Final Reckoning (The Adamos Book 11)

by Mia Madison

  One entry catches my eye – a visitor to one of his nightclubs – and I make a mental note to follow up on it later. I read the rest of the log until I’m satisfied that there’s nothing I need to tell Santiago about, then sign off and go downstairs again.

  Santiago’s lounging on a sofa, watching the bikers carouse with the hookers. The woman in the armchair is still passed out. “All’s well,” I inform him.

  “Good.” He scans the room. “They’ll be partying for hours, but there’s no need for you to stay. Go home and get some rest. I need you sharp.”

  In truth, there was no need for me to be here at all, not from a security perspective. I spend as much time around Santiago as I can because it lets me glean extra scraps of intel.

  “I’ll have my phone if you need me,” I tell him. Crossing to a couple of the women, I indicate the one in the armchair and say, “Can you watch her, make sure she’s okay, or do you want me to take her home?”

  A platinum blonde with huge fake tits who goes by Cookie looks over at the unconscious girl. “I think they roofied her. One minute she was fine, and the next she was out of it.”

  Anger flares hot and bright inside me, but I don’t let it show. “She needs a trip to the ER, then.” Santiago has a doctor on retainer who does regular health checks on the girls--another thing I talked him into--but the doc’s not here tonight.

  “Yeah. I’ll see if Tommy will let us take her in.” She pats me on the arm. “Thanks, Monk.”

  It’s not enough, but Tommy Escobar is officially in charge of running the whores and would not appreciate any interference on my part. It’s a constant balancing act, trying to bring a shred of humanity to bear without inflaming tensions between myself and Santiago’s men any further. I can’t afford to make the boss think I’ve outlived my usefulness.

  “Good night,” I tell them, and head out. As I go, I pass Steve “Snake” Tyson, a top Devil’s Kin lieutenant. He glares at me. I glance at him as if he’s of no more interest to me than a week-old newspaper lying in a gutter.

  Tyson’s the one who gave me the scar on my face, right before I beat the shit out of him. He’s known as one of the most vicious members of the club. Kicking his ass when he picked a fight earned me the grudging respect of Santiago’s men and the permanent enmity of the Devil’s Kin.

  Santiago likes infighting. With the paranoia that accompanies his line of work, he doesn’t want any of his people getting too cozy with each other. They might get ideas to take him out.

  I’m eager to be away from the compound, but when I reach my Harley I check it carefully for any signs of tampering before climbing on.

  It’d be a damn shame to get myself killed before I get another taste of Quinn Callahan.

  3

  Heartache

  December 2, afternoon

  “Quinn.” Elina Adamo beckons me over to where she’s standing, the bakery’s phone in hand. “It’s another call for your candy cane ice cream.”

  I pull up the app we use to keep track of all our special orders. “How much do they want?”

  “Two quarts. They want to pick it up December 20th.”

  “Okay, I can swing that.” I make a note while Elina gets back on the phone to confirm the order. “What’s next?” I ask Bree. “The gingerbread men?”

  “Just started them. We still need another batch of sugar cookies.”

  “Okay, on it.”

  The customer area up front is packed with people waiting to order. We have a few small tables and chairs tucked along the walls, where some of our customers are enjoying their treats. Outside, a light snow is falling, drifting down to dust the ground with a soft layer of white.

  Downtown is doing it up big for Christmas. All the shops have decorations, and the old-fashioned lamps that line the main street in the shopping district are wrapped up like candy canes.

  My sisters and have tiny colored lights framing our front window, which has been painted with a scene of Santa’s kitchen: a big stone fireplace with a roaring fire, and Santa himself sitting at a table nearby, with a cup of cocoa and a plate of cookies, while Mrs. Claus whips up another batch. Rudolph peeks in from one side, hoping for a treat.

  Our idea was simply to have something that suited our business; Callahan’s is a bakery, after all. But judging from the endless stream of customers today, many of them families with young children, our artwork is succeeding beyond our expectations.

  “We just got a request for a holiday cake,” Elina says. “They’d like to pick it up tomorrow.”

  “I’ll do it,” Jade says. We take turns filling the special orders. “But it won’t be ready before the afternoon, so make sure they’re okay with that, please.”

  Elina is one of the nonnas, the Adamo grandmothers and great-grandmothers who keep the family running. She’s helping out for the month, but my sisters and I are talking about hiring on a permanent assistant, things have gotten so hectic.

  I’m glad we’re busy. It keeps me from thinking about Matteo.

  Okay, that’s a lie. Nothing stops me from thinking about him. Whether I’m awake or asleep, he prowls through my mind.

  During the day, I’m constantly distracted; at night, I dream. It’s always the same: I’m lying somewhere unfamiliar. Not in my room at Carlotta’s house, or back at the farm before it burned, but wherever it is, I can turn my head and see the stars, a whole dark sky full of them.

  And then Matteo comes to me and … takes me. It’s not gentle, any more than his kiss was; it’s wild and rough and overwhelming.

  I’m pretty sure the real thing would be a lot like my dreams. It’s not what I’ve ever wanted with a man, not how I ever imagined sex being. I should be frightened, but my body disagrees; I wake up wet and aching, my womb heavy with need.

  “Shit,” Bree whispers.

  I blink and come back to the moment. Good thing no one’s noticed me standing here with a spoon in my hand, spacing out. “What?” I whisper back.

  “It’s closing time and the place is packed.”

  She’s right. The front room is as full as it’s been all day. Normally, things taper off a bit between two and three o’clock, but not today.

  Since we start so early in the morning, by the time we finish we’ve already put in far more than an eight-hour day. But I know my sister isn’t complaining about our enthusiastic customers; she’s feeling bad that we have to close.

  “We can lock up,” I say. “Turn the sign to closed, maybe turn off the lights in the front room. At least that’ll limit it to who’s in here now.”

  “We’ll have to,” she says. “We need to talk tonight about adding extended holiday hours and hiring more help.”

  “Agreed.” I grab the keys and go around the counter, weaving among the customers until I reach the front door. There’s a man standing outside, right in front of it.

  I hesitate, then crack the door open. “I’m sorry, we’re just closing,” I tell him. “But I can sneak you in if you want to get something.”

  He doesn’t answer; he just stares at me. His eyes are cold and flat, and an icy finger of fear trails down my spine. “Okay, well, have a good day,” I say, hoping I sound normal.

  I’m half afraid he’s going to stop me from shutting the door, but he doesn’t. I lock it, then look up. He’s still there.

  Watching me.

  Trying to keep my face impassive, I turn and go into the back. “Is Lando picking us up?” I ask Brianna. None of us are allowed to go anywhere alone, not until we’re certain Santiago is no longer a threat.

  “No, he’s on a case. Romero’s coming. Why?”

  “Creepy guy out front.”

  “Inside?” she says sharply.

  “Outside. Not that anything would stop him if he wanted to come in.” The building, and our bakery, have a good security system thanks to the Adamos, but it’s not like the glass is bulletproof.

  “I’m texting Carlo.” She grabs her purse and digs out her phone. “He said we should err on
the side of paranoia if anyone or anything gave us a bad feeling.”

  “Right. Good idea.”

  I go back to what I’m doing, but in seconds my mind wanders off again. Despite the guy outside, he’s not the man demanding my attention. Only when Romero comes in the back, stamping the snow off his feet, do I rejoin reality.

  Firming my jaw, I force myself to focus. I’ve been like this ever since Thanksgiving. Enough.

  My mind and body are my own. I refuse to give them over to some obsession with a man I may never see again. A man who lives in the shadows, who shows no sign of ever leaving them.

  “Ladies,” Romero says to me and Bree, and then pulls Jade close for a kiss. It’s chaste, not a makeout session, but the way he looks at her fills me with a bittersweet longing.

  Most of me is deeply joyful that my sisters have found their forever men, good men who belong to an amazing family. There’s just that one little part of me that’s jealous. Not because I don’t want the best for them, but because I’m afraid I’ll never find the same thing.

  Of course, there are scads of Adamo men, and I’ve only met a few of them. Maybe there’s another one out there who’d be right for me.

  No sooner do I think it than guilt stabs at me, the overwhelming sense that I’m being disloyal. And that makes me furious. God knows Matteo isn’t out there somewhere mooning over me. He owes me nothing; I owe him nothing. We shared one kiss – thanks to my ridiculous infatuation with him – and that’s all.

  Okay, it was a mindblowing kiss. Earth-shattering. A tiny corner of my heart is certain that no other man will ever be able to make me feel the same way.

  But you don’t want a man to make you feel this way. Lonely and needy and tormented. Hell no, I don’t. I want what my sisters have.

  For all that Jade and Romero fell hard and fast, they’re realists, not head-in-the-clouds dreamers. They’ve got their feet on the ground and they’re building something amazing together. Looking at them, you’d think they’d known each other for years.

  If someone had asked me to predict which of my sisters was most likely to fall for someone overnight, I would have guessed Brianna, not Jade. Bree’s headstrong and daring, the sort to grab hold of life with both hands. Still, she and Lando took longer to make things official.

  They’re both wild at heart, but what they have together is anything but reckless. They’re a team, rock solid, ready to have each other’s backs no matter what.

  Matteo may be an Adamo, but he’s not like his cousins. Romero and Lando make no secret of how they feel about my sisters. Matteo doesn’t love me – and he never will. If I let myself get hung up on him, I’ll be asking for all kinds of heartache and grief.

  Bree’s phone beeps. She reads the text and says, “Carlo’s out back. He wants to know about the creepy guy.”

  4

  Deadly Plans

  December 2, evening

  Santiago’s family is back home. He prefers his men to stay out of sight as much as possible when the wife and kids are around, the better to pretend he’s just a normal businessman. That’s why I’m leaning against a table, waiting for him, in one of the guesthouses on the compound.

  When he comes in a few minutes later, it’s to slam the door and let loose a stream of profanity. “Those fucking Adamos. I’ve had it with them.”

  Years of practice keep my face blank. “What have they done now?”

  He throws himself into a chair. “The police have just arrested my man up there. Oman.”

  That would be Zachary Oman, street name Zoma, who runs Santiago’s drug operation back in my hometown. If Oman wanted to, he could share enough to get his boss pulled in for questioning, but it’s not likely he’ll say anything. Anyone who turns on Santiago comes to an unpleasant end.

  “He won’t talk,” I say.

  “No, he is not stupid. But they’ve disrupted the whole operation. I’m losing money.”

  He has more than most people already, but it’s never enough. Anyway, for him it’s more about ego, which he proves with his next words. “They think they’re big men, those Adamos, that they can stop me from running my business. I’ll show them who they’re dealing with.”

  I pretend to think about it. “They’re smart enough to be cautious,” I say after a few moments. “Otherwise they would have come after you you already.”

  “But not smart enough to deal with me honestly. I can’t let them get away with what they’ve already done; it would make me look weak. I must strike first, deal them a decisive blow that will dissuade anyone else having similar thoughts.”

  My scalp tightens. “What do you have in mind?”

  “You know the ending of Godfather II.”

  The sequence where Al Pacino has all his enemies wiped out, while attending a baptismal service to alibi himself. “Of course,” I force myself to say.

  “Christmas Eve, while I’m attending church with my family, we’ll hit them all at once. Take out as many as we can – not just the men, but their children and their women, especially those Callahan cunts. Any survivors will be too devastated to respond.”

  The prospect of him taking out a hit on Quinn and her sisters has me seriously contemplating putting a bullet in Santiago’s brain right here and now. “Some of them have pretty good security,” I say finally, giving no hint of the icy rage building inside me.

  “I’m bringing in rocket launchers. We’ll leave their homes in rubble.”

  Jesus, Mary and Joseph. “That would not allow even a small measure of stealth,” I point out. “And would be certain to provoke a strong law enforcement response.”

  He snorts. “The police are as foolish as the Adamos. They like to think they run things. If a group of mercenaries comes into the state, rains down destruction, and slips away again before so-called law enforcement knows what happened, there’s not a damn thing they can do about it.”

  Bruno Santiago is intelligent, urbane, and sophisticated. He’s also a psychopath. Human life means less than nothing to him.

  He’s ruthless enough to do exactly what he’s talking about. Not to mention crazy enough. And there’s really no way for the cops to prepare for batshit insanity. He’d be right about them being caught off guard ... except for me.

  “What time is the church service?”

  “Starts at eleven, ends at midnight.”

  “No one will expect a massive assault at that hour. Not on Christmas Eve.”

  “Exactly. They’ll be asleep, or busy with their own preparations. Same for the police.”

  I nod thoughtfully. “Makes sense. Anything you need from me?” I’m defense, not offense, but asking is the professional thing to do.

  “No,” he says. “We’ll go alone to church.” No bodyguards, the better to maintain his law-abiding persona. “Nothing will be happening here. You can tune in to the news and hear all about it.”

  “All right.” I’ve never pretended to be bloodthirsty with Santiago, only businesslike, so I don’t have to feign pleasure at his plans to slaughter my family. “Anything else?”

  “You don’t seem enthused.”

  “It’s my job to poke holes in your plans and spot any vulnerabilities.” I shrug, seemingly indifferent to whatever he decides. “On paper, it should work, but I still don’t like the risk.”

  “Always so cautious.” He gives me a faint smile. “The risk is worth it for a payoff like this.”

  “Can’t argue with that.” Fuck, I need to get out of here. The need to warn everyone is a drumbeat inside my skull, along with my ever-increasing urge to blow Santiago away.

  “But?”

  I spread my hands. “This plan has a lot of moving parts. All it takes is one of them failing for the whole thing to blow up in your face.”

  “Then make the plan better.”

  Learning the specifics would be excellent. Instead of agreeing, I narrow my eyes at him. “I thought you said you were bringing in mercenaries. They should know what they’re doing.”

&nb
sp; “They’ll be in charge of execution. Tommy and Tony are responsible for the initial plans.”

  “They have any military background?” I already know the answer.

  “No.”

  “Whoever you bring in isn’t gonna like that. They’ll probably want to toss whatever you give them and come up with their own plans.”

  Santiago gestures impatiently. “There won’t be time for that. They need to be in and out like lightning, before anyone even knows they’re here.”

  “Have them send one man, or two, in advance. I can go over the plans with them, and a couple of guys won’t be enough to draw any attention.” And I might be able to identify them, which would let law enforcement pull up a list of their known associates.

  “Yes. Good.” Santiago claps his hands once and rises. “I will let you know when they’ll be arriving.”

  “Sounds good.” I hold the door for him, then follow him out, strolling casually to my bike. No rush, just another day.

  Only once I’m well away from the compound do I let myself gun it.

  5

  Don’t Go Back

  My house is well away from Santiago’s place, on the seedy side of town. I rent it under a different fake identity, and it’s got a better system than the compound. An apartment would be cheaper, more anonymous, but also a lot harder to lock down.

  Once I’m safely inside, I call Lando. He doesn’t know the number; it’s a fresh burner phone. But he answers.

  “Lando Adamo.”

  “Cugino.”

  There’s half a second’s silence before he says, “Hang on.” A few moments later he comes back with, “Okay, I’ve got privacy. What’s up?”