Mobster's Bones (Mobster #5)

by Amy Rachiele

  Who? Ronnie? I trail my eyes over him, watching him. No. It can’t be.

  Antonio, Megan, Donny? They are my friends.

  Vito? Louie? A stabbing pain begins behind my eyes and travels across my forehead, a headache. Who is calling me from an unknown number? My nose stings and my eyes hurt. What the fuck am I going to do?

  “Are you okay?” Megan comes closer to me, and I take a step back.

  “Yeah.” I smile to reassure her I’m fine. “Just thinking of my mom,” I lie. “Get changed. I want to try that new Chinese place.”

  “Are you sure you are okay?”

  “Yes,” I snap. I didn’t mean to be short with Megan. “Let’s go,” I say more gently. Megan turns and heads back into the fitting room. I tap delete, removing the texts, and shut down my phone. I force it back into my purse and swear not to turn it back on until tomorrow. I meet Ronnie at the doorway, wanting to stand close to him. It makes me feel a little safer.

  He takes one look at me and tells the person on the phone to hold on.

  “What’s up? You okay?”

  “I wish everyone would stop asking me if I’m okay! I’m fine.” My agitation is clear and Ronnie backs off.

  “I gotta go,” he tells the person on the other end of the line.

  Megan joins us. “I’m ready.”

  Ronnie takes a long look at me—too long.

  “What?” I scold.

  “Let’s get some lunch,” Ronnie suggests. “I’m starving.”

  I nod and pray that I can eat.

  ***

  It’s late when Ronnie and Megan drop me off. I am disappointed that the day didn’t turn out the way I had hoped. Those texts shut down any chance I had for having a good time. Snitch, slut—the words swim in and out of my thoughts. They’re harsh words. Telling me to fuck off would be less of an insult and carry less of an eerie sting.

  Ronnie’s door opens.

  “What are you doing?” I clip.

  “I’m going to walk you to the door.”

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “I want to.”

  “No, you feel pity for me.”

  “What?” He’s confused, but I set him straight.

  “Poor girl who’s seeing things and lost her mother.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” Ronnie’s voices climbs. “I don’t think that!”

  “Yes you do!”

  “What are you going oobatz for?! I’m trying to be nice!”

  “Fuck you, Ronnie! I know you had to come today to watch me, not Megan!”

  Megan’s sigh is so loud that I can hear it over our arguing.

  “Can I come in and get a drink?” she requests, keeping her voice neutral.

  “Of course,” I grind out, flinging the Camaro door open.

  My anger starts to fade, and I am not really sure what I was mad about in the first place. The three of us get out of the car and go up the steps to my front door. I unlock it, pushing it open with rough movements. I’m pissed, not at Ronnie, but with the whole day and the fucking loser who gets off sending me cryptic and offensive texts.

  My routine of turning on all the lights starts in the hallway and I work my way to the kitchen. I smell coffee like someone brewed it recently. Dad’s car isn’t in the driveway. He must have come home, made coffee, and gone out again. Fleetingly, I think about the fact my father never drinks coffee after eleven a.m. or he is up all night long.

  I flip on the kitchen light and it blinks. It takes me a second to realize someone is at the table. I’m startled. I take a step into the room, covering my nose from the earthy rotting smell that mixes with the aroma of coffee. Then hesitantly I creep closer, closing the distance between me and the table. Etched in large letters marring the wood are the words “I know how much you miss your mother.”

  A scream from the deepest part of me comes up and out of my mouth in a deafening screech—another one comes, then another. The screams keep coming; I can’t stop them. I fall to the floor, feeling the cool tiles through my jeans.

  Ronnie is over me. His lips are moving but I can’t hear him over the ringing in my ears. He’s mad. He is trying to scoop me up off the floor but I’m fighting him like a three-year-old throwing a tantrum. Hitting, clawing, punching. My screams turn into the word “no.” I yell it until I am hoarse. I want to run but my legs won’t work the way I want them to.

  I’m not sure when or how I made it to the couch in the living room or how much time has passed. Everything whirls around me in snapshots. I can’t feel my fingers. I want to move or get up but my body isn’t responding.

  The house is a buzz of hushed voices as Antonio, Vito, and Mr. Delisi arrive. The image replays: propped up with a cup of coffee clutched in the fleshless fingers, wearing the pearls we buried my mother with—a corpse. Shriveled skin and empty eye sockets glare back at me in my mind’s eye.

  Antonio: “How the fuck can this happen?”

  Mr. Delisi: “I don’t know, but everything stops until we figure out who did this!”

  Antonio: “I’ve got to get her out of here!”

  Mr. Delisi: “Agreed.”

  Vito: “I’ll take her.”

  Antonio: “You got a place?”

  Vito: “Yup.”

  Their voices hush.

  Antonio: “Keep it to your fuckin’ self! Can you handle this?”

  Vito: “I handle what needs handling.”

  Even though my eyes are stuck on the back wall of my living room, I can hear them. It’s like being stuck in a sound box for a horror movie; everything is sharp and surreal at the same time.

  Mr. Delisi: “Get her out of here before Vinny gets back, and I want a priest present when she is reburied. Do you understand? Let’s get this fuckin’ done.”

  Antonio: “What sick son of a bitch would do this, Pop? A stalker?”

  Mr. Delisi: “I don’t know, Tonio.”

  Antonio: “This is beyond fucked up. And I’ve seen some fucked up shit.”

  Vito: “Whoever did this better hope I never find them.” Vito’s tone, a deadly mutter.

  Antonio: “Are they gone?”

  Vito: “Yeah. Ronnie went with them.”

  Antonio: “Help me get her up.”

  Vito and Antonio stand me up. Their strong fingers are under my arms.

  Megan: “Here, I packed her a bag.” Her voice is thick like she’s been crying. “Can I go too?”

  Antonio: “No, honey. Vito will take care of her.”

  Megan: “She can’t walk.”

  Vito: “I got her.” Vito swings me up into his arms because I am dead weight. He carries me down the front steps of my house.

  I see Louie and he opens the door to Antonio’s car. His face is sad. Vito puts me in the car and a bunch of enforcers and people from the neighborhood are milling around on the street in the darkness. Gus is standing next to Megan. Her eyes are red and swollen from tears. She waves. I wish I had the energy to wave back, but my arms and legs aren’t working. Vito jumps in the driver’s seat, and we screech away from my house. With each passing second we are further away, acid bubbles in the back of my throat wanting to get out.

  Chapter 5

  Troy

  The alarm on my phone is dinging relentlessly and I smack my hand on the screen to shut it up. Why did I sign up for a Sunday study group? The last thing I want to do right now is go, but I drag my butt out of bed and head into the bathroom. I flip the handle on the shower to hot and grab a towel out of the cabinet over the toilet, tossing it on the seat.

  I strip out of my pajamas, which is just a pair of underwear that I drop on the floor, and step into the spray. My movements are sluggish. I’m tired today. I let the water run down my back before I have the energy to wash up. Usually, a shower energizes me but today I’m fried. I suds up and shave my face. I step out and dry off. I brush my teeth and notice in the mirror the bluish circles under my eyes. Whatever.

  I open the bathroom door to grab my clothes befor
e I have to head over to the library. “Shit!” I yell, and I slam the door shut.

  “What the fuck do you want now?!” I shout, standing naked in my bathroom.

  “I need a favor.” Vito’s voice is different today. It’s affected with a hitch to it. It is so changed from his usual timbre that it piques my curiosity.

  “I told you no more favors!” Our conversation is through the wooden door.

  “I’m asking for your help… please.”

  That is what gets me, the please. I bet Vito can count on one hand how many times he has ever said please in his lifetime. Guys like him don’t say it. They don’t need to.

  I crack the door open to peer out. He is standing close by the door but over his shoulder on my bed sits a girl I have met before.

  A beautiful Italian goddess. Long thick dark hair, olive skin, light brown eyes, and the saddest face I have ever seen. Alessandra’s gaze is glued to the floor. A lump grows in my throat seeing her upset.

  “Get me some clothes from the dresser.”

  Vito reaches into a drawer and pulls out a pair of Notre Dame sweatpants. He hands them to me, and when our eyes meet for just a second, the pain I see in his melts my resolve to never do another favor for him. Something is very wrong. I shut the door again and tug the sweats on.

  I open it back up, facing Vito and Alessandra.

  “Outside,” Vito orders. The hallway is vacant because it is so early in the morning. He closes the door.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Some bad shit. I need you to watch Alessandra. She needs to stay here.”

  “Um, yeah.” I think for a minute. “I can get her a place in guest housing.”

  “No. She stays here.”

  “She can’t stay here. There are rules. No cohabitation.”

  “Don’t worry about the rules.” I run my fingers through my hair, not liking this at all.

  “What happened? How long will she be here?”

  “If she wants to tell you, it’s her story to tell. I don’t know how long but she doesn’t leave your side. She is not to be alone. You eat, she eats; you go to class, she goes to class.”

  “Are you kidding? Don’t you think my professors are going to notice an Italian chick following me around?” I can’t hold the sarcasm back.

  “Make some shit up—exchange student, shadowing for the semester, your sister. I don’t give a fuck. She stays with you!” Vito’s voice rises in agitation.

  “Why?”

  He ignores me and takes out his wallet and counts out ten one-hundred-dollar bills.

  “You’re paying me?”

  “No, it’s to take care of her. Buy her shit she needs. There should be money in her purse too.” Vito goes back into my room. He pulls a gun from the back of his jeans. Checks it and lays it down next to my cell on the bedside table. “She’s carrying,” he informs me as if this is all normal. “It’s a little one in her purse. Do you know how to shoot?”

  “Uh. Yeah.” My fingers run through my hair in exasperation and I check my watch. I need to be at study group in ten minutes. “I used to go hunting with my dad.”

  “Good. That’s convenient.”

  “This is messed up.” I run my hand through my hair again; I’m nervous. I turn and Alessandra is exactly the way she was. “I have to get to a study group.”

  “Not today. Let her rest. Try to get her to eat something. She’s tough. Give her some time.”

  I lean in to Vito. “Why don’t you watch her?”

  “I’m asking you!” He puts his index finger in my chest. “I have some shit to sort. She needs to stay out of Palmetto for now. No one knows she’s here, not even Antonio. Don’t tell anyone.” His meaty hand lands on my shoulder. “If someone calls you, you don’t tell them anything. Understand?”

  “Tell them what? I don’t know anything.”

  “She’ll tell you herself when she is ready.” Vito walks over to Alessandra and kneels down to her level. “I have to go.” His voice is gentle, unlike I have ever heard from him before. “Troy will hang with you until I figure this out. There is a burner phone in your purse. Call me if you need anything.” He stands and leans down, kissing the top of her head. “Bye.” Vito walks toward the door to leave.

  “Troy. One more thing.” He pauses with his hand on the doorknob.

  “Yeah?”

  “Don’t date her and don’t fuck her.”

  And with that statement he leaves. I stand at the closed door staring at it, processing what he just said, when I hear another door slam. Alessandra is gone from my bed and has locked herself in my bathroom.

  Just great.

  Alessandra

  Why do things you only see for a second become seared into your memory? A snapshot that you can’t rip up or a picture on your phone you can’t delete. I run the water in Troy’s sink and throw cold water on my face trying to wash it away.

  It will never go away. Seeing my mother’s decayed body propped up at our kitchen table is stamped in my mind.

  “Alessandra?”

  I pause, not even wanting to move my mouth to talk. I force it out, through a crack in my voice.

  “Yeah.”

  “Do you need anything?”

  This is adding misery to the gaping wound in my chest. Vito dragged me here. I can’t believe it. Why did he bring me here? These are the most humiliating circumstances—needy and broken.

  I run the water again and reach for a hand towel. It’s clean. Good thing Troy is a neat freak. Some guys would use the same towel for weeks before taking the trouble to wash it.

  Knock, knock.

  “Alessandra, can I come in?”

  I can’t even imagine why this is happening to me. The one guy worth chasing is now my keeper. Dammit! The secret reason I was applying here. Notre Dame was the number one college on my list. As soon as I summoned up the courage to push on with my life after the death of my mom, this happens. Tears heat the back of my eyes as the image of my mother in the kitchen replays like a movie in my mind.

  I sigh and on the exhale I say, “No.”

  “Um, can I get you anything?”

  His sincerity makes me feel even worse to put him out like this. How nice of Vito to drop a girl with a fucking stalker problem on his doorstep. Troy has his own life. He doesn’t need any of my shit. These are not the terms under which I wanted to see Troy again. Showing up as a student next fall was my plan.

  I fold the towel slowly, procrastinating leaving the bathroom. My eyes fill up again just thinking about facing him. I need another minute. I go back to the mirror and wipe the excess makeup out from under my eyes and wash my hands again. I’m stalling. I refold the towel and lay it on the side of the sink. I inhale reaching for the door handle. I stumble because the door is moving, each of us trying to go through it. We do a little tug of war and finally when the door opens we are revealed to each other.

  Troy’s expression shows concern. My eyes linger too long so I look down; he is bare-chested. His skin is pale, but it’s a nice color, a little pink hue to it. I blush a little for gawking and gaze back up at his face. His blond hair is mussed, and I realize why when he runs his hand through it.

  “Uh. I don’t really know what to say.”

  I walk past him to the bed and sit down.

  “There is nothing to say.” Besides being filled with grief and fear, I’m mortified. I hate Troy seeing me like this.

  “Do you want breakfast? Are you hungry?” His tone is gentle.

  “Not really. But you probably are.” I stand back up and search around in my small pile of stuff for my pocketbook. I find it and put the strap over my shoulder in a routine way and head for the door. I wait with my hand on the doorknob while Troy finds a shirt and grabs a brown leather coat.

  “Is on campus okay?”

  “Whatever is fine with me.” I’m having trouble looking at him.

  “You will probably need a coat.”

  I don’t move. Not because I am being impolite
. I’m foggy and not myself. Troy hands me a green Notre Dame jacket. I slip it on and it gets tangled with my purse strap. Frustrated, I squirm. Troy puts his hands on my shoulders and I look up at him, our eyes settling on each other. A sweet shiver travels down my spine, surprising me.

  “Stop for a second.” He takes the coat off me and holds my purse. He hands back the jacket and I slip it on. He hands me back my pocketbook, and I toss the strap on my shoulder once again. “There. All set.” Troy pauses with a smile. “It looks good on you.” He opens the door for me and lets me out first like a gentleman.

  “Thank you,” I mutter while a blush rises to my cheeks.

  “Wait a second.” Troy rushes over to the bedside table and puts the gun in the drawer, picks up his cell phone, and follows behind me to the elevator.

  The campus is quiet at this hour on a Sunday. “What are you missing right now?”

  “English study group,” he tells me. “So, uh… You’re going to have to come with me to my classes.”

  “Vito is overreacting. Thanks for letting me stay here, but I’ll be fine.” Acid in my stomach churns, filling the back of my throat with rusty pain. I am attempting to sound strong. Not the weakling I actually feel like. My limbs are so heavy, they are sore.

  “He sounded pretty sure of himself to me.”

  “He usually does.”

  I’m rude and sarcastic. I don’t mean to be, but I can’t help myself. I am spiraling out of control. Who the fuck would be so sadistic? I squeeze my eyes shut, trying force the image of my mother’s corpse away. If I could rip out my eyeballs to take away the vision, I think I would do it.

  Chapter 6

  Troy

  Walking beside me is one of the most beautiful women in the world. Alessandra was never the type to wear pretty little girl dresses; I bet she was born with sex appeal. I am surprised some hotshot modeling agency hasn’t scooped her up and flaunted her across expensive magazine pages.

  From the first time I met her, I wondered what she thought about me. Fantasies are what they are—in our own heads, something that is too good to be true so it has to live in our own minds because we can’t seem to come to terms with them ever coming to fruition. I figure she finds me a dull, fair-skinned goofball. She went to high school with Megan, and I remember the first time I met her, getting ice cream at the local open counter parlor in the heart of Palmetto. I was joking around way too much. I think I was nervous to be around her. I acted like an immature ass, and maybe I was. How we ended up here, right now, crossing the Notre Dame campus on our way to have breakfast, I’ll never understand. What am I going to do with her?