"Okay, here's what we're looking for," Tomasso continued. He paused the video as on screen, I was getting into the Fiat that I had borrowed, and he pulled up four of the cameras. "Now, these four are the ones that are of areas that had a view of the driveway, inside and out. Hold on—let's see what we can find."
He slowed the video down to normal speed, his eyes scanning the four screens. "Okay, in camera one, that's just the gardener. He always wears those things over his ears while he’s mowing. We could’ve been doing a Bollywood dance number and he wouldn't have noticed."
"What's camera three?" I said, pointing. "Who's that?"
"Hmm . . . that's Jessie," Tomasso said. "You met her, the maid? That would be the main library. She's not really looking out the window though."
The other two videos were empty, and we sat back after five minutes, sighing. “Well, that's a bust."
"Those two certainly didn't do anything, and the other cameras were blank. Now comes the hard part," Tomasso said. "We've got to watch the other eight."
I looked around and saw a note pad and pen, scribbling down Jesus and Jessie, though they seemed to clearly be innocent. "I hope your reading is good, because my handwriting isn't."
“I’ve seen worse," Tomasso replied after checking it out. "Like mine. Anyway, let's start with four more."
The next four cameras had nothing, although we added another name to the list in Pietro Marconi. Finally, in the last four, I saw something, a blond head that looked familiar. "Is that your friend, Jake?"
He rewound the video, pulling up just the one camera. In it, a man in a suit came around a corner, taking a phone out of his pocket before placing a call. He talked for about thirty seconds, then put the phone back in his pocket.
"Maybe," Tomasso said, rewinding the footage one more time. "The hair is the right color, but there are two other guys who have blondish hair . . . and half the guys on the payroll wear suits like that."
Tomasso pointed at the screen. “That's not a smartphone. That's an old-school flip phone."
"A burner phone?" I asked. When he gave me a look, I returned it with an ironic expression. "Come on, don’t act surprised. My family is no different than yours. I know what a burner phone is."
He nodded and turned back to the screen. "You're right, my fault. It might not be a burner phone, though. Look, he’s obviously using speed dial—he definitely didn’t put a number in that fast. Who takes the time to program a burner phone?"
I watched, nodding. “You’re right. He only pressed a few buttons.”
"I just wish we could verify who it was. It could have been Jake, or Brad Walker, or Petey Franks."
"I don't know those last two," I said, thinking. I'd seen a lot of men around the past few weeks, and I hadn't exchanged words with most of the Bertoli men. It hadn't been something I was all that interested in.
"Brad and Petey aren't family,” Tomasso explained, glancing back and giving me a warm smile that told me he understood my words, "just associates who sometimes do errands. But they've been in the house before."
“I know what you mean. My father has similar employees,” I said, resting my hand on his shoulder. I rubbed at the back of his neck, smiling when he groaned softly. I stepped behind his chair, kneading the tense muscles of his shoulders and neck as I continued. “Our families seem to have a lot in common—not that I expected any different.”
"Luisa . . .” Tomasso sighed, a soft need to his voice. "That feels awesome."
"You're tense," I replied, the air suddenly warm and heavy. “Feels like you could use a good massage.”
"You're doing an amazing job already,” he replied. "I just wish there were more."
"I know," I said softly. "But we can't—not yet.”
* * *
The next morning, I woke up early after a night of tossing and turning. I spent the entire night thinking about Tomasso and how we were growing closer. The sexual tension was still there, but there was more growing between us, something that I hadn't felt in a long time—something I wanted more of.
When my alarm went off at six in the morning, I’d already been awake for nearly forty-five minutes. Instead of slapping the snooze and fighting for another few minutes of non-rest, I rolled out of bed and pulled on some exercise clothes. I wasn't a fitness freak, but that morning, I needed something to get me moving and to keep my mind off Tomasso.
I was surprised when I got to the gym and found that I wasn't alone. On the treadmill already was Margaret Bertoli, power walking on an incline treadmill, sweat pouring down her face and darkening her hair. She saw me walk in and gave me a wave. "Good morning."
"Good morning, Señora Bertoli. I didn’t think anyone would be using the gym right now," I said. "Would you prefer to be by yourself?”
"Not at all," she answered, hitting a button on the console. The treadmill started to ratchet down some, the angle decreasing. "I've got about ten minutes left. You want on?"
"Actually, I was going to do some yoga first," I replied, going to the mats in the corner. "It helps me think."
"A clear mind is important. Me, I'm in here because I want to look good for my daughter's wedding. Carlo wasn't the only one unhappy with the way our clothes for the ceremony fit."
I smiled and shook my head. If I looked as good as she did when I got to be her age, I'd count myself lucky. "You still have a youthful figure. If you ever come down to Brazil, you'd have no problem finding a young boyfriend who'd be counting his lucky stars to have you."
"You're as much a flatterer as Daniel. He’s one of Carlo’s men. We took him in when he was just a boy.” Margaret laughed, slightly winded.
I smiled, recalling the name that had been mentioned several times now, but I hadn’t had a chance to meet him. I started my first pose, just a simple opening of my chest and shoulders before going into a split-legged stance to start with my hips. “I know what it means to get compliments every now and then. Every girl needs them."
"And attention from handsome young men," Margaret replied, breathing a little easier as she slowly eased off on the intensity of her walk. "I noticed the way you and my nephew were looking at each other when I came home the other night. Whatever tension may have been between you seems to have gone away."
“I guess you could say that,” I answered, bending over and opening my lower back before stretching up, then repeating the process. “But there can’t be anything between us, though I think both of us want there to be.”
"Why not? Family politics?" Margaret asked. "I don't know what your family's rule is, but Bertoli men are pretty much clear to do whatever they want. It may not be fair, but it's the truth."
"Saint Paul wrote, all things are permissible, but not all things are beneficial. I don’t know your family's religious takings, but most of my family is still very religious," I said. "Not that I haven't broken most of the Ten Commandments. Have yet to commit adultery or murder. And while I have coveted, it wasn't my neighbor's wife—it was his Lotus."
Margaret chuckled, then rubbed at her ribs. "Don't make me laugh. It hurts too much right now," she groaned, slowing down some more. "But I see your point. And of course, we're not men."
"That's somewhat sexist, but a good point," I commented. Planting my forearms on the mat, I kicked myself up into my first inverted balance pose, holding my feet vertically while I kept my stomach and low back tight for balance. Exhaling slowly, I held the pose for five deep breaths before lowering myself down and putting my feet back on the ground.
"Well, if you don't want to do family business, you can always open a yoga studio," she joked as she slowed to a strolling pace. "I don't think I could ever have done that."
"The hard part starts when I hit the ground," I said, sharing a maxim I'd learned long ago. I continued through my routine, Margaret hanging around and watching. It wasn't long. I was just trying to get my head right, and besides, the yoga I learned wasn't the type that you could do for an hour non-stop.
Margaret sat down
on the mat next to me, doing some light stretches. "If you need any help . . . I raised a daughter in this household. I happen to know the rules better than most people. Of course, my daughter's fiancée ended up getting beaten with a shovel and having a gun held to his head. So, you might want to take any advice with a grain of salt."
"Actually, I just might," I said as I crossed my legs into a meditative pose. "But I'm okay for now. Thank you."
"Anytime."
Chapter 13: Tomasso
A day later, Luisa and I were no closer to finding our culprit. We were able to eliminate Brad, at least, but that still left Jake and Petey.
I didn't want it to be either of them, but if I had to have picked one, it would have been Petey. I'd known Jake Marconi since we were kids. We'd practically grown up together. He was one of the guys that I hung out with, and when I thought about the future of the Bertoli family, he was the guy I’d always seen in the position his father filled. There was a sort of generational completeness to the idea, and we'd both grown up knowing that we could always depend on the other for anything. That he was my friend as well just compounded the problem.
Maybe that was the reason that I decided to talk to Petey first. It wasn't that I didn't like the guy. He'd always been a decent sort of fellow. A little thick, and definitely the sort of guy who thought with his fists before he thought with his head, but until now, I'd never had a reason to distrust him. But still, someone made that phone call.
I tried to think of a reason that Petey or Jake would betray the family. It couldn't have been money. The Gaea Defense Force was the sort of group that did almost everything on the cheap. They rarely had two dimes to rub together. They wouldn't have been able to make a payment to a Bertoli man, not enough to buy one of our guys off, especially when they knew the consequences.
I sat out by the pool, resting my leg on the stool in front of me, watching as Luisa swam laps back and forth, a nice view as she went down doing crawl stroke before switching over to back stroke for the trip back.
Petey came out onto the deck at exactly noon as I'd asked him to. Pausing to watch Luisa's well-shaped backside cut through the pool, he shook his head before turning to me. "Hey, Tomasso. You wanted to see me?"
"Yeah. Have a seat, Petey. How're you doing?" I wanted him relaxed, not thinking it was an interrogation. "Great weather today, isn't it?"
"With a hell of a view," Petey commented, his eyes drawing toward the pool again. "If a home nurse like that comes with the package, I'm going to go break my ankle next week."
I laughed and reached over, pouring him a drink. "Here, this should help. I know I've had more than my fair share. Helps with the ankle, actually."
Petey took my offered glass and sipped at it. "Thanks. It sucks about your ankle, but this is the life. So what did you want to meet with me about?"
"I've got myself one hell of a home nurse, but there are things that I need that I can only trust someone more familiar with our operations to get," I said. "I need someone that I can trust to do the job well. Do you think you can do this for me?"
I could see his eyes light up. He expected that if he got in good with me, that he'd have a better chance to become a full Bertoli family member. I felt a little bad about leading him on like that, but there was time to worry about it later. "What can I do for you, Tomasso?"
"I intend to rehabilitate my ankle faster than what the doctors are telling me," I said. "I need a few . . . performance enhancers that I shouldn't have delivered here.”
"What kind of performance enhancers?" Petey asked, looking over at Luisa, who'd just completed a neat flip turn before kicking off and starting her next lap. "That’s a pretty effective performance enhancer in itself."
His mouth was the main reason he'd never get beyond the position in the Bertoli organization he currently held. If he'd made such a comment to Pietro or my father, he'd have earned a slap across the face at a minimum. Still, I needed to draw this out some more. “Maybe, but that isn't the performance help I need. I need a little more.”
"’Roids?" Petey asked. "That's easy. I know a guy who sells them out of a CrossFit box—makes good money at it too. The Don wouldn't mind. He's pretty small potatoes overall."
"I appreciate that, but I have someone who’s a specialist in things your normal gym goer doesn't use. He hooks up some of the Seahawks after surgery, stuff like that. I trust his supply, and I don't want to pay top dollar so that some mook can sell me salad oil instead of the real deal. Not saying your buddy is, but I don't know him, so I don't trust him."
"I can understand that, Tomasso. So who’s this guy?"
"Let me give you his number. You got your phone on you?" I asked. It was the point of the entire conversation, and one that had taken most of the day before setting up. I wouldn't be giving Petey an order for designer steroids—I’ve never used them, and never would. I didn't even know who the professional athletes in town got their designer steroids and test evasion kits from. Instead, the phone number I was giving him was for another Bertoli associate who thought I was giving Petey a loyalty test. If Petey did the job right, he'd be picking up vials of garlic extract pills and, ironically, salad oil.
He took his phone out of his right pocket, which I was sad to see was an iPhone. Handing it over without a second thought, he watched as I input the number and handed it back. "Give this number a call after three in the afternoon," I said. "Get the pickup and bring it back tomorrow, okay?"
"I can do that," Petey said. "And the money?"
"He'll get that from me later. He wants to talk to you because he wants to set up the pickup securely. He never transports product and cash at the same time. Think you can handle it?"
"I can," Petey said. I nodded and reached into my shirt pocket, taking out an envelope. "What's this?"
"A little thank you. This isn't for my father. This is a personal favor, and I appreciate those who do favors for me," I said, handing over the cash. It was a paltry sum to me. I didn't need it, but it helped add that extra layer of authenticity to the whole charade. "See what you can do."
He took the money, another act a true Bertoli man would never have done, and another sign he'd never progress past the point he was at now. If my father had asked Pietro or Julius or any of the trusted Bertoli men, they'd have refused it. "Thank you, Tomasso. I'll have your package by tomorrow night."
Petey left, and Luisa finished up her laps. I watched her get out of the pool, her recently bought training one-piece still looking sexy on her body, squeezing out her long, golden hair. My father's generation had Bo Derek to describe the perfect ten. I'll match Bo with Luisa Mendosa any day of the week. "So how did it go? From your face, not well."
"I'm going to have a hundred milligram bottle of salad oil and garlic extract tomorrow night," I said with a little laugh. "Want to make some spaghetti sauce with me?"
She smiled and took the lounge seat nearby, stretching out to enjoy the summer sun. "I'd love to. You know, our birthday is coming up soon. Any plans?"
"None so far. What about you?"
"I was thinking about celebrating with someone that I like," she said simply. "Maybe some chocolate cake and a trip into the mountains. Does that sound like a good idea?"
“Maybe," I said, laughing. "It depends if you can find someone who likes you to go with you."
That earned me a wiggle of her cute tongue, and my mind couldn't help but flash an image of what that tongue could do to me if it wanted. I swallowed a gulp of my fruit juice and sat back, refocusing. "First, though, we have a big problem."
"Either we are totally clueless," Luisa said, getting off the lounge and sitting next to me so we could talk softly, "or your friend is the man we’re looking for. Not a good thing either way."
"No, it isn't," I agreed, sighing. "So what do I do?"
"You must know if the men who will make up your organization are loyal or not," Luisa said softly.
I sighed and rubbed at my temples. "The consequences are grave. I've never
done what we're discussing here."
Luisa nodded. "I know. Neither have I. But if you’re to become the man you want to become, you have to be willing to do it. A man, a real man, has to be willing to do it himself.”
* * *
After almost everyone had gone to bed, I sat in my father's study, pondering. Jake had been the one to sell Luisa out. But why? What could cause one of my childhood friends to turn against our family?
My laptop that I'd set up beeped, and I saw that I had a video call, one that I'd been looking forward to. Answering it, I was happy to see the blond hair and Teutonic features of my soon-to-be cousin, and really more brother-in-law, Daniel Neiman. "Dan, it's good to see you. How's Alaska?"
"Absolutely beautiful. In fact, Ade wants us to come back up here on vacation some time. Strictly summer, of course. There's no way in hell she'd want up here after October."
I laughed. "And how about you, oh genetic offshoot of the Vikings or wherever the hell it was your family came from?"
He laughed and shot me the finger, a casualness that we'd developed since he’d become engaged to Adriana. We'd always been rivals, and in a lot of ways, friends, but now, we were finding a new and better position, that of equals and family. "Sit on it, Tomasso. So how's the ankle?"
"Hurts like hell, but I've got some new techniques to help me deal with it," I said. "Luisa's been really helpful with it all."
Daniel gave me a questioning look, and I shook my head. "Not going to happen, Daniel. Just . . . there's things that make it impossible."
“Hey, it’s your business, man. Speaking of your business, you asked me the other day to look into Jake Marconi. I’ve gotta be honest with you, that's some heavy shit you're asking of me. Jake's not exactly some geek off the streets."
Dangerous Love: Bertoli Crime Family Box Set Page 30