Gloria held his hand. “Thank you for telling me now. It means a lot. How did she die?”
“Cancer. But she lived a full life till the end.”
“What do you mean?”
“She was diagnosed with bone cancer. They gave her three months to live and said she wouldn’t be helped by any therapy. She had this life insurance policy and some company offered to buy it from her at half the pay out amount so long as they were made beneficiary.”
“Can they do that?”
“Why not? The insurance company doesn’t care who they pay when she dies. So she and my dad went on a cruise, she bought him a new car, bought herself a first class headstone. She had a daisy engraved on it. For me.”
Gloria knew he hadn’t spoken to anyone back home since he went on the run. “You went to her grave?”
“A year later. I took a huge risk going but no one saw me. I went at night. A weeknight. When I saw the daisy carved in it, I just—I hated myself for running. That woman meant everything to me and I never saw her again because I was a coward. I can never get that back.”
“But if you had no choice—”
“I’m not doing that again.” He held her hand tight. “I’m in love with you, Gloria. I know it’s soon and that might scare you but—”
“It doesn’t scare me.” Truly it didn’t. Despite the short amount of time they’d known each other, it felt so natural to be around Kurt.
“Hear me out. I’ve been running for too long. Alone too long. My mother’s death—I vowed to myself and to her when I was sitting by her grave, bawling like a baby, that if I ever found someone I loved . . . that I really loved, I was going to stop running.”
Now Gloria was bawling. She knew absolutely nothing about Kurt. Certainly none of the details of the crime that had forced him to be a fugitive. It must have been pretty bad to sever all the ties from his past. But she didn’t care. The look in his eyes told her all she needed to know. He meant what he said. He loved her and was never going to leave her alone again.
Gloria’s heart was pounding out of her chest. As she spoke, she couldn’t stop her voice from quivering. It was fear and elation, hope . . joy . . . “I think—I think the three of us, you, me, and the baby are going to be just fine. We’re going to have a very nice life together.”
Kurt smiled at her and squeezed her hand tighter. “Thank you, Gloria.”
Chapter Twelve
1.
Puglisi Family Home, Rhode Island, afternoon-Carlo
Carlo Puglisi sat in his worn recliner and sipped two-hundred-dollar single malt scotch. He gazed out the window of his office. Ten acres of sprawling lush grass. Inground pool. Tennis courts. He turned away from the window. The house he lived in was palatial. Seven bedrooms, six thousand square feet. Every surface and material was the best money could buy.
He downed the rest of the shot. But what the fuck did any of it matter now? Who was all this for? Mickey was dead. Angie barely spoke to him. Maria? Carlo shook his head.
Hell, he’d had his share of women on the side. He should have cut Maria some slack. He could admit to himself now that he had driven her into the arms of another man. But at the time he had flipped. Had gone too far. What he did to her was brutal. Unfair.
And now she was crazy as a shithouse rat, running around on Windy Key. She came back for the funeral and it had killed him to see her. Underneath the scars he had inflicted, she was still beautiful. He had reached for her hand when they had stood beside the coffin in the cemetery. Wanted to tell her he was sorry. He’d been crushed when he got the call about Mickey and he’d hoped . . . well it didn’t matter.
She’d pulled away from his touch and run from the graveside. Maria had missed her son’s funeral because she was terrified of Carlo.
He poured himself another shot of scotch and gulped it.
“Fucking idiot,” he said to himself.
What the hell did all this matter now? He had no one. No true friends. No family. None that really cared about him. They were all just waiting for him to die so they would take over. He couldn’t go get a haircut without worrying someone would slit his throat.
And for what?
Fuck. He wiped his eyes.
Mickey was dead. Fuck. He was a good kid. A real good kid. And he died in the line of duty. A good boy right till the end.
Mick loved his boys that was for sure.
Carlo shook his head when he thought of how peaceful Angie had looked at the funeral. He hadn’t seen her in years but she took to those kids like water.
Angie, his only daughter, wouldn’t even meet his eyes at first. He knew he deserved it. He’d killed her boyfriend and made her have that abortion but at the time he really thought it was for the best. Seeing her with those kids yesterday he knew now that was yet another mistake old boss Carlo Puglisi had made. Another fucking screw up for the old man.
Another shot of scotch but the pain wasn’t subsiding. Some sadness was just too deep.
Angie was raising the boys. She’d made that clear. And his grandsons wouldn’t be a part of his life. She’d made that clear too. She didn’t want or need him or his money. Had plenty from Mickey.
Carlo had tried to hug Luke but the boy didn’t even know him. Ran from him like everyone else.
And the new one. What was his name? Donovon. He was a cutie for a darkie. Tiny little thing.
Carlo would never see them grow up. If Angie had it her way, which she always did, he wouldn’t ever see them again. Probably wouldn’t even get Christmas pictures. Mickey was a dutiful son, a good boy, who followed orders all his life, and he always sent pictures. But he knew Angie wouldn’t.
No one wanted Carlo’s money or his house. No one wanted him and it was his own fucking fault.
“Mr. Puglisi.”
Who the hell?
He looked up. He recognized the face. “How did you get in here?”
“Walked right in.”
“I have guards.”
“Not anymore.”
What was this guy’s name? He knew that face. Tim Perconi.
Oh fuck. The guy he framed for the senator.
Carlo felt his stomach lurch and tighten up, and the single malt scotch that had burned going down, burned coming back up.
Puglisi Family Home, Rhode Island, afternoon-Kurt
“Tim Perconi,” Carlo said. His hands were shaking and Kurt smiled. Look who’s got the upper hand now, he thought.
The old man who sat before him had withered, Kurt thought. All those years ago when he had first met the big boss he’d been so impressed. Carlo Puglisi, the one who held all the cards. The man everyone feared. The man everyone respected.
But now he was just a tired old fool with a dead son and a crazy ex-wife.
“You come to pay your respects?” Carlo asked. He tried to appear unperturbed, but he squirmed. Silence was the best way to disarm someone, so Kurt said nothing.
“My boy Mickey? You knew him?”
Kurt smiled. “Not personally but I’m happy he’s dead. It brought a lot of people great joy when he got his chest blown apart. The man who killed him was smiling ear to ear when he came to tell us he finished the job. He had pieces of your son all over him. Can’t tell you how good it made me feel.”
“That’s sick. You don’t have no respect? You come into my home and talk about my son’s death that way?”
“You have to earn my respect and frankly, you haven’t. Neither did Mick.”
“You’re upset about the senator is that it? I’m sorry about that. Really. I’ll give you some money for your troubles and we’ll call it even okay?”
“No.”
“Why? What do you want from me, Perconi?”
“That’s not my name.”
“Right, you had to go on the run. Had to change it.”
“Perconi was only my name for about six months. I met you and you messed up that identity for me.”
“So that explains why no one could get any background on you
.”
“I’m good at what I do. You know, killing people and covering my tracks.” Kurt enjoyed watching the fear in Carlo’s eyes. “Payback’s a bitch.”
“What do you want then?”
“Shut down the baby farms—every damned one of them.”
Silence.
“Makes you too much money, eh?”
“They meant a lot to Mickey.”
“Did he run them all?”
“No, just Haiti but he started them, took great pride—”
“Shut down the baby farms. All of them. And you live.”
The old man put his hands up in capitulation. “I can make some calls. Please. Don’t kill me.”
Kurt relished watching the man beg. “So I have your word?”
Carlo shifted. His eyes glinted. “On my life, you have my word.”
Kurt lifted his gun and pointed at the man’s face. “Please, I gave you my word,” he whimpered.
With a shaking hand, Carlo reached for a gun in the table drawer beside him.
Kurt blew his face off.
Like Carlo Puglisi’s word means anything, Kurt thought as he stared at the faceless body.
The house was empty now and he could rifle through and find records for the other centers. It was time to clean up. A thrill went through Kurt when he thought of the task at hand.
He stepped carefully around the spreading blood puddle to Carlo’s desk drawers. Kurt slipped on a pair of latex gloves and grabbed the handle to the file drawer.
“The fun is about to start.”
Epilogue
1.
Hotel, unknown location, Friday March 3rd, afternoon
Gloria had been pacing the walls of the small hotel room for weeks. She just wanted to go home with her baby, Martha, named for Kurt’s mother. After they had landed in Miami and had the baby checked over, Kurt, Martha and she had flown back to Logan airport. Gloria had just assumed the three of them would return to Bradfield, settle into her townhouse, Kurt would start a new business there, and they’d all live happily after. She winced at her naiveté.
Instead of that lovely scenario, Kurt had checked her into a hotel up in Maine under a false name. He swore undying love, promised he’d never leave her, and had even said they were going to get married. Told her no matter what happened, not to leave the hotel and return to her old life until she was sure it was safe.
And when she awoke the next day he was gone. Completely gone. Not a trace he had ever been there except for memories. And the note. “I have to leave and take care of some things. I’ll be back some day. Don’t worry. You’re stronger than you think you are. Love, me.”
She’d tried to call his cell phone but it had been disconnected. His email address bounced back. On a lark she sent mail to his home address, signature required. He never picked it up.
He’d never explained to her how she was supposed to know when it was safe.
So she just waited. And waited. She’d called her office from a payphone to say she was okay and would be back soon. Brian accepted that with reservations—asking her what kind of trouble she was in. She promised to fill him in as soon as she could, but of course that was a lie. She could never divulge the truth.
Gloria had tried everything to track down the man she thought was the love of her life. She’d scoured the internet. No sign of her Kurt Malone. No records of any kind, except a business license for a PI in Miami. She even paid two of those background check websites and nothing came up. She knew it was a false name but still hoped there was some kind of a trail to lead her to him.
But as much as she tried to hate him for abandoning her, she couldn’t. Her time with him had been brief but so intense. So much love in so few days. And he had helped deliver Martha. He was listed legally as her father, for all the good listing a false name on a birth certificate did anyone.
After a week with no word she broke down and called Tommy. She had no idea what she would say to him. Maybe she’d yell or threaten or cry. But at least he was someone to talk to who might understand. Besides, she wanted to tell him the entire sordid truth and that she knew the part he played in denying her a life with her child all these years.
But his cell phone had been disconnected.
And when she’d called his office they divulged he had died in a ‘freak accident.’
No one that young just died and it wasn’t as if his secretary was going to tell her he had been killed. The internet told Gloria the truth. He’d died a week before. Accidentally took a header off the balcony of a hotel in Miami. They ruled it suicide but Gloria knew Tommy was much too selfish to kill himself. It was murder.
Maybe the Puglisis did it. Or Kurt. Didn’t matter.
Now she had no one.
No, that wasn’t true. She had the daughter she had always wanted. A reason to get up every day. A little slice of hope named Martha. Gloria grew closer to her with every breath. Gloria smiled at the sleeping infant, swaddled on the hotel bed.
Gloria viewed the screen on her laptop which displayed the news story she’d saved as a favorite.
Arson had claimed the New Age Adoption Agency in Miami and all the records were destroyed. It was either the Puglisis or Kurt who burnt the place down, but whoever it was, the children adopted out would never find out the truth, thank God.
Words from the TV startled her out of her thoughts. She walked closer and turned up the volume.
“Crime Boss Carlo Puglisi was found dead along with several bodyguards at the Puglisi family estate in Warren, Rhode Island. Authorities were presuming it is the work of a rival family.”
Gloria questioned that. Was it really Kurt? Is that what he had been taking care of? She knew he was capable of killing, but that many people?
A sick feeling rolled across her. This was the man she had given her heart and her body to? The man whose name, or current pseudonym, was printed on her daughter’s birth record. Maybe she didn’t know him at all. Was he ever really the man he thought she was? Or was that just an identity he wore for her?
The newscaster continued: “The reign of the Puglisis is over . . .”
It was time to go home. Gloria knew now she was safe. If nothing else. Kurt had given her that.
He had gotten rid of the bad guys. If she ever saw him again she’d say thank you.
She could go home now.
2.
Gloria’s Home, Bradfield, MA, afternoon
Gloria drove into her development and smiled. It was good to be home. Snow was piled high and the midday sun reflected off the ice in the duck pond. She passed a waiting taxi as she opened her garage and pulled into the freshly plowed drive. Gloria unsnapped the car seat and lugged the baby carrier like a jug of water. She was afraid if she shut the garage door there wouldn’t be enough space to get everything out of the trunk.
Gloria grabbed the diaper bag with her right hand and wondered how she was going to make all the trips she needed to without leaving the baby unattended. Martha had just awakened and had already started to squirm and moan.
“I can help you carry her if you like,” A thin dark hand reached out for the carrier.
“Martine! I thought you were dead!” Gloria set the baby carrier and bag down and hugged Martine Jean-Baptiste hard. “Oh my God. You’re okay!” Gloria wiped her eyes. “We all thought you were dead!”
Martine smiled. “Mr. Puglisi’s bullet only scraped my skull.” She lifted up her braid and pointed to a patch of rough pink flesh between the ebony skin. “I was unconscious when Boris brought me to the clinic to rest in peace. When the men came to take my body away the next day, they saw me breathe. Boris told me later, one of the men, he wet his pants, because he thought it was a voodoo spell.” Martine laughed but Gloria was still too stunned to find humor in anything.
“While I was in the hospital, Boris made sure Maison D’Espoir was stripped of all its worth and then he set it on fire.
“When I was released from the hospital, Boris drove me straight to the airport.
I went to Belize alone. It was sad being without Doctor Tad because he was part of my dream. But I did it for him. He left me money, Gloria. So much money. More than someone like me could spend in a lifetime. I planned to settle in Belize and start a new life, like Doctor Tad had planned, safe from everything.
“But I could not spend my life living in fear of the Puglisi family as Dr. Tad had done. I knew he would want me to be stronger than that. I spent all my life cowering in a jungle, afraid to speak, afraid to stand up for myself or go after what I wanted. Dr. Tad taught me that I mattered. Told me I deserved better, that I deserved a chance at a real life and happiness, and my own babies that I can keep forever.
“Belize was not the place for me but this country is, I think. A place where I can find such happiness.”
“I’m glad you came back, Martine. Kurt and I were devastated that you were killed trying to save us and the baby.”
Martine helped carry in the baby and the bags as they spoke and entered the townhouse through the garage door. “This is beautiful. So many books,” Martine said, wonder in her eyes. “Have you read all of these?”
“Most. There are more upstairs. I’m a bit of a book addict.”
Gloria took Martha out of her seat and held her.
“I haven’t been home in weeks. I missed this place,” Gloria said. “Today is the day I stopped hiding too.”
“It is a lovely home. I would miss it too.”
“Oh my God, do you want to be my nanny? I’m going back to work soon and will need someone. You could live with me and watch Martha. We could be a family.” Gloria couldn’t believe her luck that Martine would walk into her life.
“What about your husband? Mr. Malone?”
Gloria walked to the fireplace and flipped the button on. Martine stared at the gas flames as they jumped behind the glass. Such little things cause her amazement, thought Gloria.
“He wasn’t my husband. Not even my boyfriend really. And now, I don’t know. He’s gone.”
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