waving her check over her head, her entire face glowing. He stood there relishing in the feeling, satisfied that for once he’d been able to give something back to the woman who’d given her life for him and his brother. He owed her that three million and he had a feeling she’d spend every dime.

  Waving a final goodbye, he turned. It was then when he heard the devastating sounds of gunfire.

  Pow! Pow! Pow! Pow!

  Screams flooded the terminal. Dante jumped over the banister and started toward Mrs. Walker’s fallen form, immediately realizing there wasn’t anything he could do to save her. Horror filled him as he fought to contain tears, the overwhelming sadness nearly crippling him.

  Rushing toward her, Dante spotted a man dressed in black huddled over her body. The hit man lifted her neck and delivered the final pop to her head, a direct hit inflicted with purpose, one to ensure the dead arrived on the other side of heaven’s gates a little disoriented.

  Coming to an abrupt halt, Dante gathered his senses. He couldn’t be there. He had to get out of there.

  His heart ticked faster. His pulse raced. His sixth sense had faltered, but defense mode finally kicked in.

  His housekeeper was dead. And his woman was in the hands of those who couldn’t protect her against the force coming for them.

  Three men dressed in trench coats stalked him from the left. Two more came out of nowhere approaching from the right. Several others rushed him from the rear.

  Apparently, he was a wanted man, too. His assailants were in luck. He actually didn’t mind a little foreplay before dawn, particularly when he was properly motivated to carry out a few powerful blows.

  Chapter Ten

  Brooklyn rested her head on her arms, staring at the table supporting her. Braxton had been merciless. He’d pounded her with questions, one right after the next. Assuming the worst was behind them, she slowly began to unwind but censored her thoughts, fearing a breakdown if she thought too much about her next move.

  “So you’re going to sit there and try to convince me that my eyes were playing tricks on me?” Braxton dragged a metal chair across the floor. The eerie sound of metal scraping against the concrete floor was just about her undoing.

  Lifting her head, she stared at the dark glass, wondering who stood behind the two-way mirrors making judgments, watching the interrogation as their investigation crumbled around them. Copping a new attitude of resentment as she studied her surroundings, she laughed uncontrollably.

  “You think this is funny?”

  “Absolutely,” she replied, her head falling over her shoulders as she cackled all the more. “You will go to any extreme to discredit me. Won’t you?”

  “I know what I saw.”

  “Really? Then tell me something, Agent Marshall. Where is the other detective who supposedly witnessed this threesome, too? Bring him to me,” she said, her mockery of him gaining momentum as she studied the meager room furnishings.

  Four walls closed around her. The air was hot and muggy. She stared at the empty ashtray in front of her. The dish practically begged her to take up smoking. The chair she’d occupied for the better part of four hours creaked when she moved. All of these things reminded her of a time when she’d worked on the right side of the law.

  “We can’t find him,” he finally said.

  “Oh now that’s convenient,” she said, suddenly concerned. “When did he go missing exactly?”

  “Probing, are you?”

  Yes, as a matter of fact, she was. She couldn’t be sure if Braxton was bluffing or if his sidekick had really vanished.

  “He left the car back at your honey’s estate and he never returned.” He leaned closer. “Tell me something, Brooklyn. Should we use search and rescue methods or do you think we should expel a search and recover team at this point?”

  “I know what you’re implying.”

  “I know who you’re protecting.”

  “Huh, well why don’t you tell me? According to you, I spent the night in Dante’s house bedding Billy, your rookie cop who is also missing now to hear you tell it, and Dante, a man you’re certain is some kind of mobster turned serial killer. I’m starting to have a real difficult time keeping up.”

  Braxton slammed his fist against the table. “You’re hiding something and I want to know what!”

  “You’re making me a target and I want to know why!” she screamed in retaliation. “What the hell did I ever do to you?”

  “Target?” he asked, his voice lowering. “How?”

  About that time, the door swung open and a cop she didn’t recognize rushed in and whispered something in Braxton’s ear. Handing off a file folder, the young man disappeared.

  Braxton flipped through the contents then tossed the folder her way. Brooklyn studied his paled expression for a moment before retrieving the pictures inside. Gasping, her hand flew to her chest as she viewed the photographs from a crime scene. Graphic signs of a brutal murder in the train station horrified her, leaving her to fear the worst.

  “It’s a woman’s body,” she said slowly processing. “Who is she?”

  Braxton’s eyes darkened. “Concerned about your family now, are you? You didn’t worry about them when you were married to Martino, but Dante is a different story isn’t he?”

  “Who is she?” Brooklyn demanded, pushing away from the table and glowering over him.

  “Don’t worry, Brooklyn. It’s not your mother. It’s Mrs. Walker. From what I understand the two of you didn’t like one another very much anyway. Apparently Dante tired of the animosity between the two of you and disposed of the one who didn’t give him head before bedtime.”

  “Why you lowdown…” She took a leap as sorrow strummed through her veins. No she didn’t necessarily like Mrs. Walker, but the woman had been very good to her family. She hadn’t deserved this and Braxton seemed to gloat over her demise.

  Attac
king Braxton, Brooklyn dragged him to the floor, securing him with her arm around his neck before any of the other agents rushed in and pulled her off him.

  Gasping for air, Braxton held his throat. “You tried to kill me?”

  She was too angry to speak. She felt her eyes bulging with her anger as she kicked the chair out of her way, stalking the door. “I need to get out of here.”

  “Sit down,” Braxton said, dragging himself from the floor.

  “You don’t understand,” she said, shaking her finger at the picture. “Whoever did that to Mrs. Walker will be coming after me and my family. Don’t you see? I have to get out of here, Braxton.”

  She also needed to calm down and use the power of a woman’s persuasion. Surely she could convince Braxton to let her leave. He might have harbored some resentment for her, but he didn’t hate her. Did he? Surely he understood the danger surrounding her.

  Braxton motioned for the other men to leave them and they exited the room. After tempers cooled, Braxton leaned over the table and dropped his voice. “What’s it worth to you, Brooklyn?”

  “What do you want?”

  “You know what I want.”

  Brooklyn fidgeted, trying to collect her thoughts and develop a game plan. Where would Dante go if he were still in town? He couldn’t return to his estate. He wouldn’t go to her place. Where would he go?

  Fuck. Wherever he was, he couldn’t stop a plan of action which was obviously her only recourse, her only guaranteed way out.

  “All right,” she said, keeping her voice low, too. “I’ll do it.”

  “Do what?”

  “Anything. Everything. Whatever it is you want, I’ll give it to you. Just get me out of here.”

  Braxton rose to his feet. Staring down the bridge of his nose, he cleared his throat, prepared to put on a show for the men watching from behind the glass. “Let’s you and I take a ride, Mancini.”

  “Sure,” she said, following his cue.

  She felt his eyes on her backside so it came as no surprise when he said, “Yes indeed, Mancini. Let’s take a ride. This is one I think we’ll both enjoy.”

  * * * *

  Dante wheeled his BMW into a narrow parking space in front of Brooklyn’s Upper East Side townhome. Reaching under the seat, he retrieved two weapons, opened his jacket and tucked the guns out of sight. Leaving the vehicle, he twirled his keys as if he didn’t have a care one.

  In fact, the weight of the world was on his shoulders burdening him down with racing thoughts of everything that could potentially go wrong. Had he made the wrong choice? Should he have lured Marco Santiago’s men back to his sprawling estate instead of leading them to the home Brooklyn once shared with her child and mother?

  Shaking off the guilt consuming him, he unlocked the door. Stooping down to pick up a piece of mail from the area rug in the foyer, he was immediately on guard when he noticed a pile of letters on the nearby credenza. Stacked in a neat pile, organized by shape and size, the envelopes were held together by a paperclip.

  He quickly glanced around him, looking for anything else that might suggest Brooklyn had been there. Her keys and purse weren’t next to the recently organized mail.

  Unhooking the clip, he searched the postmark dates, thinking he might have overreacted. Logic told him Brooklyn hadn’t taken the time to stop by there. Knowing Agent Marshall, Brooklyn was probably still down at the IOCAG office building, detained for questioning. Shuffling through the envelopes, one date caught and held his attention.

  Postmarked November 15, 2012, a letter from a charity organization with a gold embossed seal slipped from his fingertips as he heard what sounded like two sets of footsteps above him. A door opened and closed. Muffled voices filled the air.

  Resting his palm against the sheer curtains in what Brooklyn’s mother still referred to as the drawing room, he peered outside. “Right on time.”

  Again he wished he’d reconsidered his plan for Santiago and his men. Brooklyn’s place wasn’t a good choice. The floor plan left him at a disadvantage.

  Another round of heavy footsteps resounded above him. Who was upstairs? Had Brooklyn been released? If so, what was she doing there? Why hadn’t she tried to call him?

  Sliding his hand in his pocket, he withdrew the world’s smallest revolver, a mini-gun designed to fit in the palm of a shooter’s hand. At the same time, he reached inside his coat and took out his double-barreled pistol.

  Holding the larger gun upright, he stalked the front hall, climbing the stairs with his back against the wall. He kept one eye on the foyer, crossing one leg over the other as he moved along the banister, inching closer to the second floor.

  In the distance, the voices grew louder. The sounds were coming from Brooklyn’s room. His heart pounded against his chest as he made out one distinctive voice, one he’d recognize anywhere.

  “Shit!” he cursed under his breath, rushing up the stairs, not at all concerned with whether or not he somehow maintained the element of surprise. Brooklyn was there!

  Stalking her closed bedroom door, he stopped abruptly. What if she had been brought there against her will? Could Santiago and his men have intercepted her before Braxton and his team made contact?

  Pressing his ear to the door, he closed his eyes and listened, trying to make out the second voice coming from the other side of the door.

  * * * *

  “You don’t have to do this,” Brooklyn said, covering her breasts with folded arms. “Why would you want to do this?”

  Dressed in navy pants and a white shirt, Braxton was sprawled across her bed with his legs crossed at the ankles and his hands clasped behind his head. His lips parted in a crooked smile and his eyes were filled with dark lust, seedy need. “Strip.”

  Reaching behind her back, she started to loosen her lingerie, lose her bra, and just put this entire mess behind her, but right before she unhooked the first latch, something inside her reminded her of why she couldn’t. “I love him. Don’t you understand? I. Love. Him.”

  “I really don’t give a shit, Brooklyn,” he said, crooking his finger back and forth. “This can be as easy or as difficult as you make it. The choice is yours.”

  He kicked his shoes to the floor. Sitting on the side of the bed, he peeled his socks away from his feet and stood. Without taking his eyes off her, he undressed, stripping away his shirt and undershirt, pants, belt, and boxer-style shorts.

  Without any shame, he stood before her naked. Reaching out to her, he said, “Look at me like you used to look at me.”

  “And how was that exactly?” she asked, contempt spilling from her lips. Braxton wasn’t the same man he once was. Had he gone mad? Was the job too trying? Did a woman break his heart and drive him crazy in the process?

  She knew the answer there.

  Braxton had been in love with her and when she left him for a criminal, she wounded his pride and broke his heart. Was she to blame for this new person he’d become?

  “I don’t love anyone but him,” she said, resigning herself to the fact that she might indeed have to sleep with Braxton, but she wasn’t sure she could live with herself afterward.

  His gun was on the nightstand, which suggested a lot. He’d use force if required.

  Then again, so would she. She hadn’t wanted to hurt him, but she was a black belt in karate for crying out loud. She hadn’t spent years in the gym so a man could take her against her will. Why had she even thought she could go through with this?

  “I won’t do it,” she said, kneeling down and retrieving the shirt she’d dropped to the floor when they’d entered the room. Stuffing her arms in the tight material, she dressed quickly. Her first intentions had been to rush through this as quickly as possible. Now she just wanted to run, escape before she discovered what Braxton was capable of and how far he was willing to go to secure what he wanted.

  “You will fuck me, Brooklyn,” he said, backing her in a corner. “And you’ll enjoy me as much as I’ll enjoy you. It’ll be like ol
d times.”

  “No, Braxton,” she firmly objected, shaking her head, realizing this was her lone shot at defending herself. Catching him defenseless, she glanced at the bedside table just to reassure herself that he hadn’t moved the gun.

  “I want you and I will have you,” he said, grabbing her wrist and slamming his weight against hers.

  As he secured her wrist, she dropped her head down, swung her leg around her center and carried through with a swift kick, the bend of her knee locking around his neck. Bringing him to the floor, the bedroom door swung open right as she propelled her arm high above her head. She’d had every intention of putting him to sleep.

  “Dante!” she exclaimed, scrambling to her feet and dumping Braxton’s limp body on the floor.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked, stalking her.

  “What are you doing here?” She immediately felt his love and protection when he looped his arm around her waist and dragged her body against his.

  “There’s no time,” he said in warning, the sounds of heavy footsteps now filling the hallway.

  “Dante, who’s here? Did someone follow you?”

  He pressed his fingertips to his lips and motioned for her to move behind the door. Snatching Braxton’s pistol from her nightstand, she slipped into the bathroom, hiding behind the shower curtain. Dante poked his head in the bathroom. “Stay put, Brooklyn. I’ll come for you when it’s over.”

  “Who are those men, Dante?”

  “You know who,” he said, a dark shadow cast upon his face. “They’ve been here before.” He shut the door, perhaps under the impression she would remain in hiding.

  Brooklyn’s heart slammed against her chest cavity. She yanked the shower curtain back and stormed away from hiding, determined to help rather than crouch in fear.

  The first time Santiago’s men paid her a visit, they’d left her husband drowning in a pool a blood. The second time, they’d meant to do the same to her daughter. Oh no, she wouldn’t hide, not as long as she had a weapon in her hand, spirit in her soul, and fight left in her body.