The Queen of Miami

by Heidi Lowe

  Now she was mad. She slammed a fist on the table and it creaked in protest. “The seven dead Italians rotting in a fucking warehouse, that you killed, is what brought heat to our door! Don't you dare start pointing fingers. I'm cleaning up your goddamn mess, Trent.”

  “Hey, you wanted the job. If you can't handle it...”

  If Noah hadn't stepped in at that moment, Willa suspected this latest disagreement, the latest of many, would have ended in bloodshed.

  Once everyone had calmed down again she was able to resume the meeting.

  “As some of you might already be aware, Ambrisi reached out to us yesterday. He wants a sit down with the big boss.”

  Mumbling and confusion abounded.

  “You're not going to though, right?” Noah asked, looking a little white-faced and nervous. That sounded like the worst idea ever, and one that would surely get his sister killed.

  “Actually, I am.” She let everyone have their gasps, watched them all gawk at her as though she'd lost it, before she continued, “We each get to take one guy, and we meet in a public place. No weapons. Our business agreement may have been terminated, but I'd be interested to see what he has to say.”

  “We already know what he'll say,” Trent chimed in. “He'll say he had no knowledge of the plan to rob us. He'll play dumb. Better make sure there aren't any snipers sitting on the roofs of any nearby buildings, sis.”

  “I'm willing to take that chance.” She offered them a tiny smile. “I suppose that's the advantage of being tailed by a cop. Everyone will be on their best behavior.”

  When she'd dismissed everyone, she asked Guy to stay back.

  “If you're serious about the sit down, take Little Johnny with, and maybe have one of the other guys hang back just in case things go sideways,” he said, once the room was empty.

  “Yeah, sure, whatever,” she said dismissively. “That's not what I wanted to talk to you about. Can you get your guy to run a check on the detective? I want to know everything about her.”

  The dubious look her brother shot her then was fleeting, gone before she noticed it. He nodded, agreed without question – as was customary for him – then the matter was settled.

  If anyone had been beside Layke while she slept that night, they would have told her that she'd been moaning gently in her sleep. If anyone had had the capability to eavesdrop, or dream-drop, they would have understood why. But Dustin hadn't slept over in weeks, and luckily, no one could see what was in her thoughts.

  What had started off as an innocent car chase had turned into something... more scandalous. This wasn't the first time she'd dreamed of Willa di Blasio, and owing to her new avocation of following her every move, it wouldn't be the last. Willa managed to seep into all of her dreams, and once there, it was anyone's guess what mischief she would get up to. The previous times she'd thrown insults at Layke, and there was always an audience. But this particular night there were no insults, and there was certainly no audience. Just the two of them, alone in a dark room. She'd given in easily, hadn't put up a fight. Dream-Layke knew that when Willa ripped open her blouse, there was no going back. And when Willa sank to her knees in front of her, claiming all that was between her legs, she never wanted to wake up. Subconsciously she begged herself to remain in the dream, to finish what she'd started.

  And then her alarm went off.

  Her eyes sprang open and she felt around blindly for the button, whacking at it to silence it. Heat had enveloped her whole body. Her breathing was heavy as she lay on her back, looking up at the ceiling, the light of dawn shimmering behind the bedroom blinds. As her body temperature went down, the heat between her thighs, the pulsating sensation dwelling there, only increased.

  She'd never wanted so badly to stay sleeping, dreaming, and that troubled her immensely. What troubled her more, as she reached beneath the covers, slipped her hands into her panties, closed her eyes and went to work on herself as only she ever could, was how much she needed this release. She couldn't have started her day without it. And she knew, as she rubbed fiercely at her bean, biting down on her bottom lip to stifle her quiet moans, that if she hadn't had Willa's image in her mind while she did it, she never would have hit her peak.

  Her final, long and relieved sigh when it was all over was her body's way of expressing its contentment. She allowed herself a couple of minutes of bliss before the crippling regret and despair set in. And that it did in spades.

  “Fuck!” she grumbled, tossing back the covers and stomping out of bed. The shame was only matched by her disappointment in herself for letting it come to that. It was one thing to dream about her, because dreams were out of one's control, but when you brought that fantasy out of the dream and made it real, that was unforgivable. Especially in this circumstance.

  The flesh was weak. Her flesh was weak, she realized that now. Weak only when it came to Willa di Blasio, who had somehow managed, without even being present, to make masturbating fun for her again.

  Layke knew something was different this time. From the moment she watched Willa step into the passenger's seat of a bulletproof Hummer, give her a friendly smile and accompanying wave as she cruised past, Layke knew something was going down. The driver, who opened the door for her, was a massive mountain of a man with a little ponytail that looked like a schoolgirl's. But none of that threw her. What made her cautious, as she started up her engine and sped after them, was that for the twenty minute drive, she never once lost them. Or rather, they never once lost her. It gave her no pleasure to admit that, without fail, every one of her tailing sessions of Willa had ended with her being left in the dust within five minutes of the pursuit. It had become a little game for them, though she was sure only Willa was having fun.

  She followed the Hummer to the parking lot of a quaint little diner, and hung back across the street as Willa and her henchman got out of the car and entered the building.

  This was no date, Layke was certain of that. And whatever it was, Willa didn't mind her being present for it. She sat and waited, able to see that Willa and her muscle had snagged a window seat. Five minutes went by, the waitress brought them both coffees. Then another armored car pulled into the parking lot. She didn't recognize the first man who stepped out; she judged from his size that he, too, was just muscle. But when he opened the rear door for his boss, Layke recognized him immediately. Short in stature, heavy in body mass, thick hair that showed signs of gray, the top hidden by a brown flat cap. It was an affected look, like he'd watched all of the most famous mafia films and wanted to imitate the bosses. He buttoned up his long gray coat, looked around, then trailed his henchman into the diner. Only when he sat down at Willa's booth did Layke let out a gasp.

  “Holy crap, she's meeting with Eddie Ambrisi!” she said.

  “What is this, huh? I asked for a sit down with the boss, not his secretary.” This was Eddie's opener the minute his eyes landed on Willa.

  Willa knew better than to get offended. She'd been coming up against this type of attitude her entire life, and thus wore a thick skin. Besides, this was precisely what she wanted outsiders to think. It served no one well to know her true involvement in the organization.

  She laughed easily. “Don't let the title fool you, Mr. Ambrisi. Or the fact that I don't have balls. Secretaries of state were some of the most powerful people in history. And balls... well, they would only get in the way.”

  He sat down opposite her, while his man and Little Johnny sat at the table adjacent, exchanging looks of silent threats, and generally trying to see who looked tougher. When the waitress approached he dismissed her before she could ask him if he wanted something to drink. His mood was foul, and wasn't helped by the beautiful, smiling girl sitting across the table, with whom he hadn't expected to meet.

  “Really, if they wanted to insult me I would have preferred they do it in person,” he grumbled.

  “You're hardly in a position to be picky, Mr. Ambrisi.” She sipped her coffee coolly. “So why don't you just get to t
he point. We're all really looking forward to this.”

  “I'm not in a position?” His round face became red, his thick, slug-like eyebrows shot up in outrage. “I send some of my best guys, my nephew, to do a simple trade, and none of them come back alive! Are you kidding me?”

  “Just what are you insinuating here, Mr. Ambrisi? Because it sounds to me like you think we double-crossed you.”

  “That's exactly what I'm saying. How else do you explain the fact that seven of my men are dead, and you only lost one?”

  “We have better aim.” She said it confidently, though the same question had been bugging her ever since it had gone down. Ambrisi's fury was understandable; had she been in his position she would have wanted blood, and lots of it.

  His eyes narrowed murderously. “That's all you have to say? You have better aim? You know, that wasn't a trade, that was an ambush.”

  It did look that way, she had to admit. Which was why she'd agreed to meet with him, to assure him that they'd meant no ill will.

  “My guys say it was self-defense, that your people opened fire as soon as the truck with the merchandise was in sight.”

  “That's a goddamn lie!” Several people, distracted from their lunch, turned to look at a red-faced Eddie Ambrisi. “What are you staring at, huh?” he roared, prompting everyone to turn away nervously. “For fifteen years Maurice and me, we've done good business. Clean business. Us Italians, you know, we gotta stick together. You think I would wanna jeopardize that over one container?”

  She shrugged, feeling less and less confident with every word he spoke. “The di Blasios haven't been Italian for generations. And maybe you thought now that he's dead you could screw over his organization.”

  “What the hell do you know about it? Who the hell are you anyway?”

  It hadn't occurred to her the extent of his ignorance over her identity. She had just assumed that he knew she was Maurice's daughter. She decided it best not to mention it now.

  “I know enough. The guys say it went down one way, and we're all inclined to believe them. But look, nobody wants a war. So the question is, what are we going to do to make this right?”

  Ambrisi laughed without humor. “How about you give me back the money you took from me after you slaughtered my men.”

  She stared at him blankly. “What money?” There had been no mention of the money when Trent, Asher and Ghost returned with the guns.

  “Don't play dumb. The money you stole for the trade.” He laughed again bitterly. “Dead soldiers, no merchandise, and no money. Trust me, honey, if we'd been the ones robbing you, I wouldn't be sitting here with empty pockets.”

  “We didn't take your money,” Willa said adamantly. “There were cops all over that place. They must have booked it into evidence.”

  He shook his head. “They didn't. They didn't find any money at the warehouse.” His tone suggested he knew that with certainty; he likely had a contact in administration at the police department.

  Willa opened her mouth to speak, to say what, she didn't know, when she saw Layke enter the diner. She was wondering how long it would take her to show up. They made eye contact, then Willa turned back to Ambrisi.

  “Do you mind if we finish the rest of this conversation in Italian, assuming you know it? There's a badge that's just stepped in.”

  As luck would have it, Layke found an empty booth a couple of tables down from Willa and the mob boss. She was shaking with trepidation when the waitress came over. Distractedly she ordered a milkshake then peeled back her ears and tried to hear what was being discussed. She'd called in to her department to inform them of her find, so excited to have something to finally report back after two weeks of tailing Willa. This was more than she could have hoped for. But she couldn't shake the feeling that she'd been lured there. Why else would the driver have made it so easy for her to keep up?

  As soon as she focused in on the whispered conversation, though, her heart sank to new depths. Horrified, she shook her head, catching snatches of the conversation and realizing it was all in Italian!

  How cunning, and also pretty genius, she thought to herself. Willa wanted her close, but not close enough to know what was really going on. One of these days Layke had to stop underestimating her. How and why does she speak fluent Italian? Of all the languages in all the world, she happens to speak the one the mob boss does? She tried to parse through the sentences, applying her very basic, high school Spanish and hoping the languages were similar enough, but it was no use. Even if she had been able to understand a few words, they were both speaking too quickly.

  For five minutes she listened to what might as well have been a heated discussion in gobbledygook for all she could understand. Her milkshake tasted like failure as she sipped it through her straw. Now she wished she hadn't called the office, because they would be expecting results.

  When their voices finally returned to English, her spirits rose, then fell again when she heard only parting words. A couple of minutes later, she watched through the diner window as Eddie Ambrisi and his bodyguard stepped into their car and drove away. Still peering at the car leaving the parking lot, she didn't see Willa slide into her booth and sit opposite her.

  “Hey, detective,” she said, startling her and causing her to jump.

  “Miss di Blasio.”

  They stared at each other for a moment, Willa grinning triumphantly, Layke wanting to wipe the smile off her face with a fist.

  “I suppose this counts as our first date.”

  “Whatever. Nice move with the Italian. Where did you learn?”

  “I spent eight months in Tuscany after I graduated. Picked it up there.”

  “Tuscany, huh?” Layke raised both eyebrows. “I'm impressed. Eight months living in Italy, learning a new language, just so you could converse with mob bosses. That's dedication.”

  “Well, it's the language of my father's ancestors, believe it or not. Bet you didn't think I had it in me. I speak Spanish too. Sort of had to, because of my mother. Sexy, isn't it? I bet you're getting hot just thinking about me talking dirty to you in Italian.”

  Layke actually had to laugh, though she noticed the slightly nervous edge to it. Indeed it was sexy, but generally one wasn't supposed to admit that about their own ability.

  “Just how conceited are you exactly? I can't imagine this works on anyone.”

  “You'd be surprised.”

  “Arrogance isn't sexy, just so you know. And neither are criminals.”

  Willa reached out and snatched Layke's milkshake, then proceeded to slowly, sensually suck the sweet liquid up through the straw, her tongue licking the tip of it. Layke watched and said nothing, her mouth watering (though not for her stolen drink).

  “What were you guys talking about?” she asked, her voice a little croaky, her throat a little dry.

  Willa shrugged. “You know, stuff. The weather, puppies. Just prattle.”

  Layke gave her a lopsided, dubious smile. “Right. You met a mob boss to talk about the weather and puppies. Do you think I was born yesterday, Miss di Blasio?” She snatched her drink back, not because she wanted to drink it herself, but as a show of power. She let her left hand hover on it. And just as she'd planned, Willa's eyes drifted to the engagement ring. Layke had taken to wearing it daily now, whenever she planned to encounter Willa. It was her way of stating very tactfully, she thought, that she was off limits, and to reinforce the fact that she was straight.

  But Willa's smile only grew. “Nice rock, detective. You wear it with pride, and yet... you have no intention of marrying that guy, do you? Dustin, isn't it?”

  The color drained from Layke's face. No words came forth when she opened her mouth to speak, and no sound came out.

  Willa laughed. “That has got to be the longest engagement in history. You would think the man would take a hint. I mean, Jesus, if my girlfriend had me waiting five years without setting a date for our wedding, I'd be a little skeptical.”

  “H–how do you know a
bout that?” Layke's voice was low, accusatory.

  “Well I wanted to know who I was dealing with, so I had someone look you up. Just wanted you to know how it feels having someone snoop into every facet of your life.”

  “There's a difference: I'm on the right side of the law.”

  “Are you? There's a thin line between doing your job and harassment.”

  “Harassment? Is that what this is?” Layke laughed. “One man's harassment is another man's justice.”

  “Careful, detective, or I'll start thinking you just like spending time with me.” Willa winked at her, went to seize the milkshake again, but Layke moved it out of her reach.

  Layke decided to try another tactic. “Eddie Ambrisi seemed pissed. Still sore about you taking out all his men when you robbed him?”

  “You know what, Layke – can I call you Layke?” She didn't wait for a reply. “You're great at concocting stories. You would make an excellent writer. I'd definitely buy your books.”

  “You're not fooling anyone, Willa... Can I call you Willa?” Layke smiled. “That's the problem with people like you, you always think you're one step ahead, that you're smarter than everyone else. But there's one thing you all have in common: you always get caught, eventually.”

  Willa only chuckled. “And I suppose you're the one who'll bring me down?”

  “If not me, the FBI. You know they want this case? Now those guys, they don't mess around.”

  Layke didn't expect her to flinch, but she didn't expect her to have no reaction at all. Did anything unsettle this girl?

  “I've got it!” Willa clicked her fingers. “I've figured out why you're so uptight. You're sexually frustrated.” She leaned forward. “I can help you with that you know.”

  Layke leaned forward too, meeting her in the middle of the table, a few inches separating their faces. “I wouldn't sleep with you if you were the last person on Earth and I had to sleep with someone to survive.” Her gaze flashed to Willa's lips, which looked even more succulent and wet now than she'd ever seen them. Her traitorous eyes were completely undermining her claim, making her look like the liar she was. Her only hope was that Willa didn't notice.