by Jolie Day
“Wish I could say the same,” he retorted. “How you doing, Carmine?”
Brooke’s eyes widened and she peeked over Anthony’s shoulder at the older man. He was broad-shouldered and had slick salt-and-pepper hair that was gelled back to curl around his ears, but there was no denying the similarities between him and CJ. They had the same eyes and similar facial hair. Their smiles were almost identical (except for the glint of metal in Carmine’s).
This man was the leader of the Bianchi crime family, no doubt in her mind.
“Not bad,” Carmine Bianchi replied, shrugging one broad shoulder. “My grandson took his first steps last week, did CJ tell you?” Anthony shook his head. “Aw, yeah, I guess he’s not much for family talk. That boy was always so closed off. But Trey…my little man is so open and fun-loving. And tough. The boy don’t cry for nothing; not even when his mama slaps his little behind.” He shrugged. “She’s a whore, anyway. I think Trey knows that. I have no idea what CJ sees in her.”
“Love makes us do crazy things, I guess,” Anthony retorted.
Carmine nodded. “That’s true enough. And I see you’ve got yourself a little piece of ass.” He grinned over Anthony’s shoulder at Brooke, who continued to cower. “Now, if only my CJ could get himself one like that. How you doin’, sweetheart. Don’t worry, I don’t bite. Much.”
His men snickered on either side of him and Anthony reached back for her, running a soothing hand down her side, before crossing both arms over his chest.
“What the hell do you want, Carmine?” he hissed.
“Well, I can see that you’re busy,” Carmine retorted, “but I just wanted to let you know that you’ve got one more chance to come to your senses, eh? You let us do our business at the casino and we won’t come for you. And you know, Tony boy, that once we come for you, it’s all over.”
“I left your ‘family’ for a reason, Carmine,” Anthony huffed. “I paid my way out just like anybody else. You were supposed to leave me out of your little dealings.”
“Oh, Tony,” Carmine laughed. “You should have known it wouldn’t be that easy. Haven’t I taught you better? You gotta get everything down in writing if you want a clean break.”
“I don’t want my good name associated with the likes of you,” Anthony huffed. “I’ve made something of myself. Without your help.”
“Is that so?” Carmine said, his voice dangerous. “You might want to rethink that, old friend. After all, who got you started with all that money to begin with.”
“Blood money,” Anthony spat. “Money that I paid back in full before I left.”
“After investing it in the stock markets,” Carmine pointed out. “You multiplied my money and thought you could just cut me out? That’s foolish, Tony. Very, very foolish.”
“You just can’t admit that somebody became more successful than you without resorting to crime, can you?”
“All that money came from laundering, Tony,” Carmine laughed. “The crime was committed long before it reached your hands, which means that you benefitted from it. Now, if you wanted to strike a deal, I could just let it go and we can continue to work as usual. After all, what better way to launder money than through a casino. You get caught and just claim that one of your little money-grubbing patrons used it to gamble. You claim the losses to your casino and that’s that. But, if you don’t get caught, the more the merrier. I get my part and you get yours and some sad schmuck fritters away their bonus with no winnings.”
“And then they tell the cops that they got all that money from my casino,” Anthony retorted. “I’m not doing your dirty work for you, Carmine. I’ve been paying you off for too long, now. It stops today.”
“Oh, Tony boy, you really don’t want to do that,” Carmine warned. “It could be catastrophic for your little business.”
“Try it,” Anthony challenged. “I dare you.”
“Have it your way,” Carmine growled. “This isn’t the last you’ll hear from me, Anthony Dunham. As you can clearly see, I know where you live.” He grinned at Brooke. “I’m so terribly sorry about all this, Miss Abernathy.”
Brooke’s eyes widened as she watched him and his goons walk to the elevator, their eyes meeting as the doors closed between them.
As soon as they were gone, she turned to Anthony. “What was that all about?” she demanded. “What did you mean by ‘paying him off’? Anthony, are you in trouble?”
“I’m fine, Brooke,” Anthony sighed, walking into the kitchen and taking out a bottle of scotch. He poured himself a glass and took a long sip from the amber liquid. “It was all just talk. Carmine and I…we go way back. Don’t worry about it.”
“Don’t worry…he knew my name, Anthony. My last name! How am I not supposed to worry about the fact that the godfather for a major crime family knows my name? How does he know my name?” She narrowed her eyes at him.
“What? You think I told him?” Anthony asked. “I wouldn’t do that. All I want is to keep you safe from the likes of him, okay?” He took another sip as Brooke let his words sink in, then he sighed. “In fact…I think you ought to head home now.”
“What?” Brooke asked. “But why?”
“To keep you safe. Your father still has his old service piece, doesn’t he?”
“Yes, but—”
“No buts,” Anthony interrupted, putting up one hand. “You’re going home and that’s final.” He took a deep breath, ignoring the look of hurt on Brooke’s face. “It’s for your own safety, Brooke. I’m just looking out for you.” He pulled out his phone and dialed for a car, while Brooke watched his back tense as he downed the rest of his drink.
When he continued to ignore her, she shook her head and made her way back to the elevator, pressing the button to go back down.
Before she could step out, she felt a hand wrap around her wrist, tugging her back. Before Brooke even knew what was happening, Anthony’s lips were pressing against hers, taking her breath away as he pushed her against the back wall of the elevator. The doors closed behind him as they moved swiftly to the ground floor. Neither seemed to notice as their bodies stayed intertwined, hands roaming and lips biting at one another.
Before they reached the ground floor, Anthony pulled away, gasping. He pressed his forehead firmly against Brooke’s and stared deeply into her eyes.
“He won’t hurt you,” he swore to Brooke. “Not as long as I’m around. Do you hear me?” She nodded. “Good.” Pulling away, he smoothed down his shirt and fixed his tie, leaving her smudged lipstick on his mouth. Grinning, he offered his hand to her. “Mind if I walk you to the car, Miss?”
“Not at all,” Brooke purred in return, linking her fingers with his as they made their way across the lobby. She didn’t miss his eyes scanning the room for any sign of Carmine or his goons. Thankfully they were nowhere to be found.
He held open the door to the dark blue sedan for her and pressed a kiss to her lips, which Brooke responded to with gusto, then turned to the driver. “Take the long way,” he said. “If anybody tries to follow you, call for backup. Understood?”
“Yes, Mr. Dunham,” the driver said, nodding to him in the rear view mirror.
Anthony turned back to Brooke. “Everything is going to be just fine,” he promised. “You’ll see.” With that, he shut the door and the car started off down the street. Brooke watched him from the back window. He stayed there until the car turned the corner.
And then he was gone.
Chapter Twelve
The second Brooke entered her father’s apartment she heard his voice calling for her from his study.
“Brooke, sweetheart? Could you come here for a minute?”
She sighed, not wanting to deal with it right now, but didn’t resist. “Coming, Pop,” she called back, setting her stuff down on the hall table and walking down the hall to see her father at his desk, papers spread all around. Brooke furrowed her brow. Her father was usually much more tidy than this, even when he was obsessing over old case files of
his. She knew that he’d always wanted to go back into the force, but his injuries kept him from doing that.
This was something else, entirely, though.
“Pop, what’s wrong?” she asked, taking a few cautious steps into the study.
“Anthony Dunham,” her father responded and Brooke opened her mouth to argue, but he put up one hand and shook his head. He wouldn’t hear it. “I knew I heard that name before. And I was right.”
He held up the manila folder so that she could see a boldly-written name on the front: Bianchi. Brooke blanched.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“My last case,” he replied. “The one that broke me.”
“Pop, you’re not—”
“Yes, I am,” he huffed, rolling away from his desk as if to show her. “And it’s all due to Carmine Freakin’ Bianchi that I am. Carmine and his little cronies. One of whom I believe you know.” He reached for a sheet of paper and held it up for her to see. On it was a photograph of two familiar men. They were both about a decade younger in the picture, but Brooke recognized her boyfriend shaking hands with CJ Bianchi, both of them grinning like old friends. Her father held up another picture and Brooke saw Anthony holding the collar of a smaller, terrified man, who had his hands up in surrender. Her eyes widened and she snatched the photo out of his hand as she slumped down in the seat across from him.
“This cannot be real,” she whispered, mostly to herself.
“It’s real, sweetheart,” he said. “Your boyfriend is associated with the Bianchi family in the worst of ways. He was one of their lieutenants. In fact, I believe he was there the night that I was…” He trailed off, ashamed. “He’s the one that put me in this chair, Brooke. I’m sure of it.”
“Pop, I don’t think that Anthony would—”
“How else would I know his name?” Bruce huffed. “Part of the reason I went undercover was to try and lure him to my side. I figured if we gained this guy’s loyalty, then maybe it would be the key to taking down the entire family from the inside.”
“But then why didn’t you say anything at brunch today?”
“Do you know many people are named Anthony in this town, sweetie?” he said. “Let alone all the Italian Anthony’s that are coming from Jersey? Besides, I got a pretty good knock on the head that night, so I wasn’t able to put it all together until I heard his last name. That resonated with me. When I got home, I looked him up.”
“As if you wouldn’t have done that, anyway,” Brooke snorted.
“Would you just listen to me?” Bruce sighed. “When I looked him up, I got nothing. Which was odd, you know? You said he was a pretty big guy at a high-stakes casino in Newark, so chances are he would have come up in some capacity, you know?” Brooke nodded, agreeing that it was, indeed, odd, for Anthony’s name not to show up, despite his recent success. “It was like he’d paid somebody to wipe him from the web completely. So, I did a little digging on the Dark Web.”
Brooke’s eyes widened. “Pop…” she said, warningly.
“It’s fine. I’ve got a different laptop for that. Anyway, I didn’t have to look too far to find out information about your boy—or his connection to Carmine Bianchi.” He held up the pictures and a few documents that were heavily highlighted. “He grew up with Bianchi’s three sons; CJ, Grayson, and Henley. Grayson and Henley died the night I was paralyzed, leaving only CJ, your boy’s nearest and dearest pal.”
Brooke reached for the documents and started to read through them. “How do you know any of this is even accurate?” she asked. “These people could be lying. These documents could be fake.”
“That’s why I pulled out the old case file,” Bruce said, tapping his fingers on the folder. “This was left in my room that night,” he informed her. “After you and your mother left, I fell asleep and woke up to this on my lap. I thought it was one of my partners that left it for me to look over and sign a few things. But there was nothing to sign…”
He opened the folder and pulled out the contents.
“Inside, there was all the evidence we needed to put Carmine Bianchi away for good. But there was also a note from somebody who was never named telling me not to go to the police just yet. Apparently, Bianchi has them right under his thumb. The note instructed me to wait for a second letter from them before he could make sure that this would get to the people that needed it most. I’ve been waiting ten years and I don’t think I should wait any longer. Brooke, I’m going to go to the police with this. The FBI, if I must, but I thought it best to let you know, because if I do, your boyfriend is going straight to prison with the rest of them.”
“Pop, please don’t,” Brooke begged. “Anthony’s not affiliated with them anymore.”
“How could you possibly know that?”
“Because Carmine Bianchi showed up at his apartment today,” Brooke informed him. Her father gasped and dropped the file.
“He what?” he hissed. “And you’re just telling me that now! Brooke, he could have really hurt you. Why didn’t you say anything?!”
“Because Anthony protected me,” Brooke informed her father. “He told Carmine to get lost and then he put me right into a car to get me out of immediate danger. He even had the driver lose anybody that might have been following us. He really cares for me, Pop, and I know he won’t ever try to hurt me.”
“You don’t know that, sweetheart,” Bruce huffed. “That man almost cost me my life ten years ago. He was the one that shot me. I know that, now.”
“No, you don’t!” Brooke retorted. “You told me and Mom that you don’t remember anything from that night. What makes you so sure now?”
“I’ve been having flashbacks,” he revealed. “I think I’ve pieced it all together, if you’ll just listen to me.”
Brooke considered him for a long moment, before nodded and sitting back in her seat. “Fine,” she said. “Convince me.”
Bruce nodded and began: “I wasn’t supposed to be there that night…”
*****
Ten years earlier...
“Abe, are you sure we should be doing this? The Captain said…”
“I know exactly what the Captain said, O’Neil,” Bruce huffed in response. “He’s probably deep in Bianchi’s pocket with a name like Rizzo. But if we don’t do this tonight, then Bianchi’s gonna get away with laundering billions in tax-payer’s money. You don’t want that, now do you?”
“No,” O’Neil acquiesced, “but how do you suppose we bring them down with no backup? There’s just three of us and none of us look the least bit Italian. He pointed to his own fiery red hair that was slicked back with too much oil and still curling up at the top.
“What, they ain’t got redheads in Rome?” Bruce laughed. Then he turned to his other partner, Rudy Mackenzie, the youngest of the three of them. He had darker skin than the both of them, but his eyes were light and his hair was dark and curly. “You ready, Mack?”
“Always, Signor,” Rudy replied, with a wink. “Besides, I’m legit Sicilian. More than I can say for either of you.”
“Eh, I think my wife has a little Milanese in her,” Bruce said. “She tans like you wouldn’t believe. My daughter, too.” They chuckled together as they made their way across a wide parking lot, toward the warehouse where Carmine Bianchi was rumored to be conducting his business. There were a couple of giants guarding the door, their thick necks red and their eyes shot with bloodlust. They narrowed their eyes as Bruce, Mack, and O’Neil approached.
“What the fuck do you want?” the one of the left demanded.
“Yeah?” Right added. “Don’t you know this is private property right here? What business do you got?”
Bruce reached into his pocket and pulled out a counterfeit ID card with his picture on it. But instead of his given name, it said ‘Francesco Coretti’ and it listed his age as half a decade older than he was.
“Here to see a man about some bills,” he said.
“Moving product?” Left asked. “Where are your
bags?”
Bruce reached into his inner pocket and pulled out a few envelopes with money signs on them. He shrugged. “Gotta be discreet, don’t we?”
Right nodded. “True,” he said. “What about these assholes right here? Where are your credentials?”
O’Neil and Mack pulled out their own counterfeit I.D.s.
Mack’s said Louis Franzetti and O’Neil’s read Paul Valence.
“Ain’t Valence a Spanish name?”
“My pop was half-Spaniard,” O’Neil explained. “Didn’t talk about it much, but you know…what ya gonna do.”
Left nodded and handed back the I.D.s before they both stepped aside to allow the three men to walk past, into the warehouse. Bruce didn’t miss the rather sizable guns hanging from their belts and he made a mental note of them as they stepped through the door.
Inside the warehouse, there were several counterfeit currency machines spitting out hundreds of thousands of twenty dollar bills. Women walked back and forth, stacking them into neat piles and taping them into piles of what Bruce assumed to be a couple dozen grand each. He made mental notes of the path from the door to the back, where he could clearly see Carmine Bianchi and his three sons talking about something.
They walked past the working women without a single one of them so much as glancing up at them. They’d probably been taught it was better to stay silent than to get curious when it came to the goings-on of the Bianchi family’s private business. Bruce wondered if they would be sent to prison for their involvement with the Bianchis or if they’d be pardoned for their part. After all, they were just doing their job and they probably didn’t even get paid that much.
He wondered if they even spoke English.
Once he reached the door to Carmine’s office, Bruce rapped three times on the door and waited until he got the go ahead from the youngest son, CJ, inside, before pushing it open and stepping inside, with Mack and O’Neil on his heels.
Inside, he found that the office was a bit bigger than he’d originally thought. There were two other guys in there. One of which had slicked back black hair and penetrating brown eyes.