“The compound, brother.”
I have no idea what, if anything, I say after that. I’m too busy shutting down the parts of me that’ll distract me from my job. Before I turn into the machine I’m trained to be when necessary, I allow one final thought to flit through my mind: the only two women I love may already be gone, and fuck if I can listen to the logic that says this isn’t my fault.
11
Nina
“You bitch,” I hiss in dawning horror.
“Now, now,” she chides. “It’s not polite to insult the mother of the man you’re sleeping with. After all, what would my Marco think if he could hear you?”
Angelica and I have been locked in a stare off for what seems like an hour now but is probably more like five minutes. What the hell is going on? As much as I don’t want to give her the satisfaction of me breaking first, this is getting me nowhere. Knowledge is the ultimate power. She has it, and I don’t. I need to level that playing field if I have any hope of getting the fuck out of here. Heck, this could all be a misunderstanding. The car broke down, and we were forced to take shelter in the nearest crack house. She locked me in this charming, quaint bedroom for my own protection. After all, we’re both women. Sisters before misters. Girl power. It might be easier to buy into that if she wasn’t wearing a sinister smile. It’s like a mix of bipolar June Cleaver and The Wicked Witch of the West. I’ll get you, my pretty…
Pretend she’s Minka, so always one-up. You got this. I yawn and glance around the room as if bored out of my mind. “You’re one of those middle-aged empty nesters who has too much time on your hands, huh? Probably be easier if you had a career to fall back on. Instead, you got nowhere to go and all day to get there.” I shrug my shoulder indifferently to add a little extra push, hoping it insults the hell out of her. Her cheek is twitching in a rather fascinating way. I wonder idly how she manages to keep the rest of her face smooth at the same time. Too much Botox? I don’t verbalize that question—yet. I’ll save that one for later.
“Middle-aged?” she parrots as if uncertain of the meaning. For a woman who obviously takes a lot of time and pride in her appearance, she probably doesn’t know how to process the dig. Well hell, bringing out the Botox now, after all.
“You know, people over sixty-five.” I know I’ve inflated the age, but I want this zinger to reach its target. “You’re holding up pretty good there, Angie. You don’t look a day over sixty. Heck, I bet when Marco and I have kids, they won’t be able to believe you’re their granny.” I lower my voice, giving her a conspiratorial wink before I add, “Isn’t Botox the best invention ever?” I point at her forehead, staring intently. “If not for the hairline wrinkles and the sagging eyelids, you’d look even younger. I bet a few more injections would take care of that, though. I read in Cosmo that geriatric women need the maximum amount every two months for maintenance instead of the usual three to four months.” That last part might have been a bit of overkill. Speaking of kill, my number may be up at any moment… I force myself not to take a step backward as her partially frozen face fills with thunderclouds. Weirdly enough, she reminds me so much of Marco at that moment. That’s just… strange. Low blood sugar maybe? To my knowledge, I haven’t eaten today.
“I’ll have you know, stupid girl, I’m nowhere near that age. Nor do I need Botox to look my best.” She eyes me critically from top to bottom before adding, “Unlike you, I practice clean living. I don’t eat processed junk, nor do I lay on my ass. I jog five miles a day and work with a personal trainer three times a week. From what I can see, none of those are part of your regime—”
“Is this where you lecture me about the youth of today?” I deliberately interrupt, knowing it will royally piss her off. One homicidal Barbie, coming right up. “How back in your day, you walked ten miles through the snow with no shoes to get to your one-room school. No electricity or television.” I bring my hand up, making a flapping motion. I’m used to exchanging barbs with Minka, so it’s entirely too easy for me to toss way too many insults in a short amount of time. The goal here is information, not assassination.
She surprises me, though, by shaking it off. In fact, I wonder if she blanked out during my entire rant, which is rather disappointing since it was some of my better stuff. “You have no children, Nina, so I realize this may be hard for you to grasp, but when you become a mother, there’s a shift inside you. Oh, you’re still the same person, but you have a vulnerability that you will never overcome. As much as you may have loved another, it doesn’t compare to the unconditional love you have for the child you carry within you for nine months. There’s a bond there—a link that only grows stronger. You read books or magazines that say eventually they’ll grow up, leave home, and make their own way in the world. Those articles lead you to believe at that point, you simply wash your hands of them and move on. You no longer worry, nor miss them when they’re gone. But that’s not the case. I’ve found the opposite to be true. When Marco was a child, I had the usual worries. Him falling off his bike, out of a tree, or being abducted by a rival family.” For a moment, that had been almost normal.
She pauses, giving me an expectant look. I’ve been bad cop the past few times, so I decide to try out the good one. Might as well keep her off balance. Thinking the whacko ship has already sailed there. “Um, I’m sure all parents have been there. My mom probably worried about the same things. But you must be proud of the way he turned out. He’s a respected mafia guy. At the top of the food chain. What else could you possibly want for him?” Okay, so there was a slight amount of sarcasm, but I’m not a saint.
She stares off into the distance as if intently pondering my question. Either that or deciding in which manner to kill me. “For starters, I would prefer he find a much better class of women to spend time with. Your last name may be Gavino, but you’re an outsider.” And damn proud of it, Granny. I’m so busy tossing around insults in my head, that I almost miss her next words. “But most importantly, I wish he’d never followed in his father’s footsteps and joined the FBI. Now, not only is my husband a traitor to the family but also my son.”
I got nothing. Total blank. Points for creativity, girlfriend. “Yeah, I feel your pain,” I say in a voice oozing with sympathy. “It always chapped my ass when Franklin pretended he was Santa. Come on, he didn’t even have a beard. And using Frankie Jr. as his elf? Not only scary but kinda disturbing as well.” I’ve gotta remember to tell Minka this one. Frankie Jr. an elf. Priceless.
A look of something akin to approval flashes across her face. It’s probably just gas. “I wasn’t expecting you to believe me immediately, Nina, but I will say, I admire your calm manner, even in difficult circumstances. I see a lot of your mother in you. She was an outsider too, but always so quick with a joke. In another world, I believe that we all could have been friends.”
I have no idea if she’s tossing the friend card out there for my mother or me, but I’m pretty sure my mother thought she was a raging bitch as well. “Well, thanks for that,” I say grandly. “It’s always cool to get the seal of approval from your man’s mommy. I’ll check that one off the list.” I’m rather impressed with myself that I’m still wisecracking. I owe you BIG, Minka. If not for years of insane conversations with my best friend, this wouldn’t be possible. When she turns to pick up something, I notice what appears to be her purse against the wall. I find it hard to believe even a woman as vain as Angelica would stop at this point to check her makeup. Maybe I’ve pushed too far and hit her limit. Those pants are probably too tight for a gun, so no doubt it’s in her bag. But instead of the glint of metal, it’s more like a stack of papers. Oh, great. She’s probably going to offer me a million bucks to stop banging her son. Got her lawyer to draw of a contract for me to sign. Ms. Gavino agrees to no longer ask Mr. Moretti to slap her ass or put anything else in said orifice—
I’m rather enjoying my brief naughty flashback when she clears her throat. “As I was saying, I didn’t expect you to believe me immediatel
y, so I took the liberty of bringing some… visuals you might find of interest.” She shoots me a look full of concern, and that has the hairs on the back of my neck standing at attention. “I’ll warn you, dear, these are a bit… graphic in nature, and you may find them upsetting.” I half-expect an offer to hold my hand, but thankfully, it doesn’t come.
I’m nervous, but thanks to years of practice, my hand is steady when I thrust it out. “Yeah, yeah, thanks for the concern. Let’s see what you got, Angie.” She squints at me with derision and scorn, which is not a good look and probably messing with her Botox. She hates my shortened version of her name, but she doesn’t comment. I think she liked me calling her bitch better. At least it’s more accurate. I’m not sure what I was expecting when I pull the stack from her hand, but seeing my stepfather lying on his back with his eyes open wasn’t on the list. At first, I’m puzzled. Then I see it—the hole in his forehead. Of course, Marco told me how he died, but shouldn’t there be more damage? Where’s the blood? I swallow hard, then look at the next one. Frankie Jr. He’s positioned eerily like his father. Yet there is no bullet hole. I know why a moment later when the next page shows a picture of the back of what I presume is his head—only there’s a chunk missing. Utterly horrifying. I’ve never been more grateful to have watched the oftentimes gory television show, Bones. Otherwise, these images would have me throwing up at the very least. Just like on television. Make-believe. Not real, not real.
There’s no way to control it now, my body is trembling, and I hate this woman in front of me for it. “Read the bottom of the page, Nina,” she murmurs.
“Targets successfully terminated. Cypher ID: MM.” I glare at her, wanting to wrap my hands around her throat. “This proves nothing. Big deal, you got your hands on some autopsy reports. Even I could do that.”
“Tsk, tsk, you’re smarter than this, Nina. Use your head and think. Why would I bother telling you any of this if it were not true?”
“Because you’re a sadistic old lady,” I hiss. Strangely enough, the verbal sparring centers me again, and the shaking begins to subside. Shift your focus. Push everything else aside.
The dig at her age doesn’t appear to bother her this time, though. Instead, she lifts her shoulders in a whatever gesture before looping the straps of her purse over her shoulder. “I’m sure you could use some alone time to process what you’ve learned.” She glances at her watch, all business now. “I have important business to attend to, and I’ve already waited far too long.”
“Going to boil someone’s bunny or kill their cat?” I sneer in disgust. I really, really despise her.
“Oh no.” She smiles brightly. “I’m going to call my husband and let him rescue me from this horrible situation. I’m in shock, so it’s going to take some time to recover.” That part is said in a voice so full of grief and terror that even I’m riveted. How long has she… despised her husband to be able to lie so convincingly? “And the guilt I’ll feel as the sole survivor. Losing not only my husband but you as well. We formed such a bond during this horrid abduction. It’ll be hard, but I’ll be strong for my son.”
“You’re certifiable,” I mutter.
She appears to almost pity me for a moment. “You cannot truly judge another until you’ve walked in their shoes, my dear. I sacrificed my entire life to push Rutger to the top. Do you think a man like Draco didn’t exact a price for every good deed? It wasn’t so tough. He was a handsome man and amazing in bed. I enabled Rutger’s way up the ladder on my back, and Draco took the final step by dying.” She’s almost screaming by this point, which shows me more than her words how unhinged she’s becoming. “We could have had it all, but even then, he couldn’t turn his back on the fucking FBI.” Then—just like flipping a switch—calm Angelica is back. “It’s only fitting he should be killed in the line of duty. And with him gone, Marco will be free of his influence, and he’ll do what I advise him to do. He’s always listened to his mother. Unfortunately, my hands were tied when he joined the FBI, but after Rutger’s death, he’ll turn to me and the family for comfort and support. From there, all will fall into place.” She turns up her nose before adding, “I’ll help him recover from your death at the hands of that traitor Moose as well.” She sounds like a demented soccer mom as she adds, “That’s what good mothers do.”
And finally, it hits me like a punch to the gut. I was dead from the first moment I crossed paths with Marco. Because Angelica has a plan for him, and she won’t allow anything to get in the way of it. Before I can respond to the information dump she’s heaped at my feet, she leaves the room. The pictures of Franklin and Frankie Jr. slip from my nerveless fingers to the floor, and I slump to my knees, mere inches away from them. “Cypher,” I whisper. Where have I heard that name before? “Cypher.” It’s an elusive puzzle piece that hovers just out of my reach. Cypher. Then I have it.
A seemingly random moment in time that I discounted because it had meant nothing. It can’t be a coincidence. I go down completely then, making full contact with the hardwood as I curl into a fetal position. Dimly, I understand this is the worst time possible to have a breakdown, but when you discover something this big, then even the toughest of women need a time-out, and whether it’s advisable or not, my body has taken one. Before I completely shut down, I shake my head in anger and confusion. If what Angelica Moretti said is true, the man I love isn’t simply a mafia thug. He’s a liar. A well-trained killer. Someone I should despise.
So how can part of me hate Marco while the other part is desperate for him?
Marco
A dozen agents, my father, Malone, and I are staring at three different screens. One shows the GPS coordinates of my mother’s car, the second is the location of Nina’s shoes. While she showered one evening, I placed trackers in the soles of every pair when I discovered she was sneaking out. And the last is a satellite image of the area. The GPS shows Nina close to the vehicle, which is a relief in a way. At least we won’t be forced to split our manpower in two directions. But it makes me nervous as well that there’s been no movement from her dot since we’ve been monitoring it. Both my father and I were ready to take off as soon as we got a hit on the location, but Malone stopped us by pointing out that we would be putting the women in danger by going off half-cocked. There has been no signal from my mother, Moose, or Nina’s phone, so clearly, they’ve been shut down. “All right, the initial scouts are nearing the area now, so let’s move out. By the time we reach them, they should have the perimeter secure.”
We’re moving out of the bunker in single file when his two-way radio beeps. “Ghost reports three. Two females, one male. Advise your men there’s a friendly in the area.”
“Who in the fuck is Ghost?” I ask in confusion. Naturally, most operatives have code names for security, but I don’t recognize the voice on the radio. Nor should we have a man there ahead of our scouts.
We’re at the last door before exiting into the coffee shop when Malone stops and releases a deep breath of resignation. “Ghost’s an undercover operative from the ATF and has been embedded for about ten years.”
My father is ticked and probably a little hurt. He considers Malone not only his boss, but a friend, and to have something like this withheld is a slap in the face. “There’s a third, and I was never informed? You’ve had someone watching over us? If you don’t trust me, Hawk—”
“Jesus, Rutger,” Malone utters. “This has nothing to do with trust. This agent has a completely different objective. There is no snooping around the Morettis. You know me better than that. If I didn’t trust you, then you wouldn’t fucking be here. Either of you.”
“Who the hell is it?” my father asks. Malone looks away, clearly not wanting to reveal what he knows. My father looks poised to strike when his phone rings. We rarely have a signal on our regular phone deep within the bunker, but it normally returns when we’re closer to the entrance. “Christ,” he hisses as he connects the call. “Rutger.” A look of pure shock crosses his face when
he utters, “Angel?” My pulse leaps as he calls out the nickname he’s always had for my mother. He listens intently, firing off a series of questions about the location and situation. I know it sucks, but we’re trained to push emotions aside and zero in on the facts. Those are what save lives. Hysteria weakens. “Yes, I’m aware that Moose is involved.” There are a few more nods from him before he says, “Nina? I see… keep pressure on the wound. We’re… Angel? Angelica!”
He lowers the phone slowly before looking at me. “Angelica and Nina staged an attack on Moose. While he was fighting with Nina, the gun he was holding went off, and she took a round to the chest. Angelica hit him in the head with a fucking toilet cover. He dropped the gun, and she grabbed it and put a round in him. Says he’s dead, but Nina’s still alive. Thinks she’s going into shock from the blood loss.” Malone is on his radio calling for a medevac before I can even process what we’ve learned. My father moves to stand directly in front of me, putting a hand on each of my shoulders. “Focus, Marco. Do the job. Leave the rest.” There’s sorrow in his eyes that tells me he’s not really living what he’s preaching at this point, but he’s right. If I fall apart, she has no chance. I have one final thought before I go carefully blank. Don’t you dare die on me, Belle.
Marco: Lucian & Lia: Book 8 Page 17