Grant looked back at the beach house. I could see Dominic leaning over the deck railing, watching us, but he hadn’t tried to follow. Grant raised his arm and gave a wave in Dom’s direction. After this, Dom stepped away from the railing then disappeared into the house.
“Let’s walk,” Grant suggested and we fell into a lazy stroll, the wet sand making sucking sounds with each step.
“Grant, how do you do it?”
“Do what?”
“Kill someone and act like it’s no big deal? I killed one man in self-defense and it’s eating me up from the inside out. Not just the guilt, but the way his life blinked out of his eyes when the bullet entered his brain. I saw his vitality extinguish and can’t get that image out of my head.”
Grant started to respond, but I wasn’t done. “The way Marco and the other men treat women is disgusting, how can you stand by and let that happen? I know Mom didn’t raise you that way.”
“That’s fucking hilarious, are you Team Mom all of a sudden? How easily you forget that she checked out after dad left. If I hadn’t stepped up, Child Protective Services would probably have been called in. I saved our asses from foster care.”
“No, I haven’t forgotten and I’m not ‘Team Mom’, but I know you don’t feel that way towards women, right?”
“Of course I don’t and Dom doesn’t either. Marco and those guys are old school. Now back to your first concern,” Grant stopped walking and ran a hand through his hair, which was flying around in the light breeze, not slicked back like usual. “I don’t know why it doesn’t bother me. I’m given a job and I do it. Even the first guy I killed to save Dom’s dad, afterwards it was no big deal.”
“Don’t you feel remorse? If you don’t then you’re like a sociopath or something.” I stood with my arms crossed, staring up at him.
“Sure, I feel remorse, but it isn’t crippling. I push it aside and move on. Nat, these people I kill, they know the risks when they do business with us. They fuck up, it’s on them.” He put his hands on my shoulders. “You’re of a different make-up. I’ve tried to shield you from my life and really thought I could protect you when I got you the job at Crimson. I failed you and for this I feel a shitload of remorse.”
“There’s nothing we can do about that now and I certainly played my part. You tried to dissuade me from seeing Dom and I didn’t listen to you, but listened to my hormones instead.” I stepped closer to him and gave him a hug, something we rarely ever did. He hesitantly put his arms around me. To bystanders we probably looked like a couple, with Grant being shirtless and I was still in a camisole and sleep shorts. “I can’t go back to Philly, Grant. Mentally and emotionally, I’m not ready.”
His body tensed before he released me with a sigh. “I know. Your panic attack at Dirty scared the shit out of me. I’m not going to force you to go back, and I’ll talk to Dom. He’s not going to like it, but if he loves you, and I’m positive he does, then he’ll come around. We’ll just have to figure out a way to protect you here after we’re gone.”
“Really? You’re not going to like toss me in the trunk and not let me out until we’re in Philly?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Nat. I love you too, ya know. You’re my sis and I got you into this situation, it’s my responsibility to get you out.”
“Thanks for understanding, Grant.” I gave him another hug before we turned around and started walking back to the beach house. I didn’t realize how far we had gone, easily a mile and a half. The sun was high overhead and early stages of sunburn prickled my skin by the time we returned.
Grant opened the deck door to chorus of angry voices. He shoved me behind him and cautiously stepped inside. I followed, peering around his shoulder to see who was yelling. Chelsea and Dominic were basically having a stand-off in the living room. Jason stood in the background like a spectator at a tennis match, watching the volley of words like a tennis ball.
“You got my girl in a fine mess, asshole!” Chelsea screeched. “She cries out in her sleep every night, did you know that?”
“How can I know that when she left me? It’s hard to protect her when she vanishes leaving us all behind and worried sick.”
“I don’t blame her for leaving. She got fucking shot! She’s supposed to be in grad school, not hiding out scared of every little sound. A car backfires and she practically shits herself.”
“Hey, enough!” I yelled, stepping out from behind Grant. “Chelsea, I appreciate you defending me, but this isn’t helping.”
“Are you seriously thinking about going back there with him?” She asked, gesturing towards Dom with an angry fling of her arm. Her face was red with white splotches on her cheeks. It had been a long time since I’d seen Chelsea worked up like this. Unfortunately the last time was about Dom as well and that fight resulted in me moving out of the apartment Chelsea and I shared in Philadelphia.
“And you,” marching up to Grant, she jabbed a finger at his chest. “What the fuck were you thinking? She’s your sister!”
Grant didn’t even flinch at Chelsea’s incessant jabbing instead he stood there and let her wail on him.
“Chelsea!” I stood in front of my brother, forcing Chelsea to stop. “I’m not going back to Philly, right Grant?”
“Right. Natalie’s staying here.”
“What the fuck?” Dominic shouted. “Grant, it’s not safe, we talked about this.”
“We need to talk, come on.” Grant went back outside to the deck and Dominic followed him. Once the door shut behind them, the tension in the room immediately dialed down a notch or two.
Within seconds Chelsea was pulling me into one of her lung collapsing hugs. “I was so worried about you when Jason told me Grant and Dom were here.”
“You don’t have to worry. If they could encase me in bulletproof glass they would. Grant and I worked things out. I’m staying in L.A., if that’s okay with you? I mean, I can get my own place so you’re not at risk or anything.”
“Of course you’re staying with me!”
“You’re really staying?” Jason asked. He had moved closer. His bright eyes latched onto mine making me momentarily forget his question.
“Yes,” I said after a few seconds, “and I’m really sorry you got dragged into all of this. I’ll repay you.”
“For what? You don’t owe me anything.” He reached out and lightly brushed his hand against mine. “I’m glad you’re not going back there.”
My attention was drawn away from Jason and Chelsea to the escalating voices coming from outside. I looked out the windows to see Dom pacing back and forth, gesticulating wildly as he yelled at my brother. Grant shouted something back and charged, grabbing Dom’s shirt in a tight grip, practically immobilizing him. He raised his other hand, curled into a fist, to punch Dom and I snapped. Rushing forward, I pounded on the glass, causing the whole pane to shake in its frame and making enough noise to distract Grant. He looked up and saw me, instantly dropping his arm and releasing Dom. Like boxers going to their corners between rounds, Dom and Grant went to opposite ends of the deck. I kept watch and they didn’t fight after that. A few minutes of “time-out” later they were sitting at the table where we ate breakfast, talking like civilized adults. When Dom started nodding in agreement to whatever Grant was saying, only then did I move away from the window.
“Jesus, I’ve never seen Grant like that,” Chelsea said. She had been standing behind me watching. “I knew he could be overbearing, but physical like that? Your bro’s a bad ass.”
“Yeah, remind me to stay on his good side,” Jason joked. He too had been watching.
“I think you can hold your own against Grant any day,” I said to Chelsea.
“What do you think they’re talking about?” she asked.
“Grant said they need to come up with a plan to keep me protected here for when they go back to Philly. First, he had to convince Dom that is was better for me to stay.”
“Who will they get to protect you?” Jason asked.
Dom’s eyes sought me out the moment he was inside. He saw me sitting on the sectional and crossed the room to sit beside me. He reached for my hand, entwining his fingers with mine. “I’m sorry you saw us fighting. I was letting my selfishness get in the way of what’s best for you right now.”
“What do you mean?”
“I just want you back, Natalie Ann Ross. I miss you, I miss us.”
“I miss us too.” My eyes misted up with tears before he lowered his head to mine and captured my quivering lips with his. I forgot that anyone else was is in the room the moment we connected. He leaned forward, his weight pressing me back into the sofa cushions. Savoring the crush of our bodies and being surrounded by his warmth, I buried my hands in his thick hair, pulling him closer, deepening our kiss.
“Um,” Grant cleared his throat. “I really don’t want to see this and I’m not the only one.”
I stopped kissing Dom and he lifted his head slightly, rubbing his nose against mine. My cheeks were hot, so hot the tears that spilled down them felt cool. “Did I persuade you to come home?” he asked softly, his voice husky.
I shook my head, knocking another tear loose. “No, but you sure gave it a hell of a try.” I was breathless when I responded and he gave me a sad smile, kissing me one more time before pulling away. Sitting up, I adjusted my camisole top, which had been pushed up past my belly button and looked around the room. Jason was no longer there and Chelsea was standing by the door to the deck with her arms crossed. She was shaking her head at me, giving me the “I’m disappointed in you scowl” that was an exact replica of her mother’s, right down to the way the fold in the crease between her eyebrows looked like a “Y”.
Grant briefly met my eyes before sitting down on one end of the sectional, a couple cushions over from where we were sitting.
“Dom and I need to pay a visit to Giovanni Bianchi now. We’re going to see if we can make protection arrangements for you.”
“Wait, this is the guy you suspect those men who were at Dirty work for, right?”
“Yeah,” Dom answered, giving my hand a reassuring squeeze.
“But, isn’t that dangerous?”
“I’m not going to lie to you, Nat,” Grant said, staring me straight in the eyes. “It’s risky. We don’t know for sure if those men last night were there because of the hit. We’re going to find out. If it was just coincidence, then we’ll negotiate some protection terms, if Gio is willing. He might not be since it’s going against a mark issued by one of the Five Families. Either way, we need to let him know we’re in town, it’s a customary thing.”
“Do you have to kiss his ring like in The Godfather?” Chelsea asked, sitting down next to Grant.
We all laughed. “No, nothing like that,” Dom answered. He stood up and I followed, not willing to break contact. He turned to face me. “We’ll be okay, baby, and will be back soon.” Reaching a hand up, he brushed a stray hair off my cheek then bent down to kiss me. His lips lingered over mine, a contrast of softness surrounded by coarse stubble, which stimulated every nerve ending. Sighing, I wrapped my arms around his waist and tilted my head back, an offering for more. I knew I was only making it harder for myself, but I missed him and needed to savor the moments we had before Grant and Dom went back to Philadelphia, without me.
We slowly separated from each other, but only because Grant was hovering, impatiently jangling the car keys in his hand. I walked with them outside. Right before they got in the car, I noticed Grant subconsciously check for his weapon again, like he had the night before, reminding me that they were going into this situation unprotected. A riot of nerves erupted in my stomach and I almost ran after the car as it pulled out of the driveway.
Chapter 19
DOMINIC
We drove up into the hills. The road was curvy and Grant navigated each turn with ease giving me the opportunity to take in our surroundings. I occasionally caught a glimpse of the Pacific, a much brighter blue than the Atlantic. Houses were spread out, most hidden behind ornate fences and security gates. Not a single child could be seen playing in a driveway or riding bikes in the street. The neighborhood was dead quiet, which made me uneasy. I was used to the South Philly streets I grew up on where everyone knew your business and it was perfectly acceptable for other mothers in the neighborhood to discipline other kids. On a bright, sunny day like this one, I would have been outside playing basketball at the courts or buying water ice, making damn sure to burn up every last second of daylight outside. Here they might as well have signs up on their perfect lawns that said “No Children Allowed.”
Grant slowed down as he reached the top of the hill and I double checked the address. “This is the place,” I said. Grant pulled into the driveway and stopped at a call box located outside the large wrought iron gate. I noticed a surveillance camera at the top of one of the fence’s stucco pillars. It moved to focus on the car.
“State your business,” a voice crackled over the intercom.
‘Dominic Grabano and Grant Ross – we’re here to see Mr. Bianchi.”
“You don’t have an appointment.”
“No we don’t, but it’s urgent that we speak with him.”
“Stand by.”
Grant put the car in park and leaned back with his arm hanging out of the window. I tapped my fingers against my leg and gnawed on my lower lip. Five minutes passed without any movement or further communication. We waited a few more minutes before the voice crackled over the intercom preceded by a burst of static.
“Mr. Bianchi will see you now. Please pull in and park out front.”
The gate rattled open on its tracks and Grant pulled forward. I watched in the side view mirror as the camera swiveled to follow our progress. The palm tree-lined driveway cut a line through a desert landscape loaded with palmetto and bougainvillea which were bursting with fuchsia blossoms. Ahead loomed a Spanish-style estate, the exterior was a burnt orange colored stucco and a wide stone archway marked the main entrance. The circular driveway wrapped around a large fountain and there was an expanded area off to the side large enough for three cars. Grant parked there and we stepped out. I paused admiring the view of the Pacific, clearly visible through swaying palm fronds. Grant followed me up the wide stone steps to another wrought iron gate and peered in through the bars at a courtyard. Approaching footsteps echoed within the courtyard walls. We straightened up and stepped back from the gate.
A short and stocky man filled the entryway. While Grant and I stood close to a foot taller than this guy, he was clearly a musclehead. His black t-shirt was so tight over his giant biceps it looked as though the short sleeves were either going to explode or cut off the circulation to his arms. He pulled out a medieval looking key and unlocked the gate, which swung inwards with a squeak.
“Do you have any weapons?” he growled.
“No, we’re unarmed,” I answered.
“I need to check anyway. Arms out.” We complied, standing with our arms extended and legs spread. After the man patted us down, he let out a satisfied grunt before locking the gate behind us.
“Follow me. Mr. Bianchi said he can spare ten minutes since you’ve come such a long way.”
We were led around the courtyard along a shaded walkway; a series of smaller arches, lined with brightly painted Spanish tiles, cast a half-moon of sunlight on the flagstone. Metal bistro tables and chairs were set up in clusters by each arch. A metal loveseat and two chairs, all covered with brightly colored cushions were set facing a freestanding stucco fireplace in the center of the courtyard.
I wasn’t surprised at the opulence. Giovanni “Gio” Bianchi had his hands in a lot of lucrative pots, which explained the tight security. One of those pots was a heroin trade business that extended from coast to coast. He was a business partner of Uncle Marco, which is why I was hoping he’d be willing to lend us some weapons while we w
ere in town.
At the opposite end of the courtyard from the main entrance was a double sided glass door, which was wide open. Gio’s man ushered us in and we stepped onto gleaming hardwood floors. The ceiling was low, but when we moved further into the room, I realized it was because a balcony was above us. It had a dark iron railing and ran the length of one wall, ending at an archway that led to another section of the house. A sweeping staircase seemed suspended in air as it curved to the second floor; each rise was decorated with Spanish tiles. A matching reddish brown leather chair and loveseat sat on top of an ornate rug. Natural light filtered in through arched windows above the balcony and cast the room in a golden glow.
We passed through this room, through another archway and down a hallway. Gio’s man stopped at a closed wooden door and rapped on it.
“Come in,” a muffled male voice said.
The door swung into an office. Gio Bianchi sat behind a massive gothic style desk, the wood so dark it looked black. He leaned back in a leather desk chair, his hands forming a triangle in front of his mouth. He watched us as we entered the room, tracking our every movement. Two men stood on each side of him facing the door. I took note that they were both packing; Glocks from the look of the grips sticking out of their holsters. One of the men was tall with long, dark hair and I recognized him from one of the many negotiations, what my uncle liked to call “summits”. His muscular arms were covered in tattoos that disappeared underneath the sleeves of his black t-shirt. The other man was shorter and completely bald, which drew attention to a jagged scar that ran from the corner of his right eye down the length of his cheek, ending at his chin. The right side of his mouth hung down in a permanent frown from the nerve damage.
Not wanting to stare, I diverted my attention back to Gio Bianchi. He was the smallest in the room, but stature didn’t mean anything. When he spoke, all of his men listened. We were wise to do the same so when he told Grant and I to sit, gesturing to the two chairs in front of his desk, we complied.
Clean Slate (New Mafia Trilogy #2) Page 10