by April Hunt
Charlie wouldn’t let herself be taken in by the laid-back attitude, and when she waved Vince over, she saw in his stride that he was also prepping for a hundred different scenarios. Standing when he got close, she reached out for his hand and latched herself to his side. Vince didn’t miss a beat, wrapping his arm around her waist.
“Anthony Torres,” Anthony introduced himself. “I’m a good friend of Letty’s uncle.”
“Vincent Franklin. Fiancé.”
Anthony’s smile held little warmth. “I know. You don’t think her uncle found out about his only niece’s engagement and didn’t look into the man she’s going to marry, do you?” He turned back to include them both. “Arturo’s inviting the both of you to brunch tomorrow morning. Ten o’clock at the house.”
Charlie warned, “I’m not here for a family reunion.”
“And yet you came back to Miami knowing that’s exactly what you were going to get. Ten o’clock,” Anthony repeated. “Arturo’s looking forward to having both his girls there at the same time. And it may have been a few years, Letty, but your uncle’s not so changed that he condones lateness in any form. See you tomorrow.”
Charlie and Vince watched as he turned back toward the boardwalk. With their dark suits and goon-walks, both Anthony and his men stuck out on the scantily dressed beachgoers. Vince took the vacated seat and pulled Charlie onto his lap. She knew it was in case they were being watched, but it didn’t stop the tingle zapping through her body and to all her barely covered lady bits when his hand landed on her upper thigh.
“Start talking,” Vince demanded gruffly. “Now.”
“About what? The fact that I was right? One night out on the town and we already have a meet with my uncle,” Charlie smarted back in an attempt to gloss over the unexpected onslaught of nerves attacking her stomach.
She thought she’d mentally prepared herself to step back into her uncle’s life, but the slight shake of her hand said otherwise. She draped her arm over Vince’s shoulder and tightened her fingers, hoping he didn’t notice.
“What are you worried about?” Vince asked, too damn observant. “The brunch invite?”
“Invite? You thought that was asking?” Charlie snort-laughed. “You mean you didn’t hear the silent We both know you don’t have a choice so let’s not keep pretending? Granted, Anthony’s always been a bit more tactful than the rest of Arturo’s men. The others wouldn’t have attempted to make it sound like there was an option other than saying yes.”
“Yeah, I’m sure he’s a real swell guy,” Vince muttered sarcastically. “Father like son.”
“Maybe that’s one of the things bothering me.” Charlie absently massaged her fingers into the back of his neck as she fought to make sense of her thoughts.
Vince flashed her a curious look. “What?”
“Brock has been undercover with DHS since he got out of the military, right? Which means he was an agent even when I knew him.”
“Your point?”
“My point’s that as long as I’ve known him, Brock’s never gotten along with his father. Not before he left for the military, not after, and not even when he was apparently with the DHS. So what happened? What happened to suddenly make him get involved in Arturo’s business now?”
“Assuming he hasn’t changed sides? He did have a job to do. It’s hard to do it if you’re on the outs—easier to infiltrate from the inside. Which is exactly why we’re here too.”
Charlie knew he was right. In theory. Still, something was missing. Even the acting greats couldn’t have put on a better performance than Brock. He’d legitimately hated everything his father and Arturo stood for and never hid the fact from anyone—especially them. So why would Anthony and her uncle think he’d experienced a sudden change of heart?
Or more importantly, what had he done to convince them?
Chapter Nine
At sixteen, Charlie bartered for her own freedom. Striking out on her own in a world that loved nothing more than to chew young women up and spit them out, she’d been resourceful. She’d had to be. But at barely eighteen, she’d used her resourcefulness and fondness for computers to skim money off a few well-endowed bank accounts—strictly for food, shelter, and other necessities. But she’d picked the wrong account—or more accurately, the right one.
Sean Michael Stone.
He was never supposed to question the minuscule amounts she skimmed every other month, much less be able to track her, but he did—and gave her an ultimatum: Use her smarts for good, go to school, and then work for him; or get comfy in a county lockup.
She’d chosen the first option and hadn’t looked back since—at least until now.
Standing in front of the house that had been her jail from the ages of eight to sixteen conjured feelings and memories Charlie hadn’t thought about in a damn long time. According to Vince’s employee file, he’d been to war zones in both the desert and the jungle, places all over the globe where he’d fought for his life and the lives of others. Charlie might not have toted around an AK-47 and covered her face in black camo paint, but this house had been her war zone all the same.
Arturo didn’t do anything half-assed. “Ornate.” “Ostentatious.” “Outrageous.” Those three words described his taste pretty accurately. His house, a mixture of Miami color and Greek grandiosity, welcomed visitors with a marble staircase that led up to a rotund, pillared porch and double-wide glass doors.
At the top of the stairs, Charlie glanced back at their rental truck, a good twenty feet away. They hadn’t rung the bell. It wasn’t too late to change her mind. She could still turn around, build another identity, join a nunnery…and let her uncle deconstruct yet another dream, the first being a lifetime of experiences with her mum.
Vince’s hand settled on the small of her back, its warmth turning into a supportive wall. Charlie closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “You got this, English.”
“Yeah, I know I do,” she lied. “I’m just worried about you. This isn’t any regular Meet the Parents.”
“I can handle it.”
A sudden silence hung in the air between them. Charlie couldn’t meet his gaze. She gripped the purse in her hands a little tighter. Vince’s fingers locked onto her chin and directed her gaze to him.
Disdain. Annoyance. Hell, even that horny look that occasionally clouded his eyes was easier to deal with than the concern staring back at her.
“You got this. We got his. We go in, make nice, then leave and continue on with our day. That’s it.” He made it sound so damn simple.
“I need in his office,” Charlie reminded him.
It had been their first argument of the morning. Charlie wanted to use the opportunity of being in Arturo’s territory to their advantage while Vince wanted simply to use it as a foundation for future encounters. Immediate versus eventually. Fast versus slow. Charlie versus Vince.
“We talked about this,” Vince murmured. “It’s too risky. He’s not going to have any kind of useful intel lying around for anyone to come across. It’s better to hold off and wait until we’re in a better position.”
“The women being taken from the clubs don’t have time to wait,” Charlie hissed. “Each day we sit around drinking mimosas gives these arseholes another chance to ruin someone’s life. If I have an opportunity to get away from the table, I’m taking it. Either back me up, or I’m walking in there with an announcement that I’ve called off our winter wedding.”
A low rumble slid out from his throat.
Patting his cheek, she stepped back and rang the bell. “Keep growling at me, and I’m going to fit you in a muzzle.”
Nothing inside the house had changed in twelve years. Expensive artwork hung on the walls, and sculptures lined both sides of the corridor. Branson, her uncle’s butler, led the way through the foyer and toward the back patio, where Anthony waited outside the sliding glass doors.
“Glad you showed.” Anthony gave them a small nod, holding open the door.
�
��I’m not one for wearing cement shoes, so…”
Vince tensed, only relaxing when Anthony burst out into laughter. “Haven’t lost the sense of humor, I see.”
“Not a bloody bit. As a matter of fact, I’m trying to teach it to Vince.”
Anthony chuckled harder, but he was alone in the joke. Firming his arm around her waist, Vince bent closer to her ear. “I think you’re the one who needs the muzzle.”
Charlie ran her hand up his chest and grinned. “Try it and see what happens, love.”
Anthony was still chuckling as he walked them onto the patio.
Arturo Franconi, the once robust, most-feared crime boss south of the Mason-Dixon Line, looked like a different man than the one she’d left. He looked like half a man. He’d easily lost seventy-five pounds off his hulking frame, the lines bracketing his mouth deeper and more numerous, …and his pallor yellowed.
DHS’s sources had confirmed end-stage liver disease, but they didn’t say how far advanced it had become. Shock at her uncle’s physical changes almost made Charlie overlook the man standing at his side.
Brock glared unapologetically at her and Vince until her uncle stood, keeping one hand secured on the tabletop.
“We’ll talk about this later,” Arturo said, dismissing Charlie’s former friend. “It looks as though my long-lost niece has finally come home.”
“I really think we need to nail this down now…sir,” Brock stated firmly.
Arturo’s eyes snapped back to the younger man. Dark and menacing—that was the uncle whom Charlie not-so-fondly remembered. “As long as there is life left in my body, I’m still the one who makes the decisions—and I believe I’ve given you an order. I told you what needs to be done. Now I expect you to get it done. Is there going to be a problem?”
“No…sir.” Brock gritted his teeth.
“Then do it. And I don’t want to hear any fucking excuses.” With a flick of his hand, Arturo dismissed him again.
Brock stalked past her. “You still don’t fucking listen,” he muttered beneath his breath. Vince shifted his weight closer to her, obviously hearing the less-than-welcoming words.
“Come.” Arturo gestured to the empty chairs. As Charlie and Vince sat, she sensed her uncle’s gaze on her. “You’ve turned into a very beautiful woman, my dear. Of course, I shouldn’t be surprised. Both your mother, Mia, and my dear departed Leslie looked the part of earth-bound angels.”
Hearing him mention her mum and aunt turned Charlie’s vision red. Her body tensed, and Vince, sensing the change, reached over and gave her leg a firm squeeze.
“And you”—Arturo turned toward Vince—“you’re the man who believes he’s good enough for my niece, a Franconi.”
“I’m a Hughes,” Charlie corrected, her jaw aching.
Arturo turned his cold, dark eyes on her. “You were a Franconi from the moment you stepped through my front door, all pig-tailed and wide-eyed.”
“You mean red-eyed and shell-shocked. After all, my mum had just been murdered.”
Arturo frowned at the reminder, but Charlie didn’t care.
“I suppose I should apologize, Vincent. I’m sure Charlotte has explained to you that we haven’t exactly been keeping up with the times. As a matter of fact, I think it’s been…what? Ten years since she shed her family as though we were the common cold? I mean, changing her name…to Charlie Sparks?” He shook his head, tsk-ing.
“It’s been twelve—as you very well know,” Charlie muttered. “And my name is more Charlie Sparks than it ever was Charlotte Franconi.”
“It’s a wonder why you’ve even graced me with your presence if you find everything Franconi-linked so distasteful, my dear niece.”
“If Anthony had made it a choice, I wouldn’t be…Uncle.”
Arturo leaned back in his chair. “Did she ever tell you how she became a part of my life, Vincent? It was both a shining moment and a dark cloud—she lost her mother, and I lost my wife—all in the course of minutes.”
Charlie stared at her uncle. He wouldn’t.
He took a sip of his champagne. “Eight years old is such a horrid time to lose someone so close to you. But as one does in times of great sorrow, you latch onto the family who remain. At least, that’s what I did. I gave my daughter and my niece my whole heart, and do you know what put the next crack in it? The girl I thought of as a second daughter, one I’d raised as my own, thinking I could be so heinous as to be behind the death of my own wife.”
“If I thought that, I wouldn’t be here,” Charlie forced her voice to work.
Finally, Arturo turned his attention toward her. “You no longer think I’m responsible for their deaths?”
“I no longer think you ordered them,” she clarified. “I didn’t say anything about not being responsible. They’re gone because of who you are, what you do, and the friends you keep.”
Arturo looked thoughtful for a moment before letting out a drawn-out sigh. His posture relaxed, shoulders releasing some of their stiffness. “That’s one of the many reasons why I’m turning over a new leaf.”
Charlie snorted. “Right.”
“You don’t believe me?”
“I’d sooner believe in the Easter Bunny. You’re not the kind of man to go through life without having power over others. No way would you give that up,” she pointed out.
“You’re right. But it seems like fate has other plans for me.” He gestured to his rail-thin body. “As you could guess, I’m not in the best of health. And since I can’t take power with me to the grave, and both you and your cousin have no desire to take part in the family business as it works now, there’s no reason not to use my final days putting things on the straight-and-narrow. Contrary to what you may believe, Charlotte, I do love my family, and the last thing I want is to pass something to you and Tina which may bring danger into your lives.”
Too bad he hadn’t thought that way twenty years ago, before someone tampered with the car her mother and aunt had been driving.
Before she left Miami, Charlie had gotten close to finding true answers as to who had called for the hit. It hadn’t been Arturo, but someone had—someone with something to gain, either by flexing their power or creating a reason for retaliation. Charlie hadn’t wanted any part of the life that had taken her mother from her way too soon—and still didn’t.
The click-clack of heels on stone reached Charlie’s ears as Tina, her cousin, turned the corner, looking no less gorgeous than the last time Charlie had laid eyes on her. Her skin-tight red dress, no doubt tailor made, hugged her curvy body, and her black wavy hair and flawless olive complexion leaned heavily on her Italian genes.
“So you really are here.” Tina’s dark eyes gave Charlie a critical once-over. “I thought Daddy lost his mind when he said you came back to town. I assumed you ended up buried in a garbage dump somewhere.”
“Now, now, Tina,” Arturo admonished. “That’s no way to greet your cousin.”
Tina dropped a kiss onto her father’s cheek and did a double take as she turned her gaze on Vince. She propped her sunglasses on top of her head, letting her eyes feast on him from the waist up. “Well, hello there, gorgeous.”
Charlie contemplated amputating her cousin’s hand as she walked behind them, sliding her palm over Vince’s shoulder as she passed. He got points for pulling away pretty quickly and received even more for draping an arm on the back of Charlie’s chair.
Chuckling, Tina took the seat across from her father. “I can’t possibly stay long or eat much. There are a few fires I need to put out.”
“Anything you need help with?” Arturo asked.
“I’ve got it handled, Daddy. Just a little housecleaning that needs to be done.” Tina leaned toward Vince, giving him a nice view of her cleavage—something that hadn’t been there years back. “I own and run my own successful business. I hear you run one as well.”
“Along with a few of my service buddies,” Vince replied.
“I love ambitious men.” T
ina turned a false smile in Charlie’s direction. “And what are you doing, Charlotte? Working as a drop-in volunteer at one of those salon schools? Not at a very good one, judging by the hair. Hopefully they give you some kind of hazard pay.”
Charlie clenched her teeth and prayed for patience. “I’m a bartender…in Vince’s bar.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that.” Placing a hand on the center of her chest, Tina feigned empathy. “I suppose it was a very rude awakening to find out you weren’t half as smart as you thought you were, huh? What was it that you said when you left? That you wanted to make a positive difference in the world? I didn’t know you could change the world with martinis. Maybe you’ll show me how you do it while you’re in town.”
Charlie would love to show her all right…show her her fist and a dark closet.
As if reading her mind, Vince pried her fist open, finger by finger, and interlocked their hands to keep her from doing it again.
“Down girl,” he murmured under his breath before gracing Tina with a hard glare. “Your cousin’s an extremely talented woman. At anything she sets her mind to do. And the best thing about it—which is sometimes the most frustrating—is she demands to get it on her own terms. Handouts aren’t her thing. It’s one of the many reason why I care for her as much as I do.”
Something in Vince’s words sounded almost believable. Like he’d meant them. Or maybe it was the mimosas starting to course through her body. Thirty minutes and three orange juice concoctions later, Charlie needed to do something more useful than verbally sparring with everyone within a six-foot distance—except Vince. And didn’t that shock the hell out of her because he was normally the first one she tried goading into an argument.
“I need to use the loo.” Leaning over to brush a kiss on Vince’s cheek, Charlie whispered, “Keep them busy.”
“Charlie,” he warned softly.
“Be back in a jiffy.”
He looked like he wanted to throttle her, but she couldn’t worry about his displeasure. The entire point of this meeting was to get information, not go on a trip down memory lane or be verbally accosted by the cousin from hell.