by April Lust
“I haven't heard anyone ask her about it, and I haven't heard her say anything about it either. So that seems like quite the assumption on your part.”
“Fine, then let's ask her.” Turo turned to Maggie. “How about it? You like him, don't you?”
Maggie felt torn. If she admitted how much she liked Gabe, her father would feel justified in deciding who she should see. If she didn't, her father might not arrange another date with him.
She shrugged, trying to sound casual. “He's okay. I like him more than I liked the other guys you set me up with.”
Turo smiled triumphantly. “I knew it! You're moping and trying to hide how much you like him, because you don't want to give me the satisfaction, do you? I know you won't believe this, but I actually admire that stubborn streak of yours, and the way you try to hide what you're really thinking so people can't use it against you. You get that from me, and I respect it. I always have.”
You never seemed to respect it much when you were controlling every aspect of my life and punishing me for not going along with it, Maggie thought. But I guess you're feeling magnanimous in your victory, huh?
“But, finally, we can stop this constant tug-of-war with each other,” her father continued happily. “We can go back to being a loving father and daughter, now that we've found a good husband for you. Unbelievable. Isn't it unbelievable, Amelia?”
Amelia sighed and tossed her magazine aside, looking Turo in the eye. “Yes, as a matter of fact. I do think it's unbelievable.”
Turo's eyes narrowed. “There's a certain tone in your voice, and I'm having a hard time interpreting it. Perhaps you can help me. When you say you think it's unbelievable, do you mean that it's unbelievable...or that you don't believe it?”
“I mean I don't believe it,” Amelia said flatly. “Any of it.”
Turo paused for a moment, then turned to Maggie again. “Go upstairs, please. I'd like to speak to your mother alone.”
Maggie sighed. “Of course. It's about my future, so why should I be in the room?” Before either of her parents could respond, she got up and walked out of the room.
But this wasn't the first time her mother and father had dismissed her so they could talk about her, and it wouldn't be the first time she'd hovered outside to listen in on them. She'd lived in this house her entire life, and she'd become an expert on which floor panels creaked. She avoided them now as she positioned herself next to the door carefully.
“Okay, what's your problem with all of this?” Turo asked angrily.
“For starters, it seems much too convenient for me. You're right—this kid came out of nowhere. You've never heard of him or his family. You've barely even heard of the man who introduced him to you.”
“Robby Nickelson is a made guy. That's reason enough for me to trust him.”
Maggie heard her mother laugh bitterly. “What a bunch of baloney. Off the top of my head, I can name at least six made guys who double-crossed the bosses they worked for, and another six who turned State's Evidence and sent their whole families to prison. And this kid's supposed to be from Canada, right? Because, suddenly, there's made guys in Canada? Who ever heard of such a thing?”
“Of course there are made guys in Canada,” Turo insisted. “There are made guys everywhere.”
“Why? Because Gabe told you so? It's not like you could check on that anyway, right? Since you don't know anyone up there, and he knows it. 'Canada,' right. Pull the other one.”
“Do you hear yourself? Do you even realize how paranoid you sound right now?”
“And this guy you've never heard of—from a family that's supposed to be so small, no one else has ever heard of them either—he just shows up with some multi-billion-dollar deal that'll make you the most powerful capo in twelve states, and drops it right in your lap.”
“Amelia, I know you don't know much about how the world out there works, but, believe me, this kind of thing happens,” her father protested. “Just ask the guys on Wall Street. They hear about big opportunities from unlikely sources that no one else has ever heard of, they act on that information, and they make piles of money. It happens all the time, except that this time, it happened to us. Why can't you just be happy about that?”
“Oh, I don't know how the world works? You're looking for a husband for Maggie, and suddenly a handsome stranger shows up out of the blue? And on their first date, he just happens to be put in a position where he zaps your most hated enemies and comes out looking like a hero?”
“Attacks like these can happen at any time. You forget that, because I do such a good job of keeping you and Maggie safe. But they still happen, and never when you'd expect.”
“If the whole thing were nothing more than a dog-and-pony show, then this is exactly when I'd expect it,” her mother snapped. “He gets to save your precious daughter and earn your trust so you swallow whatever nonsense he tells you. And look at you! Look how well it's working!”
“I don't like how you're speaking to me right now.” Maggie heard something dangerous in her father's voice. “It sounds like you think I'm an idiot and a dupe, and I don't appreciate it.”
“And why would these bikers stop to pick up their friends' dead bodies and take them away? Before the cops or anyone else could examine them? What kind of sense does that make?”
“I already told you. Gabe said these bikers tend to be sentimental, and—”
“There it is again. 'Gabe says this. Gabe says that.' He's got you so turned around you can't even think for yourself.”
“Fine, so what's your big theory?” Turo asked defensively. “That they somehow staged it? That's completely ridiculous. It's impossible.”
“Earlier, you compared it to an action movie. Before that, you said it was like a Western. You think this stuff is impossible to do? You see it on TV every day. Fake bullets, fake blood.”
“I just don't see how they could make all of this happen.”
Amelia sighed impatiently. “Remember when we went to Vegas and saw that stage magician? His body stayed on stage while his head floated over the audience, singing? I may not know exactly how he did it, but I still know it was just a trick. Believe me, so is this.”
There was a moment of silence, and Maggie thought her father might explode with rage. But when he spoke again, his voice was soft. “Why are you being like this? She likes the kid. You can see that.”
“Oh, I'll just bet she does.” There was something about how her mother said it that sent a chill down Maggie's spine.
She does know, Maggie thought. Somehow, she knows we had sex. Even if she didn't actually believe any of what she's saying, just knowing I had sex with him—that he made me happy—would make her angry enough to try to derail it.
“So what's the problem?” Turo asked. “Aren't you happy that we don't have to marry her off to someone she doesn't even like?”
“You were prepared to do that anyway.”
“But now we don't have to!” Maggie flinched at the unexpected volume of her father's voice. She heard him take a deep breath before continuing in a more subdued tone. “Minghia, you can still make me crazy, you know that? My instincts and my wisdom have built this family into what it is today. Mine, not yours. This is the best thing that's ever happened to us, and I'm not going to crumple it up and throw it in the trash just because my nagging wife suddenly decided she's got more street smarts than I do. I'm done arguing with you. We're paying out the ransom for Gabe's father and we're going into business with him, and Maggie's going to marry him, and that's that. I don't want to hear another word about it from you.”
Maggie only had a moment to wonder what he meant about the ransom and Gabe's father before she realized he was heading toward the door. She backed away quickly and scampered up the stairs to her room before he had a chance to see she'd been eavesdropping.
A ransom, she thought as she closed the door behind her. So someone must’ve kidnapped Gabe’s father. No wonder he'd mentioned being distracted by it. Unless
he hates his dad the way I hate mine—and I seriously doubt that anyone could loathe their parents as much as I do—Gabe must be worried sick.
Presuming, of course, her mother was wrong and Gabe's whole story was true.
Maggie sat on the edge of the bed, thinking it over. She had to admit that, to a certain degree, everything her mother had said made sense. It was possible Gabe was not the person he claimed to be, and he was trying to scam her father somehow.
But if that were true, would it make any difference?
For that matter, wouldn't it make Gabe even more attractive to her?
Maybe he was an undercover FBI agent, trying to bring down the Ricci family. Maybe he was just some con artist, a wandering rogue who'd decided to take her father for everything he was worth. So what? After everything Turo had put her through, Maggie had no problem with the idea of seeing him broke or in prison. Either way, he wouldn't be in a position to bully her and ruin her life anymore. She'd finally be free.
And the fierce attraction Maggie had seen in Gabe's eyes when he looked at her—that couldn't be faked, could it? Even if he weren’t who he said he was, even if he meant her father harm, it still seemed like he wanted her. The feelings he'd inspired in her were certainly real.
The more Maggie considered this possibility, the more it excited her. She'd never wanted to marry a Mafioso anyway. She wanted to escape from people like her father. Whoever Gabe really was, it seemed like he might be able to help her make that dream into a reality. He could take her away from all this, and they could celebrate her father's ruin together.
And then what? If he turned out to be a Fed, they could keep dating once he'd put her father away for life. If he were a con man, he could take her with him and they could scam people together.
Maggie smiled. Even though Gabe was probably exactly who he said he was, it was still a lovely fantasy to amuse herself with, and she couldn't wait to see him again. He might be a Mafia kid, but he was clearly a very different person from her father.
She put her head down on her pillow and closed her eyes, wondering what it would be like to live in Canada.
Chapter 15
Brock
Brock and Crack waited outside The Azalea Room as a herd of tourists ambled by. The sweaty, colorfully-dressed out-of-towners were dancing and snapping their fingers as they followed a parade of jazz musicians. It was the middle of the day, but the familiar haze of alcohol and vomit already permeated the air, mixing with the fragrant steam of a hundred different crawfish boils.
Brock couldn't believe it had only been about a week since the first time they'd been to the club. He'd done his share of long cons before, but he generally preferred short cons. A quick search for the right mark, a flashy bit of theater to lure them in, a smooth but hasty exit, and boom—instant money for an afternoon's work, a fancy dinner to celebrate, and on to the next scam.
But long cons paid off at levels short cons never could, and if this one was played just right, the payoff could be enough to sustain him for years—maybe even indefinitely. In this case, patience and focus were essential.
Right. Focus.
So why did his mind keep grabbing him by the lapels and dragging him back to thoughts of Maggie?
He shook his head, trying to clear it. He barely knew this girl, she was just another gear in the complex machinery of the con, and when it was over he'd never see her again. Just like dozens of other girls in dozens of other scores. No different at all.
Maggie, his brain whispered. Not “the girl.” Maggie.
Okay, fine, so her name was Maggie. Maggie, Maggie, Maggie. See? He could think her name if he wanted to. It didn't make her special. It didn't mean he felt anything for her. And it didn't make what happened between them any less of a mistake.
And it had been a mistake. A big one.
But why didn't it feel like one? Why did he keep reveling in the memories of her hands on his body, how soft her skin was, the smell of her hair? And those dark eyes, so full of wanting and needing, and all for him...
Stop it, he snapped. You saw a pretty girl and you fucked up, plain and simple. This isn't the first time it's happened, it probably won't be the last, and if you don't feel bad about it like you should, well, that's just because you're a selfish asshole like everyone says you are. The next time you see her, you'll just have to play it cool and keep your hands to yourself.
“You're quiet,” Crack remarked. His fat fingers were gripping the handle of a briefcase.
“You're one to talk,” Brock snapped. “Now pipe down. They should be almost here by now.”
A few minutes later, a vintage Italian sports car pulled up in front of the club. It was candy apple red, and its low stance and smooth lines made it look like a jungle cat pouncing forward. Turo Ricci stepped out from the driver's side, and Adamo emerged from the other side. Turo's face lit up with a smile when he saw Brock, and he ran over to him eagerly.
“There he is!” Turo laughed, throwing his arms around Brock and squeezing him hard. For someone so short and wiry, he seemed quite strong. “There's the kid himself. Maggie's protector, her knight in designer armor. Thank you, thank you, thank you for saving her life, Gabe. Thank you.”
Adamo walked over to Crack. “I hope you weren't expecting a similar greeting from me,” he sneered.
Crack shook his head.
“Hey, take it easy,” Brock chuckled, trying to extricate himself from Turo's firm embrace. “Like I said before, it's what anyone would have done. No need to thank me. That's one hell of a car you're driving around in, by the way.”
“Do you like it? That's a 1960 Ferrari GT Berlinetta Luso. When I proposed to Amelia, her father gave this to me. It's my second most treasured possession, after my daughter. I took it to my mechanic and told him to do everything he could to make sure it was in the same condition it was when it first left the factory. Even the paint job is new.” Turo jingled the keys merrily for a moment, then slapped them into Brock's palm. “And now, Gabe, it belongs to you, for saving my most treasured possession. And I'll tell you the same thing my father-in-law told me: 'May it take you everywhere you want to go in life.'”
Brock stared at the keys, dumbfounded. “Don Ricci—”
“Turo, please. And don't tell me you can't accept it, because I insist. My entire life, I've waited to be able to present this to my own son-in-law someday. Finally, I have the chance.” Brock saw tears shining in Turo's eyes.
“Thank you for this gesture. I'm very humbled and grateful. But with all due respect, Turo, I wouldn't want you to bestow such a gift prematurely. There's no guarantee Maggie and I are going to be married. I mean, we've only had one date so far, and I think you'll agree it was somewhat catastrophic.”
“Ah, but the next one won't be,” Turo said happily. “I have an instinct for these things, and I can feel it. All of this—you showing up with this deal just when my daughter needed a husband, and being there to protect her right when she needed you the most—it's destiny, Gabe. I know it in my heart. Everything that's happened, even this unfortunate business with your father overseas, has happened for a purpose...to bring you into our lives. I thank God for that, and for you.” To Brock's surprise, Turo kissed him on both cheeks tenderly.
“I'm very touched, Turo. Truly. But what about Maggie? Shouldn't she have a say in this, too?”
“Oh, she's completely smitten with you! You should have heard the way she's been singing your praises for the past two days. She can't wait to see you again. When you ask for her hand in marriage, I know she'll say yes.”
“But, Turo, even so...”
Turo put his small hands on either side of Brock's face, looking into his eyes earnestly. “Listen, I understand. You're a good son, and you're worried about your father. It feels wrong to make plans for your happiness while he's in the hands of those savages. I admire that about you. So we'll make the necessary arrangements for his release, and we won't discuss marriage again until he's free. By then, hopefully, we ca
n celebrate with a wedding announcement.” He planted another kiss on Brock, this time on his forehead. “And he will be free, whatever it costs, whatever it takes. I promise you that, and I never break my promises. Now let's go inside and get this boring business over with, shall we?”
Before Brock could answer, Turo walked toward the entrance of the club, followed by Adamo. Brock looked at the keys in his hand for a moment, then stuffed them into his pocket and followed. Crack lumbered along behind him.
As they made their way through the crowd of patrons, a rat-faced man with long, stringy, unwashed hair tapped Turo on the shoulder. He wore a Hawaiian shirt, frayed cargo shorts, and sandals. His fingertips were stained yellow and brown from nicotine, and his feet were almost black with dirt.
“Don Ricci, I was hoping to find you here.” When he spoke, he revealed a mouthful of rotting blue teeth. His breath smelled like fish rotting in high heat, and Brock's eyes started to water.