Playing Jasper (Genoa Mafia Series Book 4)

by Ginger Ring

  Playing

  Jasper

  Genoa Mafia Series Book IV

  By Ginger Ring

  Playing Jasper

  Copyright © 2019 by Ginger Ring.

  All rights reserved.

  First Print Edition: June 2019

  Limitless Publishing, LLC

  Kailua, HI 96734

  www.limitlesspublishing.com

  Formatting: Limitless Publishing

  Photographer: JW Photography

  Model: Daniel Rengering

  ISBN-13: 978-1-64034-617-8

  ISBN-10: 1-64034-617-1

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Prologue

  Chicago, Five Years Ago

  Sid

  “Check, please.” Sid Messina waved at the waiter.

  “This was a wonderful meal.” His wife, Karen, pushed her dessert plate away and dabbed at her lips with the cloth napkin.

  “Good. I’m so glad you enjoyed it.” The man handed the server his card. “Because after tomorrow, we probably won’t be able to show our faces in this part of town again.”

  “You really think it’ll be that bad?” Her face had always been beautiful, but the stress of the last few months had added a line here and there. She’d worked as hard on the story as he had. Unfortunately, his name would be the only one listed. Despite his pleading, she’d insisted that he should get the glory, if they could call it that. When the headlines hit, it’d be a shitstorm.

  “We may have to go into hiding.” Sid took a sip of wine. His wife hadn’t taken his last name, so they could go by that, if necessary.

  “Here you go.” The waiter set the small silver tray with their card and receipt on the table. “Enjoy the rest of your evening.” The young man nodded and left.

  Karen remained composed, but as soon as they were alone again, her smile vanished. “Do you really think so?”

  “Dear, we’re about to blow the lid off the biggest crime organization in the Midwest. This is huge. This will be as big as bringing Gotti down.” He reached across the table and took her hand in his. “You knew that going in.”

  “I know, and I’m so proud of the work you’ve done, but now that it’s about to become a reality,” she touched her free hand to her heart, “I’m scared.” Her confession broke his heart. She wasn’t the only one that was worried. It’d started out as research on an anonymous tip, and things had spiraled from there.

  “It’ll be all right. The paper is fully behind me.” At least his editor, Mr. Hower, was. Unfortunately, even he said to keep things quiet until they went to press. No one else knew but the three of them. Right before they’d left to go out to eat, Sid had pressed the SEND key. Mr. Hower was at the office right now, going over the copy word for word. The man had cleared several hours tonight to work on it and fine tune it to be published in tomorrow’s paper.

  Karen smiled and reached for her purse. “I’m glad our daughter’s off at college. When this hits the stands, I’ve a feeling our lives will change forever, whether we want it to or not.”

  “Just look at it like this. When I get my first book deal, I’ll buy you more of those high-priced handbags you love.”

  “I’d rather have you than a fancy bag any day of the week.” They both rose, and she gave him a kiss. It wasn’t a peck on the cheek, either. The kiss took him off guard. Almost like they were saying goodbye.

  Even though the food was top notch, the delicious meal now sat in his stomach like a heavy rock. The weight of what they were about to do was almost too much to bear, but it had to be done. People’s lives were at stake. He’d also put way too much time and effort into this exposé to drop it now. “Can’t you just tell your boss you changed your mind?” Her head titled like a puppy dog, and she gave him that half-smile that he’d always loved. That usually caused him to cave, but he was sticking to his guns this time.

  “You know I can’t do that.” It was too late. He’d lose his job if he did, and they had bills to pay. The tuition payments alone were killing them, but they’d never let on to their little girl. The damage was done anyway. In just the last week, the sinking feeling of someone following Sid had trailed him wherever he went. They’d need the income and notoriety the story would bring to keep them safe and above water.

  “It was worth a try.” Karen cupped his face in her hand. “I’m really proud of you, and I know our daughter is too. Let’s go home, have a bottle of wine, and celebrate your future Pulitzer Prize-winning story.”

  “Ha. Now you’re talking, but don’t count your chickens before they hatch.” He placed his hand on her lower back as they weaved their way through the tables to the exit. “But just in case, I might add more shelf room in the living room for my trophies and another shelf in the closet for all those handbags I’m going to buy you.”

  “You do that.” She giggled as the host at the front of the restaurant opened the door and wished them a good night.

  It was late September, but there was already a chill in the air. Sid buttoned his coat, and his wife tucked her hand in his elbow as they walked the short distance toward their car. The phone in his pocket buzzed, and he pulled it out. Sid’s gaze met his wife’s, and he smiled. It was their only child and the love of their lives.

  “Hey, pumpkin. What’s new?” They both stopped on the sidewalk.

  “You know I’m in college. You can stop calling me different kinds of fruit.” Just the sound of her voice warmed his heart.

  They’d both loved puns, and it’d been a running joke between the two for years. “You know I can’t do that. You’re the apple of my eye.”

  “You’re such a peach, Dad.” He’d hit the speakerphone so her mom could hear.

  “Hi, honey.” The two looked so much alike. Thankfully. His daughter had inherited her mother’s gorgeous red hair and not the thick black mess that topped his head. As far as he was concerned, the girl had been blessed with the best of both. Her mother’s grace, looks, and strength and his height, ambition, and brown eyes. They were both so damn proud of her.

  “What are you doing? I hear cars. Are you outside?” His daughter should’ve been a detective; she was more observant than anyone he knew.

  “Yes, we were just at Alessio’s. You’ll have to come with us next time you’re home.”

  “I’d love that. You know Italian is my favorite food.” Sh
e got that from him also. Whereas his wife was Irish and Norwegian, he was full-blooded Italian. They were the two most important people in his life, and he’d die for either one of them.

  “Are you dating anyone? Meet any nice boys yet?” Karen piped in. He rolled his eyes at his wife, and she just shrugged her shoulders.

  “No, I don’t have time for that. School is the main thing in my life right now.” Her voice echoed on the phone.

  “That’s my girl.” Sid chuckled. “Hey, we’re almost to the—”

  A car skidded to a stop in the street, and two men jumped out. The fact that they held guns registered too late for him to react. Rapid gunfire sounded, and pain like he’d never experienced ripped through his chest. Sid fell backward. Stunned. In a fog, he turned his head. Karen was on the ground beside him. Her pretty ivory dress was covered in red.

  No, no, no, Sid mumbled, or was it just in his head? His heart pounded as he crawled to her side. Blood covered his hands, and the phone he clutched slipped the few inches to the ground. This couldn’t be happening. The aching was so severe, he couldn’t breathe. He coughed, and blood sprayed the cement.

  “Dad? Mom? What’s going on?” He reached for the phone but couldn’t make it. Sid flopped around in agony. There was no doubt he was bleeding out and didn’t have much time left in the world. He didn’t have to be a doctor to know that. Sweat covered his face as he reached for his wife again, but it was no use. There was no strength left, and she was probably dead. A tear slipped down his cheek. This was his fault, even if he hadn’t pulled the trigger himself. He’d caused this, and that hurt worse that any bullet ever could.

  The men with the guns surrounded them and spoke in a foreign language. Both dressed in suits as if they’d been going to a late dinner as soon as the job was done. He didn’t recognize any of them, but it was a good bet who they worked for. One young man stared down at his wife with a haunted look on his face. The other was solely focused on him.

  His phone buzzed again, and it took everything he had to turn and read the screen. He didn’t need to see it to know who it was. His pride and joy was calling back. As the leader of the group pointed a gun to Sid’s head, the only thing that gave him peace was the fact that his daughter wasn’t there.

  Chapter One

  Lake Genoa, Present Day

  Jackie

  The alarm wouldn’t stop ringing, but she lacked the energy to turn it off. She was in a rut, and mornings were the worst. Most people spend a large part of their lives at work, and Jackie Smith just wasn’t digging hers right now. Sure, no one really liked work. It’s called work for that very reason. That said, there had to be more to life than this.

  Living in a small town wasn’t what she thought it’d be. It’d made her soft. The edge was gone. On one of those cold nights last winter, she’d felt daring and left her car running with the keys inside. The few minutes she spent in the grocery store while it sat idling had her blood flowing. Would it be there when she came out? It was a stupid thing to do, but she was bored.

  When Jackie came out, the car was still there. As were all the other vehicles that were also running, the steam from their exhaust pipes keeping each other company. It would have been a story, something exciting to finally write about. She could see the headline now:

  CAR STOLEN WHILE OWNER STOCKED UP BEFORE THE STORM.

  Jackie knew she shouldn’t complain about the lack of crime, but working for the paper, there were only so many sunny-side-up stories she could write. Nothing ever happened here, and it was wearing on her.

  The paper struggled for sales, as did most, in the social media age. If things didn’t pick up soon, she’d be out of a job and circling help wanted ads in the classified section. Being the last hired, Jackie would be the first out the door, and rumors were already circling in the break room. The paper ran with a skeleton crew, and if she got the boot, there’d be even more work for those left behind.

  Unable to ignore the alarm any longer, Jackie dragged herself out of bed and stretched. Saying she was tired would be an understatement. Hell, maybe she was depressed, craving a boyfriend, a change of scenery, something?

  The only thing she needed for certain right now was coffee and lots of it. Too much caffeine sometimes gave her heart palpitations, but she was young enough not to be too concerned with that. Today, it wasn’t the occasional treat from the Genoa Java causing the heartache; it was the daily stuff at work that gave her issues. There was that W word again. Work. Work. Work. W.O.R.K.

  Grabbing a fleece robe, she freshened up in the bathroom before hitting the fridge for some juice. With OJ in hand and a book in the other, Jackie settled into a chair on the balcony overlooking the lake. She really did love where she lived. The place was a steal. Low rent with a million-dollar view. Nothing to complain about there. She still couldn’t believe her luck when this place came up for rent. There were some advantages of working at the Genoa Globe. In addition to writing stories, everyone who placed a classified ad had to go through her first.

  The wealthy owner of the condo gave her an offer over the phone that she couldn’t refuse. The only requirements were to keep an eye on the place, watch for riff raff, and call the numbers on the list if anything went wrong or broke. Jackie got the place for next to nothing. So far, everything was perfect and in great working order. The distance from the newspaper office was less than a mile. It was an easy walk, for sure, and one thing she really did enjoy.

  Taking a sip of fresh juice, she opened the book that had been on her shelf for months. It was called Contract from Hell by local author Stephanie Barclay. The author’s boyfriend, Dominic, had proposed marriage at the book signing. It was a romantic gesture from someone who looked like a cross between a hot lumberjack and an ax murderer.

  Jackie was supposed to have an interview with the author, but that never came to light. For some reason, after the release party, Stephanie seemed to disappear from the lime light. There were rumors that the story she wrote was true. That she’d run from an arranged marriage with a Russian mobster who trafficked in women, and that certain high-ranking mafia figures, even though they were featured under their fake names, didn’t wish for her to speak publicly. It was even suggested that her future husband fought a battle to the death to win her away from the bratva. It was an unbelievable story. Could it be true?

  She’d not seen her since. Was Stephanie off the grid or just busy planning the wedding of her dreams? The woman had a website, but there were no photos of her face, just excerpts, teasers, and buy links. Contract from Hell had done amazing on the charts. There was even talk of a film option, but again, what would those criminal connections have to say about that?

  If only she could’ve gotten an exclusive with Stephanie. That would have energized her career and removed the bad groove she was in. Career? What career? Maybe she wasn’t meant to be a reporter. She wouldn’t be the first one to not do what she’d gone to college for. Not the first one to change horses in mid-stream, as the saying goes.

  Jackie skimmed the first chapter and glimpsed at the clock on the kitchen wall inside.

  “Dang. I better get going!” She hurried inside to get dressed and put on some makeup. Grabbing a light jacket and her purse, Jackie rushed out the door. It was early May, by noon it would be warm enough to shed the extra layer, but for now, she was glad to have it.

  Her open-toed ankle boots clicked on the sidewalk. The tour boats bobbed in the water as she passed. Soon the mailboat would be heading out to deliver the mail. It was a long-standing tradition in Lake Genoa. In the 1800s, most of the homes on the lake were summer homes and only accessible from the water. Their mail was delivered daily by boat. Mailboxes were located at the end of the private wooden docks. As the boat passed, a person would jump out of the front of boat, put the mail in the box, and jump back on the back of the boat, all while it was moving.

  As Jackie strolled through downtown, the smell of the Java Shop enticed her to stop in. The place buzzed with early m
orning customers as she got in line. A couple of beautiful, well-dressed women stood in front of her. They looked familiar, but right now, fatigue didn’t have her at her sharpest. The one holding a baby was sporting red-soled shoes that probably cost a fortune. Blessed with height as it was, Jackie had no use for high heels and would most likely fall on her face if she ever tried walking in heels like those. The woman’s companion was also stunning. That lady paid for their five-dollar coffees with an Amex black card pulled from what looked like a several thousand-dollar purse.

  Even though Genoa was a small town, it was one of the wealthiest communities in the state, maybe even the country. There wasn’t a piece of real estate on the lake that paid less than one-hundred-thousand dollars a year in property taxes. She may not have been much of a reporter, but her attention to detail, when she wanted it, was spot on. Jackie couldn’t recall the pair’s names, but she did know they were locals. It would come to her later, when she’d be in the middle of trying to remember something else.

  “What can I get you, ma’am?” The young barista smiled. Jackie could deal with people calling her hon, sweetie, or miss, but ma’am bugged her to no end.

  “I’ll have the caramel mocha with vanilla.” She paid the bill, waited for her drink, and headed out the door.

  Three short blocks more and she’d reached the old brick building that was the home of the Genoa Globe.

  “Hey, Jackie,” a few co-workers called as she passed their desks. When she reached her writing table, she tossed her purse into a drawer and logged onto her computer. They were on a deadline. The paper came out on Tuesdays, so everything had to be entered, edited, and ready to go to print by four.

  This was the busiest day, as all the scores from school games and local events from the weekend had to be added. They had an online edition, but it still needed to be uploaded for the paper edition. Yes, people still liked to buy the local paper, especially tourists that weren’t signed up online. There was still something about opening a paper or smelling the pages of a paperback that would always be timeless.