She no longer cowered. In fact, she slowly raised her chin an inch and narrowed her eyes to glare at him. “You’re right. I don’t owe my father anything—and the more I think about it, I don’t owe you either.”
He frowned at this turn of her character. “What are you talking about?”
“You’ve spied on me, lied to me, and now I have a feeling you’re leading me right into the viper’s den. What have you gotten me in to?” Without waiting for an answer, she turned back to stare straight out the side window of the taxi, arms crossed and face tight.
Where had the anger at him come from? He never pushed her to visit Vince—only suggested. She had made up her own mind. Was she blaming him now because she was unhappy with her choice? Was this just her anxiety talking?
John closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing normally. He’d already lost too much sleep worrying about Vince’s reaction when they arrived. Sure, he’d betrayed the man’s trust by divulging everything to Hannah, but would his breach of family loyalty be overlooked since the man would finally get to see and talk with his daughter in person? Men had been eliminated for not being loyal. Although he wasn’t afraid of Vince going to that extreme, heaven only knew how big a hornet’s nest he was walking into.
What have I gotten us both into?
“Here we are folks. The Ritz.”
John jerked his thoughts back and reached across to squeeze Hannah’s cold hands as the taxi pulled to the curb.
He reluctantly let her go to step out and around to the back of the vehicle. Pulling out his wallet, he glanced up to find the fare was being handled by a familiar young man in a black suit.
The gentleman then offered Hannah a hand to steady her as she stepped from the taxi. “Good afternoon, ma’am. How was your flight?”
The smile she flashed the don’s driver gnawed at his stomach; she didn’t realize the man was part of Vince’s organization.
The driver merely nodded toward him, then turned to lead them into the hotel lobby. John knew the drill, but he hadn’t thought to tell Hannah. When they exited into the alley, she frowned, glancing around until she met his gaze with a fearful one of her own.
“What’s going on?”
“Honey, everything is fine. I’ll explain what’s taking place once we’re in the car, but right now, we need to hurry.”
“Ma’am,” the young man said, opening the back door of the sedan and offering her a hand.
Her eyes narrowed slightly even as her jaw firmed and her nostrils flared. She stood with one hand planted firmly on a hip, shifting her glare between the lackey holding the passenger door and him. “I asked you a question—one I think deserves an answer.”
When the young man began to blink rapidly and look around, John took pity on him and put a hand on Hannah’s back. “It’s safe. I promise. Please, just get in the car. They’ll drive us to where he is.”
“Are you sure? They look—”
“I’m sure,” he assured her quickly.
Thankfully, after a huff, she climbed into the back seat, ducking her head to get the wide-brimmed hat inside without incident. He joined her, sliding up close and leaning over to speak in a lowered voice. “Vince feels it’s safer for us to arrive at a hotel, and safer for him to have us meet at his home where he can better guard us and the situation.”
Those blue eyes darkened in concerned again, and her breathing became shallow as she processed the explanation. The car lurched forward, momentarily pinning her back in the seat, but she managed to nod.
She remained silent en-route to Vince’s compound. John had no way of knowing what was going through her mind, but she probably wished she could go back in time and make a different decision.
When the car turned off the highway and raced up the long, curved driveway, she reached over and slipped her hand into his. When he turned his head, their gazes connected. As if picking up a precious vase, he gently lifted the trembling hand, bringing her chilled fingers to his lips. He recognized fear tensing her body, but knowing she trusted him enough to turn to him in her stress made all the difference in his confidence to stand up to whatever Vince’s reaction would be.
They were a united force facing the enemy together.
Once inside the tall, rod-iron gate, John moved a few inches to the side and pointed out the window. She leaned forward and caught her first glimpse of the huge house perched on top of the hill. He had to smile when her jaw relaxed and lips parted.
“Goodness, gracious,” she whispered. Then she blinked several times and glanced around as if wondering who might have heard her expression of astonishment.
When he smiled at her, she sat up straighter, pulled her hand from his, and clamped her lips together.
He grinned at her child-like innocence…and stubbornness. Charming.
When the sedan stopped just inside a second double gate, John stepped out and offered a hand to assist Hannah from the car before he guided her toward the fortress-sized front entrance.
“That door looks like it belongs on a castle, and is definitely strong enough to keep out the Trojan army,” she noted, keeping her voice low. “Where’s the moat and drawbridge?”
He chuckled, flashing back to his favorite childhood book about King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table.
The driver stepped around them and knocked once, then three times before he unlocked and opened the door, stepping aside to usher them inside.
The foyer was dark and cavernous, echoing their footsteps as they crossed to the archway leading into the living room. He saw her shiver.
“Don’t be nervous,” he said under his breath. “He’s just a man.”
“Sure,” she mumbled, glancing up from under the brim of her hat just before she slipped it off and held it between them. “And this is just another day in the park with the pigeons and the kiddies, right? I didn’t ask for this. I just wish I knew for sure whose side you’re on. For all I know, he paid you to get me here and—”
“No.” He shook his head. “I’m here for you. Right here beside you.”
She firmed her lips and turned toward the living room. The opposing team had just arrived, and the ball game was about to begin.
Hannah felt out of place. This house was bigger than the entire boardinghouse of eight apartments. The massive entry featured a heavy, dark-wood table with a huge vase of cut flowers artfully arranged. A crime boss with flowers in his entry didn’t fit the stereotype she’d read about.
Of course, neither did the man when he walked up to greet them. She held her breath. He wore black slacks and a white shirt with both sleeves rolled to the elbows.
Ordinary.
What had she expected? Horns and a pitchfork? Or a pool-hall atmosphere where men sat around drinking beer and smoking cigarettes? With his hair receding a little bit and slim and trim build, this man looked like any other father in the world.
Her stomach clenched, squeezing like a vice and holding her rooted to the spot for fear her legs would buckle. The slight tightening of John’s hand reminded her of his presence, his encouragement. Surely, he’d catch her if she faltered.
“Come in, come in.” Vince Giovanni spoke as if to them both, but his eyes never moved from her.
She trembled inside, a death-grip strangling the clutch-purse at her side.
“You look just like your mother,” he murmured before shaking his head and motioning for them to take a seat on the sofa.
Hannah released the held breath, thankful he hadn’t tried to hug her.
After a moment’s hesitation, she moved forward, but silence hovered over the small group as she set her hat and purse on the end of the sofa and took a seat.
John sat beside her, and Vince took the chair across from them. He then cleared his throat, and took the lead. “Drinks will be served in a moment. Is lemonade okay?”
She nodded, wishing she could be sure her voice would be strong when she eventually had to speak.
“How was the flight?”
“Yes, that’s a rough trip.” He nodded, his gaze still uncomfortably glued to her. “Um…” He blinked several times before he leaned back and crossed his legs. “I’m sorry for staring, but your resemblance to Sadie is amazing. The shape of your eyes and the hair. Even your sense of style brings back fond memories. Your mother was beautiful and loved nice clothes and shoes.”
His words touched a soft spot, but she steeled her emotions. “Why did you never come visit my mother? Us?” She swallowed. Okay, blurting out her number one question was rather rude, but her voice, although soft, had remained steady and direct.
Thank goodness.
Vince lowered his gaze to stare at his own hands; hands that had, no doubt, taken more than a few lives; ones that were a larger version of her own, complete with a uniquely curved baby finger on his right hand. If nothing else, that one trait would have convinced her of his role in her birth.
Finally, he heaved a deep sigh and met her gaze. “I never thought this day would come. I thought I’d made it clear,” he continued, shifting his attention momentarily toward John, “that you were never to know about me. Never to be put in possible danger. Some people don’t listen, don’t use their heads.”
The cold glare he pinned on John sent another shiver down her spine. What would he do to him for telling her? She glanced his way, but he appeared relaxed.
When her father spoke again, it drew her attention back to him.
“At the time your mother left, the organization—the family—was in turmoil with our don having just been…eliminated. I moved up the ranks to replace him. There were others who thought I was too young and lacked the experience to get things done, so we were busy. They were wrong to think I couldn’t handle the position I’d filled.”
At the sight of Vince’s jaw clenched, lips mashed into a straight line, and eyes stormy and lethal, she recoiled slightly, pushing back into the cushioned sofa, and involuntarily reaching over to rest a hand on John’s arm. The muscle under her hand tensed, relaxed, and then tensed again, as if sending a Morse code message that he was there for her. A sigh eased out.
While she watched, the don’s hands gradually relaxed, but it took him several deep breaths before he visibly regained control. She knew nothing of what had transpired so long ago, but the incident still had power to stir his anger. Obviously, he’d never gotten over the experience—never forgiven whomever killed the former family leader. Had he gotten revenge?
That last thought made her shudder, but, surprisingly, she didn’t fear Vince. She remembered John’s words: “You have nothing to fear…you don’t owe him anything. He’s the one on trial.” One day, either on earth or later, he’d have to answer for his crimes, but that was his problem, not hers.
“My first thought,” he continued, “was to immediately find her and bring her home, kicking and screaming if necessary, and that was even before Dr. Baron told me she was expecting.”
Hannah hung on every word, not wanting to feel emotional, but knowing her mother must have been scared to death that he would do exactly that—drag her back to New York. “But you didn’t know where she’d gone.”
“It took a week or so. A couple of my men followed the paper trail and found her. Problem was, the family—the business—was in an uproar. My lieutenant suggested I let things settle down a bit more since it still wasn’t safe here. Men were sleeping all over the house and…well…” He rubbed a large hand over his mouth and glanced away for a moment before returning his gaze to her. “Anyway, I decided to wait. By the time I got things situated in my favor, you’d been born.”
She leaned forward. “So, why didn’t you head to California?” But if he had, I’d have been raised a mobster’s daughter.
A shudder ran down her spine.
After sucking in a deep breath, he sighed, accepted a glass of lemonade and took a long drink while his employee handed one each to her and John.
After setting the glass on the coffee table, Vince continued. “Plans were to slip out and fly west the following week, but it was my mother’s birthday. My boys brought her here for a little celebration. It didn’t take her long to ask what was bothering me.” He rolled his shoulders in a casual shrug. “I told her about Sadie leaving but held back the part about you. I thought it would be a nice surprise later when I got you both home.”
Hannah clenched her hands in her lap to keep him from seeing them tremble. I have a grandmother? Her heart thudded several times while she waited for him to continue.
“I’m not sure what possessed me to bring up the subject, but I asked her what it had been like having her husband working for the mob as an enforcer.” He fell silent, staring off toward the dining room.
“Is your mother still alive?” she couldn’t help asking into the silence.
He eventually blinked several times, cleared his throat, and continued. “No.” With only a brief hesitation, he resumed where he’d left off. “She told me about sleepless nights and the terror of never knowing if her husband would get home alive. She understood, and she was a good Italian wife, so she kept her fears to herself, telling me how several nights he arrived home bloody or shot. The doctor would be called to patch him up, and then he’d return to work.”
She swallowed, forcing back unexpected tears at the thought of anyone in her family—or John—being shot and her having to tend to bleeding wounds. Deep down, it also hurt to hear that she’d not get to meet her grandmother. “Did she ever ask him to quit?”
“No.” The answer was abrupt, his face hardening for a moment. Then he shrugged and smiled. “You don’t quit the family.”
His features were hard, cold. Had she missed anything by not living with this man? She didn’t think so. “How old were you when your father died?”
“Sixteen, but I was already on the payroll. I was too young to take over for Pop, so my uncle moved up. He had no sons, so, naturally, he groomed me to take over after him. He led the family for just over ten years.”
How could these men keep doing whatever it was they did—gambling, prostitution, liquor—when it meant so many of them would die?
The thought made her stomach queasy, but she remained quiet, wondering if she really wanted to hear more of this story. Sure, she’d asked him to explain, but she’d seen a couple gangster movies; now, she suspected there was more truth in them than fiction.
“How was your mother able to handle so many of her family members getting killed? How did she live life and do all the normal things when she could lose someone else at any moment?”
“I know she lit a candle every week, asking for me to walk away from the mob, but despite being Italian, she didn’t understand that even as a teen, I was already in too deep. Besides,” he said, lowering his voice slightly and giving her a sly smile and a wink. “I didn’t want out.”
He’d wanted to be a thief and a murderer even as a teenager? She wasn’t sure what to say to this revelation. No wonder her mother ran for her life and lied to keep her away from the man.
She tightened her grip on the glass of lemonade. Tears weren’t far below the surface.
John leaned closer, touching her arm. “Are you okay?”
Hannah nodded, sliding her hand away without taking her gaze from Vince. “So, um, you said your mother lived in fear of your father dying. As a child, did you ever fear dying?”
A shrug jerked his shoulder up and down. “When I was young, before I turned twelve and my father insisted I remain with the men, there were times when my mother bundled me up and we slipped out at night to drive to my aunt’s in Jersey. We’d stay there until things settled down. The families had a code of honor back then. Business was strictly between the men. Women and children were left alone. Of course, times changed, and a few scum weren’t as careful about honoring the code. Anyway they could get at a don, they’d use it—even if his family was in the car and it meant killing his kids.
Sad things happen occasionally.” He sighed, shaking his head. “That’s why I left you and your mother in California and just had my guy keep an eye on you. He reported back if either of you needed anything.”
“I understand you own the boardinghouse and hired my mother as manager.”
Vince scratched his cheek, casting a quick glare at John before relaxing the scowl and turning his attention back to her. Would this be strike two in a list of disloyal acts?
“Well, let’s just say my attorney was involved in arranging an anonymous purchase. Then he chose Sadie as the manager from the applications and gave her a small salary and free rent for taking on the added responsibility. I saw the arrangement as a way for her to have a little more money available to spend on you.” A sheepish shrug followed his grin. “You might call it child support.”
No words got past the lump in her throat. John had told the truth. Her father, as much as she hated the thought of being a mobster’s daughter, cared about her—might even love her…in his own way.
A rough-looking man of about fifty stepped into the room. He was dressed much like her father, but there was a gun strapped around one shoulder. He didn’t smile, yet, to her amazement, she felt no fear. He looked just like one of the actors in the gangster movies.
“Excuse me, sir. The meal is on the table.”
“Ah, good.” Vince stood and led the way into the dining room. “Let’s eat. Sit, sit,” he urged, stopping at the end of the table and motioning for her to take the seat on his right. John took the one on the left.
Hannah swallowed once, then a second time as the smell of spicy food wafted up to clash with her already churning stomach. One way or the other, she intended to make it through the meal without showing weakness.
She blinked several times. With that attitude, maybe I’m more like my father than I even realize.
The next hour was spent listening to Vince tell stories about John when he was a boy. Although interesting, and even humorous at times, she was unable to eat more than a few bites of the delicious noodle dish. Her stomach revolted against each nibble. The meal couldn’t be over soon enough.
When Truth Takes Flight Page 18