Shrugging, Ben replied, “Yeah. But I didn’t have this one yet.”
“Naturally. I certainly am not going to buy you this military shit.” He returned the game to Ben and let go of his shoulder, sidling up to Grant instead. “What are you trying to do, cugino? Turn him into a Navy boy?” Carlo’s lips curled into a derisive sneer. “He’s got a much brighter future thanthat.”
Grant felt his hands furling into fists, and he imagined the delectable fantasy of punching the weasel squarely in the nose, perhaps drawing blood in the process. However, he remained quiet, remembering how that same stunt in prison had led him to solitary confinement and antipsychotic medication.
“So, you’re finally out of the state pen, huh, Grant?” Carlo grinned wickedly. “Doesn’t look like prison toughened you up any, as far as I can tell.”
“Sure it did,” Ben butted in, eyeing his uncle proudly. “Prison makes you a badass.”
Grant was horrified by his nephew’s words. Ben had changed in the presence of Carlo. His eyes and face seemed darker, as if the Mafia evil seeped into his veins any time Carlo was present. Ashley had been correct in her assessment that his nephew thought his cousin and great-uncle were “cool.”
“Benjamino, you’re already a badass. I’m sure you’d do better at surviving prison than this one.” Carlo gestured toward Grant, winking at him. “He became mentally unstable in there, from what I hear. Went a little insano.”
Ben stared curiously at Grant.
Desperately trying to control himself as he glared at the man responsible for sending him to prison, Grant glanced from Carlo to Ben and told the younger Barberi in a measured tone, “How about you go back to your party, Ben? Your guests are probably waiting.”
Ben hesitated until Carlo added, “Yeah, Ben, I’m sure your mother is wondering where her baby disappeared to. And my parents need your help keeping your little lawbreaking friends out of their extensive liquor cabinet.”
With a smirk, Ben turned to leave—without a word of thanks about the Wii game he held in his hands.
Now that the two cousins squared off, an electric energy pulsed between them. Grant had the height advantage, but Carlo definitely edged him out in hostility and ruthlessness.
“Don’t you ever again use Ben against me. You got something to say, you say it to me,” Grant raged.
Carlo laughed scornfully. “You think you can order me around, Grant Pants? Think again, cugino. With your brother out of the picture, I’m the one in command now. Not some fucking Ocean Commander.”
“I was a lieutenant, you asshole, and I couldn’t care less about the little Mafia games you all play around here. Leave me out of it.”
Carlo’s smirk had long faded, and he shook his head disapprovingly. “You show disrespect, cugino. Not smart. Not smart at all.”
“Are you threatening me, Carlo?” Grant asked. “Because you’ve already taken everything from me. There’s nothing left to threaten or destroy.”
“Ah, there I disagree with you. Everybody has something to lose. It just might take some time to find out what it is.”
Grant suddenly panicked, thinking of Sophie. Perhaps the Barberis had moved on from their interest in harming Joe, but it was just a matter of time before they learned about Sophie. He realized in that moment that he loved her. And love was a dangerous feeling when it came to leverage and a crime family.
Carlo studied him intently and liked what he saw. Apparently, Grant did have something to lose—something or somebody, somebody he seemed to care about deeply. “Your brother owes us, Grant. And someone is going to pay that debt. Now that I know you’re back in good ol’ Chicago, maybe it will be you.”
Sighing, Grant found himself in the exactly same situation he’d faced just over two years ago: his family dragging him into their criminal fold, threatening to hurt those he loved unless he joined them. But this time was different. This time they didn’t know the identity of the one he loved. They could never know about Sophie. He had to keep her safe.
Grant stared into Carlo’s black eyes, crisply demanding. “Stay away from me, and stay away from Ben.” He silently added, And stay away from Sophie.
“Carlo!” An older voice called out from the depths of the huge house.
Carlo smiled. “In here, padre, by the front door!” he yelled.
Hearing Angelo’s approaching footfalls, Grant took a step backward, toward the door. He had no desire to see the father of the monster standing across from him, the brother of the Mafia don—his father—who’d led this family into despair and shame.
“Tell Ben I’m sorry I had to leave.”
Grant swiftly opened the door and slipped into the July night.
“But we were just starting to have fun,” Carlo protested. He rubbed his hand across his spiked black hair, staring at the door his cousin had just shut in his face.
“What the hell are you doing?” Angelo asked, striding into the foyer. His slicked-back hair was the same shade as his son’s, though gray was beginning to salt the temples. A lit cigar hung from his mouth.
“You’d be interested to know who I was talking to. He just left.”
“Who?”
His face erupting into a smile, Carlo answered, “Grant.”
“So, he is in Chicago after all.”
Carlo nodded and licked his lips, mentally reviewing their conversation. His chest still felt tight at the audacious things Grant had dared say to him. But that was the past, and now he was focused on the future. Somehow, some way, he was going to put Grant Pants in his place. He was the heir now, and Enzo’s sons were not going to stand in his way.
26. Perfect CONnection
Eventually determining that Grant wasn’t going to show up early for his appointment, Sophie knocked on her parole officer’s door. She’d been bursting with excitement since hanging up the phone with Anita last night and was so looking forward to thanking Grant for his incredible thoughtfulness.
Entering Jerry Stone’s office, Sophie immediately realized something was off. A palpable heaviness pervaded the small space, and a weighty despair emanated from the man behind the desk. His expression was sour, almost hostile. “Sit,” he barked.
Obeying his command, she noticed a flower arrangement perched on the filing cabinet—completely out of place in the drab, dingy office. There were violet and fuchsia carnations, pink snapdragons, and white amaryllis. “Your flowers are beautiful,” she said.
“They’re stupid,” he countered gruffly. “I don’t know why people spend so much money on the damn weeds. They always end up shriveled and dead, just like everything else.”
A flash of understanding coursed through her. “Your mother?” she softly questioned. “The flowers—they’re for her?”
He averted his gaze and Sophie had her answer. Jerry’s mother had succumbed to her battle with cancer.
“I’m very sorry about your loss.” She sighed. “No matter what kind of relationship you have with your mom, it’s always devastating to lose the woman who brought you into the world.”
He gave a half-smile. “When I misbehaved as a child, she used to yell, ‘I brought you into this world, and I can certainly take you right back out!’”
Sophie returned his wistful smile. “I think every mother has said that at some point.”
They were quiet for a few moments, and Jerry’s well-defended crustiness seemed to shift into a vulnerable sorrow. He didn’t know what it was about Taylor that put him in touch with his “softer” side—an aspect of himself he thought he’d buried along with his mother—but he found himself asking, “So, you said that it gets easier? This grief thing?”
She held his weary gaze a few moments, wondering whether to be truthful. “Not really,” she admitted.
“Finally someone is honest with me,” Jerry said, leaning back in his chair. “I’m so sick of hearing all the damn platitudes—it was her time, God needed her up in heaven, all that crap.” He glanced at the floral arrangement. “As if flowers a
re going to make it better, as if flowers would make me forget her cries of pain …” His voice trailed off, and Sophie kept quiet. “I guess, um, when your mom died, uh, nobody could send you flowers in prison?”
Sophie drew a sharp breath and blinked rapidly, trying to stop the prickling tears threatening to erupt. She gripped the arms of the metal chair, fighting for self-control, still surprised by the sudden intensity of emotion that flooded her body any time she was reminded of that horrible December day when warden had informed her that her mother had died. She’d snidely told Sophie she was lucky she had a clean record in prison, resulting in the DOC’s magnanimous gesture of allowing her to attend the funeral—under heavy guard and in cuffs, of course. Sophie was supposed to feel thankful for the privilege.
Seeing her distraught reaction, Jerry backpedaled. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I was feeling guilty that I was bitching about getting flowers from a coworker, when you couldn’t even get flowers—”
“It’s okay,” she interrupted, taking a deep breath. She gazed at the arrangement, commenting absentmindedly, “The amaryllis sure is pretty.”
Satisfied that she had not let herself dissolve into tears once again in Jerry’s office, Sophie turned her thoughts away from painful loss toward hopeful gain, remembering what Grant had done for her. “Your coworker sent you flowers—well, now I have people in my life that do nice things for me too.” She managed to smile while confiding, “Actually, I should probably report to you that I have a new job.”
Reminded of his duties as parole officer, Jerry looked at Sophie as if seeing her for the first time today. She was dressed in a lightweight black pantsuit, and the silky halter top showcased the creamy skin of her neck and slender arms. Her blond locks were pinned back in a neat bun.
“A new job? I was wondering if your clothes would be suited for working on a ship.”
She grinned. “Not quite. These long pants might get caught in the rudder or something. I’m actually going to be teaching psychology at my alma mater, DePaul.”
“Really? How’d you pull that off?”
A slight blush colored her cheeks. “Grant made it happen.”
Jerry arched one eyebrow. “Grant? As in Grant Madsen?”
She shyly nodded, and he deduced he was going to have to draw it out of her. “How did Grant get you the job?”
Her eyes took on a dreamy, enraptured glow as she explained. “Grant told me once about how much his Uncle Joe meant to him, and he asked me if I had anyone in my life like that. So, I told him about my graduate advisor, Anita. But I never in a million years expected Grant to call Anita and ask her to give me a job! I still can’t believe he did that! It’s the kindest thing anyone has ever done for me.”
She’s in love, it dawned on him. For all his colleagues’ jokes about setting up a dating service for their parolees, these two cons had developed a tight connection, a budding romance, right under his nose. He was stunned. He had to admit they made a gorgeous pair, but for some reason he felt uneasy about their relationship.
“When do you start your new job?”
His question drew her out of her romantic reverie. “I’m not sure. I’m meeting with Anita today to set things up before she travels overseas. And I need to give my current boss, Roger, enough notice.”
He nodded and took out her file, snapping the end of a ballpoint pen. “What’s the contact information for your new supervisor?”
Now that they were all business, Sophie sat up in her chair and provided Anita’s full name, address, and phone number, promising she would have her call Jerry today before leaving the country.
After taking down the data, Jerry studied Sophie, whose face was flushed with optimism. He felt a paternal tenderness toward her. “So, things are looking up for you then?”
“I guess so,” she tentatively agreed. She still had a long road back to herself, but she was taking steps in the right direction.
He rose from his chair and plucked a white amaryllis from the arrangement. Slowly the stern parole officer walked around his desk and handed her the green stem. It just felt like the right thing to do. “Perhaps it does get easier?” he said.
Biting her lower lip, she carefully placed the delicate flower into her handbag. Feeling a little choked up, she stood to leave, murmuring, “Perhaps. Thank you, sir,” before bolting out the door.
She emerged from the office slightly shaken, causing Grant to scramble to his feet.
“Are you okay?”
Sophie gazed into Grant’s eyes and a bright smile spread across her face.
“Yes, especially now that you’re here.”
Suddenly propelling herself into his arms, she wrapped him in a tight hug while tilting her mouth upward to meet his. Though he was surprised, he quickly got on board and his full lips met hers with intensity and fire as his sure hands caressed the skin of her shoulders and upper back. Their deep kiss lasted several moments, and she felt her heart pounding with arousal, her chest pressed against his.
Finally, he peered down at her, his eyes dancing like droplets of sun skimming across a pool. “That was some greeting, Bonnie. Good morning to you too.”
She giggled. “Good morning.”
He took a step back to take in her elegant clothing. “And you look smashing this morning, I must say.”
“Thank you, Grant.”
“A new uniform for Rog’s ship?”
She grinned and shook her head. “Nope.” Coquettishly she patted her up-do. “I may be meeting with my new boss today.” Her eyes narrowed playfully. “I got a call from Anita, and it seems somebody doesn’t want me working with him anymore.”
“Wait a minute, I—”
Giggling again, she cut him off by planting another smooch on his unsuspecting lips. “Relax,” she assured him in a sultry voice, her face inches from his own. “You did good, McSailor. And this kiss is only the beginning of how I’m going to thank you for the best gift I’ve ever received.”
His smile now matched hers. “I like the sound of that.” He ran his fingertips across the smooth skin of her shoulder blades as they swayed gently together.
She peeked at her watch. “Listen, you have to meet with Jerry, and I have to get to DePaul to sort out the details. Rog gave me the day off, but I’ll see you at your place tonight, okay? I’ll be all ready for you then.”
“What are you planning, you little minx?”
Chuckling, she said, “You’ll just have to wait to find out.” She reluctantly let go and grabbed her handbag. “You better get in there. You don’t want to be late!” she called over her shoulder.
He watched her stroll away, her pantsuit flowing and billowing alluringly with each confident stride. Her bright countenance stood in sharp contrast to the darkness of his previous evening with Carlo, and Grant knew he would miss her light spirit immensely today at work. Taking a deep breath, he knocked on his parole officer’s door.
“How’s it going, Madsen?” Jerry asked once Grant was seated.
Grant stared across the desk piled high with papers and files. “Fine, sir.”
“Anything to report to me today?”
“Nothing comes to mind, sir.”
“So,” Jerry began, leaning forward on his desk. “What’s this I hear about you getting your girlfriend a job?”
Grant’s shy smile did not hide his bubbling excitement, which made him look younger than his thirty years. “Oh, Sophie told you, huh? I’m so glad it worked out.”
Jerry could not hide the suspicion in his voice. “Why did you do it?”
The question startled Grant. Why had he found Sophie a teaching job? Because he cared for her, of course. He wanted the best for her. He wanted to make her happy. But the real reason was niggling at the back of his mind: because he loved her. And because it wouldn’t be a bad idea for her to spend her days far away from him and the threat of his family. But particularly after that kiss they’d just shared, he couldn’t stay away from Sophie completely. That w
as just not possible.
He was not about to reveal any of those thoughts to his parole officer. “I did it because Sophie didn’t have the courage to do it herself,” he explained. “I know what it’s like to try to make it on the outside after being totally humiliated in prison. It’s not easy. And sometimes you need another person to help you see the strength in yourself.”
Jerry was impressed by the young man sitting across from him. Suddenly there was a knock on the door.
“Enter!” Jerry yelled.
Expecting to tell an eager con to wait outside until his appointment time, Jerry instead found his colleague Sheila standing in the doorway.
“Officer Sarconi,” he greeted her, rising from his chair. Grant craned his neck to catch a glimpse of the woman behind him, and he also stood as a sign of respect.
“What can I do for you?” Jerry inquired.
“Some photos just came in for you from HQ,” Sheila explained in a voice deepened by years of smoking. Although the fortyish woman was somewhat petite, she came across as a tough bitch, and Grant couldn’t imagine many parolees daring to give her a hard time.
“I thought you’d want to see these, pronto,” she prompted, handing him an envelope.
“Thanks,” Jerry replied, opening the clasp. “Madsen, take a seat.”
“Yes, sir.” As Grant watched Jerry extract the glossy photographs, he felt a heated glare from the female parole officer. What was her problem?
Jerry gasped, a photo in one hand and a typed report in the other. Grant was suddenly alarmed to find his parole officer also glaring at him with a menacing fierceness, looking back and forth between him and the photo.
Jerry swiftly rounded the desk and without a word grabbed him by the shirt collar, yanking him to standing.
“What the hell?” Grant blurted.
Jerry roughly spun him around and shoved him toward the wall. Grant’s heart raced with panic and confusion. Under the force of Jerry’s rough hold he felt himself falling and clawed for something to grab on to, unfortunately bringing down the vase of flowers when his hand hit the filing cabinet. Grant heard the crash just as his body slammed into the wall, knocking the air out of his lungs.
With Good Behavior [Conduct Series #1] Page 26