Mine (Citrione Crime Family #2)

by Penelope Bloom

  “Fine. What did you find?”

  After I’ve explained what I saw, Damian sits down on the couch, eyebrows drawn in thought. “You’re sure they were empty?” he asks.

  “Positive. Do you have any idea what it means?”

  “I have some idea, yeah, but I don’t know. I need to pass this along to a guy I know and have him check some things out. This is good though. Real good.” Damian looks up to glare and jab a finger at me. “So how about you stay put this time while I go handle that?”

  I cross my arms. “You said it yourself. I practically have the secret service watching over me. You should let me keep trying to help. I already proved that I can be useful, didn’t I?”

  His jaw flexes. “Yes. But you’ve done enough now. I can take it from here. I don’t want to be worrying about you while I’m out.” Damian stands, grabbing his jacket and heading for the door.

  “Wait,” I say, rushing to him and standing on my tiptoes to kiss him softly on the mouth.

  The heat in his eyes threatens to break me. How can he look at me like that when he knows he’s going to leave me and this baby? Has he forgotten? Or maybe he’s starting to change his mind? I want to tell him that I love him. The words burn on the tip of my tongue, but I know with a shattering certainty that he won’t say them back, even if he feels it. I can’t take that disappointment, so I swallow them like hot coals, letting the emotion sit and simmer in my stomach. “Be careful,” I whisper.

  17

  Damian

  I’m on the way to meet with Franklin Guerre, one of the best private investigators I know. Pops used to use him if he needed dirt on someone, and I used him a few times when I was getting everything set up. He asked to meet at a small cafe outside City Hall. I only realized I was starving when the smell of pancakes and bacon hit my nose. I have a heaping plate of pancakes and syrup in front of me. Franklin sips on his coffee, eyes darting around the cafe.

  He looks like a walking cliché with the fedora he wears and the brown overcoat. “I already did a little digging,” says Franklin. “For someone with so much money, he’s sloppy. Real sloppy. The father, Anthony Cartwright, is careful, but Greg is the weak link. Some of their operations are linked and I have a feeling if I look a little closer I’ll be able to use Greg to find some dirt on Anthony.”

  I swallow a mouthful of pancakes. “I don’t give a shit about his father. I just want Greg to get fucked.”

  Franklin gives me a patient look. “Think about it, Damian. No matter how badly you hurt Greg, his father is going to bail him out of the mess. The only way you get him out of your hair once and for all is pulling him up by the root. You need to ruin Anthony, too.”

  I run a hand through my hair. Fuck. He’s right. Waging war with Greg on top of the crime families already felt like I was biting off more than I could chew, but going after his father, too? There’s no way I can do both on my own. I need to find some way to pit them against each other, I just don’t know how yet. “Did you look into the properties yet?” I ask.

  “A little. By itself, it might not be much, but it’s concrete evidence. We’re going to have a whole heaping pile of substantial evidence, so the properties could come into play as our Ace. As far as I can tell, it’s a tax avoidance scheme that is saving him millions. I haven’t confirmed it yet, but I think he’s using his father’s connections in the registrar’s office to create false persons. Fake socials, fake credit scores, everything. So when the county comes after them for back taxes on the properties, it’s not Greg’s problem. And he gets to double dip because he writes off the properties as business expenses, even though they are just sitting unoccupied. It could get him a few years in federal prison by itself, but that’s not going to be enough.”

  I nod. “I don’t want the fucker coming back at us in a few years. I want him buried.”

  Franklin leans forward, lowering his voice. “Not to suggest anything, but just out of curiosity, why isn’t he already buried?”

  I sniff, suddenly losing my appetite. It’s a question I’ve asked myself already, but I have avoided answering it. “There’s a girl,” I say.

  “Callie Beccaccio,” says Franklin.

  “Right, I should have known you would’ve already looked into it. Anyway, I can’t just handle this the way I used to. She would never forgive me.”

  Franklin raises an eyebrow. “That’s the only reason?”

  “Yes,” I say coldly, even though I know it’s not true. The truth is she makes me want to change. Whenever I think about doing things my old way, I see her face when I had the gun to the Ricci thug’s head. I know it would have broken her. It’s one thing for her to know I’ve killed, it’s another to see it, to feel it. Killing is something I never got used to. I tolerated it, but I’d be lying if I said it didn’t stick with me. Every fucking person I’ve ever killed is like a chunk of myself that is gone. I can feel the holes, the gaps, like voids where emotion refuses to stick and bleeds right through. Being with Callie has started to fill those holes, and I worry that killing again is going to open them back up, or worse, scare her away and leave them open for good.

  My phone buzzes. I check the caller. Unknown, but I memorized the number from Callie’s phone. Greg Cartwright.

  “Shit,” I say. “I need to take this. Keep looking, Franklin.”

  He nods, remaining in the booth as I head to my car with the phone.

  “How did you get my number?” I ask. I watch from the driver seat as Franklin slowly stands and leaves the cafe.

  “Haven’t you learned by now that nothing is beyond my reach?”

  “Tell me why I shouldn’t hang up.”

  “Because you want to know how badly I screwed you.”

  “Trust me, I’ve heard about your bad screwing already.”

  There’s a pause where he’s obviously trying to think of something to say and failing. “I have the security camera footage from the gas station when you and your friend, Benny Capobianco, shot and killed five men in cold blood.”

  My blood goes cold and my hand tightens on the steering wheel. We trashed the cameras and followed the wires back to a computer and trashed that too. Most gas stations run their security footage on a closed circuit system, but if it was backed up externally somewhere, he might actually have the footage. “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Because I want you, your filthy mobster cronies, and every last trace of you to be out of Callie’s life by tomorrow night. If you’re not, I’ll submit the footage to my close friend, the district attorney.”

  I hang up the phone and punch the console of my car. “Fuck!” I need to think, but all I can focus on is the image of my hands around Greg’s neck, squeezing until he pops like the zit he is. I have less than 48 hours to find something concrete enough to scare Greg into handing over the evidence he has on me. My phone rings again and I see Cristiano Ricci’s name on the display. As if things could get any worse.

  “What is it?” I snap into the phone.

  “You thought you could play me off like some kind of idiot? You thought you could feed me bullshit information and get my family and I to do your dirty work? Well, I know the truth now. And you’re about to learn why nobody crosses the Riccis.”

  He hangs up the phone.

  I turn the car on and stomp on the gas. Callie. If he has done anything to hurt her, he’s going to wish he was dead. No. He’s going to wish he was never born. I try to call the guys I have watching Callie on my way over but get no answer. I try Callie’s phone but get nothing.

  18

  Callie

  I sip some of the tea I found in Damian’s pantry. It’s pretty good, but I decide to add a little honey to it. I walk slowly around the house, thinking about what I can do to help. Most of all, I wish I had a chance to try a few codes on Greg’s safe. I never even thought about trying when I was with him. I guess it goes to show how emotionally beaten down and broken I was. I didn’t even realize I was a prisoner. I didn’t realize he was a wort
hless prick.

  Greg always thought he had me hostage because of the money. He thought if he cut me off, I would come crawling back to him if I ever got the idea to leave. It was never the money. I stayed with him because for as long as I could remember, the people I cared about had been casting me off like unwanted trash. Even if it was toxic, Greg wanted me to stay around. I think I had convinced myself he was as good as I deserved. Then I met Damian, and while he’s far from perfect, he’s exciting and strong and kinder than he realizes. But he’s going to leave soon, I know he is.

  Some people would probably blame the baby. They would resent it or want to get an abortion to fix things. I can’t make myself do that. Whether it’s Greg’s or Damian’s, I already feel something so strong and unbreakable between the baby and I that I couldn’t even imagine wanting to be rid of it. It’s my own person, someone I can have a chance to raise the right way, not like what my parents did. I’ll be able to love him or her and care for them. Even if everything else I’ve known changes, I’ll have that, and I can find comfort in the knowledge.

  A dark shape moves in front of the window. I figure it’s one of Damian’s guys, even though they don’t normally move anywhere in a hurry, whoever that was looked to be running. I grip my tea a little tighter, trying not to let myself get worked up. I’m just being paranoid.

  Then I hear a loud bang on the other side of the house. I jump, moving to look out the window towards the car where one of Damian’s guys normally waits. His head is leaning back and one of the windows is broken. I drop my tea, barely noticing as the cup shatters. I run as fast as I can toward the spare bedroom where the safe room is. There’s a loud crash nearby and I hear heavy footsteps and harsh voices.

  I press my finger to the pad on the door. Locks on the other side of the door click and grind painfully slow while the door still remains shut. The footsteps get closer.

  “She’s in here!” someone shouts.

  The door finally opens and I grab it, pulling as hard as I can to move the heavy metal.

  “Stop right there, sweetheart.”

  I freeze, wanting to cry when I see how close I was to safety. I’m tempted to try it anyway, to rush inside and pull the door as fast as I can, but the man is only a few feet behind me. He would be able to gun me down in an instant if he wanted to. I think of the baby in my belly and grit my teeth, putting my hands up. The man moves toward me and in a blur of motion, he whips the back of his pistol across my temple.

  Everything goes black.

  19

  Damian

  The first thing I see when I tear up the driveway toward my house is the broken window on Donnie’s car. There’s a bullet hole in the side of his head and blood sprayed everywhere. Rico and Lars are down on the side of the house. Three bullets in Rico’s chest and one in Lars’ forehead. If my guys looked like they had gone down fighting, it would be a bad sign, but it would’ve meant Callie had some kind of warning. Seeing them caught unaware like this makes my skin go cold.

  “Callie!” I yell, moving through the house with my gun drawn. “Callie!”

  There’s no answer. The only thing keeping me from going fucking berserk right then and there is knowing she could be in the safe room. I rush through the house toward it, stepping over the broken glass from where they must have forced their way in. The safe room door is open, but the room is empty. That means she was here. Only my finger or hers could have opened it. The opened safe door tells me everything. It tells me too much. She didn’t sneak off or evade them, she tried to make it to the safe room and was caught before she could.

  I punch the drywall beside me. Plaster sprays everywhere as my fist creates a crater in the wall.

  Cristiano Ricci is a fucking dead man. I had hoped to be done killing, but I’ll make an exception for him. That’s one hole in my conscience I’ll gladly bear.

  The phone rings too many times. I think no one is going to answer, and then I finally hear a click. “Damian,” says Cristiano. “I was wondering when you would call.”

  “You have one chance. Give Callie back to me unharmed now, and I’ll only kill you. If I have to come find her, I’m going to tear your whole fucking operation to the ground.”

  He laughs. “Unharmed? Too late for that. I guess I’ll have to take my chances.”

  I squeeze the gearshift until I think it’s going to snap, urging the car faster even though I don’t know where I’m going. I have no idea where Cristiano would have her.

  “What do you want?” I ask.

  “Pain. I want you to feel the same pain I felt when my niece’s husband was murdered.”

  “What about a trade? Me for Callie. Just tell me where to go and you can fucking have me. Just let her go.”

  Cristiano tsks. “I don’t think so. You would love that. You get to play hero and come to her rescue? No. I don’t think so. I want you to live a long, long life. I want you to have plenty of time to remember what happens when you cross Cristiano Ricci.”

  “I don’t know how, but I’ll find you. I can promise you that. This is going to end one way. You, me, and a bullet. You had your chance,” I say, hanging up. I’m so mad my hands are shaking. I want to break something, kill something. My Callie. I want to be there for her. And the baby. The thought hits me like a truck, coming from nowhere, but coming so clearly that I know it’s true. I know it from the depths of my being. I want to help her raise the child. I want to raise it like it’s my own, even if it’s Greg’s. It’s Callie’s, and that’s enough for me. God. Why didn’t I see it sooner?

  An idea strikes me. I don’t know if it will work, but it might, and that’s better than what I’m currently working with. First, I call Franklin and ask him to pause what he’s doing and put all his resources into finding out where the Riccis have hideouts. Next, I call Greg.

  “Damian?” he asks.

  “Yeah. I did what you said and walked away from Callie,” I say, lying through my teeth. “but when I left her alone, a crime family run by Cristiano Ricci kidnapped her. They are holding her and plan to hurt or kill her. So if you really care about her and that baby, you may want to use those unlimited resources of yours to do something about it.”

  There’s a long pause and then he hangs up the phone.

  I sigh. It’s a shot in the dark, but it could do something. If I have to risk Greg finding her first and getting to save the day, I don’t give a shit. I just want Callie to come out of this unharmed. I’ll kiss the fucking Sanatore’s feet if I have to. Anything to get her out alive and safe.

  20

  Callie

  I’m yanked out of the back of the car and tossed to the hard concrete. I manage to brace my fall, but my palms get chewed up from the hard landing. I wince, refusing to cry out or whimper. I don’t want these assholes to see they are getting to me. I want to be strong.

  We’re on a dock somewhere. I didn’t realize it was already so late, but the sun is setting across the bay, giving the motionless ships in the bay long, ominous shadows. There are seven men, all wearing suits and carrying guns. One of them wears a white suit and has his hair slicked back. He’s handsome, but in a feline sort of way, like a dancer. From the way the others treat him, it’s clear that he’s in charge.

  “What do you want from me?” I ask.

  The man in the white suit approaches me, stroking my chin with his fingertip. I flinch away, glaring at him. “I’m Cristiano Ricci. Your boyfriend made the mistake of pissing me off. He’s going to pay with your blood.”

  The tone in his voice begs no argument. What he says is a cold truth and there’s no debating it. These men are going to kill me. I’m struck by a sudden overwhelming helplessness like I’ve never felt. I think it must be how people feel when they are falling from deadly heights. There must be a moment of realization, where panic and calm find a balance. The ground rushes up with the inevitability of a sunrise, and the only thing left to do is make peace. The violent promise in Cristiano’s eyes is as good as a guarantee.

>   My thoughts ping pong between Damian and the baby. I can stand the thought of dying, but I can’t stand the thought of losing them. Of leaving them. I won’t. I don’t know how yet, but I’m going to fight this. Even if it’s as futile as fighting against gravity, I’m going to fight.

  “Want me to do it, boss?” asks a tall man with broad shoulders and a full gut.

  “No,” says Cristiano. “A bullet is too easy.” He looks around the dock thoughtfully and his eyes land on a large hook dangling from a chain. It’s connected to some kind of crane, presumably for lifting large crates from ships. He snaps his fingers and points towards it. His men apparently figure out what he wants and one runs up to the crane to operate the controls and lower the hook to ground level.

  Cristiano reaches for me and I flinch back. His face contorts in anger and his hand snaps out like lightning, cupping me by the back of the neck. His other fist slams into my jaw, making my vision flash black and my legs go weak. Two of the men take me by the arms and drag me toward the hook. Before I regain my strength, I feel myself being flipped upside down. Cold metal presses against my lower back, hooking under my jeans. A hand fumbles against my skin and I feel the hook punch through my jeans below the waistband. The men release me and I’m hanging by my jeans. I feel them slipping already, but thank God they are tight. Cristiano takes some ropes from one of his men and binds my hands behind my back and my legs together. Then he loops all the rope around the hook so that I’m stuck to it, even if my jeans give out.

  I wanted to fight back, but there’s nothing I can do. Seven men with guns surround me. The crane arm swings and I watch as concrete gives way to cold, black water. There’s a grinding of gears as the crane begins lowering me slowly, but unrelentingly toward the water. They are going to drown me. It all seems to happen so fast that my mind can’t keep up. I’m about to die. My head is going to plunge beneath the water and I’ll try to hold my breath. Eventually, I’ll gasp for air and only find water. It will fill my lungs and I’ll drown. I’m going to die.