Mr. and Mrs. Rossi

by Carolyn Hector

  Julio Torres looked out of place from the three men. Who dressed in a suit this late at night? Unlike his cousin, Julio was well groomed. “Finally, I get to meet some of Roman’s friends. Which one of you crashed the jail with him?”

  “That would be me,” Dante raised his hand, his fingers wrapped around his warm food. Steam filled the warm summer night.

  “Glad you finally have an appetite,” Roman joked.

  Tito feigned a heart attack and clutched his chest. “What? Dante lost his appetite?”

  Dante flipped both men the middle finger while Roman shared the story of the one time Dante did not have an appetite to eat. Tito doubled over in laughter. “Whatever. Aren’t we supposed to be watching the door?”

  “I already checked it out with Julio. I didn’t see him in there.”

  “I hate stakeouts. This night is shot to hell,” Tito cursed.

  “We’ll get a chance tomorrow. That’s why I brought Julio over here,” Roman said. “As mayor, he can get us into the jail first thing and help us.”

  “I don’t know too much about helping,” Julio said, “but whatever I can do to help my cousin, no problem. If I can’t help, my brother can transfer her.”

  “Your brother’s a sheriff?”

  “No, a Marshall.”

  Dante had forgotten about the Marshall Service in town.

  “Jose Torres?” Tito inquired, flipping through his phone.

  “Oh yeah,” said Roman, snapping his fingers, “You’ve helped them a few times.”

  “Well,” Tito gave a cocky grin, “You know how we do and what we do. I help them. It’d be great catching up with him again.”

  “I’ll arrange for it,” Julio said then cleared his throat, “speaking of catching up, Roman, you’ll never guess who I ran into tonight.”

  “You got me.”

  “Think back to when I was in high school and there used to be this family who came here every summer.”

  “I spent my summers with Abuelita, in San Juan.”

  “All right, but you remember the stupid bet.”

  Roman shook his head, “You made lots of bets, although I never knew why. Women always threw themselves at you.”

  Dante enjoyed the cousins’ interplay. Roman, like Dante, grew up without brothers but his cousins were brothers and then the team became family.

  Julio shrugged his shoulders, “It’s a curse being this good looking.”

  “If you don’t shut up I’m going to fix your curse.”

  “Remember the girl I got engaged to?”

  “Um,” Roman scratched the back of his head, “I remember the big fuss with your mom. Then we stopped talking about the whole thing.”

  “Harley Tomasello.”

  Blood rushed to Dante’s ears as he turned his head and did a double take. A sickening punch metaphorically hit him in the stomach. The air blew out of his lungs in slow motion. So did the quick side glances his teammates glanced in his direction.

  “Is that right?” Roman asked feigning interest. “What is she doing here?”

  “I’m not really sure, but she’s married now,” Julio let out a low whistle, oblivious to the tension filling around Harley’s car. “Damn, whoever the bastard is, he sure is lucky. Man, the girl is still fine. I wonder what would have happened if we went through with—”

  Roman cleared his throat, “Hey guys, two o’clock.”

  As much as Dante wanted to hear whatever Julio Torres had to say, his mind switched back to work mode and scanned the crowd for Roman’s easy coordinates. Javier couldn’t have put more of a target on his back if he wanted too.

  The young adult stood loud and boisterous in front of a crowd of followers. All the boys in the group wore their pants hanging off their tails with wife beater shirts untucked but rolled up enough to reveal different brands of underwear. Dante shook his head watching Javier stroll over to a waiting truck. Some of the guys in the bed of the truck hopped out wearing better fitting jeans, tan work boots, and held yellow hard hats under their arms. The low-rider vehicle drew enough attention with its hydraulics that all the girls flocked to it. Suddenly Dante felt old. He scanned beyond the crowd waiting for a sign from Leonardo. Leonardo wouldn’t strike now. He’d wait until he got Javier alone, just as he did his brother. Idiot, Dante thought. Maybe he thought he’d draw out Alfaro. So where was he? And better yet, where in the hell was Harley?

  ****

  As an agent for STB, one often had to improvise. Tonight was no different than any other. Harley had to proceed to secure a relationship with Christopher Alfaro. She continued playing the naïve role with him and allowed him to take her back to his hotel while he retrieved something from his room. Despite his driver and two bodyguards, he suggested it best for Harley to return with him. Of course she was well aware she’d placed her life in danger, especially without backup, but it’s why she got the big bucks.

  The government did not like to acknowledge the gritty details it took to take down a person like Christopher. Not just any one government agency had the resources. Of course, if caught, this mission would be disavowed and she was on her own. Fortunately, she could read Christopher’s agenda in his eyes tonight. He thought he was about to get laid. And if he was dumb enough to think with his dick, he got whatever retaliation Harley had to use.

  It seemed to stroke his ego to be playing hero to someone he clearly thought would be a good piece of ass. For her safety, Christopher escorted her upstairs to wait with him while he went to find whatever it was. His escorting entailed his hand on her lower back the entire walk through the lobby. While he stopped at the concierge’s desk to make small talk with her right next to him, a mere play at showing off who he was with, Harley smiled for the sake of the camera and for the sake of Dante’s FRS picking her up. Just in case.

  In the reflection on the floor to ceiling glass wall, Harley spotted Christopher checking his breath against the palm of his hand and then reached in his pocket for a breath spray. Across the quiet bay sat her hotel. From this angle and the full moon, the bay seemed anything but calm. She never had a fear of heights but still did not dare look straight down at the body beneath them. Her eyes searched for a relief, perhaps a glance of Dante somewhere on the balcony of the eleventh floor. The balcony remained empty. Like a good agent, he’d be outside Vuelo waiting for Javier.

  “Would you like a drink?” asked Christopher coming up behind her.

  Harley clasped her hand around her other elbow and turned to smile. The stance made her appear weak. She liked the look of pity he gave her. “Thank you.”

  Christopher moved from her side, waving off one of his guards so he could attend to her needs. “I have some tequila.”

  “And limes?” Harley asked eagerly.

  Twisting the top of the rectangular tequila bottle with his teeth, Christopher returned the smile, “I knew when I first laid eyes on you outside my café you were my kind of girl.”

  Harley swung her shoulders together, half because she wanted to appear as nervous as possible and the other half to secure her .22 resting in her purse. It didn’t take Christopher long to fix their drinks, he’d poured the yellowish tinted liquor and reappeared quickly at her side balancing two wedges of lime in both hands.

  “With all the commotion?”

  “A girl who can handle a pistol is a serious turn on,” Christopher handed her one of the glasses. She took it, hesitantly. Although she watched him pour the drinks and did not catch him spike hers, the glass may be contaminated. But since he likes his women feisty, she doubted her hesitation. “How much are you willing to bet you’ve got a piece in your handbag right now?”

  She offered a tight lip coy smile and took a step backwards, “Now-now, you remember what I said to you?”

  “A single lady should not be alone without carrying a piece,” he recalled then licked his lips and smiled, “but you are not a single lady and that husband of yours has abandoned you in the middle of the night.”

  Harley pou
ted only because she did not get abandoned, she left Dante. She always left Dante. She always left men. “Look,” she managed to sigh, “I’m glad you’re being sweet to me and all but now you’re beginning to freak me out.”

  “I told you not to worry when you’re with me,” Christopher took a step forward.

  The cold glass chilled her back. With her heels, they stood nose to nose. Despite her bravado, she shivered. “I don’t know you.”

  “Not anymore than you do your husband.”

  With his valid point, Christopher leaned his mouth closer.

  Before he could kiss her, Harley inhaled deeply and forced herself to blush. Dante’s kiss still lingered on her lips. A kiss from this man would only mar the sweet memory. Besides, she had to feign some sort of modesty, right? “Did you find what you were looking for?”

  Christopher’s mouth lingered over hers. He shoved his hands in his pocket and studied her face. Another place, another time, she could imagine Christopher in high school doing the same move and instead of a wall of windows, metal lockers would be behind her as she ditched the kiss.

  “You’re not really married to him,” he said in a low whisper, his eyes intense, “one kiss doesn’t mean anything.”

  The way her heart sped up nervously, she begged to differ. “I still don’t know you well enough to be in your hotel room after midnight.” Harley crossed her arms under her breasts.

  A smile tugged in the corners of Christopher’s mouth. He inhaled her scent and leaned closer. Harley dodged his mouth with a quick spin back around to the glass. “Well, will you look at this view?”

  “There are other things I wouldn’t mind looking at.”

  The zipper to her dress sounded before his fingers touched her spine. Harley fought the wave of nausea that confused her. She was an agent. A female agent to boot. This wouldn’t be the first time some creepy guy groped her. But she couldn’t shake the betrayal to Dante. One of Christopher’s hands rubbed the twin spots on her back. His tequila breath nipped at her earlobe before his tongue raked across her shoulder blade. Harley palmed her purse and Christopher sprinkled something over her shoulder she confirmed as salt. As he pushed his body against hers, Harley braced her hands against the window and her mind raced for an escape.

  “What are these?” Smooth fingers traced the tattoo along her back.

  “My angel wings.”

  Christopher’s hands spanned her shoulder bones. There was no place else for her to go. She inhaled deeply and closed her eyes, hating this man touching her, but she needed to get his guard down. A few more drinks and he’d be out. The sound of the liquid echoed in her ear.

  The movement distracted his eyes for a moment, but not for long because the door opened. The two of them turned their head as the door widened enough for three of Christopher’s men, Tito in the center. Their eyes locked and she had to remind herself of his confession in the alley. The undercover agent gave her a slight wink.

  “What happened to knocking?” Christopher barked and spun around.

  The three men assessed the situation, Tito with the most scrutiny. A genuine blush of shame crept across her face. She knew the intimate situation looked bad. Christopher had her practically pinned against the wall while he tried to make out with her. There was no time to explain.

  “Boss, we got a problem,” the man to Tito’s right stammered. “Melo Moorehouse is missing.”

  “What?” asked Christopher, crossing the room to stand in front of his men. “He was with you,” he said to Tito, “what the hell happened?”

  “We went to the restaurant like you said, Jefe, I went in, didn’t find nothing and when I came back out, Melo was gone.”

  Was Moorehouse the guy she took out? What did Tito do with him?

  Alfaro had questions of his own. He ran his hands across his head and asked in a hoarse whisper, “Was it Marchette?”

  Clearly the small town gangster was petrified of the mobster. The side of his face in the light paled and his eyes grew wide. His hand, held down by his side, began to shake.

  Tito shrugged, “Well…”

  Again, there was no time to explain. The hotel doors opened again. Flanked by twice the amount of guards than Christopher’s, a tall lean figure strolled casually into the room. Leonardo Marchette.

  “Marchette,” Christopher said boldly. His back straightened in determination not to sound weak in front of the crazy man.

  The man, the myth, the legend, strolled into the suite as if he owned the place. He wasn’t as big and bad as Harley imagined, but his cold dead black eyes sent chills down her spine. Here was the man who’d inflicted so much pain to her family. Her arm squeezed her handbag while she contemplated how to pull out her weapon.

  “Clearly you are not serious about doing business with me,” Leonardo’s voice was cold and over enunciated.

  “What?” Christopher laughed nervously. The light from the foyer highlighted the red tint rising to his ears. Christopher was scared. “I am looking forward to working with you.”

  “You have yet to take care of the problem. Need I handle everything?”

  “I’ve got eyes on him already,” Christopher negotiated. “He won’t get far. I’ve got something to keep him quiet.”

  With Christopher’s back turned, she couldn’t see what he mouthed or any gestures. She assumed Christopher meant Javier. But when Leonardo Marchette tossed an icy glance toward Harley, a slight shiver spilled down her spine. She squared her shoulders. She’d be damned if she let some man scare her—even if he pulled out his big ass knife and began picking the dirt underneath his fingernails. Didn’t Dante say he liked to play with his victims before killing them? Her ease did not lift when Leonardo handed the knife to Christopher and reached into the lining of his jacket.

  “I’m working my ass off to set things up. My father got wind of where I am and has decided to play family-vacation time down here. Between father son bonding over parasailing and getting hounded by lunatic Rossi, I don’t appreciate you being here playing house with some hooker? We’ve got a warehouse full of women down at the docks and you pick this?”

  “She’s not a hooker,” Christopher held his hands up in the air, hopelessly trying to block Harley’s vision. “She’s Rossi’s wife.”

  Time stood still while Marchette processed the information. Harley eyed his hand still in his jacket. Her gut told her things were about to go FUBAR—fucked up beyond all recognition—she backed up against the glass wall until she could go no further. When Marchette pulled his hand out of his jacket, she wasn’t the least bit surprised that attached to his hand was a .38 with a white pearl handle.

  “Perhaps his mourning her death will buy us some time.”

  Harley heard the gun-fire and felt the glass break behind her.

  Chapter 13

  Dante figured something was up when Tito called for the Undesireables to meet in his hotel room before making his grand announcement. When he broke the news at the crack of dawn it took three of the largest men of the group to hold Dante down. Jerraud Anderson, TJ Anderson, and Roman pinned Dante face down on the ground with his hands behind his back. Damn shame to treat their second in command, Dante thought. Cole, first in command, sat in the oversized chair in front of him while Dante tried to settle himself down.

  When they first broke the news of Harley’s death, Dante stormed into his room and tore everything possible—the bed, the dresser, his clothes, the hangers, and just when he was about to tear the wallpaper down from where he’d punched a hole, the team came in and brought Dante into the living room where Dante continued to terrorize the room until Roman speared and tackled him. His knuckles were bruised, shoulders ached from ramming the walls.

  “I need you to keep a calm head,” said Cole.

  The room already looked like it’d been trashed by Guns and Roses, pre-break up. Feathers from the couch’s pillows floated to the ground. Elliott Ash stood at the door paying off the bellman sent from the neighbors above, below, across and
beside the hotel suite. Dante’s throat hurt from roaring.

  Leonardo Marchette took someone else from his life. Someone else he loved. He had no one now. He’d taken everything. If it was the last thing he ever did, it was going to be squeezing the life out of Leonardo’s neck with his bare hands.

  “I’m calm,” Dante gritted through his teeth.

  “I don’t believe him,” Elliott closed the door behind him. “And I’m running out of cash. I’m starting to believe these bellboys are taking turns coming up here just to get money. I’m giving away singles like I’m at a titty bar.”

  “Like Iman would allow you,” Jerraud joked.

  Death was a constant in their world. Either you walked away from love or it was taken away from you. Humor helped, as well as the company of the brothers, but Dante was in no joking mood or ready for some kum-ba-ya shit. He wanted blood.

  “I’ll get the door next time,” said TJ, “he’s fucking pulling my arm out of the socket.”

  “Dante,” Cole said with his calm mannerism again trying to get Dante to focus. His leader’s words registered through the pounding in his head. “If they get up do you promise not to break anything?”

  Tito’s news brought out the beast in him. The only thing he wanted to break was Marchette. Unfortunately for those who tried to restrain him from getting out of the door now sported the hail of Dante’s fists.

  “I’m not letting you up until you promise not to break anything,” Roman grunted, his weight pushed down on his legs.

  “Or any of us,” TJ touched his jaw.

  Dante couldn’t believe in her death. She was the toughest woman he ever met. Tito had his story wrong. He craned his neck so he could see Tito once more.

  Tito gave a hesitant sigh. “Leonardo pulled his weapon and shot. She went through the window. The bastard didn’t even bother letting anyone in the room check to see where she landed. We went back to business as usual. If I’d gone to check on her I might have given my position away. I came here as soon as possible.”

  No body meant no death. Dante thought about the next move. “Where is the next meeting?”