The Game Changer (Mafia Made #2) - Scott Hildreth

The Game Changer By Scott Hildreth Terra I’m going to marry this man, and nothing will stop me. I didn’t expect it to be Michael Tripp who left when we made our announcement. He knows this life, he knows what it means to be a part of mia familia. He didn’t know he was marrying the boss’s daughter. I kept it from him—I lied to him. He came back, thank God. My love forgave me and the wedding is on. I’ll die before I allow any more secrets to come between us. Tripp I’m a man of my word. I love hard and tell it like it is. But the Mafia has me in their crosshairs and I’m in deep. Partnering with a crime boss is one thing. Working for a crime boss who is also your father-inlaw...that’s just f***ed. I stepped up to the challenge. Shaking things up and making changes that needed to happen to secure our power. And the profits speak for themselves. No one could have seen the end coming. No one could have stopped it, not even me. The playing field has changed. And nothing will ever be the same. This book is approximately 53,000 words Carina Press acknowledges the editorial services of Lauren Plude

Dear Reader, I’m practically cackling and rubbing my hands with glee at the amazing books we have in store for you this month. You’re going to fall in love with the newest additions to the Carina Press author lineup while enjoying the very best of our returning authors. Forgive me for saying it but...whee! Read on for the goodness... This month Lucy Parker brings us her much anticipated sequel to contemporary romance Act Like It. Pretty Face returns readers to the highly acclaimed world of the London stage with laugh-out-loud wit and plenty of drama. Iconic director Luc Savage is in for a surprise with his new show—not to mention a May-December romance with its feisty star! New-to-Carina-Press author Rhenna Morgan kicks off her new super-sexy contemporary romance series with Rough & Tumble. With his badass don’t-take-no-for-an-answer approach to life, Jace Kennedy is everything Vivienne Moore swore she never wanted in a man—especially after the rough lifestyle she grew up in. But Jace sees the hidden wild side in Vivienne, and he won’t give up until he shows her the safest place is in the arms of a dangerous man. By the way, Jace might be a badass, but he’s no alphahole. This is a guy every inch in love with his lady and willing to treat her like gold. We return to Lauren Dane’s Cascadia Wolves series with Wolf Unbound. We meet Tegan—a Pack Enforcer who, after the death of her mate, thought she’d be alone forever. Until she meets Ben, handsome, dominant...and human. Amber Bardan returns with a stunning new stand-alone sultry contemporary romance in King’s Captive. In Julius’s world, on his island, he is King. Money and power mean he rules all around him—including her. In fan-favorite A.M. Arthur’s newest male/male romance, As I Am, scarred shut-in Taz finally braves the outside world for intensely shy Will, but secrets from both of their pasts could destroy their fragile new love. Fans of Scott Hildreth’s The Gun Runner be prepared! Michael Tripp is back and as bad as ever in The Game Changer. Tripp and Terra are moving toward their happily-ever-after, but first they have to overcome the secrets they’re still keeping from each other—and her mafia family’s inexorable determination to pull Tripp into la famiglia. We’re introducing three debut authors this month. First, join Agents Irish & Whiskey in Single Malt, Layla Reyne’s debut male/male romantic suspense. Widowed FBI agent and Irish ex-pat Aidan Talley falls hard for his handsome younger partner, Jameson “Whiskey” Walker, as they investigate cybercrimes and the murder of Aidan’s late husband. In Mark of the Moon, a hookup with a vampire goes wrong when Dana Markovitz is scratched by a jealous were-cat. You won’t want to miss this sexy new urban fantasy series from debut author Beth Dranoff. From debut author Sarah Hawthorne comes Enforcer’s Price, book one in the Demon Horde series. In this

romantic motorcycle club romance, Colt is just starting to trust again, but Krista is hiding something big. Can he still love her when she reveals sex and money go hand in hand for her? Don’t miss this amazing lineup of new and returning authors, and look for their next books in the upcoming months! Next month: Don’t miss Shannon Stacey’s return to the world of everyone’s favorite blue-collar family, the Kowalskis, with a heart-warming and funny all-new romance that also reunites you with all your favorite Kowalskis. As always, until next month, my fellow book lovers, here’s wishing you a wonderful month of books you love, remember and recommend. Happy reading! Angela James Editorial Director, Carina Press

Dedication To the one man who made everything in my life possible. My father.

Author’s Note I get paid to tell lies. Yes, I made this story up. It’s a compilation of fabrications woven together in a manner that makes sense when read from beginning to end.

Contents Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-One Chapter Twenty-Two Chapter Twenty-Three Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five Chapter Twenty-Six Chapter Twenty-Seven Chapter Twenty-Eight Chapter Twenty-Nine Chapter Thirty Chapter Thirty-One Chapter Thirty-Two Chapter Thirty-Three Chapter Thirty-Four Chapter Thirty-Five Chapter Thirty-Six Chapter Thirty-Seven Chapter Thirty-Eight Chapter Thirty-Nine Chapter Forty Chapter Forty-One Acknowledgments Also by Scott Hildreth About the Author

Chapter One Michael I wasn’t obsessed with money, but at times it sure seemed I was preoccupied with succeeding. It just so happened that my means of measuring success was wealth. Based on the military experience behind me and my employees, the mob boss offered me fifty thousand dollars to provide a security detail for his business dealings. The first two transactions went without incident. The third, however, was a disaster. I quickly realized being in business with the mafia brought certain risks along with it. Life-threatening risks. I was caught in the middle of an attempted midday cigarette purchase that had gone to hell in the proverbial handbasket. The offer of one million dollars’ worth of tobacco for two hundred thousand should have warned me of what was to come, but I was partially blinded by greed. After Mad Sal’s inspection of the cargo, I asked him to walk away from the deal. The driver of the truck, a man named Wesley, seemed to have all his answers prepared, and right at the tip of his tongue. This, combined with his calm demeanor and odd grace, could only mean one thing. The operation was a setup. A disagreement between Wesley and me regarding our refusal of the shipment turned into an argument. The argument escalated, and he tried to grab me. An instinctive judo move on my part ended with him being humiliated—and landing flat on his back beside the cigarette-filled truck. Upon returning to his feet, he pulled out a gun in retaliation. A gun that was now trained on my temple. In response, an employee of mine—Cap—had his weapon drawn and pointed at the man I was convinced was a federal agent. All life-or-death situations bring with them uncertainty. A sinking feeling of losing control. Most of the similar instances I had been involved in, however, allowed me to react—and maintain control of my life. Be it because I had no time to respond, or that I was fully aware that I was no longer in control of anything, a potato-sized lump had risen in my throat. I fought to swallow and waited for the asshole to give his demands. He stood to my immediate right. Cap was ten feet behind him with his pistol pointed at the back of the gun-wielding prick’s head. Mad Sal, the orchestrator of the botched tobacco buy, was farther to my right, between Cap and the tractor-trailer rig’s cargo. “You don’t know me, and I don’t know you, so I’m going to give you a little background on me.” Cap remained rock-steady with his pistol held at arm’s length. “Me and that fella you’re pointing your gun at go way back. We’ve lived through far too much shit for it to all end here. I’m gonna give you a chance to collect your thoughts and lower that weapon. If you don’t, I’m gonna put a bullet in your skull.” Say something, you son of a bitch. Anything. I could count how many times my instincts had been wrong on one finger, but the silence that followed sank into the pit of my stomach like a heavy stone. “I’m a former Force RECON marine,” Cap said flatly. “I’ve killed more men than I can count. Lower

the weapon by my three count, or I’ll add you to the list.” “Get down on the ground and place your hands behind your head,” Wesley demanded. Shoot this cop son of a bitch, Cap. An immediate reaction on Cap’s part would have been nice, but it didn’t come. In hope of some reassurance that he and I were on the same page, I shifted my eyes in his direction. Cap’s jaw was clenched tight, and his focus was undeniable. I glanced at Mad Sal. He looked indifferent. It seemed he could care less. Cap cleared his throat. “One.” Sal’s eyes went thin. There was no doubt in my mind that he was armed, but his clear lack of experience in such situations left him uncertain of how to continue. He, no differently than the rest of the mafia, was far more versed in acting offensively than acting defensively. I counted silently as I waited for Cap to reach two. “Two,” Cap barked. Three seconds. Although no one else knew for certain what was sure to follow if Wesley didn’t lower his weapon, I did. One, one thousand. Two, one thousand... I leaped backward. “Three.” My eardrums were pummeled by the sound of the gunshot. Wesley fell with a thud at my feet. “You alright?” Cap asked. I could tell that he shouted, but it sounded like a whisper. I nodded. “I’m good.” He kicked Wesley’s gun to the side, then picked up his shell casing and put it in his pocket. “You think he’s a cop?” “Acted like one.” I nervously glanced over each shoulder, fully expecting a team of federal agents to come rushing toward us. Tingling from head-to-toe from the overdose of adrenaline that was running through my veins, I knelt and took Wesley’s non-existent pulse. “He’s dead.” “Toss him in the trunk of the Cadillac,” Mad Sal said without an ounce of emotion. “I’ll take care of the body. Who’s driving the truck?” “We’re leaving it,” I said. Sal returned a confused look. “Why would we leave it? We’ve got the money and the cigarettes.” I searched Wesley for any form of identification, and upon finding nothing, stood. “I think he’s a cop. If he is, I’m sure there’ll be a tracking device in the truck somewhere. Is that a risk you’re willing to take?” Sal tilted his head toward Wesley’s body. “Did he have an ID?” “No.” “We’re taking the truck.” I cleared my throat. “I’m in charge of the safety of this operation. The truck stays.” Sal chuckled a light laugh as if I’d told a joke. Cap stepped around him and climbed into the cab of the truck. After a moment, he returned. “Truck’s clean,” he said. “Clean, as in spotless. There ain’t anything in that fucker, not even a registration or driving log.” “I don’t like it one bit.” I looked at Sal and cocked an eyebrow. “We’re leaving the fuckin’ truck.” He turned toward the Cadillac and pulled his key fob from his pocket. Beep.

The trunk opened. “Load him up.” I glanced at the lifeless body. A pool of blood had formed on the surface of the parking lot beside his head—a reminder that although my tenure with the mafia was short, it wasn’t without incident. And I had no reason to believe it was going to get any easier. We carried the body to the car and, with some help from Sal, eventually got Wesley stuffed into the trunk. “So.” Sal turned toward me and brushed the wrinkles from his suit. “When are you going to introduce us to your bride?” His lack of overall concern for what we were doing was proof of how commonplace the disposal of a dead body had become with him—and, in turn, the mafia. “Soon.” I had only been back from Belize for two weeks and, with Agrioli’s demanding delivery schedule, was left with little, if any, free time. “I’ve been too damned busy to think of anything but work. I’ll get something put together here pretty quick.” “First things first.” Cap shut the trunk of the car repeatedly until it finally stayed closed. “We need to wipe down that rig and get the fuck out of here.” I realized we had all ridden in the Cadillac, and that in a matter of minutes, I would more than likely be involved in the dismemberment and disposal of a body. “Come on.” I tossed my head toward the truck. “Let’s clean this mess up.” No matter how much detail we put into removing any clue of our presence, I had my doubts that it would be the last we heard about the abandoned truck, the cigarettes we had forfeited, or of Wesley’s disappearance.

Chapter Two Terra Strong-willed. Honest. Outspoken. Stubborn. These were all words that had been used to describe me in the past. Although they were correct in most respects, when it came down to resolving my issue with Michael regarding who I was, somehow I became weak and incapable of speaking. No differently than anyone else who started out telling a lie, I was forced to continue to tell it for fear of what the repercussion might be when the truth was revealed. Yet, I knew that it eventually had to be revealed. The time had come for me to do just that. I had to be truthful with my father first. I stood on one side of the island, and he on the other. I wagged my finger toward the bar stool. “Sit. Please. I want to talk.” In the past, most of my family’s problems had been resolved in the kitchen. One thing that an upset Italian man would always find comforting was food, and my father was no exception. I pushed the bowl across the island. “Carbonara. Your favorite.” He glanced at the bowl, then at me, and grinned. “Your mother.” He shook his head and reached for the fork. “She never makes the carbonara anymore.” It was midafternoon, and my mother was in Chicago on a week-long shopping trip with one of her friends. It was a perfect opportunity for me to talk to my father without her interrupting the conversation. It didn’t, by any means, make telling him easy—but it made it possible. While he slurped the spaghetti from the bowl like a man who hadn’t eaten in a week, I paced the length of the floor. “Sit,” he said over his mouthful of pasta. “You make me nervous with all the walking.” Reluctantly, I sat. With my knee bouncing up and down like an overanxious teen, I inhaled a deep breath. Along with it came enough courage to begin. “I’m in a relationship.” He stopped chewing. Completely. With noodles hanging from his open mouth, he stared back at me. After what seemed like an eternity, he swallowed the pasta and cleared his throat. “Who is he?” I stood. He pointed at the bar stool. “Sit.” When my father was upset, his voice changed. It never elevated to a scream—or even a shout—but his tone gave all the indication a person needed to understand his state of mind. And I knew him well enough to know that I needed to sit. So I did. “Who is he?” I clasped my hands together, drew a shallow breath, and looked right at him. His normally tired eyes looked well rested. I wondered what in his life might have changed, and hoped whatever it was brought along with it some peace of mind.

“It’s a long story. Can I tell you without you interrupting me?” He lowered his chin slightly. His signature nod. “I’ve been seeing him for a while—” He wiped his mouth with a napkin, and then leaned on the edge of the bar. “Who is he?” I stood, folded my arms in front of my chest, and let out a sigh. “I asked you to—” “Sit.” He pointed to the stool. “I’ll listen.” I sat, regretting I had started the conversation, but knew there was no way I could escape the truth. Not now. “I met him in a coffee shop. You asked me about him a month or so ago, and I didn’t tell you the truth —” “I’m your father. You should always tell me the truth. Since you were small, I have told you and your brother. Always tell the truth.” He was one to talk. The man who evaded the truth more than any politician in the history of the world. The godfather of the mob who swore there was no mob. “It’s not easy with you.” His eyes went wide. “Why?” I shot him a surprised look. “Really? I feel like I’m being interrogated. All I want to do is tell you about my life, and you’re...you’re...” He lips pursed and he nodded once. “I’ll listen.” “I was in the coffee shop. Remember, you agreed to listen. Right?” He lowered his chin. “Okay. Vincent wasn’t the man you thought he was. He was mean. Hateful. And he was violent.” His nose wrinkled, and his eyes thinned until only slits remained. I had remained reluctant to tell my father much about my past with Vincent, but to have him fully understand the value in Michael’s protective nature, I felt the need to be open and honest. “So, I was at the coffee shop, I was on my computer, and Vincent came in. It was after we broke up. A few months after. So, he came in, and he grabbed me.” His eyes widened slightly. I knew Vincent simply grabbing me wouldn’t call for too much concern, but what I was about to tell him would undoubtedly get his full attention. “When I told him to leave me alone, he grabbed me by the hair and dragged me outside. I was kicking and screaming, afraid for my life, and no one did—” He didn’t give me a chance to finish, but again, I didn’t expect him to. He jumped from his seat. “He pulled you by your hair?” I gave a slight nod. “Figlio di puttana,” he growled. “I’ll cut off his hands.” “Papa. Let me finish.” He crossed his arms and huffed out a breath. I pointed to his chair. “Sit.” “I’m standing.” I chose to remain seated. It was less confrontational. “So, he was dragging me across the parking lot, and my shoes came off, and he kept dragging me. The people in the coffee shop were all looking through the window, just watching what was happening. No one did anything. I was screaming and kicking, knowing he was going take me to his car and beat me.” Simply saying those words brought back a range of emotion I thought I’d never feel again. I swallowed

the bitter taste of being an abuse victim. My gaze fell to the floor. “Beat you?” he interrupted. His voice became elevated. “He hit you?” I inhaled a choppy breath, and hoped he didn’t notice. I should have told him when it happened long before now, and wondered if at least part of what I felt was a result of keeping the truth from him for so long. He was my father, and he deserved to know. I nodded a shameful nod, and then met his gaze. “He hit me all the time. I hid it from you with makeup and scarves. It wasn’t an overnight matter. At first, he told me he was sorry. But it continued. And then it got worse. I was desperately afraid, and not sure what everyone would do or say, so I never told anyone. Papa, I felt alone.” He stood. Although it seemed he intended to speak, the words never came. My heart slowly sank into the pit of my stomach. I didn’t want to continue. Speaking to my father of how Vincent treated me—even though I knew it would never happen again—was difficult. He walked around the island and held out a shaking hand. After giving me a long hug and a comforting kiss, he raised his hands to my cheeks and looked me in the eyes. “He’ll never touch you again. This is my promise to you.” “Thank you.” His recognition of the seriousness of what happened had me on the verge of tears. “Let me finish. Please?” He nodded, kissed my cheek and turned away. After I sat, he returned to his stool. “While Vincent was dragging me across the parking lot, a man started walking toward us. His eyes, Papa. His eyes told me everything was going to be okay. He told Vincent to let me go, and Vincent argued with him. The man took off his jacket, unbuttoned his shirt and gave Vincent one more chance to let me go. Vincent told him no, so he beat Vincent until he let me go. He beat him down to the ground.” My quick recollection of that day brought everything to the forefront of my thoughts. My heart swelled at the thought of the man who quickly became—and still remained—a hero to me. With his lips pursed tight, and his eyes filled with sorrow, my father sat and shook his head. “He saved me from Vincent.” “Did he give his name?” “He did. But there’s more.” “Finish.” “He wanted nothing from me. He didn’t ask my name, or for my phone number. He was a true gentleman. Then, a week or so later, I saw him again. He came in for a cup of coffee, and I was there. We talked and decided to go to dinner and a movie.” “He’s a Catholic boy?” No, he’s not. But he’s charming, and polite, and he’s got this undeniable swagger. And a really, really nice cock. I sighed. “Let me finish.” “Italian?” “Papa...” He grinned. “Finish.” “We went to a movie together. After the movie, on our way to the car, a man with a knife tried to rob us. He said he was going to rape me.” Papa’s eyes shot wide. “My date, the man from the coffee shop? He took the knife from the man and then he beat him to the ground, just like he did Vincent. When the man didn’t apologize to me? He twisted the man’s arm behind his back until it broke.”

It wasn’t the entire truth, but I knew it might help convince my father to allow Michael and me to be in a relationship without him intervening. “Who is this man?” “He’s just a simple man with a big heart. A man who will make sure I’m always taken care of.” He looked worried. Although I hadn’t given it much thought, I now suspected the thought of losing me worried him. “What’s his family’s name?” he asked. “He’s not Italian, Papa. And I’ve got more to tell you about him.” He shot me a scornful look, but didn’t speak. So far, I felt things were going extremely well. He now knew Michael wasn’t Italian, yet he was willing to allow me to continue, which was good. “When we met, I didn’t tell him my real name. I didn’t tell him I was an Agrioli. I made up a name.” He glared at me. “You lied? About who you were?” An audible sigh escaped me. I desperately wanted to resolve the problem that I had so selfishly created. I hoped my father would accept everything about Michael, and support my effort to find a resolution. If so, it would be nothing short of a miracle. I realized my father’s tie to the mafia was a sensitive subject, so I continued cautiously. “People hear about you on the news, Papa. I know all of it isn’t true, but they hear it. And they believe it. After we met, I liked him, so I told him my name was something else. I wanted him to give me a chance.” He leaned back and lifted his chin slightly. “What did he say? When you told him the truth?” And, just like that, my heart fell right back into the pit of my stomach. “I didn’t. I haven’t.” I swallowed hard, and then looked up. “Yet.” His eyes narrowed. “You never told him who you were?” “No.” He stared back at me without responding. He didn’t have to. His eyes told me all that I needed to know. He was dissatisfied in me, and more so than I was in myself. It hurt to see the disappointment in his eyes. I swallowed heavily, knowing there was so much more to say, and that none of it would make him any happier. “I have more. A lot more,” I said. He reached for the bowl of pasta. As he ate, I continued. “We’ve been seeing each other for several months. He’s the perfect man for me. He’s honest, protective, kind, compassionate, and he’s not after sex.” Again, not the entire truth, but a necessary embellishment of Michael’s characteristics. I paused and waited for him to speak. He swallowed the food he was chewing and lifted another forkful of pasta halfway to his mouth. “He still doesn’t know who you are? That you’re an Agrioli? My daughter?” “No, Papa.” “Does he make you happy?” “Happier than I have ever been.” “Does he treat you the way—” He slurped the pasta from the fork, then continued. “Does he...does he treat you the way...the way a woman should be treated?” He studied me as he chewed his food. “He does. He’d make you proud, Papa. Very proud.” He swallowed, reached for his wine and took a long drink. He then cleared his throat. “I want to meet him.”

He walked around the island, wiping his mouth as he approached me. I stayed seated, struggling with whether to tell him what I was about to say, or not. In the end, I decided I needed to be as truthful as possible. It would make things much easier afterward. I looked up. “I think you already have.” He stopped in his tracks. “What’s his name?” “Michael.” I said. “Michael Tripp.”

Chapter Three Michael We were in a butcher shop owned by a man named Meatball Pete. With the dead man stretched out on a stainless-steel butcher’s table in front of us, I couldn’t help but question what appeared to be common practice for the mafia. I glared at Mad Sal. “We’re going to cut him up with handsaws?” He held the saw at arm’s length and nodded. I was wearing an eleven-hundred-dollar suit, but had no desire to saw a man in pieces regardless of how I was dressed. “You can cut him up. I’ll stand watch.” He glanced over each shoulder, chuckled and tried to hand me the saw. “There’s nothing to watch.” “I’m not interested in ruining a suit.” He shrugged. “Put on an apron.” “I provide a protection detail. This is above and beyond my area of expertise,” I said. “And my paygrade.” He laughed. It wasn’t a forced laugh, or even a chuckle for that matter. It was a full-fledged laugh. After he caught his breath, he looked at Meatball, then at me, and lowered the saw. “You’re an associate. An associate that I’m not convinced I can trust. Grab a saw, pretty boy.” Having my integrity questioned by anyone normally brought immediate consequences. My jaw and my fists clenched at the same instant. I wondered where Meatball fell in the ranking of the mob, and wondered just how much Agrioli would miss him. “Hey, whatever your fucking name is,” Cap snarled. “How the fuck do we know we can trust you? I shot this motherfucker. You stood with your cock in your hand and watched while he was threatening Tripp. And, in case you forgot, Ol’ Tripp here probably saved your asses from being arrested by the cops. Man’s got a sixth sense. If he says this guy’s a cop, he’s a cop.” “Grab a saw,” Sal seethed. A box of rubber gloves sat on a small table in the center of the room. Cap pulled a pair over his hands, and then snatched the saw from Sal’s hand. “You think I’m afraid to cut this prick into pieces? Why don’t you grab a saw?” He grabbed the dead man’s wrist and lifted it from the table. With half a dozen strokes of the saw, the hand came off, and the arm fell to the table with a thud. Cap tossed the severed hand toward the end of the table and turned toward Sal. “What are we doin’ here? Cuttin’ off the hands and pullin’ this fucker’s teeth?” Cap asked. “Just like on The Sopranos?” Sal nodded toward Cap, and then chuckled. “I like this guy.” Cap looked at me. “Better get a hand while the gettin’s good, or you’ll be pullin’ teeth.” Despite an argument from my stomach to the contrary, I pulled on a pair of gloves and grabbed the saw. I shot Meatball a quick glare, and then grabbed Wesley’s arm with the full intention of proving myself. I lifted the saw, paused and then swallowed the bile that had risen into the back of my mouth. With the saw clenched in one hand, and the arm in my other, I gazed blankly at the dead body. This wasn’t a street gang, nor was I a probate for some ratty-assed motorcycle club. This was the mob. I was

either in, or I was out. With each stroke of the saw, I sealed my fate a little further. I tossed the bloody stump toward the end of the table, and dropped the saw. I glanced at Sal. “Your turn.” I looked at Meatball, who had remained quiet and calm throughout the entire ordeal. “And don’t think for one minute that you’re not going to get a turn.” “He’s been tied to the family for twenty years,” Sal said. “You can trust him.” “I don’t trust anyone,” I said. “He either pulls some teeth or else.” “Or else what?” Meatball asked. “Refuse to be involved and find out,” I responded. Meatball Pete laughed no differently than Sal had earlier. “Where’d Tony find this guy?” Sal picked up the pliers and shrugged. “He’s the one that saved Little Pete from the Russians.” Meatball looked me over. After gathering a satisfying eyeful, he looked at Sal and nodded. “He’s a funny fucker.” He could have passed for Mad Sal’s brother. At over six feet tall, and weighing what I would have guessed to be 280 pounds, he wasn’t a small man by any means. Nor was he fat. More than likely one of the mob’s enforcers, it was clear his butcher shop was used as a disposal for the bodies of the unlikely few who crossed Agrioli’s path. “A real comedian,” Sal agreed. “Him, too.” Cap chuckled. “Yeah. I’m full of jokes.” While Sal began to pull the man’s teeth, Cap walked to my side. “Don’t you think whoever finds this fucker’s gonna think this was a mob hit when they find him with no hands and no teeth?” he whispered. “Kind of a mob signature, ain’t it?” “Maybe they want to send a message?” “Ask ‘em.” I cleared my throat. “Whenever this poor bastard is found, it’s going to take a detective about ten seconds to figure out this was a mob hit. No hands and no teeth? That’ll point them in Agrioli’s direction for sure.” “Cartel does the same thing,” Sal said over his shoulder. “We could feed him to Meatball’s hogs, but...” He shrugged. “That doesn’t send a message.” “Cartel cuts off the head,” Cap said. “They don’t fuck with pulling teeth.” “And there’s no cartel in Kansas City,” I added. “At least not that I know of.” Meatball looked at Sal and shrugged. “Maybe we should cut off his head. Make it look like the Mexicans did it.” “Got six teeth pulled already,” Sal said. “His head’s staying.” “I vote we cut it off,” Meatball said. They continued to argue about whether to cut off the head or leave it. I looked around the room. The totality of it all sank into the pit of my stomach like a heavy stone. I should have known when I agreed to become involved with Agrioli’s “business” that the money wasn’t going to come easy. Hacking a man into pieces and tossing his dismembered body into the Missouri River wasn’t, however, what I expected the difficulties might be. Spending retirement in paradise with the woman I loved was my main goal, and I wondered if the risks I was taking were worth the end reward. In a matter of days, I had made a hundred and fifty thousand dollars. If the pattern continued, I could easily be on pace to retire in months, not years. After a few more moments of deep thought, I decided the risks were well worth the reward. My line of

work brought along with it similar hazards, and so far, I had been fortunate. I didn’t consider myself lucky, it was my experience that kept me out of the watchful eye of law enforcement. And, if I didn’t let greed overcome common sense, I saw no reason why I couldn’t continue doing what I did best. Making large sums of money for being willing to take a gamble most men weren’t willing to take.

Chapter Four Terra The expression on my father’s face was new to me. It wasn’t one of worry, nor was it of joy, but it was somewhere in between. In all honesty, everything thus far had gone far better than expected, and I was pleasantly surprised. He blinked a few times. “Michael Tripp?” I’d seen my father coming out of the parking lot at Michael’s office, and had fully intended to give him an opportunity to lie about knowing him. Now that I had the chance to lure him into doing so, I felt proceeding along those lines wasn’t a good idea. Considering his demeanor, it certainly wasn’t necessary. I decided to simply continue with the truth, and in doing so, hoped I might find out more about my father’s relationship with Michael. “A few weeks ago, I was going to see him. I saw you pulling out of his office.” “He’s a business associate.” Thank you. I knew that Michael and my father were somehow involved with one another, but had no idea of the intricacies of their relationship, be it business or otherwise. Instead of feeling relieved at my father’s admittance of knowing Michael, my heart began to race. “I want to ask you something else.” “Ask.” “No more lies, right?” I asked. He shot me a confused look, then chuckled. “Says the girl who’s lying about her family name.” “But no more. Not from me, and not from you. Right?” He shrugged. “What?” His mouth twisted into a smirk. It was the same as him agreeing to telling the truth. Kind of. “Is he the man who saved Peter?” He tossed the napkin onto the island, turned toward me and sighed. “He and his men, yes.” I knew it! I filled with gratitude about Michael having saved my brother, and then, I began to swell with pride. After a moment of relishing in the feelings, it dawned on me that my father now knew Michael and I were seeing one another, and he hadn’t demanded that I stop. Nor had he promised to crucify him or toss him in the same river he threatened to toss everyone else in. He didn’t give me a lecture about Michael being American and me being Italian, and how our family’s heritage would cease to exist after me if I married a white man and bore his children. I’d gone far enough for one night. Well, almost. I swallowed hard. “He’s a good man, Papa.” “He’s an honest man.” He nodded. “He’s a good man, yes.” I wanted to ask if my father’s dealings with Michael were limited to the rescue of my brother. I wondered if there was more, and if so, what exactly it might be. As much as I wanted to ask, I opted not to

push matters further. In time, I would find out exactly what their business dealings were. “He means so much to me.” He spread his arms wide and grinned. “I only want for you to be happy.” I hugged him, nestled against his shoulder and sighed. I couldn’t believe it. The things I had expected him to do and say hadn’t happened. As certain as I was that he was going to demand my respective other be Italian and Catholic, he didn’t. Considering his demeanor and the slight smile he was wearing, I decided to drop the bomb I had held in reserve. The big one. “We’ve been seeing each other for a long time, Papa.” He continued to hold me, but didn’t respond. “And he doesn’t know about you. About my family. He knew nothing all along. He still knows nothing.” “You must tell him,” he said. “What you’ve done? It’s shameful.” Lying to Michael left me feeling shallow, selfish and shameful. Hearing my father say it, however, pained me in a much different manner. I struggled to stay focused. “I know. I’m sorry.” I broke his hug and looked him in the eyes. “Papa?” His slight smile stayed glued to his face. “He, um. He proposed to me,” I said in a broken whisper. His eyes conveyed his confusion. “What do you mean?” My lips had gone completely dry and my throat was tight. I pressed my tongue to the roof of my mouth, swallowed and hoped my response didn’t change his accepting nature. Here goes... “He asked me to marry him.” He stumbled backward, and came to rest against the stool I had been sitting on. After lowering himself into the seat, he buried his face in his hands. “Padre celeste. La mia unica figlia prediletta. Sposata con un uoma?” My heavenly father. My only beloved daughter. Married to a man? He lowered his hands slightly and revealed his eyes. In that short time, they had become welled with tears. I’d never seen him so overcome with emotion, and I couldn’t tell if they were tears of joy or tears of anger. He bit into his quivering lip and met my worried gaze. “I’m sorry.” “No. Don’t apologize.” I wanted to comfort him, but didn’t know what to do. “What’s wrong?” He wafted his hand in front of his face. “Your mother. She will faint when she hears.” He didn’t seem angry at all, but I had never seen him so overcome with emotion. I decided to simply ask. “Are you happy?” He nodded eagerly. “Very much so. I’m sorry.” Oh my God. I couldn’t believe my ears. There was no way that I had taken all the meaures to keep the truth from Michael only to have the revelation to my father—who was the entire reason for my secrecy to begin with —go without incident. “But you’re happy?” I asked. He stood, wiped his eyes with the tips of his fingers and nodded eagerly. “You’re my only daughter. What else could I be? But we must...we must fix this. With him.” “No, Papa,” I said. “I must fix this.”

Chapter Five Michael I pushed myself away from the table and exhaled a sigh of accomplishment. I glanced at the serving dishes that were still half-filled with food, and then at Terra. “That was great. I can’t believe I ate that entire bowl, but I couldn’t stop. What was it again?” “Carbonara,” she said. “It’s comfort food. Pasta, bacon, eggs, cheese and black pepper.” “You can make that anytime. I loved it.” She grinned. “Thank you.” I liked having Terra in my life—and in my home—much more than I would have ever imagined. Knowing she was willing to spend the rest of her life with me was reassuring, but having her do the things she seemed to naturally desire—cooking, laundry, cleaning the house—since we got back from Belize was something that I wasn’t used to. It was almost as if I had a mother and a wife. Maybe she acted no differently than most other soon-to-be-married women, I didn’t know. I did know that after having her in my life, doing without her would prove next to impossible. I stood, and immediately felt bloated and overfed. “Let me help you get this cleaned up.” “No,” she said in a demanding tone. “Let me get it. Relax.” I reached for the bowl of pasta. “I’m perfectly capable.” “I know you are.” She slapped my hand playfully. “Please, let me get it. It makes me feel useful.” To be honest, helping her with the dishes would have probably been painful. I grinned and sat down. “Fine. I’m too full to move anyway.” “I’m glad you liked it.” “So far, I’ve liked everything you’ve taken the time to make. And don’t you dare feed any of that to Hank.” “He likes pasta.” “You’ll make him fat,” I said. “And it’s too damned good to feed to a dog.” “Nothing’s too good for the Hankster.” “I mean it, Terra.” “We’ll see.” She kept me on my toes. It was impossible to predict what she might do or say next, which I would have never guessed to be an attractive feature, but with her, it was. Her unpredictable nature was one of many qualities that she possessed that made her adorable. “I mean it,” I said over my shoulder. “You said that already. I’ll just wait until you’re at work. He’ll get his pasta.” At the rate she was going, the poor dog would weigh a hundred pounds in a month. At one point, I had to stop her from feeding Hank danishes and doughnuts as a midmorning snack. As she cleared the table, my eyes drifted around the living room. I laughed to myself about her sneaking the dog pasta while I wasn’t looking. After a moment, I imagined the house filled with people—all celebrating our engagement—and realized I needed to organize something soon. Although Terra was undoubtedly excited about our upcoming marriage, she had yet to discuss her

expectations regarding any arrangements for a party or celebration. “When you’re done, let’s talk.” “I was going to talk to you about that,” she responded. “About what?” “About talking.” I glanced over my shoulder. “You were going to talk to me about talking?” “As soon as I was done with the dishes. I was wanting to talk to you.” “About what?” “Just stuff.” “I have some things I need to talk to you about, too.” “Okay.” She finished the dishes, and then sat down across from me. After a few silent seconds of nothing but nervous glances, she buried her face in her hands and let out a muffled sigh. Confused as to why she seemed so upset about my wanting to talk, I decided to ask. “Is there something going on that I don’t know about?” She lifted her head from her hands. “Just give me a minute.” She looked uncertain of how to proceed. I searched my mind for anything that I had done that would constitute such a look, but came up short. Puzzled as to why our otherwise wonderful evening had all of a sudden turned solemn, I leaned forward and prepared to pry her thoughts and feelings out. Before I had a chance to speak, she began. “You know,” she said. “When we met?” “When we met?” She shook her head. “I’m sorry. Just let me talk. This might take a while.” “Okay.” “When we met, I was excited and intrigued by you. And I was scared—” “Scared? Why would you be—” She forced a sigh. I raised my hand in apology. “I’ll be quiet.” “I was scared you’d reject me if you knew the complete truth. At least then. After a while, I wanted to tell you the truth, but I never found a way to do it. I don’t have a shoe store. That’s not where I get my money. But I’m embarrassed about how I do get it, so I made that story up. At the time, it was innocent.” She shrugged. “As innocent as a lie can be, I guess.” A lie is a lie. My eyes fell to the floor as I struggled to make it taste good enough to swallow. She paused. It seemed she was waiting for my approval before she continued. I hadn’t given much thought to her shoe business, and had assumed what she told me about it was true. Now that she admitted that it was a fabrication, it made sense. She never seemed to devote any time to the business, and allowed it to simply run itself. I began to feel foolish for believing her in the first place, and wondered if my infatuation with her played a part in me being blind to what was clearly in front of me. I cocked an eyebrow and waited for her to proceed. Her eyes fell to the table. “I’m a trust-fund baby.” A sigh shot from my lungs. That made perfect sense. She looked up. Her worried expression remained. “Are you going to say anything?” “Why did you tell me you had a shoe business?”

“I thought you’d think I was a brat if I told you the truth.” She started to stand, hesitated and then sat down. “At that time—on the second night that we met—all I wanted was a chance. I didn’t think you’d give it to me if I told you the truth.” “If you told me your family was wealthy?” “If I told you I didn’t earn the money.” I leaned back in my chair and studied her. The skin under her eyes was swollen, as if at any moment she was going to be reduced to tears. I didn’t like being lied to about anything and had always felt a liar couldn’t be trusted. Her lie wasn’t told with malicious intentions and, considering all things, was rather innocent. I suspected she truly did it for the sole reason of preserving her position with me during the onset of our relationship. In short, it wasn’t as big a deal as she was making it out to be. And although I didn’t necessarily lie regarding my explanation of my occupation, I certainly hadn’t been forthright with the complete truth. I sighed, met her worried gaze and grinned. “Forgiven.” “Thank you.” My acceptance didn’t seem to change the way she felt. She seemed to be growing even more worried with each passing second. “Is that all?” I asked. She drew a long breath. “No. There’s more.” After a short but rather emotional pause, she continued. “I told you... I didn’t tell you the truth about... I...” She was clearly upset. Very much so, in fact. I stood, intending on walking around the table and comforting her. She raised her hand in clear opposition to my approach. “No, please, sit down. This... This isn’t going to be easy.” “What isn’t going to be easy?” “Please,” she demanded. Reluctantly, I sat. “I told you... The reason I told you...” She drew another long breath. “My name isn’t... “My real name...” I shook my head and stared back at her. “You didn’t tell me what your real name was?” She shook her head. “No.” My mind began spinning. Was she an agent of the law, and I was so in love that I didn’t see it? Was she a mole for the mob, and, ultimately, Agrioli’s way of getting into my life? I shot her a quick glance. There was no way. She may have lied, but all in all, she was innocent. Or at least I hoped she was. It was quite possible she had used her maiden name, or that she had changed it for some reason. Or so I hoped. “Did you change it?” She buried her face in her hands. When she looked up, she was crying. “My name. My last name. It’s... “My real name is Terra Agrioli.”

Chapter Six Terra Waiting to tell Michael the truth was the worst decision I had ever made. Telling him early in our relationship would have saved both of us a tremendous amount of grief. I now wondered if there was any way I could salvage my relationship with him. He jumped from his seat and shot me a glare. “Agrioli? You’re an Agrioli?” “I knew this was how you’d react. I didn’t tell you—” “You lied.” “You lied, too, Michael. You told me you were an investor.” “What the fuck does that have to do with anything?” he shouted. “I am an investor. I invest in firearms. You didn’t ask for an explanation. When you did, I told you the truth. I asked your fucking name. You said it was Wilson. It’s not. You lied.” “Okay. I lied, but I did it because—” “I don’t care,” he fumed. “You what? What do you mean, you don’t—” “Go.” He pointed to the door. “I don’t want you here.” “What? Go?” My face flushed and I felt hot all over. I wanted our argument to end, but fully understood it wasn’t going to come easy. “Where do you want me to go?” “I don’t give a fuck. Just leave.” “Like, leave?” “Yeah. Leave. You fucking lied to me. Go.” I remained remarkably calm, considering the turn our conversation had taken. I drew a shallow breath, exhaled and attempted to reason with him. “We’re engaged to be married. I’m not leaving. We’re going to talk, and we’re going find a way to work this out.” “Work it out?” he bellowed. “There’s nothing to work out.” His arms were crossed, and his face was contorted into an awful scowl. Nevertheless, we needed to find some way to resolve what I had so gracefully fucked up. “What do you mean, there’s nothing to work out?” I asked. “There’s everything to work out.” “No, there’s not. Every day, I deal with people I can’t rely on. When I come home at night, I need to come home to someone who I know I can trust. A cheater will always cheat, a thief will always steal, and a liar will always lie. You lied to me.” I stared back at him, completely lost as to how I should continue. He huffed out a sigh and turned toward the kitchen. After he took a few steps, he hesitated, and then spun around. “Did he send you to me? Anthony? Is that why you’re here?” Oh my God. I hoped he wouldn’t make such an assumption, but then again, I wasn’t completely knowledgeable about his dealings with my father. After digesting what he had said, I realized he was far more angry than I had realized. Angry and jumping to crazy conclusions. “No. No. No,” I shook my head. “That’s not at all what happened. You saved me from my ex-boyfriend, remember? You pulled into the parking lot while he was dragging me to his car. How in the world could

that be a setup by my father?” “I tell you what.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his key fob. “You can do whatever you want. But I’m done talking to you.” Then, I watched in horror as he stormed past me, burst through the door leading into the garage, and left.

Chapter Seven Michael I sat at my desk with my jaw—and my fists—clenched. I wanted to be alone, and although I had been free of late-night visitors for a few hours, that was no longer the case. Glaring at me from the other side of my desk, Cap broke the silence. “You can’t out-sit me, we both know that.” Once, while in combat, Cap sat in wait for a high-value target for 72 hours. Three days without speaking, eating a meal or so much as repositioning himself. He was a determined man, and he was right —I couldn’t out-sit him. “Talk to me, Tripp.” “Nothing to talk about.” “I beg to differ with ya,” he said drily. “There’s plenty to talk about.” “She call you?” “You know she did. Wouldn’t have skipped out on this week’s episode of New Girl and come here on a Thursday night at eleven o’ fuckin’ clock if she didn’t.” I stared beyond him. Angry and frustrated with what my life had quickly become, I was focusing my frustration on a knot in the wooden door frame. So far, it wasn’t very satisfying. “What’d she say?” “Said she fucked up.” “She tell you who she is?” “Yep. Talked to her for damned near an hour, then met her for a cup of coffee. You gonna keep staring at a fly on the wall, or you gonna—” “I don’t want to talk about it.” “I gathered as much. I’m here to change your mind, though.” I exhaled audibly through my nostrils, then glanced at him. “I said I don’t want to talk about it.” “We can do this all fuckin’ night, Tripp. You said you don’t wanna talk, and I said I’m here to change your mind. Suppose it’s gonna be a long wait—you bein’ stubborn and me bein’ a man of my word.” I shifted my focus back to the wall. After what I suspected was no less than thirty minutes, I glanced in his direction. He was staring right at me. “What?” I was aggravated, and the tone of my voice made it clear. “You gave her your word you’d talk to me?” “Sure did.” “Why?” He walked around the corner of my desk, and pulled out the bottle of scotch. After pouring two glasses half-full, he placed one of them in front of me. He sat down, took a sip and widened his eyes. “This shit’s better each time I take a drink. You really wanna know?” My mouth salivated at the thought of a drink, but I told myself doing so would be a sign of agreeing to discuss matters, and I was far from prepared to talk. Thirty seconds later, I reached for the glass. “Sure. Enlighten me.” He nodded sharply, took another sip of the whiskey and then stood. “You’re a stupid fucker, that’s

why.” Midway through a sip of the scotch, I was caught off guard by his statement. “Say again? I thought there for a second that you said I was a stupid fucker.” “You are.” I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, and then chuckled. “I want to hear this.” He locked eyes with me. “I don’t feel like arguin’ with ya, so let me speak my mind before you go jumpin’ my ass for giving my opinion.” Driven by nothing more than curiosity, I raised my glass in agreement. He began to pace the floor directly in front of my desk. “You met Terra, and then you started stumbling around this place all starry-eyed and stupid. I asked you about her. Remember? In case you don’t, I’ll refresh your memory. You bullshitted me and said you weren’t serious. Hell, I knew you were, but I let you decide when you wanted to tell me. You fell ass-over-teakettle for this chick, and couldn’t see what was right in front of you.” “Don’t turn this around and make it—” “I’m talking,” he growled. “You’ll get your chance later.” I finished what was left of my scotch and poured another glass. My silence was his invitation to continue. “So, I recommended having Trace do a background check on her. You said no. After that night at your house when I met Michelle, I asked you about her shoe store. Told you it was weird that her friend said what she did about her bein’ a trust-fund baby. You told me I was an idiot, and that they were just joking around.” “I didn’t say you were an idiot, I said—” He cleared his throat. “I ain’t done yet.” He’d already made his point. So far, he’d done a pretty good job of convincing me that he believed my haphazard precautionary measures had placed me in the position I was in. It did little to change the fact that Terra was the daughter of the city’s mob boss—and that she failed to disclose that information upon meeting me. I raised the rim of the glass to my nose and inhaled a slow, shallow breath. He was doing nothing to convince me Terra was right, and everything he could to suggest I should have known the truth beforehand. I now wondered if his trip to my office was nothing more than him taking advantage of an Itold-you-so moment. “So, you’re just here to say ‘I told you so’?” “You’re confused,” he said. “I came to tell you you’re a stupid fucker.” “I’m not in the mood for this shit, Cap. I’m really not. She fucking lied to me.” He turned up the palm of his left hand. “She lied to you.” He turned over the right. “You lied to her.” “I didn’t lie to—” “You sure as fuck did. Didn’t tell her what you did for a living, did ya?” “I told her I was an investor. I did it to preserve—” “You didn’t tell her the truth. That’s what you did. Did you tell her about saving her brother? I mean, you didn’t know at the time he was her brother, but did you tell her about that? Rescuin’ a man who was the son of the mob boss?” “You know good and goddamned well that I didn’t—” “You think keepin’ secrets from your lover is different than lying?” “Intentionally saying one thing when you know another to be true is a lie. Not saying anything isn’t. I told her nothing about what she needed to know nothing about.”

“Sounds like a Tripp-ism,” he said with a laugh. “A what?” “Tripp-ism. Just made it up. Like it?” I wasn’t in the mood for Cap’s bullshit, or to decide who told what lies. One more minute of his comedic comments, and we’d end up in a fight. I finished my whiskey, slammed the glass down on my desk and pointed to the door. “Go home, Cap.” He drank what little scotch was left in his glass, slammed it down on my desk and met my gaze. “I looked it up on Google before I came, asshole. Lie: to present a false impression; be deceptive. You deceived her, and deception is a lie.” I glared back at him. “Tell me why you’re here. And don’t say to tell me I’m a stupid fucker. Tell me why you’re here, Cap.” “Her whole life she’s been scared to tell people who she is because she’s a little embarrassed, and a lotta scared. When most people find out who she is, they turn and run. So, she tells ’em she’s someone else—sometimes just to get a chance at bein’ heard. Or to have a friend to talk to without bein’ judged. When she met you, she didn’t want you to turn and run. So she told you she was someone else.” “She had plenty of opportunities to tell me who she was long before now.” “She did,” he agreed. “But for whatever reason, she decided not to. Told me she was scared of losing you.” “Which is exactly what happened.” “You love her so much you proposed to her, and now you’re willing to let her go? Is that what you’re tellin’ me?” “I already let her go. When I walked out.” “Just like that?” It wasn’t easy, but it was necessary. I nodded. “Just like that.” “What if she’d have told you two months ago?” Honestly, I wished she had, and then wondered if it would have made a difference. It didn’t matter. It just didn’t matter. “She didn’t,” I huffed. “What if she had?” “I suppose things would be different.” “Explain to me what’s the difference? Then or now?” “Which side are you on, Cap? Jesus fucking Christ.” “You stubborn prick. When she broke it off over the whole gun-dealin’ fiasco, you were a miserable fucker. So was she. You two are good for each other, and I don’t want to have to live with ya—or work with ya—if you ain’t got your head screwed on straight. And, although you might not admit it, I know your head’s gonna be elsewhere if she ain’t in your life.” The though of Terra not being in my life left a void inside me that I was afraid time wouldn’t—and couldn’t—heal. My mind wouldn’t be elsewhere, it would be nonexistent. “Doesn’t matter much.” I shrugged. “She’s gone.” He nodded an exaggerated nod. “What do you suppose Ol’ Anthony’s gonna think about the broke-off engagement?” His tactics weren’t going to get far with me. Terra made her decision to keep her secret out of nothing but fear. She hadn’t told me who she was for fear of rejection. No differently, I was sure she hadn’t told her father for fear of retribution. Knowing there was no way he’d accept me was my primary reason for not accepting her for being who she was.

There was no way the Italian mob boss would—or could—tolerate me as being the husband for his beloved mafia princess. Especially when considering that he knew me. It was best to simply end it, and end it now. “He doesn’t know.” “You sure?” I was. I nodded. “Damned sure. She wouldn’t tell him.” He chuckled. “Don’t think so?” I couldn’t believe he was asking such a question. If Anthony Agrioli knew I was seeing his daughter, he and his men would have stormed my office with guns drawn. I would be floating side by side with the man we tossed into the river. “I’m sure she didn’t.” He cocked an eyebrow. “She did.” “Bullshit.” He folded his arms in front of his chest and laughed. “She did.” It frustrated me that Agrioli had a daughter I didn’t even know about. The fact I had been seeing her frustrated me even more. It wasn’t surprising that I was in the dark about her; the mafia was tight-lipped regarding family who were out of the organization. “Oh, she did, did she?” “Damned sure did. Yesterday.” It wasn’t impossible for me to believe that she told him. For Agrioli to accept our engagement—and me —however, was incomprehensible. “Okay, I’ll bite. What’d he say?” “Sounds like he was pretty fucking happy.” Anthony Agrioli happy about his daughter and me? I had my doubts. “Doubt that,” I said. “You can doubt it all you want.” He shoved his hands into his pockets, then shrugged. “I did what I set out to do. I’m goin’ home.” As aggravated as I was at Cap, I appreciated his devotion. “See you tomorrow,” I said. “Probably not the only one you’ll see tomorrow,” he said over his shoulder. “Least that’s my guess.” I wondered what he meant, but then realized if Agrioli truly was pleased with my having proposed to Terra, he would undoubtedly pay me a visit as soon as he found out the position she was in. I needed to decide just how I was going to handle him when the time came.

Chapter Eight Terra Cap’s talk with Michael may have done some good, but it didn’t convince him to come home. I spent the night alone, disappointed in myself, devastated and without much hope that Michael would ever get over what I had done to him. As much as I liked to tell myself that I hated my father’s involvement with the mafia, he was still my father. And when an Italian girl’s heart is broken, her father is her only salvation. “Papa, I need help.” Sitting in his office with his eyes glued to the computer’s monitor, he motioned to the chair opposite his desk. “Sit.” Wearing sweats, suffering from lack of sleep and showing the signs of a few bouts of crying, I looked like a homeless raccoon. “You spoke to him?” he asked. I sat down and let out a sigh. “It didn’t go well.” He glanced up, and upon seeing me, looked me up and down. “You look terrible.” I dragged the tips of my fingers beneath my eyes in hope of clearing the mascara from running down my cheeks, but doubted it did any good. “I know. Believe me.” “Did you sleep?” “Not really.” He stood. “You need espresso.” “I need Michael to forgive me.” “I’ll get you an espresso.” He bent down and kissed my cheek on his way to the kitchen. I looked around the office, and made note that although it seemed much smaller than when I was a little girl, nothing in it had changed over the years. The same bookshelves, the same furniture and the same ornate desk littered with handwritten financial reports. After a moment, he returned. “Here. You’ll feel better.” I took the small porcelain cup from his grasp. “Thank you.” I nodded. “But I’m going to need a lot more than this.” “What did he say?” I realized I hadn’t told my father that Michael and I were living together, and chose not to elaborate on our living arrangements. In my father’s eyes, I was still a virgin, saving myself for marriage. Tarnishing that belief, at least at that moment, wouldn’t be in my best interest. “He got mad. We haven’t spoken since.” “He’ll come back. Men are... They’re...they’re stubborn.” I took a sip of espresso and winced at the bitterness of it. “I need your help.” “What can I do?” He didn’t understand my sense of urgency, but then again, I couldn’t expect him to. At least not yet. “Help me?” He didn’t respond.

I carefully placed my cup of espresso on the edge of his desk. “I can’t lose him.” He sipped his drink. “Give him some time.” “You don’t know him like I do. Giving him time will make it worse.” “I don’t know—” “Talk to him for me. Explain everything.” “I—” “Papa...please. I need... I need you to talk to him.” I felt like I was being crushed by the weight of my stupid decision. I lowered my head and covered my face with my hands. In doing so, I realized I was crying. My father did, too. “Don’t cry.” I wiped my eyes on the shoulder of my sweat suit. “Do you love him?” After the discussion we had in the kitchen, I couldn’t believe he felt the need to ask. I looked up, hoping that my puffy eyes and smeared makeup would convince him to help me. “You’ll never understand.” “You’re sure he’s...that he’s right for you?” I couldn’t believe it. Instead of feeling better, I was feeling much worse. His lack of understanding was sure to be the final nail in my relationship’s coffin. Desperate for help, and sure my father could provide the answer to the problem that I had created, I did what any daughter would have done. “My heart loves him as much as any human heart is capable of. I was up all night, Papa. The thought of being without him is suffocating me. I can barely breathe. I don’t want you to help me. I want you to tell me what to do so I can fix it.” I did my best to smile, but doubted it showed. His response was completely unexpected. “I’ll talk to him.”

Chapter Nine Michael The sound of Agrioli’s footsteps caught me off guard. Halfway through a set of fifty push-ups, I jumped to my feet and scrambled to grab my jacket. Before I had a chance to slip my arms through the garment, he stepped through the door. Getting my mind off his daughter wasn’t easy. Exhausting myself after spending a sleepless night in my office seemed to be doing the job, though. Dressed in slacks, a ribbed tank top and dress shoes—and drenched in sweat—I fought to catch my breath. “Good—” I cleared my throat. “Good morning.” “Most men—” he looked at me and grinned “—they go to the gym.” “You ought to know by now. I’m not most men.” While I fumbled to put on my jacket, he found his usual spot on the opposite side of my desk. “You look tired.” “Appropriate, I suppose. I haven’t slept yet.” He wiped his hand along the edge of my desk. “First time I’ve seen the top of your desk.” I relaxed into my chair. “I filed a mountain of paperwork last night. Last night and this morning, I guess.” I knew the answer, but I thought I’d ask nonetheless. “What brings you here unannounced?” He shrugged. “To talk.” I pulled the scotch from the drawer. The few inches left in the bottom of the bottle—and my throbbing headache—stood as a reminder of how much I drank after Cap left the night before. Before I could offer, he gave a nod. I poured two glasses and handed him one. I started to take a drink, but he raised his index finger in what I suspected was opposition. He then lifted his glass. “To family.” It seemed an odd toast considering the fact I had no family. I struggled to remember if I had told him I was an orphan. I raised the glass nonetheless. “Hear, hear.” I emptied it in one gulp, and upon seeing me, he did the same. “I don’t like surprises.” He paused, studied the empty glass and then set it on the edge of the desk. “But the one I received the other day. It was good.” I gave him time to continue, but he didn’t. I wasn’t thrilled about being goaded into a conversation about Terra with him, but there wasn’t much I could do about it. “What was it?” I asked. “My daughter. She told me about the man that she loves. She’s been in a relationship and her father knew nothing. So, I keep thinking. You know, about how you were trying to keep a secret from me. But.” He shrugged. “I remember you had no idea.” I took me a minute of digesting what he had said to fully understand what it was that he meant. I kept my response simple and to the point. “You’re right. I had no idea.” “And now? Now you know, and...” He reached for the bottle. Upon realizing it was all but empty, his face went solemn. I stood. The five hundred push-ups I’d done since the sun came up—when combined with my only

nourishment being scotch—were taking their toll. I shook it off and motioned toward my bookcase. “Let me grab another bottle.” He offered a nod of approval. I returned with an eighteen-year-old bottle of Macallan. When I reached the desk, I poured a shot into each of the glasses. “You were saying?” He took a sip, nodded and then took another. “It’s good.” “It is.” I tilted my glass toward him. “You were saying?” “Now you know. You know the woman you’ve been seeing, that she’s my daughter.” He set his glass down on the desk and shrugged. “And when you know, you leave her.” Seeing firsthand that he accepted our relationship—and me—was slowly making the truth taste better. “I was shocked.” “Shock? Imagine mine when she told me.” He chuckled and reached for the glass. “The shock. It fades away. Then we’re left to make decisions.” He was right. I finished my drink. A few seconds of contemplation later, and I realized I was halfdrunk, hungry and not near as angry as I had been the night before. “You’re willing to accept Terra and me? That we’re in a relationship?” He lowered his chin slightly, and then locked eyes with me. “When you’re a father you’ll understand. All I want for my daughter is for her to be happy—as long as what brings her the happiness is healthy. You’re a good man. A man of honor. You’ll protect her, will you not?” “I will.” “You’ll treat her with respect?” “I will.” “You’ll not raise your hand to her.” “No, I won’t.” “And you’ll shelter her from the...from the business. It saves the women from worry.” I felt immediately uncomfortable at the thought of concealing anything from Terra. I fully realized the mob, however, perceived things much differently. If I was going to be part of Anthony’s organization, I knew I must remain tight-lipped. I wouldn’t lie to Terra, I simply wouldn’t speak of my day-to-day activities. “Loose lips sink ships.” “You’re a man who has lived a life with no family. No mother, no father. Your family is your work. I can’t imagine. But now? You don’t marry my daughter.” He stood and then brushed the wrinkles from his suit. After satisfying himself that he was presentable, he looked up. “You marry the family.” A family. I fought to swallow the dry lump that had risen in my throat. A family, even one as unconventional as the mafia, was something I had always yearned for. He opened his arms. “Come.” I stood and walked around the corner of the desk. I accepted his invitation, and wrapped my arms around him. As we embraced in a hug, the man who I had one day viewed as being beneath me kissed me on the cheek. At that moment, all my ill feelings vanished. And they were replaced with something I could not explain.

Chapter Ten Terra Michael’s suit jacket was open, revealing a sweat-stained undershirt. His face was unshaven, and despite the expensive suit he was wearing, he looked like a homeless man who had been dragged out from underneath one of the city’s many bridges. My father guided him into my parents’ living room. He struggled to stay on his feet, and teetered from side to side with each step. Thoughts of him and my father reaching a resolution and then sharing a few celebratory drinks came to mind. I shot him a look. “What’s wrong with you?” “I think I had too much to drink.” “He hasn’t slept or eaten since yesterday,” my father said. “I took him to Rudolph’s, but he wouldn’t eat. He wanted to come here first. To see you.” “You didn’t drive, did you?” “No.” It felt odd going from wondering if Michael would ever want to see me again to having him come home with my father. I hated to give him an opportunity to start another argument, but I needed to know where we stood. He was acting as if nothing was wrong. “Is everything okay?” “Uh-huh.” I needed more. “Are we okay?” He looked around the room, stumbled toward the couch and then collapsed onto the cushions. “Yes, we are.” “Make him some pasta,” my father said. “He needs to eat.” I looked at my father and gestured toward the kitchen with my eyes. I glanced at Michael. “I’ll be right back.” He laid his head over the back of the couch and offered me a cheesy grin. “Okay.” His dismissal of our previous night’s fight by coming home with my father and flashing a drunken smirk wasn’t what I expected—or what I wanted. I wanted him to accept what I had done as being wrong, selfish and immature; and then forgive me. My father followed me to the kitchen. I opened the pantry, looked at the various pastas and let out a sigh. “By the time I make pasta, he’ll be passed out. How much did he drink?” “Get some gabagool and slice some mutzadel.” He shrugged. “Make a sandwich.” “Capicola? Papa, he won’t like—” “Everyone likes the gabagool.” He chuckled. “If he doesn’t, he has no place here.” I rolled my eyes and opened the refrigerator. I knew better than to ask my father where they had been and what they had discussed. Doing so would only earn me an uninformative response. “Fine. I’ll make a sandwich.” “I’ll be in my office. You two can talk.” I set the meat and cheese on the island. “Papa?” He glanced over his shoulder.

“Thank you.” He lowered his chin slightly. “He’s a good man.” My father was right; he was a good man. However, I still felt I needed to proceed with caution— Michael’s sixteen-hour hiatus was nothing compared to how I expected him to react. His prompt return and drunken smile made it seem all too easy. While my father escaped to his place of refuge, I made a capicola-and-mozzarella sandwich —gabagool and mutzadel, as he often called it—and hoped Michael wasn’t passed out before I was finished. I carried the food into the living room. Michael, much to my surprise, was wandering around admiring the furnishings. “I made you a sandwich.” He spun around, obviously surprised by my presence. “I haven’t eaten since last night.” “That’s what I heard. Do you want to eat it in here, or in the kitchen?” “I don’t know.” He eyes searched the room. “Does anyone eat in here?” “My father does.” I shrugged. “Sometimes.” “How about in the kitchen?” I grinned and turned around. “Follow me.” I placed the plate on the island and pulled out the bar stool. “What happened to your shirt?” He opened his jacket by the lapels, peered inside and seemed shocked at his finding. As he looked up, one side of his mouth curled slightly. “I’m not sure.” I poured a glass of water and handed it to him. He took a drink, then another look inside his jacket. He chuckled and shrugged as if his dress shirt’s disappearance was a true mystery. “You don’t know what happened to it?” “Nope.” He was drunk to the point of being cute, if a person liked that kind of thing. Personally, I preferred Michael when he could protect me and defend himself, and he was far from that. I studied him for a moment. My Italian heritage quickly surfaced. “Interesting,” I said, my voice thick with sarcasm. I waved my hand toward his food. “Eat your lunch.” He lowered his head and picked up the sandwich. After taking a bite, his eyes went wide. “This is good.” He finished chewing, lifted the top slice of bread and looked inside. “What is it?” “Gabagool, mutzadel and tomatoes.” He pinched the bread together and took another bite. “I don’t know what that means, but it’s good.” “It’s ham, mozzarella cheese and tomatoes,” I said snidely. I leaned over the edge of the island and locked eyes with him. “Now eat. Maybe it’ll sober you up.” He kept eye contact with me, finished chewing and set the uneaten part of the sandwich on his plate. After wiping his mouth, he reached over the table with lightning-fast speed. His hand shot behind my neck, and he promptly pulled me halfway over the island. He may have intended for it to be playful, but he was making his point, nonetheless. He pressed his mouth to my ear. “Listen carefully,” he whispered. “In case you were wondering, and I’m sure you were, we’re not done discussing your little lie.” My mouth went dry, and I could feel my heart beating between my ears. A dry and almost inaudible response escaped my lips. “Okay.” “As with all fuck-ups in life, there’s going to be repercussion. Just because I’m drunk doesn’t mean I’m going to let you talk to me like I’m some punk out in the street. You fucked up, Terra, not me. You dug a hole, and now you’ve got to find a way out. My suggestion is this—”

He released my neck, cocked an eyebrow and grinned a sinful grin. “Tread lightly,” he said flatly. “You’re walking on thin ice.” I fought against my tightening throat, but managed to humbly respond. “I will.” He picked up the sandwich and took another bite. I realized as I watched him finish eating that Michael was simply Michael. Drunk or sober made no difference. His pride wouldn’t allow him to be manipulated or talked down to. Being on his bad side frightened me and turned me on at the same time. “So, are you mad at me?” I asked. He shook his head. “No.” “Disappointed?” “A little.” “Am I...” I paused, realizing I wasn’t sure how to continue. “Um—” “In trouble?” he asked. I fought to swallow, and upon doing so, nodded. “Yeah.” “Yes, you are.” When I was young, and I made stupid decisions, I was punished. My father explained that the punishment came because he and my mother truly loved me. Parents that didn’t punish their children, he explained, simply didn’t care enough about them to do so. The unpunished, according to my father, grew up to be liars, cheats and thieves. His children would learn from their mistakes, and in doing so, would not only understand the difference between right and wrong, they would do so knowing that they were surrounded by love. If Michael cared enough to punish me, it meant he truly cared. It made sense in my head, anyway. “Are you going to punish me?” “Eventually,” he said with a nod. “But not now. When we get home.” As far as I was concerned, the sooner, the better. “Are you ready to go?” “I am,” he said. “Are you ready for your punishment?” I can’t wait. His admittance that he was going to punish me reassured me that he still loved me. It may seem ridiculous to some, but to me, it made perfect sense. Using the same logic, making sure he really loved me would be easy. “If you think your drunken ass is up to it.” I turned and grabbed my purse. “Let’s go.” He jumped from the stool. I took off running as fast as I could, knowing that when he caught me, he’d prove to me just how much he loved me. Based on the choice words that came from his mouth as I ran toward the garage, he loved me with all his heart.

Chapter Eleven Michael With her wrists secured to the posts of the headboard, she turned her head to the side and met my halfdrunken gaze. “You’re not going to tie my ankles?” I didn’t even know if I was capable of tying two more knots. “Not if I don’t have to.” “I like this,” she said. “This isn’t punishment.” I pulled off my shirt and tossed it onto the floor. “It will be in a minute.” “Promise?” I got undressed and studied her. Secured to the bed facedown and wearing her pants, a silk top and stockings, she looked like a businesswoman. A businesswoman who’d been tied to a bed for my sexual satisfaction. Despite my semidrunken state, my cock was rock-hard. It was all the proof I needed to know that I still loved Terra with all my heart. I climbed onto the bed, straddled her and unfastened her pants. “Are you going to fuck me?” she asked in a sultry tone. “I’m going to do whatever I want to.” I tugged against the legs of her pants. “And you can’t do a thing about it.” I tossed her pants on the floor, squatted over her calves and gazed down at her. With her back arched, her face down and her ass high in the air, it looked like she was inviting me to take the next step. Her black panties with a red lace border accentuated the shape of her round butt. After admiring them for a moment, I hooked my finger around the hip of the delicate fabric. “Be careful with those,” she said. “I just bought them.” I yanked against the material, snapping it in two. “Michael,” she hissed. “I just—” My left hand came down against the side of her ass with a whack! “Ouch!” she wailed. I pulled her panties off and tossed them aside. “Don’t you dare say a word,” I said. I pressed my hands against the inside of her thighs and pressed them outward. After her legs were spread wide enough for me to get into position, I slid my hands to her hips and lifted her from the bed slightly. With eager eyes, I studied her. Her cleanly shaven mound looked back at me. Glistening and free for the taking, I doubted it was ready for the thrashing I was prepared to give it. There was one way to find out. I buried my face between her thighs and slid my finger inside of her to the end of the joint. After sliding it in and out a few times, I added a second finger. She moaned with pleasure. “Not a word,” I said. I began tongue-fucking her while I simultaneously slid my fingers in and out. Her moans of pleasure filled the room. Sucking and licking her clit with great precision, I drove her to the edge of climax

instantly. As her breathing became labored, I pulled away and rolled off the side of the bed. She turned her head to the side and pulled against the restraints. “Not a word,” I whispered. After a few moments, she let out a sigh and relaxed onto the bed. I waited a few minutes more, then got back into position. I buried my face between her thighs and began to lick her pussy from the clit upward. In a matter of seconds, she began to buck her hips wildly, forcing herself against my face. I pressed my chin against her clit and buried my tongue deep inside of her. The muffled moan she returned was my reward. I pulled my face away, then gave her one parting lick as a reminder of what she was going to be missing. I checked my watch. I walked to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. Standing there with a throbbing hard cock, I got out a beer, drank half of it and then ate a piece of cold chicken. After finishing the beer, I washed my hands, checked my watch and walked to the doorway of the room. It had been ten minutes. To her, it probably seemed like a lifetime. “Not a word,” I whispered. She turned her head to the side and glared at me. I grinned, and began walking toward her. I hopped onto the bed, got positioned between her thighs, and began stroking myself. As I rubbed her clit with my thumb, I guided the tip of my cock into her dripping-wet pussy. The air escaped from her lungs as I buried myself inside of her in one quick thrust. I held myself there for some time. After her muscles finally relaxed, I pulled my hips back and peered between her legs. Upon seeing the tip clear her pussy lips, I immediately shoved myself into her completely. She grunted out a breath. And I waited. I repeated the process half a dozen times, and then pulled out completely. She turned and glared at me over her shoulder. “Not a word,” I warned. She yanked against the restraints. I grinned. She continued to glare at me for some time, and eventually gave up. With her head buried against the comforter, and her ass still high in the air, she appeared to be sleeping, but I was well aware that she wasn’t. I rolled to the side of the bed, stepped off it and walked to the dresser. I returned to my position between her thighs and guided myself into her. Her pussy had tightened considerably. Apparently, enough time had passed since I’d stopped that she had either lost interest or she was dehydrating. Slowly, I continued to fuck her with long, slow thrusts. Rhythmically, I continued until she began to moan in pleasure. As her groaning became predictable, I listened intently. Her breathing patterns changed. Her pussy began to constrict. And I pulled myself from inside of her.

She thrashed against the restraints. “Not a word,” I whispered. I fingered her pussy gently as I opened the tube of lube and spread it between her ass cheeks. After spreading an ample amount onto my cock, I guided the tip against her anus and pressed against her. Her back arched and she craned her neck. The tip penetrated her. She gasped. And I pulled free. I added a little lube. Again, I pressed the tip of my cock against her until the tip penetrated her. She inhaled a choppy breath. I pushed myself one-third of the way into her, and slowly pulled my hips back until I was out completely. She pounded her hands against the comforter. I looked up. Her laser-sharp glare was as intense as I had hoped it would be. I grinned in return, and spread her ass cheeks wide. “You,” I said, “are mine. This ass? Mine. And I’m going to fuck it. Like it’s mine.” I spread lube between her cheeks and onto my cock. After gently guiding myself into her ass, I slowly began to fuck her tight hole with care. After a few minutes, I added a finger into her pussy. Then another. As I fingered her wet pussy into a frenzy, I continued to fuck her ass with vigor. With each full stroke, she came closer to climax, and her labored breathing confirmed it. Fucking her in the ass may have been my intended punishment, but it was all too satisfying for me. The shaft of my cock was being punished, and I couldn’t take it any longer. I felt myself begin to reach climax. Slowly, I worked my hips back and forth while the tip of my finger found her clit. I circled her swollen nub with my wet fingertip. Together, we soared toward our climactic finish. “You may speak,” I huffed. Clearly mere seconds away from blowing my load, I continued my steady pace. “Holy fuck,” she wailed. “I’m...” My stiff dick slid in and out of her ass three more times while my finger circled her clit. And together we exploded into an orgasm like none I’d ever experienced. My balls tightened and I burst out twenty-four hours of aggravation through the tip of my cock and into her tight confines. “I...love...you...” she said in three choppy breaths. We collapsed onto the bed side by side. Regardless of what she’d done, I couldn’t help but love her. She was everything I wanted, and far more than I ever deserved. But she was mine. And punishing her was my pleasure.

Chapter Twelve Terra Italian families drink two things, water and wine. Time of day matters not; the topic of conversation and mood seemed to be the deciding factors. In the comfort of her beloved kitchen, my mother and I were well into what would be our first bottle of wine. “He’s the Lutheran boy?” She waved her finger toward my purse. “From your phone.” “He’s not Lutheran.” “He’s cute. And you said he was a Lutheran.” “He is cute, but he’s not Lutheran. I just said it. I didn’t know.” Her look of indifference changed to one of concern. “If he’s not Catholic—” I sat on a bar stool across from her. “He’s not.” The entire ordeal was frustrating. “I’m going to talk to him about joining the church.” “The scrutinies, his initiation.” She sighed. “Christmas will be here before we know it, and then Easter is right around the corner.” The scrutinies took place on the third, fourth and fifth Sundays of Lent. The initiation was on the day before Easter. The final stage of initiation was called mystagogy, and it took place during the time between Easter and Pentecost Sunday. It was still quite possible to have everything in order before June, which is when I wanted to have the wedding. “I know, mother. He and I will talk about it.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Your father won’t allow a mixed marriage.” A mixed marriage, according to Catholic faith, was a marriage between a Catholic and a non-Catholic. Michael’s conversion to the Catholic faith was a prerequisite to marriage in my mother’s eyes, but not in mine. “Papa said nothing.” “He doesn’t have to. We’re Catholic. And he... What’s his name?” “Michael.” “Michael,” she said with a smile. “That’s a Catholic name.” I chuckled. “He’s not Catholic.” She took a drink, lowered the glass slightly and then spoke over the rim. “Tell me about him.” “He has no family, so, we’d be his only family—” She almost dropped her wine, clanking the base of the glass against the edge of the granite island. She looked horrified. “What do you mean, he has no family?” “His parents died when he was young. He’s an orphan.” She looked horrified. “No mother? No father?” I shook my head. The fact that Michael would have no family members at our wedding sank in for the first time. One side of the church would be filled, and the other empty. The thought of it was heartbreaking. I poured another glass of wine and responded. “No.” “I’m so sorry,” she gasped. “He has brothers and sisters, no?” “No. He’s an only child.” “But he must have—”

I shook my head. “No one. No family whatsoever.” “Tell me something else about him.” She lifted her glass of wine. “Something good.” “His having no family isn’t good or bad, Mother. It just is.” She reached for my hand. “Tell me something good.” “He’s polite, and he’s nice. He treats me with respect. He doesn’t raise his voice to me, and he doesn’t raise his hand to me. He’s not like Vincent.” She glanced over each shoulder, then turned to face me. “There are times when a husband must put a wife in her place. You should know that.” My mother loved my father with all her heart, but remained beneath him, following the naturally subservient path that most Italian women traveled. Pleasing my father was her primary concern, and if keeping her mouth shut and agreeing to everything he suggested pleased him, so be it. I didn’t agree with her reasoning, but I couldn’t argue with her, either. “He’s not like that, Mother.” She shook her head. “All men. Sooner or later, you’ll see. You be a good wife to him, and he’ll treat you well. How tall is he?” “I don’t know.” I shrugged. “Six foot two.” Her eyes slowly widened. “He’s tall, like Peter.” “But he’s not built like Peter. He’s muscular.” I leaned toward her and grinned. “He has a six-pack,” I whispered. “Stop it,” she said with a laugh. “Don’t tell your father you’ve seen his stomach.” “I’m not planning to.” She sat quietly for a moment, and then leaned toward me. “You haven’t. You haven’t, you know...” I could have lied, but I didn’t. “We have.” “You have not.” She shot me a scornful look. “Have you?” I shrugged. “It’s the twenty-first century, people have sex.” “If your father finds out...” She slapped the top of my hand playfully. “I’m not going to tell him. So, unless—” She relaxed against the back ofher bar stool and shook her head emphatically. “I won’t say a word.” “Promise?” She leaned toward me. “I’ll tell you a secret,” she whispered. “Your father and I? We did before we were married.” “Mother!” I gasped. She grinned. “You father is not as...” She took a drink of wine, and then continued. “He’s not as innocent as he makes people think.” I couldn’t help but laugh. “Papa? Innocent?” “That wasn’t a good word, was it? Proper. That’s better. He’s not as proper.” She looked me in the eyes. “You used protection?” “Yes, mother.” She nodded, and then reached for the bottle of wine. After pouring our glasses full, she set the bottle aside. “When will I meet him?” “Papa wants to have dinner. Whenever you decide to have us over.” To go from concealing my relationship to revealing it was exciting. “I was thinking Sunday.” She took a sip of wine, and then nodded. “At the restaurant?” “No, Mother. Here.” “On Sunday?” She shrugged one shoulder. “Sunday’s so close.”

I wanted her to be comfortable with everything, and wondered if she needed time to mentally prepare. “We can do it next week.” “We’ll do it Sunday.” She filled her glass, then looked around the kitchen. “I need to decide what to make.” “Just make dinner. He’ll like whatever it is.” “He likes pasta?” He didn’t prefer to eat pasta, that much was certain. “He loves it.” “The wedding will be in June?” “Yes.” My mouth curled into a smile. “A June wedding.” She reached for my hand. “We’ve got a lot of planning to do.” She was right. Now that the secrets I kept from Michael and my parents were behind me, I felt free to tell the world about him, and I wanted to. “I want an engagement party.” “We’ll have one,” she said. “Let me get a calendar, and we’ll start planning.” Considering my mother’s age, I found it amusing that she didn’t use a computer. Her cell phone use was limited to phone calls—and rarely texting. When she did send a text message, it was often garbled and illegible. “Here.” She placed the calendar between us and took a drink of wine. “Before we get started, you need to know something.” “What?” “My advice for you. The secret of staying married.” My mother divulging her marriage secrets excited me. I rubbed my hands together and stared back at her with great interest. “I’m listening.” “It’s simple,” she said. “With your father, I don’t ask questions. It’s not my place to question him.” I shot her a look. “What are you saying?” “You’ll be Michael’s wife soon. It’s not your place to question him, it’s your place to support him. If you ask questions, you’ll get answers. And some answers? Some answers you don’t want to know. Men keep their secrets for one reason—to protect us—so, you need to know when to stop with the questions. If you learn to support him, he will be happy, and your marriage will last for all of eternity.” It wasn’t what I was expecting. I stared back at her, wishing she had said something else, but realized what she did say was important enough that she felt the need to share it with me. I considered what life might be like if I chose to keep my nose out of Michael’s business entirely. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust Michael, because I did. I simply felt it was my right to know the truth. My mother’s experience with my father, however, led me to believe I needed to accept whatever he did without question. “Okay,” I said. “I’ll remember that.” She smiled. “Let’s get started.” She pressed the pen against the paper on the upcoming Sunday and wrote “dinner with Michael.” “That’s the first thing.” In the past, I found her failure to conform to the modern world’s technological offerings annoying. Planning my wedding on a printed calendar with her, however, would be something I would cherish for a lifetime. “Mother?” She looked up. “We decided this Sunday, didn’t we?” “Yes.” She looked as if I had scorned her. “What, then?”

“I love you,” I said. “I love you, too,” she said, her expression incapable of hiding her joy. “Now scoot your stool over here. We need to plan a wedding.”

Chapter Thirteen Michael He stepped into my office, nervously glanced over each shoulder and then shut the door behind him. “Ain’t anybody in here that I don’t know about, is there?” “Not too many places to hide, Cap.” I waved my hand toward the open—and obviously empty—office. “What you see is what you get. What the fuck’s going on?” He walked straight to the corner of my desk, opened the drawer and motioned inside. “Pour two of ’em, we’re gonna need ‘em.” “It’s eight o’clock in the fucking morning.” “It’s damned near nine. Seen the news?” “Don’t make it a habit of getting up and watching the news, no.” “Well, I get up every morning and read MSN’s news feed on my laptop. Has national and local shit on it. Don’t pay much attention to the national stuff, but I read the local. This morning it was pretty fuckin’ interesting.” He stood there, looming over me like a dark shadow. “Jesus Christ, Cap. Sit down,” I said. “You’re making me nervous.” “Fire that computer up and pull up MSN.” “You gonna tell me what’s going on?” “The guy we cut into pieces?” he whispered. “He was a fed. ATF. But it’s kinda weird how they described everything.” My heart rate surged. “You sure they’re talking about our guy?” “Wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.” I logged on to MSN, and upon the screen loading, one headline stood out against the others. Federal Agent’s Body Discovered. I moved the cursor to the video below the headline. “Here it is.” With slight reluctance, I started the video. A news anchor standing along the bank of a river gave the newscast. “The dismembered body of a thirty-seven-year-old ATF agent was discovered late Wednesday afternoon by a man who had been fishing along the Missouri River. James Santos, of Blue Springs, told MSN that he was fishing for catfish when he discovered a tightly wrapped package that would later be found to have concealed the agent’s severed head. “After Mr. Santos’s grisly discovery, the area was secured by agents of the ATF and by US Marshals. After a thorough search of the river, more body parts were found, all of which are believed to be those of the agent, who is now being reported as missing since last Monday. “The victim, who was reported to have had his teeth removed by the killer—or killers—was identified using the ATF’s federal DNA database. Field agent Kevin Gatlin, who was reportedly off duty at the time of his death, had been with the agency for eleven years.” What I suspected was an ATF file photo of the deceased agent came on the screen. I paused the video and studied the photo. “Fuck. That’s a few years old, but it’s him, huh?”

“Sure as fuck is.” I clicked Play. “More from MSN as details of this gruesome murder unfold.” The video faded to black. “Well, fuck,” I said. “I guess I was right.” “About what?” “About him being a fucking cop,” I said. “Oh. Yeah. I guess I gotta give you that. Goes without sayin’, I ain’t too thrilled about killin’ a federal agent.” “You might not be, but I wasn’t thrilled about the alternative. Oh, and did you catch what she said? He was off duty and he’d been missing since Monday. Of the previous week. We tossed him in the river on Tuesday night. This week.” “She said last Monday,” Cap argued. “That’s five days ago.” “The Monday five days ago would be this Monday. This week’s Monday. Last Monday would be the Monday of last week.” “Is that how that shit works?” “That’s how that shit works.” A confused look washed over him. After a moment, he raised his index finger. “She said he was off duty, too.” “She did.” “So he’d been missing for a week and a day when he met us. Fucker was doin’ that cigarette deal deep undercover, or it was rogue.” I nodded. “Agreed.” “Either way, Agrioli’s bein’ watched.” “Maybe not. But if he isn’t he will be soon. That is, if they uncover anything in their investigation of this guy’s death that’d lead them to us.” “What are the chances of some dipshit fishin’ for catfish to find that fuckin’ head?” “Obviously, pretty damned good,” I responded. “You gonna call Agrioli?” I reached for the scotch. “Probably not. I need to think about it.” “Need to make him aware of what’s goin’ on.” I poured a shot in each glass, and handed one to Cap. “Seems like we’re doing more and more of this.” “Killin’ people?” “No. Drinking during the day.” He downed the scotch. “Been a rough couple of days.” I took a sip of mine, then inhaled the aroma from the glass. My mouth salivated as I thought of what my next move should be. Being in business with the mafia was like playing chess, not checkers. “I think I’ll touch base with Sal, not Agrioli.” “Why?” “Agrioli’s the boss. Future father-in-law or not, I’ve got to follow protocol. Hell, as far as I know, he doesn’t even know what happened.” “You don’t think Sal would leave him in the dark—” “That’s just it. I don’t know.” I picked up my cell phone and called Sal. He answered on the third ring. “Car’s got a dead battery,” I said. “I was hoping to get out of here for some breakfast.”

“I could eat,” he responded. The phone went dead. I admired Agrioli and his men for not talking on the telephone about the day-to-day activities of their organization. Something as simple as where we were going, what we were eating or who we were going to meet was never discussed on the phone. Overall secrecy was one of my earliest discussions with Agrioli, and he was adamant that I maintain it. If nothing else, anyone investigating him would have to infiltrate his organization to get information. Doing so would be close to impossible, however, considering the lack of trust the men had toward anyone outside their group. “He’s on his way.” Cap and I were eerily silent until Sal showed up. During that time, the significance of the dead man being a federal agent sank in completely. If he had been missing for a week, I couldn’t help but wonder just what he was trying to do by selling us stolen cigarettes—and who else may be involved. The sound of Sal’s hand pounding against my door startled me from my semiconscious state. “Come in,” I shouted. The door opened, and Sal peered inside cautiously. “Just you and him?” I nodded. “It’s safe.” He stepped through the door, shoved his pistol inside the waist of his slacks and let out a sigh. “What the fuck’s goin’ on?” “You happen to catch the news?” “I watched the Moolie with the gap in his teeth.” He shrugged. “What did I miss?” “Guy we tossed in the river was an ATF agent. He’d been missing for a week before he met us, according to the news. And he was listed as being killed while off duty, which means either he was deep undercover, or his cigarette business was on the sly.” “You were right. He was a fuckin’ cop.” “Who turned us on to the cigarette deal?” I asked. “To Wesley or Kevin Gatlin, or whatever his fucking name was.” Sal sat down beside Cap. “Came down from Jackie Four Eyes.” “How long’s Jackie been around?” I imagined an Italian man with thick black-framed glasses, hence the name Four Eyes. “You trust him?” He glanced at the scotch, and then at me. “What’s with the bottle?” “Eighteen-year-old scotch. We had some after watching the news.” He gestured toward the glass. “Have some manners.” I pulled a glass from the drawer, and poured three healthy shots. “I’m going to be an alcoholic before I know it.” Sal cleared his throat and reached for the glass. “Jackie Four Eyes has been around for a few years. He’s an associate. A friend of a friend.” “Trust him?” He took a sip of scotch. “I don’t trust anybody that isn’t made.” “Fair enough,” I said with a nod. I doubted he trusted me or Cap for that matter, and opted to change the subject. “Do you need to tell Agrioli what happened?” “After we pay Jackie Four Eyes a visit.” He drank the scotch, wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and slid the glass across my desk. “You two ready?” Given the look on Sal’s face, I decided our visit may be more of an interrogation and much less of a visit. I reached into my drawer, grabbed my pistol, an extra magazine and my silencer.

“I am now.” * * * “When it comes time to catch a rat,” Sal said as he parked the car, “you never let ’em know you’re coming. If they’re really a rat, you don’t wanna give ’em time to make up a lie or get rigged with a wire. You always wanna catch ’em off guard.” As the three of us sat in front of his house in broad daylight, I wondered just how secretive our visit could be. “Let me ask all the questions,” Sal said. “I ain’t much of a talker,” Cap replied. “I’ll just listen. Unless he does something stupid.” Sal looked at me. I offered a healf-hearted shrug. “No arguments here.” He reached for the door handle, and then paused. “You ready?” I nodded. Cap opened the door. Sal did the same. I had no idea what we had planned, but I wasn’t opposed to following Mad Sal’s lead. In fact, the thought of being wrapped up in an investigation of any sort made me uneasy. Figuring out who was at the bottom of the botched cigarette deal was now on the top of my priority list. Whoever tried to set us up would simply continue until we were all behind bars— unless we caught him before he exposed us to the cops. I stepped out of the car behind Sal and Cap. As we walked along the sidewalk, I wondered what the neighbors might think if they saw us. I always liked to believe I was the most intimidating man in any room. Realistically, I wasn’t overly muscular or frightening in any way—my confidence and attitude were my best weapons. Cap and Sal, on the other hand, were a different story altogether. They looked like linebackers for the local professional football team. In short, they didn’t blend in well. We stepped onto the sidewalk and began our short journey to Jackie’s. After a few steps, I cleared my throat. “What’s the plan?” “Haven’t got one,” Sal responded over his shoulder. This should be interesting. It bothered me that he operated in a by-the-seat-of-your-pants fashion. I preferred having a plan, and it was clear that he didn’t see the value in it. As we nonchalantly sauntered along the sidewalk, I glanced at the homes on either side of the street. Based on my knowledge of real estate, I guessed they ranged in value from one million to one million, seven-fifty. I couldn’t help but wonder just what Jackie was involved in. Cap glanced at Sal. “So, what if this guy’s a rat?” Sal slowed his pace and turned toward Cap. “You’ve seen that game at the arcade, right?” Cap paused, and then shot Sal a confused look. “What?” Sal chuckled. “Whack-a-mole.” He raised his clenched fist in the air, and then began pounding it against his open palm repeatedly. “You know, the one with the gopher that pops out of the holes. They got ’em on Coney Island.” Now stopped on the sidewalk in front of the house next door to Jackie’s, Cap scrunched his nose and stared.”Yeah, the one where you hit the mole on the head with the mallet?” Sal gave a nod and turned away. “That’s the one.” Cap tossed his hands in the air. “What the fuck’s that got to do with anything?” I felt the same way, but preferred to stay out of the conversation. We were three hit men mere minutes

away from whacking a snitch, and an arcade game was the topic of discussion. Sal paused, turned toward Cap and gave a one-shouldered shrug. “We whack rats.” He chuckled. “Whack-a-rat.” Cap nodded as if satisfied, and then glanced at me. I shrugged. Sal stopped on the sidewalk that led to Jackie’s house. The home, a Tudor style that was centered on a large well-landscaped lot, sat a hundred feet or so up the walk. I admired the home for an instant, and quickly became envious. The modest home I lived in had been sufficient for me, but now that Terra and I were getting married, I felt that it was inadequate. Especially for a family. I diverted my attention to Jackie’s home, made note of all the blinds being pulled, and then turned to Sal. “What’s this Jackie guy do for a living?” He shrugged and turned up the walk. “Why?” I gawked at the rambling two-story brick home. “This house has got to be worth a million, at least. Especially in this neighborhood. Just wondering.” “Who fuckin’ knows.” We walked to the door no differently than if we were invited. Knowing Jackie recommended the deal with the ATF agent made me feel uncertain about him, and everything about our manner of approach made me anxious about the visit. The home’s solid wood door was adorned with nothing more than a doorknob and a brass knocker. When combined with the obstructed windows, we were left with no way to see inside. Sal looked at the doorbell button, and then the brass knocker. As he reached for the knocker, my level of tension rose slightly. He rapped it against the brass backing plate a few times, and took a step back. The unmistakable sound of the floorboards creaking gave all the proof I needed that there was someone inside the home, but no one opened the door. Sal knocked again. I looked at Cap, motioned toward the door and nodded. He nodded in return. “What?” Sal asked with a shrug. “What’s with you two?” “Someone’s in there,” I whispered. “Says who?” “Says me,” I said. “I could hear someone walking around.” Sal glanced in each direction, pressed his shoulder into the door and then pushed every ounce of three hundred-plus pounds against it. A second or so later, the door’s frame splintered and he all but fell into the entrance. Jesus. Although my training told me to pull my weapon prior to entering the home, I didn’t for fear of any onlookers seeing me. From what anyone could tell, at least so far, three men had walked up to a home, knocked and entered. Considering the significant distance to Jackie’s closest neighbor, no one would be able to tell that Sal opened the door without invitation. Cap and I entered no differently than if we were conducting a raid on an enemy-occupied compound. As soon as I was in the house, I swept the door closed with my foot, and then screwed the silencer onto the barrel of the pistol. Cap’s eyes searched the entrance and he then confirmed it was clear with a nod of his head. I advanced to the closest opening, an open door that led into a den. After verifying the room was unoccupied, I nodded and motioned toward the next doorway.

Sal walked toward a staircase. With my pistol pointed directly in front of me, I kept my position to the rear of Cap. Immediately after turning the corner, Cap began barking out orders. “Don’t fucking move,” he shouted. “Hands, motherfucker. Let me see your hands.” Ten feet in front of us, a clean-cut man of average build raised his hands. Dressed in jeans, a T-shirt and wearing a baseball cap, he looked like a typical thirtysomething father on his way to a ball game. “How many more people are in here?” Cap asked. Jackie’s eyes darted around the room, making his nervousness about the situation clear. “None. I’m the, um... I’m the only one,” he muttered. Sal stepped to my side and peered over my shoulder. “What’s with the getup, Jackie? The Royals’ season is over.” “I was—I was just—I was headed out to, um...” “You’re full of shit,” Sal said. “How’d you get a lock on that cigarette deal with Wesley?” Jackie’s focus shifted from Cap to Sal. “I, um...” “Sit down,” Sal demanded. He shoved his way past Cap and me and pointed to the dinette table in the breakfast area behind Jackie. “Tell me about your cigarette-selling buddy. Wesley, or whatever his fuckin’ name was.” Cap and I stood at either side of the table. Jackie glanced at each of us, and then complied with Sal’s demand, nervously pulling out a chair and taking a seat. He looked up, and then rubbed the side of his nose with the web of his palm. “Who? Wesley?” he asked. He heard you, he’s buying time, Sal. “Yeah, the man with the truckload of smokes for sale. Remember him?” “Oh, yeah. Wesley.” His eyes fell to the floor. “He, um... He...” Based on my interrogation experience, he was lying, and doing a poor job of it. I glanced at Cap, who returned an eye roll. Sal didn’t seem to be convinced, at least not yet. “‘He, um... He...’ What? You nervous, Jackie?” If he wasn’t, he sure looked like he was. He nodded. “I was upstairs when you came. Didn’t hear you knock. It scared the shit out of me when you guys came in.” If you didn’t hear us, how’d you know we knocked? “Tell me about Wesley.” Sal sat down across the table from him. “You two old pals?” I’d seen about all I cared to. Sal’s methods were lackluster at best, and his demeanor was far too calm. I wondered if Agrioli paired Cap and me with him to test our abilities, and if so, I couldn’t help but further wonder how we were doing so far. To be viewed as substandard was unacceptable to me, and if Sal didn’t pick up the pace, I was going to, whether Agrioli liked it or not. Still standing beside the small dinette table, I glared down at Jackie. After a moment, he looked up and made note of my stare. “These two are making me nervous, Sal.” “The fuck, you say. Want me to ask ’em to leave?” Sal asked, his voice thick with irony. “Have ’em go in the other room.” “Go fuck yourself,” Sal replied. “Tell me everything you know about Wesley.” “My notebook.” He turned and looked over his shoulder, toward where Cap stood. “I keep it over there in the desk. Let me get it, and I’ll be able to tell you anything about him. Anything.” “Grab the fuckin’ thing, then,” Sal said. Jackie glanced at Cap, and then me, and started to get out of his seat. Don’t let this prick get up. Sal stayed seated, making no objection to Jackie getting up. I quickly walked to his side and pressed my

hand against his shoulder. “Just stay where you are. “Where’s it at?” I asked. “I’ll get it.” His face went stark white. “I think...” His eyes shifted toward the kitchen cabinets. “Maybe over there. In one of those drawers.” “You looked over there,” I said, motioning toward a wooden built-in desk at the corner of the kitchen. “I, um...” “Search that desk, Cap.” Cap opened the desk’s drawer, pulled out a pistol and chuckled. He raised it in the air. “You wasn’t after this fucker, was ya?” “Glock?” I asked. Cap nodded. “Hand it to me.” It was a Glock Model 22, a 40mm pistol typically issued to federal government field operatives. While Jackie stammered an unintelligible response, I pressed the magazine’s release, removed it and inspected it. At the top of the back side, it was clearly marked. RESTRICTED LE/GVT ONLY The type of high-capacity magazine that was in the pistol was limited for law enforcement and government use only. Jackie, no differently than Wesley, appeared to be a cop. “Looks like your man’s a cop, Sal.” I tossed him the loaded magazine. “Read the markings on the back of that.” His head shook in denial, but his wide eyes gave indication of his guilt. “Hold on. I’m no cop.” He looked at Sal. “Sal. I’ve been nothing but good to—” “Shut up,” Sal grumbled. He looked at the magazine. “I think you’re a fuckin’ rat.” “Let me explain—” “You can explain it to the boss.” Sal looked at me. “We need to get this dumb fuck out of here. We’ll take his car.” He looked at Jackie. “Where’s your car, rat?” Jackie scooted away from the table and began to rock back and forth in his chair like an unsettled child. “We don’t need Agrioli—” Sal stood. “Where’s the door to the fuckin’ garage, rat?” Jackie bent forward, pressed his chest to his thighs and began moaning. I stepped back and stared, uncertain of just what it was that he was doing—or trying to do. With his head between his knees, he continued to groan until I told him to stop. “Sit up,” I demanded. He promptly complied, and when he did, he was holding a pistol; undoubtedly one he had concealed in an ankle holster. He pointed it at Sal’s chest. “Don’t move, Sal. I mean it.” “There’s three of us, you dumb bastard,” Sal growled. “I don’t give a shit. I’ll get you for sure. That’s all I care about. Now have these two back off,” Jackie snarled. Are you fucking kidding me? While I pointed my pistol at the head of the second cop we’d encountered in less than a week, Cap did the same from behind him. Jackie’s pistol—and his eyes—stayed fixed on Sal. The last thing I wanted to do was kill another cop, but Sal’s and my life were in danger. I couldn’t speak for Sal, but I had plans for a long time to come, none of which included getting killed.

And if I was being tested by Agrioli, I was pretty sure, regardless of what Sal’s wishes were, I didn’t want him to die. At least not on my watch. “Fuck you,” Sal said. “Shoot me, you fuckin’ rat.” Are you fucking kidding me? Sal’s bravado behavior may have looked good in the eyes of his fellow mobsters, but I saw it as nothing less than an act of stupidity. When unarmed and standing in front of a man who was pointing a pistol at you, a “shoot me” instruction was the talk of an idiot. Or a maniac. I cleared my throat, hoping to garner Jackie’s attention. “Toss it on the floor,” I said flatly. “I won’t repeat myself.” It was his one, and only, chance. He continued to glare at Sal as he gave his response. “Fuck you, buddy. Toss yours on the floor, or I’ll put a bullet in his chest.” I wasn’t a medical doctor, nor was I an expert on muscle behavior. I had, however, shot two men in the head, both of whom dropped the weapon they were holding without discharging it. Their muscular functions seemed to all but cease as soon as the bullet penetrated their brains. All I could do was hope that Jackie followed the same pattern. I aimed directly for his left eye, and without further warning, squeezed the trigger. A pffft sound came from the silenced pistol, all but dismissing the fact that I had shot him in the eye with a .45 caliber bullet. The pistol fell to the table with a clank and Jackie slumped forward. Thank God. “Fuckin’ rat,” Sal seethed. Cap grabbed Jackie’s pistol, set it aside and then took his pulse. “Fucker’s dead.” “Two dead cops in a week.” I looked at Sal. “What the fuck’s going on?” He shrugged. “Be hard to find out now.” “Did you want me to play the waiting game with that cock sucker?” He leaned forward over the table and spat on Jackie. “Fuckin’ rat. “You did good, Michael.” He looked up and nodded once. “Your future father-in-law’s gonna be thrilled.” Agrioli told you? With the mafia, it appeared that news traveled fast. Unless it was about a rat.

Chapter Fourteen Terra I took my seat with an uncertain mind and a nervous stomach. “Thank you.” Michael released my chair and sat down beside me. “It smells wonderful in here.” My mother smiled. “Thank you.” It was a little after two o’clock in the afternoon, the time my family typically ate Sunday dinner, but earlier than most Americans ate. I didn’t have anything in particular to be worried about, but having Michael meet my family in such a setting was something I desperately wanted to go smoothly. After my father said a prayer, we began the meal with pasta. My mother, no differently than most Italian women, seemed reluctant to start a conversation. I knew my father, if left to decide, would go the entire meal without speaking. I tried, unsuccessfully, to get Peter’s attention. I shot my father a look of concern, wagged my eyebrows and then looked at Michael. He shoved a forkful of pasta into his mouth. “Tell us about the island.” “It was beautiful. Tell them, Michael.” “The water is crystal-clear. There’s a coral reef, and you can see as far as your eyes will allow you to,” Michael said. “We snorkeled for an entire afternoon on one day.” My father’s eyes slowly widened. He’d always complained of the dark water off the coast of Italy. “It was paradise,” I added. He lowered his fork. “They speak English?” “Yes. It’s an English-speaking country. In fact, it was a British colony until the 1980s. British Honduras, I think.” He looked at my mother, raised both eyebrows and waited. She’d always wanted a vacation home in such a place, but had never convinced my father to do anything about it. “Michael bought some land,” I said. I knew any mention of moving there would invite an argument, so I adjusted the truth a little. I squeezed Michael’s thigh. “For a vacation home.” “It’s so hot in those places,” my mother said. “It makes me uncomfortable.” “It’s not hot,” I said. “It was eighty degrees the whole time.” Her eyes shot wide. “Eighty degrees? Really?” She smiled, and then looked at my father. “That sounds nice.” She returned to eating, as did my father. Discussions during a meal—with my family—were close to impossible. The focus was eating, and because of my father’s denial of his involvement with the mafia, discussing work or anything outside the home was out of the question. Michael’s occupation was no different, leaving little—other than our wedding—to talk about. I was eager to plan the wedding, and talking about it excited me greatly. “I know it’s really soon, but we were thinking next weekend would be a good time to have the engagement party.” Michael, unlike my father, finished chewing before he responded. “Sounds good to me.” “We’ll have it here.” I looked at my father. “Did she tell you, Papa?”

He nodded. I looked at my mother. Focused on her meal, and not even paying attention to what I was talking about, she forked pasta into her mouth one piece at a time. Frustrated, I looked at my father. “We’re going to have the food catered.” He nodded. I sighed. “Peter wrecked his car.” “Itiota!” My father looked up. “You had a wreck?” “I did not,” he screeched. My father lowered his fork and glared. “Why you didn’t tell me?” Peter shrugged. “She’s joking.” After a moment, my father looked at me. “Don’t joke about a wreck.” “Nobody’s talking,” I said. “Let’s talk about something.” “We came to eat.” He looked at my plate. “Eat.” I picked at my pasta, frustrated that my plans weren’t going well. Michael lightly squeezed my thigh as he continued to eat, in what I guessed to be an acknowledgment of the table’s silence. I desperately wanted my new life with Michael to begin, but I had hoped to share my joy and plans of the future with my family. It seemed they lacked the same enthusiasm. I looked around the table. They reminded me of the grazing cattle I had seen in the pastures outside the city. Concerned with nothing but what was in front of their faces, they ate not to satisfy hunger, but out of habit. We finished the pasta, and then my mother served the braciole and sauce. When she did, I realized a reasonable amount of time had somehow slipped passed. Silent time. Michael took a bite. As he chewed, his eyes slowly widened. Unlike my father, he swallowed before speaking. “This is wonderful.” I looked at my mother. It was a perfect opportunity for her to say something. She smiled. “Thank you.” I waited for more, but nothing came. That’s it? I sighed, and then looked at Michael. “It’s called braciole. It’s steak, stuffed with breadcrumbs, cheese, oil and prosciutto. You roll it up, cook it in the oven with sauce, and then slice it.” It was a Sunday staple in our home. My father looked up, his mouth filled with meat. “Braciole.” Breh-CHOLE-a. I liked listening to him speak. Although fluent in Italian, my pronunciation was much different than his. After that one simple spoken word, he lowered his eyes—and his fork—to his plate. I waited for him to say something else, but all he did was shovel food into his mouth. I looked around the table. Everyone was focused on their plate. Everyone except Michael and me. He must have noticed, too. He grinned. “It’s good, isn’t it?” I asked. “It’s great.” He forked another piece. “You should make it sometime.” “I will.” I smiled at the thought. “Are you okay with the party being next Sunday?” “Absolutely.” He nodded. “It’ll be fun.” “More fun than this, that’s for sure,” I whispered. He shook his head lightly. “This is fine. I’m enjoying it.” “Eat,” my father said. “Eat.”

Living with Michael was far different than growing up in my home. My father’s secrecy, my mother’s silence and my brother’s desire to become a mirror image of his father left me as the only family member willing to interact. But with no one to do it with. My family’s reluctance to do so left me always searching for companionship outside my home. Having Michael in my day-to-day life filled a void that I was unaware existed. Now that I had experienced that one small change, something as simple as our Sunday dinner left me feeling cheated. After we’d finished eating, my mother brought pastries and coffee. While we nibbled at the desserts, my father sipped his espresso and looked around the table. A look of satisfaction followed, and he lowered the small porcelain cup. He lifted his glass of wine. “A toast. We need a toast.” In response, we all reached for our glasses. “To family, my future son-in-law and his soon-to-be wife, and to change. Cambiamento positivo.” Change is good. We raised our glasses and drank to his toast. And I prayed that one day—at least as far as my family was concerned—things would somehow change.

Chapter Fifteen Michael “Engagement party.” Cap took a sip of his drink and shook his head. “I ain’t never heard of such shit.” “From what Terra said, it’s pretty typical. Everybody does it.” “Maybe everyone she knows.” The party’s atmosphere was relaxed, which was nice for a change. A good part of the attendees were inside Agrioli’s home. The rest were outside, which was where I preferred to be. I felt much less threatened out of the confines of the home. It reminded me of a medieval mansion, and although I wasn’t terribly uncomfortable inside, I was measurably better where I was. Cap and I stood on the edge of the large flagstone patio that overlooked an ornate courtyard while Terra and Michelle mingled with relatives and friends. It seemed Michelle, at least, was more interested in mingling than seeing Cap. “Nice fuckin’ digs,” he said. “I didn’t know there were houses like this in KC.” “Technically this isn’t Kansas City. It’s Mission Hills.” “Technically,” he said mockingly, “it’s nice as fuck.” “That it is. Nice of them to do this, too.” “You know, all told, he ain’t a bad dude.” “Doesn’t seem to be, no.” “Listen to you. ‘Doesn’t seem to be.’ That man’s gonna be your father-in-law come spring, and you’re talking shit on him.” “I wasn’t talking shit. Let me clarify.” I cleared my throat. “He seems to be a pretty damned good man.” He raised his glass. “That’s more like it.” I glanced around the yard. No less than fifty people were gathered on the lower tier of the patio, all dressed as if they were at a wedding. A large table was placed in front of the fountain, and it was covered in wrapped gifts. I’d never taken part in such an event, nor did I think I ever would. As intimidating as it was, it was also nice to see a family and their friends come together to celebrate the upcoming wedding of someone they cared for. “So, you ready for this?” “Ready for what?” “To get hitched?” “Wouldn’t have proposed if I wasn’t.” He chuckled. “Sounds like something I’d say.” “Well, it’s true.” “Livin’ like this would take some adjusting,” Cap said. “I’d have to get me a maid and a butler.” “They’ve got a maid. Haven’t seen a butler, though.” “Yeah, I can’t see her mom cleaning that big fucker. Son of a bitch is huge, and it’s filled with all kinds of shit. Wonder how he got all that furniture in there.” “One piece at a time,” I said. “Thanks for the insight.” He took a drink of his cocktail, and then peered beyond me, toward the house.

“Your five o’ clock. That Cupcake fella and Mad Sal. The fuckers look like they’re on a mission.” I nonchalantly looked over my shoulder. Just as Cap had said, they were making a beeline toward us. If I didn’t know better, I would have felt the need to pull the pistol from my holster to protect myself. The fact that I was at their boss’s house—and that I was marrying his daughter—was enough to convince me there was no imminent threat. “Fuckers are kinda intimidatin’,” Cap whispered. “Kind of, yeah.” They stepped to our side. Jimmy Cupcake nodded. “Mr. Tripp. Mr. Lori.” I wondered about Jimmy Cupcake knowing Cap’s last name, but then suspected Agrioli did his homework before allowing Cap to participate in protecting the mob’s day-to-day activities. “Boss wants to see you,” Sal said. I motioned toward the house. “C’mon, Cap.” “He stays,” Cupcake said. “I’ll keep him company.” I looked at Sal and cocked an eyebrow. “Private sit-down,” he said, straight-faced. He looked at Cap. “Shouldn’t take long. Have some food and another drink.” “I’ll be here if you need me,” Cap said with a laugh. “Me and the Cupcake.” “Be right back.” I followed Sal past the throngs of people, smiling and nodding as I passed each one. I wondered the entire time what Agrioli might need to talk about that couldn’t wait. I decided it could be some Italian tradition that went along with getting married, for all I knew. Agrioli was sitting in his office with Gino and Little Frank. The impromptu meeting made me nervous, but I tried to at least appear confident and calm. I stepped inside, folded my arms in front of my chest and tried to look uncaring. On Agrioli’s desk, I noticed an ornate marble dish. In it, a piece of paper with a skull drawn on it in black ink. I had no idea what it meant, but I didn’t like it. Fuck. Sal shut the door and walked to Gino’s side. Agrioli stood. Dressed as usual, but wearing a tie, he looked like a model for an Italian clothing store. An angry one. He alternated glances between the men as he walked around the corner of his desk. “In the past week, two men got whacked. One, an associate, brought in by Vinnie the Fifth.” He shook his head. “Both men were a threat to the safety of our families, and to the safety and secrecy of the family.” Methodically, he walked in my direction. In our trip up to the house, I was convinced all was well with Agrioli. In seeing his demeanor—and the three men’s stern faces—all my conviction vanished. A lump rose high in my throat. He patted me on the shoulder. “This man, my daughter’s future husband. My son-in-law to be. He and his men whacked the rat mother fuckers who threatened the family.” With my jaw clenched, and my face without expression, I, too, glanced at each of the men. “For the old-school regime, one hundred percent Italian blood to join the family. The times. They have changed. We’ve voted. You’ve proven your commitment to the family. You’ve earned your bones.” He looked me in the eyes. “In a few months, you’ll marry my daughter, and be part of my family. Tonight? Tonight, you become part of the family.” I wasn’t one hundred percent sure, but I had a pretty good idea of what he was talking about. Identifying the federal agent, taking him out and then killing the man who was going to kill Sal must have sealed my

fate with the mob. But I wasn’t sure what Agrioli wanted was what I wanted. He pressed his hands to my shoulders and looked me in the eyes. “This family? This family is a lifelong commitment. We take care of our own. These men? They become your brothers. Your family. Each one of them—each member of this family—will sacrifice their life for yours.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “But no man in this family will ever seek protection from police. Any man who betrays this family? We seek violence against him and his family. “Any man who seeks justice of the law is a coward. A man wronged in this family lives by our creed: If I live, I will kill you. If I die, you are forgiven.” The lump that had risen in my throat tightened, making swallowing all but impossible. Everything about what was happening reminded me of my swearing in and taking the oath in the Marine Corps. I fought against my tightening throat, swallowed and made my decision. “I’ll never betray the family,” I said. He reached to his side and removed a knife from atop his desk. “You will take the vow of Omerta. Our code of silence.” I nodded. “Give me your right hand.” I held out my hand. He gripped my wrist firmly and led me to the edge of his desk. “Repeat what I say. The words. They come from the heart.” I nodded. “One. I will never betray another member of the family,” he said. “Nor will I ever divulge any secrets of the family even if threatened by torture or death. “Two. I will obey the boss completely and follow his orders no matter what. “Three. I will provide any assistance necessary to any other respected or befriended families of the family. “Four. Any attacks on family members must be avenged. An attack on one is an attack on all. “Five. I will avoid any contact with the authorities.” After each phrase, I repeated the spoken words verbatim. He lifted my hand. Stone-faced, I stared back at him. I felt the knife cut through the flesh of my palm, and then the warm blood trickled down the tips of my fingers and onto the paper. He released my wrist and then lit the paper on fire. As it burned, he held it in one hand and reached for the marble dish with the other. “The burning skull is the men who betray us. Their flesh burns in hell.” He reached into the dish, removed what appeared to be a card and held it over the burning paper. After the card caught fire, he handed it to me and dropped the burning paper into the dish. “Repeat these words. ‘If I betray the family, I sacrifice my flesh to burn as the flesh of this saint burns.’” Holding the burning card in my bleeding hand, I repeated the words he spoke. “If I betray the family, I sacrifice my flesh to burn as the flesh of this saint burns.” Sal reached for the burning card. As he took it in his hand, I noticed it had the depiction of a saint printed on one side. I let him take it from my hand. And then Little Frank took the card. And then Gino. Gino then handed the card to Agrioli. Agrioli carefully placed it into the dish. In a moment, it turned to

ash. “You are now one of us,” he said. Still incapable of speaking, I nodded. He poured a glass of wine for each of us, then offered a bandage for my hand. I declined, deciding to wear the wound as a badge of honor. After we finished the wine, he hugged me, holding me in his arms for longer than usual. “You make me proud, Michael.” I wanted to say something in return, but was still overcome with emotion. I simply nodded my acknowledgment of his kind words. He released me, and then waved his hand toward the other men. “We drink the wine to celebrate you being accepted into the family. Now? Now it is time to celebrate your commitment to become a member of my family.” I fought against the lump still looming in my throat, swallowed heavily and nodded. Sal opened the door. Then I walked alongside the members of the family out into the courtyard, and joined the members of my family to be. And I was filled with a sense of belonging I had never known.

Chapter Sixteen Terra Michael walked across the patio with a certain grace that other men simply didn’t—or couldn’t—possess. The swagger that he expressed on a day-to-day basis was gone, and what remained was a confident man with an elegant walk and a beautiful smile. I beamed with pride as he approached Michelle and me. “Enjoying yourself?” I asked. He kissed me lightly on the lips. “I am.” I reached for his hand, and when I did, he pulled away. I looked at him, and then at his hand. “What’s wrong?” “I cut it.” “On what?” I asked. “Let me see.” He shook his head. “It’s nothing. Really.” “Let me see.” He turned his palm upward and opened his hand. “See, it’s nothing.” “It’s terrible. It needs stitches. What happened?” “It’s fine.” He looked at Michelle. “How are you doing this evening? You’ve been kind of sparse.” As with all women, my curiosity gnawed away at me. Being married to Michael was going to be no different than my mother being married to my father. I heeded her advice and realized if Michael wanted me to know, he would have told me. His decision not to give me an answer was his way of protecting me from something. “I’m good,” Michelle said. “It’s a great party.” It was a great party. It was exactly what I had hoped for. Everyone was having a good time, enjoying delicious food, alcohol without limits, and the company of family and friends they hadn’t seen in years. “Where’s Cap?” Michael asked. “They went to get food.” She pointed toward the house. “Actually, they’re coming this way. Excuse me, I’ve got to go to the bathroom.” Just as Jimmy, my father and Cap walked up, the music changed to a slow dance song. “Papa. Dance with me.” “I’d love to.” We walked to the dance floor, a temporary surface they had assembled on the edge of the yard’s upper deck. While the soft music filled the air, my father held me in his arms. We swayed back and forth in tempo to the song’s melody. “I’m so proud of you,” he whispered. “Thank you, Papa.” “Michael will be a good provider for your family. For your children.” “He will.” I leaned away and looked him in the eyes. “You’ll be a grandfather someday.” “When the day comes—” he pulled me into him “—I’ll be a happy man.” I closed my eyes and got lost in the moment. All my dreams were slowly becoming a reality, and the biggest of all was right around the corner. Having my family’s blessing on my relationship with Michael

was overwhelming. I loved Michael so much that although I would have gone through with it somehow without their support, having it allowed me to share my love for him with them. My joy turned into their joy. Seeing it was one of my life’s greatest rewards to date. The sound of people screaming startled me. My eyes shot open. Oh my God. No. My father released me and turned toward the crowd. Men—dressed the way Michael was dressed on the night he went to save Peter—rushed through the yard. People were screaming and running in all directions. The men—armed with machine guns—kept coming, and coming, and coming. There were dozens of them, shouting out commands and making their way toward the dance floor. My eyes darted around, looking for Michael. “Papa...” “Essere ancora, mi acara.” Be still, my dear. As I stood at my father’s side and searched the horizon for Michael, three men, all dressed in militarytype gear, rushed to where we stood. One of them had his machine gun pointed directly at my father’s chest. My father glared at him. “Anthony Agrioli, I’m Special Agent Whistler with the ATF. Are you armed?” My father spat on the ground beside him. “Fucking pig. You come to my house at this time of celebration?” “Get down on your knees and interlock your fingers behind your head,” the man demanded. One of the other men raised his rifle and pointed it at my father. The third man lowered his rifle and reached for my shoulder. A voice at my left side sent chills down my spine. “Touch her, and I’ll break your fucking arm.” I glanced left. Michael! Still dressed in his slacks, his jacket was off and his shirt was untucked. He held out his hand. “Come here, Terra.” “Ma’am, don’t move,” the second man said. “Are you armed?” “Don’t answer him, Terra. Just come here. He can’t do anything to you.” Slowly, I walked to Michael’s side, and then turned around. The man tilted his head to the side and glared at Michael. “Who are you?” “Arrest me, and you can find out.” The first man took a step forward, all but pressing the barrel of his gun into my father’s chest. “On the ground, Mr. Agrioli!” “Anthony!” Michael shouted. My father’s eyes shot toward him. “Ask if you’re being placed under arrest.” My father’s eyes went to the man in front of him. “Am I being placed under arrest?” “Yes, you are,” he responded. “Tell him you want an attorney present during questioning.” My father cleared his throat, and then lowered himself to one knee. “I want an attorney. And I refuse to answer any of your questions.”

My eyes welled with tears. My dreams were being crushed right in front of my face. “Papa...” He looked at me. His eyes were filled with sorrow. “Mi dispiace. Pagheranno per quello che hanno fatto.” I’m sorry. But they will pay for what they have done. My father placed his hands behind his head and shifted his eyes toward the man with the gun. “Did you hear me, pig?” The man lowered his rifle, reached for his handcuffs and sighed. “I heard you.” “I’ll have an attorney waiting for you at the courthouse,” Michael said. As the other two men patted down my handcuffed father, the first man looked Michael up and down. “Who are you?” “It’s not that easy, asshole. You want to know my name? You better get another set of handcuffs.” Michael glanced at the other two men and chuckled. “And a whole lot more help.” They lifted my father to his feet. Seeing him in handcuffs was crushing me. Michael put his arm around my shoulder and turned away. “Come on, Terra.” “But...” “Listen,” he said. “Let me handle this. Everything will be fine.” I wanted to believe him, but the knot in my stomach and my aching heart told me differently.

Chapter Seventeen Michael Terra and I sat in the kitchen drinking coffee and sharing awkward glances. Thoughts of Agrioli’s arrest consumed me, leaving me incapable of much more than worrying. Held in jail without bond and labeled a “flight risk,” his hearing date was a month away. His charges? Ordering the murder of Wallace Redman, aka Jackie Four Eyes. I knew enough about law to know if they were going to charge him with ordering the murder, they’d have to prove the victim was, in fact, murdered. Doing so would be a difficult task at best, as we had dismembered Mr. Four Eyes in Meatball Pete’s butcher shop. His flesh and bones were then fed to Pete’s hogs, leaving only the teeth as incriminating evidence. And I knew the ATF didn’t have the teeth. Because I did. “You’re not going to work?” “No. I’m trying to decide if there’s something I can do.” “It keeps playing over and over in my head,” she said. “This is going to sound ridiculous, but it’s like a bad dream—only I’m awake.” “It doesn’t sound ridiculous. I feel the same way.” “Do you keep thinking about it?” “I do.” Her father being arrested for a crime that I committed was eating away at me like a cancer. I looked up. She was genuinely concerned, and with good reason. It pained me to see her that way. “Does the attorney know what he’s doing?” she asked. “He does.” “Are you sure?” I wasn’t sure. I had no reason to doubt his abilities, but I did. “I’m sure he’s doing all he can.” “Is that going to be enough?” “I hope so.” “You hope so?” “It’s all I’ve got. Hope.” “I want to know. He’s my father. He’s going to be your father, too.” She was right. I wished I was less reliant on the attorney, but there was little I could do on my own. “I know, but my hands are tied, baby. I wish there was—” “Do you trust him?” “Who?” “The attorney, Michael. Are you even paying attention?” For me to trust an attorney, I would have to find one that was willing to fight no differently than if it was his life that was on the line. And I wasn’t sure that one of those men existed.

“I don’t know.” “You don’t know what?” “I don’t know if I trust him.” “Seriously?” “I don’t trust attorneys.” “Should I be worried?” The answer was yes, but I couldn’t admit it. Not to her. If Cap was right and deceit was no different than a lie, there were times when lies were a necessary evil. This was one of those times. Protecting Terra from further harm would require shielding her from the truth. “No.” “Are you sure?” “Yes.” “I don’t even know who Wallace Redman is, do you?” I didn’t know who he was. I only knew what we did with him. “No,” I responded, and I didn’t feel guilty for doing so. The worry that was painted on her face slowly faded away. “I know you probably don’t want to hear this,” she said, “but now do you know why I did what I did?” I took a drink of my coffee, and upon doing so, realized it was tepid. The morning was escaping me, but I didn’t seem to care. I tried to understand what she was asking me, but couldn’t make it make sense in my head. “What do you mean?” “This thing with my dad. It’s all over the news. People are going to wonder, Michael. They’ll talk. They’ll decide for themselves, no matter what the court says. Being the daughter of someone that the public despises isn’t easy.” She had a valid point. I, no differently than the people she spoke of, had developed my own preconceived notions about her father, but I didn’t dare tell her. “I understand.” I stood, stared down at my coffee cup and then looked at her. “My coffee’s cold.” She got up from her chair. “So’s mine.” I rinsed my cup and turned around. She draped her arms over my shoulders, and in response, I reached around her waist and pulled her toward me. Intimacy, however, was absent, and I wondered if she could sense it. Until her father’s case was resolved, it was possible she felt the same way about me. She rested her head on my shoulder. I stared at the floor behind her and wanted it all to be over. “I’m going to go see the attorney.” “Can I—” I pulled away and looked at her. I didn’t respond, but I didn’t have to. She could see it in my eyes. “It’s probably best that you go alone, isn’t it?” “Probably so.” “As soon as you’re done can we go visit him?” I nodded. “Sure.” She smiled, but it did little to hide her concern. “I love you,” she said. “I love you, too.” * * * His perfectly sculpted salt-and-pepper hair combined with the unnatural orange glow of his skin made

him look like an actor, not an attorney. I had given him the benefit of the doubt. He crossed his legs, leaned back in his chair and offered me a nod. A smug nod. And then he smiled. “I spoke to the US Attorney about a plea bargain—” I jumped from my seat. “A fucking plea bargain?” I realized I shouted fuck but didn’t regret it. “You think a plea bargain is the answer?” “Sit down, Mr. Tripp.” He wagged his finger toward my chair. “I realize it’s an emotional time for everyone, but negotiating a plea bargain with the US Attorney on a capital murder charge isn’t easy.” He uncrossed his legs, leaned forward and grinned a shallow grin. “But I’ve got a long history with him, so —” “You’re buddies with the prosecutor?” He shook his head. “Buddies? A working relationship is more like—” “No plea bargains.” A plea bargain would require an admission of guilt on Agrioli’s part, and in exchange, he’d receive a lesser sentence than the maximum allowed by law. Life in prison instead of the death penalty was my guess. I couldn’t let him plead guilty to a crime he didn’t commit. A crime I committed. “Hear me out.” “No plea bargains.” “I understand your concerns, but that isn’t a call for you to make. It’s—” I pounded my hand against the desk. He jumped as if I’d taken a shot at him. “Listen to me. Carefully. I paid the retainer. I’m paying for his defense. So, you’re working for me. There’ll be no plea bargains.” “With all due respect, sir. You may be paying me, but I’m working for my client. And it’s my duty to present him with the options. This is an option. The decision is up to him, not you.” I glared at him. This couldn’t be happening. “You can’t ask him if he’s guilty, can you?” “I can’t discuss the intricacies of the case with you. I’m only able—” He wasn’t listening. His feeble mind wouldn’t allow him to. I leaned over the desk and cleared my throat. “You’re not listening. Listen. Can you, as an attorney, ask a client if he or she is guilty of the crime they are accused of committing?” “I assume all of my clients are innocent, and develop a defense based on the facts of the case. If a client admits guilt in my presence, I cannot defend them.” “So, you’re left to wonder if they’re innocent or guilty?” “I didn’t say that. I assume all of my clients are innocent, and develop a defense based on the facts of the—” I raised my hand. “Stop. I heard you the first time. Whether you’re going to admit it or not, if they’re accused—and you’re defending them—you’re left to wonder if they’re guilty. You already said if they admit guilt you can’t defend them, so you don’t know. You can’t.” “I assume—” “I paid you to defend him. You’re a defense attorney, it’s your job to defend him. Defend him as if he’s innocent. I want you to do your goddamned job. The feds? They don’t have a body, they don’t have skeletal remains, they don’t have a murder weapon, so they can’t prove murder. All they’ve got is a glimmer of hope that he hires some half-assed attorney that doesn’t have the aptitude—no, the desire—to fight them.” “I beg your pardon—”

I stood up straight. “You’re fired.” “Excuse me? It isn’t that easy, Mr. Tripp. I’ve been this family’s attorney for—” “I don’t give a fuck. You’re fired.” “You’ve retained me, paid in advance for the anticipated defense and—” “You’re fired.” “You can’t fire me. Twenty years. That’s how long I’ve been his attorney.” Incapable of grasping what was happening, he shook his head. “To remove me from the case, a motion would have to be filed, and then—” “I’ll leave that up to the new attorney to figure out.” “Mr. Tripp—” I fixed my eyes on his. “You’re. Fired.” I wanted someone who got the same satisfaction out of fighting for their client’s freedom that I got out of fighting for my country’s freedom. I knew exactly who I needed, but hiring him would first require someone to swallow a tremendous amount of pride. And I wasn’t convinced that could—or would—happen.

Chapter Eighteen Terra The tables were fixed to the floor, as were the chairs. Scattered about in an offset pattern, their placement made the area seem open and spacious, yet I felt confined. My eyes searched the room nervously. Various inmates were quietly talking to their spouses, friends, sons and daughters. Everyone shared the same melancholy look. It may have been the absence of hope. The not knowing. It was eerie. And I felt sick. “I don’t like it here,” I whispered. “Believe me.” Michael looked around. “I don’t either.” I was shaking, but I tried not to show it. I buried my hands in my lap. “Does our time start when we get here, or when he gets here?” “When he does. At least that’s my guess.” The door opened, and my father stepped through it. He was wearing the same orange jumpsuit as the other prisoners, but seeing him in it made my stomach convulse. I don’t know what I expected, but this wasn’t it. The two guards who had accompanied him removed the handcuffs and the leg chains. Our eyes met, and he smiled. Somehow, I managed to do the same. He looked like he hadn’t shaved in days, and I couldn’t remember the last time I had seen him with any whiskers on his face. His hygiene was something he’d always been adamant about. “I’m going to be sick,” I whispered. Michael’s hand pressed against my bouncing knee. “Don’t show it. Just keep smiling.” He shuffled to the table as if the chains were still on his legs. When he got to his chair, he glanced over each shoulder, scoffed at the guards and then sat down. He looked at me. “What are you doing here?” “I wanted to see you.” “You should have stayed home.” “Michael was coming, and I wanted to come, too.” He shot me a look. “This is no place for a lady.” He was right. I wasn’t built for it. I was weak and not afraid to admit it. I didn’t want to know that such places even existed, and now that I knew, I didn’t like it. “We’ve only got thirty minutes.” I reached for his hand. “We shouldn’t argue.” “Ma’am,” a guard shouted. “Ma’am!” I looked toward the voice. A bulky man in a tight uniform shot me a glare. “No contact!” It took every bit of pride and strength I possessed not to cry. I pulled away and lowered my hands to my lap. Michael cleared his throat. “I fired your attorney.” “He’d been with the family for twenty years. He’s a good man. A good attorney.” “He may have been a good attorney for some things, but not for this case,” Michael said. “He wanted to

negotiate a plea bargain, and I couldn’t allow it.” He shrugged. “Accetterò la mia punizione come un uomo.” I couldn’t believe my ears. “Papa!” Michael looked at me. “He said he’d take his punishment like a man,” I said. Michael leaned forward. “You’re innocent, and I’m going to spend whatever it costs to defend your case against these pricks.” “No negotiation. Whatever happens, I’ll accept it like a man.” “Papa!” “The punishment?” He looked at me, and then at Michael. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t negotiate with pigs.” “That’s exactly what a plea bargain is. It’s an agreement,” Michael said. “A favor from the police for your cooperation and plea of guilt.” My father looked confused. “Cooperation?” Michael nodded. “Exactly.” He pulled away from the table and crossed his arms. His face flushed red. Anger seemed to ooze from his every pore. “Tell Frank Gazzone he’ll never see another cent of my fuckin’ money.” “I pretty much already did,” Michael said dryly. “I’ll have a new attorney soon. I’m looking into a guy right now.” The tension in his arms relaxed, but his eyes remained thin and focused. “Is he good?” “They’ll be fucked if I can get him hired,” Michael said. “He won’t put up with an ounce of their bullshit.” “I’ll pay whatever he needs.” I didn’t have the heart to tell him that his accounts had been frozen since the arrest. All my mother had was what little I had in my account. They’d even taken the money in the safe. “I’ll get it taken care of.” “No cooperation,” my father said. “This guy won’t cooperate.” “But you have to let your attorney defend you,” I said. “You’re innocent.” He shrugged. “You’re innocent, right?” Another shrug. The Italian version of who gives a fuck. The code of silence that he denied even existed was engrained into his very being. No differently than any other Italian man, my father was prideful. That pride, when combined with being the godfather of the family, made him impossible to reason with. “You have to give me away at my wedding.” “If it’s God’s will.” The thought of him missing my wedding was incomprehensible. My stomach rose into my throat. I closed my eyes. I wanted Michael to fix everything. To make it all go away. “Five minutes!” I opened my eyes. The guard with the tight shirt was standing beside me. “We haven’t been here for thirty minutes, it’s only been—” He tapped his finger against his watch. “Five minutes.” As he walked away, my father stood. “Get some sleep. You look tired.” I fought not to cry. “I will.”

He gave Michael a long look. His eyes were absent of emotion, as if they were searching for an answer. After a moment, Michael returned a sharp nod. When he walked away, his shuffle was gone, and his stride reflected the same pride he had always possessed. I wasn’t surprised that he didn’t say goodbye, he was an oddly superstitious man. I suspected doing so, at least in his mind, was wrong. I turned to face Michael. “You can fix this, right?” He gave me a half-hearted smile and reached for my hand. You can fix this, right?

Chapter Nineteen Michael I pulled Cap’s refrigerator door open. “I’m not telling you, I’m asking you. There’s a difference.” “You can do whatever you want. You don’t need my blessing to hire him.” I may not have needed his blessing, but it was what I was after. There was no doubt I could hire Cap’s father to take the case, but doing so would cause some serious problems between us, and I wasn’t willing to sacrifice our friendship for the cause. I grabbed two bottles of beer. “Beer?” “Offerin’ me a bottle of my own beer?” I handed him one of them. “I’m trying to get you to settle down.” “I ain’t mad,” he said. “Just shocked.” “Look, I don’t have any other options. None that are good ones, anyway.” Cap’s father was a well-respected attorney. From some of the stories I’d heard, feared would be a more accurate description. There was one problem, however, and it was significant. He hadn’t spoken to his father since he got out of the military, and it had been his plan to never speak to him again. “You tellin’ me you can’t find a fuckin’ attorney in this city?” “I fired the attorney,” I said. “I told you that already.” He took a drink of beer. And then another. “And at what point did this become my problem?” “It’s not your problem. It’s mine, kind of. And the last time I checked, you and I were friends. And when friends are in need, they lean on friends for help.” “So, you’re leanin’ on me?” “Goddamn it, Cap. I’m asking you if you’ll talk to him.” “Don’t think I can do that, Tripp.” “If you can’t, you can’t.” He took another drink of beer. “So, where’s that leave us?” “Leaves me looking for an attorney that’s not going to recommend a plea bargain.” “Plea bargain?” I sat down at the kitchen table and hoped Cap would do the same. “That’s why I fired him.” “Other’n a goddamned idiot, who’d plead guilty to that charge? Fuck, they ain’t even got a body. You and I both know that.” “And that’s why I need another attorney.” “So, you gonna call my pop?” “Nope.” He sat down. “Why not?” Cap was more than a friend; for a decade, he had been the only family I’d ever known. “I value our friendship more than that.” “What the fuck does that mean?” “It means I’m not willing to sacrifice our friendship for any reason. We’ve been to hell and back together, Cap. You’re like a brother to me.”

He glared at me for a few seconds, stood and turned toward the refrigerator. “Goddamn you.” “What?” “You tryin’ to make me feel guilty?” “No.” “Well, I am.” “Why’s that?” “You know why.” “Grab me one,” I said. “This one’s about gone.” He sat down and pushed a beer to my side of the table. “Ain’t talked to him in almost two years.” “I thought we were done talking about that?” “Fuck you. You started making me feel guilty. You knew what you were doing.” “Wasn’t my plan.” He glared at me for a moment, and then took a drink. “Cocksucker.” “Him or me?” “Both of ya.” I chuckled. “What now?” “I can’t let Agrioli take the rap for this deal. Can’t let you take it either.” “Me?” “I can see you takin’ them teeth right to the feds if you had to. ‘Hey, my name’s Tripp, and this jar of teeth is all the evidence you need to know that Agrioli didn’t do it.’” “I wouldn’t do that.” “I ain’t convinced,” he said. I wondered just what I would do to save Agrioli from imprisonment. He was my future father-in-law, but he was also the godfather of the family. Losing him would cause everything to crumble at my feet. If Agrioli remained in prison, someone would have to take over, and my guess was that person would be Sal. Things would undoubtedly change, but how? I grew increasingly uncomfortable trying to decide. The answer was clear. I would go to any length to save him. For a lifetime, I’d yearned for a family. Freeing Agrioli from incarceration would secure my position in the family. I picked at the label on my bottle of beer and waited for Cap to continue. He didn’t say anything, and I didn’t either. The few times in his life that he’d gone silent, one thing was certain. He was thinking. After some time, I looked up. “So, what now?” “Decided somethin’.” “You going to enlighten me?” “Suppose I’m gonna have to,” he said. “Love’s a powerful thing.” “That’s what you decided?” “Yep.” I laughed. “That’s it?” He shook his head. “If you’d quit interruptin’ me, I’d tell ya.” “I’m listening.” “Your love for Terra brought you together with a man you’ve always hated. Granted you kinda patched things up with him beforehand, but now that he’s gonna be your father-in-law, you look at him differently. It’s love. You love the thought of havin’ a family. And that love’s got you tryin’ to protect both of ’em from

harm.” He stood, took a few steps and then turned to face me. “And my love for you has me calling a man I thought I’d never talk to again.” It was as touching a speech as Cap was capable of giving. “Cap, you don’t have to—” “I know I don’t. But I’m gonna. For you. And for Terra. For Agrioli, too, I suppose. And maybe a little for me.” “Thank you.” “Michelle’s gonna be here in a minute. We’re gonna watch that show about them maids, and when we’re done I’m gonna throw her some cock. After that I’ll call my pop.” “Maids?” “Devious Maids. It’s as addictive as Oreos.” “It goes without saying that the sooner the better on this deal.” “Understood,” he said with a laugh. “But when it comes to me fuckin’, there ain’t nothin’ quick about it. I’ll be a while.” “Call me when you know something?” “You got it, boss.” Cap was a great friend, and having his father as Agrioli’s legal representative would all but assure his release, or so I thought. Then I had a few things left to do to cover my tracks. I needed to destroy the murder weapon and dispose of the teeth, or soon I’d be looking for an attorney.

Chapter Twenty Terra I was in love with a kind, caring and passionate man. We were engaged to be married. I should have been shopping for a dress, looking at flower arrangements or deciding how to configure the invitations, but I wasn’t. Instead, I was miserable. Memories of my father being taken away by men armed with machine guns consumed me, and I was incapable of focusing on anything else. I walked into the living room, sat down at the end of the couch and took a sip of my third cup of coffee. Michelle paced the floor for a moment, and then stopped. She wagged her finger as if scolding me. “You’ve lived in denial for your entire life.” She may have been right, but it wasn’t what I had in mind when I asked her to come over and talk. “You’re not helping,” I said. “Just trying to be honest. You knew this was going to happen someday. Bosses don’t stay bosses forever. That’s why they have underbosses.” The point she’d made hit me like a freight train. She was right. My father’s organization may have been prepared for his departure, but I wasn’t. “He didn’t do it.” She cocked an eyebrow. “Okaaaay.” I locked eyes with her. “He didn’t.” “Maybe he didn’t,” she said. “But he’s done something. I’m not saying he deserves to be locked up for this, but sooner or later it catches up with those guys.” I shot her a look. “Those guys?” She nodded eagerly. “Criminals.” Her having labeled my father shocked me, but hearing it was eye-opening. Although I had no proof of his involvement in criminal activities, I had my suspicions. Somehow, I’d spent a lifetime allowing him to err on the side of innocence. I wrinkled my nose at her nonetheless. “My father’s a criminal now?” “Your father’s been a criminal for his entire life. Well, maybe not his entire life, but yours for sure. That’s my point. Your head’s been buried in the sand. Look around you, it’s fuckin’ everywhere.” She was right, but I couldn’t ackknwledge it. Not with her, and not in life. If I acknowledged it, I would have to accept it. If I accepted it, I would become part of it. And that was impossible for me to fathom. “I asked you to come over because I feel sick about this.” I sank a little further in the cushions, and my heart rose a little higher into my throat. “You’re being mean.” “I’m being real. I’m telling you to get used to it. They say we marry men who remind us of our mothers, but obviously, we don’t.” I shot her a glare. “What does that mean?” “Michael,” she said. “He’s just like your father.” “Excuse me?” I snapped back. The comparison made me cringe. “Michael deals guns legally. You might not like what he does, but it’s legal.” I straightened my posture and glared at her. “Cap works for

him, so you’re one to talk.” “You said your dad already knew Michael. How?” I hadn’t given it much thought, but after being riddled with reminders of my father’s ill-doings, not knowing what my father and Michael were involved in began to taste bitter. “I don’t know. What does it matter?” I didn’t sound very convincing. She cocked a hip. “Again, denial.” I offered an unconvincing shrug. “What am I denying?” She looked down her nose at me. “Everything. That’s my point.” “What about your dad?” I snapped back. “Huh?” She cocked her head to the side. “One of these days, I’m sure they’ll come arrest him. Don’t think that it doesn’t bother me. It does.” “So just like that, you’re okay with it?” She shrugged but didn’t respond. “‘One of these days I’m sure they’ll come arrest him,’” I said mockingly. “You sound pretty sure of yourself.” She spit out a laugh, and then sat down. “Bonanno. Colombo. Gambino. Genovese. Lucchese.” She looked at me. “Any of those families have bosses who retired from being a boss?” “How would I know?” She turned to face me. “Again, that’s my point. You don’t know. And you don’t know because you want to deny what’s going on. You grew up in a five-million-dollar mansion. We went to a private school. You drive a car that’s worth more than most people’s homes, and you don’t have a job. Neither does your father. The police make forty grand a year, and when they see people like your dad, they get mad. And then they get even.” “But they can’t charge him for something he didn’t do,” I said unconvincingly. She wagged her finger in my direction. “They can, and they did.” I huffed out a sigh. “Sometimes I hate you.” She chuckled. “You hate me when I tell you what you don’t want to hear. Just like with Vinnie. I told you he was a sick fuck, and you got mad at me and then disappeared. I didn’t see you for three months— until he started beating on you and you wanted someone to talk to. But I was right, huh?” It was a turning point for me. The point in my life that I realized loving someone didn’t require that I accept their abusive behavior. The thought of loving my father and not accepting his illicit acts—by denying them—began to make perfect sense. I wondered how I’d live with knowing exactly what Michael and my father were doing. I slumped in my seat. “Yeah, I suppose so.” “And you didn’t want to listen.” “This is different.” “I’m not being judgmental,” she said. “Really. Look at me. I’m with Cap. I’m no better off than you, that’s for sure.” I looked at her, surprised that she’d made such a claim. “What does that mean?” “It means I’m not going to deny what it is that he does. Or that one day, he might not come home.” The thought of Michael not coming home was incomprehensible. My mind began to reel at the thought of accepting the truth about everything. I swallowed hard. “Why would you say that?” “He works with Michael. Michael’s a firearms broker, and—”

“What Cap and Michael do is legitimate,” I snapped back. “Keep telling yourself that.” She let out a light laugh. “Michael found a loophole in the law. What he does is far from legitimate.” The safe little world I had chosen to reside in had a foundation secured by my own denial. Now that I was slowly coming to accept the truth, the walls were crashing in around me. “Why are you attacking him?” I asked, although I knew the answer. “And my father?” I shot her a shitty glare in hope that she’d stop. I’d had enough. I’d reached the breaking point. “Can you just give me some support?” “I’m giving you a dose of reality,” she said. “You just don’t want to hear it.” “It’s bullshit, and I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” “It’s not. Cap works with Michael, and Michael works with your father. And your father is the godfather of the mob, who, coincidentally, has been charged with ordering the hit on a federal agent. Like it or not, those are all facts.” I didn’t like it. At all. She had wadded up her words and shoved them down my throat. I was choking on them, and I didn’t like it. My eyes began to itch. Then they welled with tears. My marriage to Michael was on hold and my father was in jail. According to my best friend, from here it wasn’t going to get any easier. I was on the verge of a meltdown and I had no idea of how to stop it. I lowered my head. I was on a burning plane, plummeting toward the earth. It wasn’t a matter of if or when; life, as I knew it, was going to end. The only unknown was where the crash site was going to be.

Chapter Twenty-One Michael I’d never met Cap’s father; I’d only heard stories about him. While we were at war, the stories he told were of a warrior of a man who had a take-no-prisoners approach in his practice of law. From the presentation of the case to his courtroom antics, he was well-known. Those who knew him either feared him or respected him. Sitting in his office, I couldn’t deny that he was an intimidating figure. “Overzealous ATF agents crashing an engagement party? I’m already interested.” He tossed his pen on the desk and relaxed in his seat. “But I’ll need you to tell me everything you know, and I mean everything.” He reminded me of Cap. Considering the size of his massive chest and bulging biceps, my guess was that the suit he was wearing was custom-made. His voice was deep and commanding—the type that strongly suggested a person listen when he spoke. “I don’t know where to start.” “What you say here stays here. Understand that. And the more I know, the greater his chances are of beating the charges against him.” It was contrary to what the other attorney had told me, but then again, he’d been fired for being incompetent. “I’ve got a question,” I said. “Ask it.” “If your client says he’s guilty, can you defend him?” “It’s wordplay. If my client says ‘I killed that son of a bitch, he was fucking my wife,’ I can still defend him, I simply can’t tell the judge or jury he didn’t do it. I prepare my case to argue against the evidence the prosecution team presents, and nothing more. It isn’t so much whether my client is guilty, it’s a matter of if they can prove it or not.” It made sense. I took a deep breath, let the air escape from my lungs and began. “My business consists of buying large quantities of firearms and selling them as used, which requires no background checks or paperwork.” He nodded as if he could care less. “Through the course of my work, I was approached by a man who was purported to be the godfather of the mafia. He wanted to start a business relationship with me, and I refused.” He chuckled. “He was pressing you for tax.” “Agreed. At any rate, I refused. He came to me later with an issue he needed resolved. His son had been abducted, and his captors were threatening to kill him if a large ransom wasn’t paid. I agreed to attempt to rescue him for a cash lump sum payment.” “How much?” “Does it matter?” “It does to me.” “Half a million.” He nodded. “Continue.”

“We saved the son—” “We?” “My employees and me.” “Interesting,” he said. “Continue.” “We saved the son and returned him to the family. Upon doing so, let’s just say I was met with open arms.” “So you and the purported mob boss are on speaking terms.” “Well,” I said, “I’m marrying his daughter.” He coughed out a laugh. “Excuse me?” “I was seeing his daughter at the time. He didn’t know I was seeing her, and I didn’t know he was her father.” He looked at me as if my head was on fire. In some respects, I felt like it was. “It’s been nothing short of a disaster. An on-again, off-again relationship that’s been filled with lies and deception. I think we’ve go the kinks worked out now, though. It’s a tough business to be in for both of us. She being the daughter of the mob boss and me being a firearms trafficker? It’s not easy.” He shook his head lightly. “Jesus. What a disastrous mess. Continue, please.” “Believe me, I know,” I said with a laugh. “Okay, saved the son, father’s appreciative, so, based on our success regarding the son, he offered a security detail to me and my men—” “Back up,” he said. “You were seeing his daughter, and you weren’t aware that she was his daughter?” My fists clenched in response to the question. I relaxed, or at least attempted to. “That is correct.” “And, at the time, he wasn’t aware that you were seeing her?” “That is also correct.” “But he knows now?” I let out a sigh. “Also correct.” “And it’s your intention to marry her?” It was the first time I’d heard an outsider’s opinion of the situation I was in, and it stung. “On the surface, it seems like a disaster, I know. But it’s not. At least that’s what I’m telling myself. I love the woman, and we’re engaged to be married, yes.” He nodded slowly. “It was your engagement party.” I recalled the horror in Terra’s eyes as they handcuffed her father. It was one of the many reasons I was hiring a competent attorney in the first place. “It was.” “Continue.” “As a gesture of appreciation, or due to my ability, he then offered me a job to provide a security detail for some shipments. For each successful shipment, I’d received fifty grand. The first two went great. Number three, not so much. It was a cigarette buy, and I felt it was a setup, so I challenged the seller. One thing led to another, and he pulled a gun on me.” He leaned back in his oversize leather chair. “How’d it end?” “Poorly.” “Care to give details?” I wasn’t about to tell him that Cap shot the ATF agent. For the sake of Agrioli’s defense, however, I needed to tell him at least a version of the truth. “He was shot and killed.” He arched an eyebrow. “Anyone charged with the crime?” “No.”

He nodded, and then began scribbling on his notepad. Without looking up, he continued. “The body?” “They found his head. As fate would have it, he was an ATF agent, and they identified him through the federal DNA database.” He dropped his pen onto the pad and looked up. “His head?” I nodded. “In the bottom of the Missouri River.” “Oh.” His eyes went wide. “That head. That particular head made the national news, so I heard about it. Fisherman. Head wrapped in plastic. Teeth missing. Off duty. I’m with ya. Continue.” “Upon finding out he was an ATF agent, the person in the family who set up the deal was approached. In doing so, he pulled a gun and threatened a member of the family. In response, he was shot and killed.” He picked up the pen and alternated glances between his notepad and me. “Was the second deceased individual purported as being a made man?” I gazed blankly through his office window. The active city beneath me was a simple reminder that the world was going to keep spinning regardless of the outcome. I shifted my eyes toward him. “No,” I said, recalling what Sal had said. “An associate.” “Has his head been found?” I looked out the window. “No, and they won’t.” “Care to elaborate?” “Allegedly, he was fed to some hungry hogs.” “Hogs don’t digest teeth,” he said. “That could be a problem.” “His teeth are elsewhere.” I shot him a reassuring look. “It won’t be a problem.” He rocked back in his chair. “Continue.” “That’s pretty much it.” He glanced at his notes, and then looked at me. His pen dangled loosely from his fingertips. “As far as the deceased in your wake, that’s it? So far, at least?” “Currently, yes.” He nodded. “And one of these is the murder in question? As charged in the indictment?” “The second one, yes. He was also an ATF agent. I’m assuming, and it’s only an assumption, that he was working with the first guy, and, collectively, they were investigating the alleged mafia boss.” “But guy number two was consumed by a passel of even-toed ungulates, was he not?” he asked matterof-factly. I chuckled a light laugh. “He was.” “And you indicated his teeth were elsewhere.” “They are, yes.” “You’re certain?” I nodded. “Very.” He set his pen aside. “I see you brought a notepad. Are you an avid note taker?” “I am, yes.” “Take notes if you must, but be careful of what you write down. Everything they find can be used as evidence. In a case like this, referring to memory is best.” I tossed the notepad on the floor beside my chair. “Point taken.” “My best advice. This is off the record, of course.” “Understood.” “Secure deceased agent number one’s teeth. Then, secure deceased agent number two’s teeth. Secure the weapons used in the crimes. Then, somehow, get the aforementioned evidence to me.” “I’m not opposed to any of that, but out of curiosity, what makes this place more secure than any other?”

“If they’re disposed of, they can—and will—be found. At some point, they’ll be unearthed, dredged up, coughed up, something. Believe me. If they’re kept by a person close to the family, someone at some point in time will say something, and a search warrant will be issued, at which time they’ll be found. Whoever is in their possession will be charged—and convicted—of the crime.” “The family is pretty tight-lipped. I doubt anyone will say anything—” He returned a stern look and wagged his finger back and forth. “I believe there’s an informant in the family right now.” His statement was without merit. “Why do you say that?” I asked. “Guy number two was an associate. An associate is the friend of a made man, and said made man must vouch for his credibility and his honor. Someone vouched for guy number two, and my guess is in line with yours. Guy number two introduced guy number one to the family in the cigarette buy. But guy number two didn’t simply appear. He was brought in by a made man. You might want to give that some thought.” If he was right, Vinnie the Fifth had some explaining to do. “I’ll look into that.” “They’ve got the remains of agent number one, but not agent number two,” he said. “Through the course of your employ, did you have an opportunity to peruse crime scene number two?” “I did.” “Messy?” “Not at all.” “Our definitions of messy probably differ. Care to elaborate?” “Sure,” I said. “He was sitting at a table. He was shot in the eye with a .45 caliber, and he just slumped forward. What little blood he lost was confined to the surface of the table, which was removed from the residence.” “Skull fragments, brain matter—” “The bullet entered his skull from an angle. It didn’t exit.” He grinned. “So the crime scene was clean?” “Spotless.” He rubbed his hands together. “That makes it a tough—if not impossible—case to prove.” “I was pretty sure if they didn’t have a body, they’d have a hell of a time proving murder.” “Believe it or not, they don’t need a body. A puddle of blood is enough,” he said. “Evidence that alludes to the alleged victim not being able to escape the crime scene without dying is sufficient. The jury merely needs to believe that survival was improbable. Or, if prosecution produces a witness who says the victim walked in with four tough guys, and they walked out, but he didn’t? Anything that supports death as being the most probable of outcomes. Combine that with motive or a murder weapon, and that’s all they need.” I was surprised, to say the least. “Shit. I had no idea.” “I’ll find out if they’ve got a witness. But with no puddle of blood, no skull fragments, no murder weapon and no other hard evidence that supports the fact that he’s dead, a jury would be left to assume he’s alive.” “So, you’ll take the case?” “I will.” “Odds?” “Of what?” he asked. “Acquittal.” “Acquittal is a judgment of not guilty for the accused crime. It’s my belief, if the information you’ve given is whole and accurate, that the charges against him will be dropped.”

“Dropped?” He stood from his seat, and then nodded. “Like a hot rock.” “If it goes to trial. Odds of conviction?” I asked. He let out a light laugh. “Get me the teeth and the weapons. If you can make that happen, I’ll have him out of there and make sure he’s not rearrested—for this crime, at least.” It sounded too good to be true, but based on his confidence, I couldn’t help but believe him. The thought of Terra finding out any—or all—of the facts of the case were weighing heavily on me. Having the charges dropped was an assurance that the things I feared would never come to fruition. “Now the tough part,” I said. “What’s the cost for your retainer?” “I’m guessing Cap didn’t volunteer to call me, did he?” “No, sir.” “You coerced him?” “I persuaded him, yes.” “That, combined with your service, is retainer enough.” “Pardon me?” “When I found out about Cap’s involvement in Haditha, to say I was disappointed would be an understatement. We had some choice words and, as I’m sure you’re aware, haven’t spoken since. After I had some time to digest what happened there, I decided I was wrong in my original beliefs. I tried to talk to Cap about it, but he wouldn’t forgive me. Now we’re speaking again. It’s going to take some time, but at least there’s hope.” Haditha wasn’t something I was willing to discuss. A now infamous marine battle that included the killing of many civilians—all of who were reportedly unarmed—was a sore subject with many, if not all, of the marines who were present during the massacre. “I hope you two can work it out.” I extended my hand. He shook my hand. “I’ll get with the US Attorney’s office post-haste, file a few motions and I’ll be in touch.” “Again, thank you.” During the drive home, for the first time in a week, I felt a glimmer of hope. And, for the time being, that was enough.

Chapter Twenty-Two Terra My day had gone from talking to Michelle to drowning my sorrows with wine. Still dressed in my pajamas, and midway through my second bottle, the sound of Michael unlocking the door caught my attention. He pushed it open and fumbled to remove the key. “Why haven’t you answered your phone?” Because I don’t want to talk. I glanced around the room in false interest. “I don’t know where it is.” “You’re not going to believe this.” The keys rattled together as he continued the fight to remove them. “You never come through the front door,” I said. “What are you doing?” “I parked in the drive,” he said over his shoulder. “I thought we could go eat in a minute.” “I’m not hungry.” I lifted the bottle to show him my evening’s accomplishments. “I’m on bottle number two.” Either overcome with excitement, or extremely nervous, he gave up his battle with the key and left it in the lock. With the door still partially open, he tossed his man-bag on the floor and walked to where I was sitting. He looked around the room. “Where’s Hank?” I tried to sit up, but didn’t totally succeed. “In his kennel, asleep. It’s late, Michael.” He looked me up and down. “What’s wrong?” I lifted the bottle of wine. “I can’t take it anymore.” “Maybe this will cheer you up.” He looked at me and grinned. “I’ve got some good news.” I motioned toward the door with my eyes. “You left the door open.” “I’ll get it in a minute. The key’s stuck. I’ve got good news.” “He’ll take the case.” My tone was flat and emotionless. I was quite certain nothing could fix the mess I was in. “Wahoo.” He sat down beside me, pulled the bottle from my grip and set it aside. “He’ll take the case, and he says he can get him out of jail.” More wishful thinking. I wasn’t convinced of anything. What little faith I once had all but dwindled to nothing. I looked at the bottle of wine, and then at Michael. “How can he say that?” “He’s got a lot of experience in high-profile cases.” “And this guy is some flake from nowhere’sville.” I wasn’t impressed, and I doubted Michael could say anything to change how I felt. “He’s from Wichita. It’s Kansas’s largest city.” “What makes you think he has any idea of what to do? We need someone from Chicago, or New York, or Los Angeles.” He placed his hands on my cheeks and looked right at me. “It’s Cap’s father.” My mouth fell open. “What?” “Cap’s father.” I pulled away. “Cap’s father is an attorney?” “A damned good one.”

It was enough to give me hope. “Is he tough? Like Cap?” “He is. I wish you could have been there. He’s convinced that he can get a hearing set up right away.” “And he thinks he can get him out?” “He’s pretty sure of it.” I sat up straight. “Holy crap.” The thought of having Cap’s father as an attorney was an exciting one. I imagined Michael or Cap being an attorney and grinned at the thought of it. Cap’s father would have a personality similar to Cap and Michael, I was sure. “Is he like you guys?” I asked, excitedly. “Is he mean?” His insta-smile did little to reveal his thoughts. “I think he’s pretty tough in the courtroom.” It seemed there were a lot of things about Michael and Cap that I didn’t know. Maybe they were innocent, but I wondered just how many innocent things there were about them that I was never going to find out. “I had no idea Cap’s father was an attorney,” I said, trying to hide my disappointment that it was a surprise. “This is awesome. It’s—it’s perfect.” “It’s pretty close.” “What does Cap think?” “Well...” He glanced at the floor, and then looked at me. “Cap and his father haven’t spoken in some time. Years, to be honest. He did us a favor and called him the other night to set up an appointment for me to talk to him.” “Oh my God. They haven’t talked in years? What happened?” “Just some personal things.” “But everything’s okay now?” “Not entirely, no. But they’re talking at least.” “I’ve been depressed all day.” I motioned toward the bottle of wine. “Michelle came over, and she had nothing good to say, so I started drinking. But now I feel like I used to when I was a little kid and Christmas morning finally came.” “I’m pretty excited, too.” “Excited doesn’t come close.” “Have you eaten yet?” he asked. I shook my head. “Not really. Did you?” He let out a laugh. “I haven’t really eaten a real meal since he was arrested.” “Me neither.” “Feel like eating?” “I think I’m too excited,” I said. “When will he know something?” “Sounds like maybe in a day or two.” He looked me over. “You don’t want to eat?” “Do I look bad?” “You’ll never look bad. You look...” He let out a sigh. “You look like you’re ready for this to end.” “I am.” “How about this.” He stood, and then leaned over and picked me up. “I’m exhausted. Let’s just lay in bed together. How’s that sound? We can talk about the wedding.” For the first time in what seemed to be forever, I went limp in his arms. I draped my arms around his neck, looked at him and smiled. “That sounds wonderful.” He carried me to the bedroom and, after getting undressed, joined me in bed. Side by side, we talked about everything, and about nothing. During that time, thoughts of my father escaped me. My only concerns

were those that we discussed. The wedding. Our future. Building our dream house on the island. And— One day creating a family of our own. * * * I woke to the sound of nothing. I rolled to my side, causing Michael to stir. “I don’t remember falling asleep,” I said. He looked at me and smiled. “Neither do I.” Michael hadn’t worked since my father was arrested, and although it was midweek, it appeared he wasn’t planning on working at least for another day. I loved having him at home, but fully realized one day he would have to go back to work. “Not working today?” I asked, my voice infused with hope. “No. I thought we could relax today. Maybe go to The Plaza and get something to eat, and just enjoy the day.” “I’d like that.” He kissed me and then rolled off the side of the bed. “I’ll get us some coffee.” He went to the bathroom, and then smiled as he walked past. While I brushed my teeth, I heard him shouting. “Son of a fucking bitch!” I rinsed and looked toward the bedroom door, but saw nothing. “What’s wrong?” He came in the bedroom like he was on a mission, went in the walk-in closet and came out holding a pistol. “Michael, what’s going on?” He shot me a stern look. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.” “What’s going on?” “Nothing. I’ll be right back. Stay here.” My heart raced. I feared federal agents had come to arrest him for something. Frantically, I wiped my mouth and dried my hands, then sat beside the bedroom door, hoping I could hear something. In a matter of seconds, he stormed into the room. I jumped up. “What’s going on?” “I left my keys in the door.” “Oh crap,” I gasped. “And it was open. Is anything gone?” “The house keys, my car keys and...” He shook his head. “Cocksuckers.” I stared at him. “What?” He looked at me, and then looked away. “Hank.” “Oh my God. Did they hurt Hank?” “He’s gone.” “They let him out of the kennel?” “He’s gone, and the kennel’s gone.” My heart sank. As if it wasn’t enough to deal with the loss of my father, adding our precious dog to the

list was just too much. I struggled to accept it as being the truth. “Why would someone—” “I don’t know,” he snapped. “We know he didn’t wander off, so there’s not much we can do to find him. And I’ve got a spare fob for the car, but I’ll have to change the locks on the doors. They’ve got the house keys.” “Who do you think it was?” “I have no idea. Could have been anyone.” “But you’ve looked around, and nothing was taken?” “They went through the car’s glove box, and it looks like they looked around pretty thoroughly, but nothing’s taken. Your purse still has your wallet, credit cards and cash in it. I put it in the kitchen.” “They left the money, but took the dog. That doesn’t make sense. Are there such things as dog thieves?” “I’m sure there are,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “Might have been just that.” He looked to be more worried than he was admitting. “I’m going to look around a bit more. Stay here, alright?” “But—” “Terra.” He met my gaze, and held it. “Stay here. There’s no one here, in the bathroom or in the closet. It’s the safest place in the house. Let me look around a bit, okay?” I nodded. He kissed me, and then left, closing the door behind him. I sat at the foot of the bed, and realized my life would never be normal. Michelle was right. In Michael’s and my father’s line of work it wasn’t a matter of if, it was a matter of when. And this odd break-in was further proof. In a few minutes, he returned. “House is secure. Everything’s okay. Everything except for Hank.” “Bastards.” I looked right at him. “Are you sure they didn’t take anything else?” “Yeah. I’m just—I don’t know. Uncomfortable. Until I get the locks changed, they can come back in here whenever they want.” “How long will it take to change them?” “An hour. I’m going to have Cap pick some up. That way we won’t have to leave until it’s taken care of.” He kissed me. “I’m going to take a shower.” I should have known that a normal day—or at least one free from worry—was nothing but wishful thinking. As Michael showered, I thought of everything that had happened recently. In a matter of months, my brother had been kidnapped, Michael had rescued him, and then he and my father entered into some sort of business agreement. Soon thereafter, a federal agent had been killed, my father was arrested for the murder and our house had been broken into. There was something more going on than Michael was willing to admit, that was for sure. But I wondered if knowing what that something was would make me feel better—or worse.

Chapter Twenty-Three Michael He intertwined his sausage-sized fingers and cracked his knuckles. “I don’t like it.” “I don’t like it, either,” I said. “But it’s pretty simple math.” “It ain’t Vinnie the Fifth...” He paused, pushed his plate to the side and shrugged. “We need to talk to the boss.” Sal and I were sitting in the restaurant where I met him—and the other men—for the first time. I had briefed him on hiring the new attorney, the half-assed break-in at my home and the disappearance of my beloved dog. Somewhere along the way, I gave my opinion regarding my desire to pay Vinnie the Fifth a visit. It was immediately apparent that challenging the credibility of a made man was much different than that of an associate. “How can you say for certain it’s not him?” He clenched his fists and leaned forward. “‘Cause it ain’t fuckin’ him.” I offered him a sarcastic shrug. “On to the next fucking subject, then.” With his eyes locked on mine, he lifted his chin slightly. “Vinnie the Fifth? His great-great-grandfather was Vincent D’Oro. The Vincent D’Oro. In 1905, at the age of eighteen, Vincent got his bones at a tavern in Little Italy on the Lower East Side. Killed three of the Jewish Eastmans—one with a shotgun, and the other two with his bare fuckin’ hands. His son? Junior D’Oro? He was made at the end of prohibition, and was the right hand of Lucky Luciano himself. Died of pneumonia in 1954—while doing life in the slammer because he wouldn’t talk to the cops. Five generations of D’Oros gets us to Vinnie the Fifth. It ain’t Vinnie.” “It’s somebody.” “It ain’t Vinnie.” “There were two ATF agents. One invited the other one into his investigation. Jackie was first, my guess is that he’s been investigating the family since day one,” I said. “How long had he been around?” He shrugged. “Years.” “Well, fuck.” The ATF governed the laws surrounding alcohol, tobacco and firearms. Because of their repeated exposure to criminals armed with the very guns they were investigating, the Department of Justice allowed them to practice in an almost lawless manner without repercussion. ATF agents were known for their violent behavior, coercive tactics and deep undercover operations. They would invest years to develop a case where other agencies would expect results in weeks. Their investigations often ended with violence. The Waco, Texas massacre of the Branch Davidians and the Ruby Ridge standoff with the Weaver family were two incidents that immediately came to mind. “The ATF investigates alcohol, tobacco and firearms,” I said. “How long has the family been investing in cigarettes?” “A long time.” “Any firearms investments?” He shook his head. “Not yet.”

I tried to put pieces of the puzzle together with the limited information that was available. Everything pointed to Vinnie the Fifth as being the man we needed to talk to, regardless of Sal’s insistence that he wasn’t involved. At minimum, he could point us in the right direction. Sal laughed his signature laugh, and then cleared his throat. “We had one, but it fell apart.” “Had one what?” “You asked about firearms. We had one deal that fell apart.” “Oh. When was it?” He looked at me like I was stupid. “You tell me. The day Peter got kidnapped.” It seemed like a lifetime had passed since that day. “Oh. That one.” I recalled the multigun deal, the three bumbling idiots and the decision I made to allow Peter to be taken hostage. At the time, I cared not what happened to him. I felt completely different now, and realized my life—and my priorities—had truly changed since then. And then, it came to me. “Wait a minute,” I said. “Who turned you on to that deal?” “What deal?” “Who gave you the details about the delivery of those weapons? The night Peter got abducted?” “Jackie Four Eyes,” he said. “Said he got the inside information on a big gun deal. We were supposed to get the guns and the money.” Son of a bitch. “Fuck.” “What?” “When Jimmy Cupcake came to visit me the first time. How’d the family find out I was even in the business?” He shrugged. “Jackie Four Eyes.” I pushed myself away from the table and stood. “Fuck.” “What?” “They’re investigating me, too. Or at least Jackie Four Eyes was.” “What? You think you’re special?” He chuckled. “If a man’s earning a living, he’s being looked at.” I realized I still looked at my business as mine, and the family as an entirely different entity—something I wasn’t involved with. “We need to talk to Vinnie the Fifth,” I said. “Not as a person of interest. But we need to find out who’s the biggest rat. So far, I think we’ve got the outsiders, but I think someone in the family is—” “Sit down,” he said. I did as he asked. He leaned forward. “Son-in-law of the boss or not, be careful what you say about a made man.” My phone buzzed. I raised my index finger and pulled it from my pocket. “Hold that thought.” I stared at an in-state number that I didn’t recognize. After a few more rings, I answered. “Tripp.” “I’m on my way to Kansas City. We’ve got a hearing at two forty-five. Federal Courthouse, courtroom C.” “Damn, that was quick. What kind of hearing?” “Presentation of a Motion to Dismiss based on lack of evidence. They lack even the most basic of circumstantial evidence. This was a poke-and-hope. They were hoping for a guilty plea.” “Can we attend?” “I don’t need a courtroom full, but a small showing would suggest he’s got close family ties.”

“We’ll be there at two forty-five.” “I’ll call when I’m close.” “Thank you.” I dropped my phone into my pocket and looked at Sal. “Boss has a hearing at two forty-five. He’s trying to get the case dropped.” “No shit?” “No shit. Said we can go, but he doesn’t want a courtroom full. I was thinking you, me, Terra and her mother?” “Gino.” “Gino?” He nodded. “Gino.” “If you think he needs to be there—” “If it’s got to do with the family, Gino needs to be there.” “Are we done here? I need to call Terra.” “For now.” He stood. “But we ain’t done.” He was right. We weren’t. But for the time being, ATF investigations were the least of my worries. Getting my wife’s father out of jail was my top priority.

Chapter Twenty-Four Terra We sat in the back of the ornate courtroom. Directly across from us, the elevated platform was empty, short of a woman sitting in front of a computer. In the center of the room, Cap’s father sat on one side, and the prosecutor sat on the other. A lone US marshal escorted my father into the courtroom. He was dressed in a suit, and cleanly shaven. I leaned toward Michael. “He looks so much better,” I whispered. “He does.” My heart began to race. “All rise!” the bailiff bellowed. The judge entered the courtroom, walked to his seat and sat down. “You may be seated.” The judge lifted a stack of paperwork, studied it and leaned toward his microphone. “In the matter of the United States versus Agrioli, we are gathered for the oral presentation of a Motion to Dismiss. Be it a matter of record that following an ATF investigation, a federal grand jury convened, and on October 4, an indictment was issued. Soon thereafter, Mr. Agrioli was arrested without incident in his home for the charges listed in the indictment.” He laid the paperwork aside. “Mr. Lori. This is your motion. I’ll allow five minutes.” He relaxed in his seat and crossed his arms. “Proceed.” Cap’s father stood. “Thank you, your honor.” I turned to the side. “He doesn’t even have anything in his hands,” I whispered. “He doesn’t look very prepared.” Michael shrugged. “Maybe he doesn’t need anything.” “I’m nervous.” “Shhh.” He placed his hands on each side of the lectern. “Your honor, the defendant was charged in the indictment with killing a federal agent of the law as described and punishable under the federal jurisdiction of 18 USC, Section 1114, and Killing Designed to Influence the Outcome of a Court Case as described and punishable under the federal jurisdiction of 18 USC, Section 1512.” He cleared his throat and released the lectern. “First and foremost, your honor, I am aware the upper court has determined that murder, no differently than any other fact, may be proven to the court by the presentation of circumstantial evidence. If the evidence of those facts leads to one conclusion, and one conclusion only, a jury may find guilt even in the absence of a body.” The judge leaned forward. “Mr. Lori, I am versed on the law that governs this case. Need I remind you that I am the judge, and you are legal counsel?” “No, your honor.” “Proceed with your motion, counsel. I’ll remind you of the value of the court’s time.” “Yes, your honor.”

He gripped the lectern again, inhaled a deep breath and began. “In People v. Scott, your honor, it was held that ‘circumstantial evidence, when sufficient to exclude every other reasonable hypothesis, may prove the death of a missing person, the existence of a homicide and the guilt of the accused.’ The fact remains, your honor, that evidence must exist. This counsel’s motion for discovery remains unanswered, and in the absence of said response, no evidence exists.” The judge turned toward the prosecutor. “Mr. Triboletti?” He stood. “Yes, your honor.” “Has a response been prepared to counsel’s motion for discovery?” “Not exactly, your honor.” “An exact yes or an exact no, counsel,” the judge barked. “Choose one.” “No, your honor.” The judge cocked an eyebrow. “Is it your intention to do so?” “Your honor, the office of the US Attorney is reluctant to respond for fear of retribution against the informant that testified before the grand jury.” The judge’s mouth curled into a smirk. “Is the office of the US Attorney aware of certain protections that are provided under the letter of the law that I am unaware of?” “No, your honor.” “The constitution affords the defendant the right to confront his or her accuser, Mr. Triboletti. Was it your belief the informant would not be required to testify?” “No, your honor.” “Your honor,” Cap’s father said. “If I may. Inferences have been drawn by prosecution, but those inferences are a product of speculation, conjecture, and a spoonful of supposition. Evidence, your honor, has yet to be presented.” The judge turned toward Cap’s father and glared. “These inferences that are a ‘product of speculation, conjecture and a spoonful of supposition’ don’t appear to be in front of me, counsel. I have—” he picked up his paperwork and flipped through the pages “—a grand jury subpoena, a two-count indictment, a copy of the arrest record, daily reports from the jail, a motion for discovery and your motion to dismiss.” “May I approach, your honor?” “You may.” He turned toward the table, picked up a piece of paper and approached the judge’s platform. After handing the judge the document, he returned to the lectern. The judge studied the document, turned toward the prosecutor and shook his head. “Mr. Triboletti. Does the office of the US Attorney make it a practice to release responses to motions without providing a copy to the good court?” “No, your honor.” He lifted the sheet of paper and shook it in his hand. “Is there a reason I’m holding a document graced with your office’s stamp that is not a matter of record?” “I’m not sure, your honor.” The judge leaned forward, removed his reading glasses and raised both eyebrows. “You’re not sure?” “No, your honor.” “I’m sure that I’m holding it. Would you like to see it?” “I believe I have a copy of the document, your honor.” The judge shot him a look. “You have a copy?” “Yes, your honor.” He waved his arm toward Cap’s father. “And defense has a copy?”

“Yes, your honor.” He tossed his hands in the air. “Yet, the court does not?” “That is correct, your honor.” The judge leaned forward and glared at the prosecutor. “I’m listening. With tremendous interest, I might add.” “It was faxed to Mr. Lori’s office in response to the motion for discovery.” “Faxed?” “Yes, your honor.” “But not entered as a matter of record.” “No, your honor.” The judge sighed, turned to the side and picked up the piece of paper. “Be it entered as a matter of record that prosecution’s response to defense counsel’s Motion for Discovery indicates there is no discoverable evidence. This document will be entered into record and made available to all parties.” He set the document aside and turned toward the lectern. “Proceed, Mr. Lori.” My eyes had been bouncing back and forth between the prosecutor and the judge for five solid minutes. I felt exhausted, and lost. I leaned to the side. “What does all of that mean?” “Your father’s attorney asked for the evidence, and they didn’t provide any. He asked for the name of the informant, and they wouldn’t provide it. The case looks weak,” he whispered. “Okay.” I was still lost, but I felt relieved. Not a lot, but enough to relax and listen to the rest of the proceeding. “Your honor, in compliance with the federal rules of evidence, and, in accordance with the federal rules of criminal procedure, defense counsel respectfully requests that any evidence including—but not limited to—the recorded statements made by any and all confidential informants be provided in response to the Motion for Discovery. In the absence of said evidence, it is counsel’s opinion that this case lacks the prerequisite evidence to proceed.” “In the absence of said discoverable evidence.” The judge cocked his head. “You are seeking?” “If prosecution cannot meet the requirements set forth in People v. Scott, defense requests that the court consider the language of United States v. Head, and further implores the court to grant mercy on the defendant by means of dismissal of the instant offenses and the indictment, your honor.” The judge picked up his paperwork and began reviewing it. Cap’s father walked to the table, talked to my father for a moment and then approached the lectern. “Your honor, be it known that the defendant has agreed—and defense will allow it to be made a matter of record—that if the defendant is released today with prejudice, no damages will be sought by the defendant in respect to this case.” Released? He might be released? I twisted my mouth to the side, hoping to sneak a question in without the judge noticing. “They might release him?” “Yes,” Michael whispered. “It sounds like it.” The judge looked at the prosecutor. “Mr. Triboletti?” The prosecutor leaned toward the microphone. “The office of the US Attorney will agree to dismiss the case without prejudice.” Cap’s father cleared his throat. “My client will accept these terms; however, damages will be sought for the wrongful imprisonment, the imposition on the family and friends, and the devastating blow to the defendant’s otherwise untarnished name. Need I remind the court, the indictment, your honor, was dated October 4. The arrest was made more than a week later, during the engagement celebration of the

defendant’s daughter. This, in itself, your honor, constitutes—” The prosecutor interrupted him mid-sentence. “Prosecution will agree to dismiss this case with prejudice, your honor.” The judge raised his eyebrows and leaned forward. “In the matter of the United States v. Agrioli, the case has been dismissed with prejudice. Mr. Agrioli, you are free to go.” Free to go? The emotion came like a roller coaster. Up. Down. Up. Down. I couldn’t believe it. I looked at Michael. I waited for the judge to say he was joking and that they were taking my father back to jail. I glanced toward my father. Short of the rustling of some paperwork, the room remained eerily silent. I looked at Michael. “That’s it?” He stood. “That’s it.” Oh my God! “Oh my God.” I looked at my father and then at Michael. “He can come home?” “It was dismissed with prejudice,” Michael said. “That means they can never bring it back up in court. They can’t recharge him.” My eyes shot wide. “They can’t?” “Nope.” He reached for my hand and smiled. “It’s over.” My heart thrashed against my ribs. The pressure that had been in my chest since my father’s arrest vanished. Immediately, relief washed over me. “Thank God.” I looked at Sal and Gino, and then at Michael. “I wish my mother would have come.” I wiped my eyes. “She’s going to be so happy.” “It’s understandable that she didn’t, though.” He took my hand in his and lifted me from my seat. “If the outcome had been different, it would have crushed her.” I hugged him and then scanned the courtroom for a glimpse of my father. Standing by the exit, he opened his arms and smiled. As we reached the end of the aisle, my father met us. With one arm, he reached for the back of Michael’s neck. With the other, he reached for mine. He hugged us both for what seemed like an eternity, and then eventually released his grip. He looked at me and smiled. “The food here.” He shook his head. “You know what I want?” I wiped a tear on Michael’s shoulder, and then smiled. “What?” “The carbonara.” I laughed. Life felt normal again. And I wasn’t going to waste one single minute of it.

Chapter Twenty-Five Michael Although everything was back to normal in Terra’s eyes, I saw my own life as being filled with unanswered questions, most of which were high on my list to resolve. Terra set her purse on the kitchen counter. “I’m glad everything’s over. That was awful.” Agrioli left with Sal and Gino. There was no opportunity to resolve matters, so everything wasn’t over. I agreed nonetheless. “No argument here.” “You’re still mad at them, aren’t you?” “Who?” “The police. The ATF or whatever.” “I’m not happy with what they did to your father, that’s for sure.” She twisted her mouth to the side and then her eyebrows crept upward. “He agreed not to sue them, so there’s not much we can do now.” “We’ll see.” “You should just try to forget about it.” I tried to separate work from pleasure and offered a smile. “I’ll do my best.” “I’m ready to get back to planning the wedding.” It sounded like a good idea. Regaining control of my life would help immensely. “Sounds fun.” “Really?” I kissed her. “Really.” She stepped around me and took off toward the bedroom. In a few seconds, she returned with a pink hardbound notebook. “Where’d that come from?” “I bought it.” I laughed at her response. “You answer questions like I do.” “Learned from the best.” She set down the notebook and poured herself a glass of wine. “Beer? Scotch?” I nodded toward the bottle. “Pour me a glass.” She leaned back and shot me a glare. “It’s moscato,” she said. “Never had it.” I shrugged. She cocked her head to the side. “You’re not going to like it.” She grinned a mischievous grin, then poured a glass. “Here.” I took a sip. “Holy shit.” I licked the sweet substance from my lips. “That’s sweet.” “Told you.” “Okay.” I pulled out a bar stool and sat down. “Let’s get to it.” She raised one eyebrow, “You’re going to drink it?” I hoisted the glass. “I think it’s perfect for wedding planning.” It wasn’t, but it would make her happy to see me drink it. Our life had been so out of place for the past two weeks that neither of us could eat, sleep or have a moment of the day that we were able to enjoy. She sat down on the stool beside me and placed the book between us. Upon opening it, I saw her

handwritten notes, all neatly arranged below bold headers that were surrounded by days’ worth of doodling. Her penmanship, as always, was remarkable. “Okay. Invitations. Here’s what I have it down to.” She opened the book. “Golden foil-pressed. Letterpressed. Floral. Vintage. Postcard. Colorful vector. Chic. Chalkboard. Or Fairy tale. But I don’t really like chalkboard. I mean, not really. Unless you do.” “Do you have examples?” “Hold, please.” She ran to the room and then promptly returned with her laptop. After a smile and a quick kiss, she began scrolling through files of saved photos. She slid the computer toward me. “Look at these.” After looking at each of the many photos, I went back to the beginning. “Okay,” I said. “I’m going to scroll through these, and say yes or no. Ready?” She took a drink of wine and then picked up her pen. “Ready.” “Yes, no, no, no, yes, no, no, no, no.” “Oh, wow. Okay. Go through them again, slow.” “Yes. No. No. No. Yes. Maybe. No. No. No.” “Gold, floral and fairy tale. Floral is a maybe?” I finished my glass of wine, and poured another. “I like it, but it’s almost too predictable. Almost.” “Okay. Out of all of them, which do you like the most?” “This one.” “Fairy tale.” She laid her hand over mine. “I like that one the most, too.” “Are you just saying that?” “No.” She scrolled to the picture and stopped. “I liked it, but I didn’t think you would.” “It’s my first choice.” “I’ll get a bunch of examples, and then we can decide how we want to configure it.” “Okay.” “I love you,” she said. I’d never felt that I needed someone in my life. Throughout the difficult times in my life, my past concerns were only of myself. Following Agrioli’s arrest, my concerns weren’t of me—but of Terra, and of him. I loved her, and there was nothing I could do to change it, nor did I want to. I kissed her. “I love you, too.” “How many people do you think will attend that you know?” she asked. I took a drink of wine. Cap, Lucky, Trace, Snowman, Sal and Jimmy Cupcake. “I’m thinking six.” She looked bewildered. “Six?” “It doesn’t have to be. But that’s what I was thinking. Cap, Trace, Lucky, Snow, Sal and Jimmy Cupcake.” She kept her eyes fixed on mine. After a few seconds, a single tear rolled down the side of her nose. I swept it away with the tip of my finger. “What’s wrong?” She wiped her eyes, flipped her hair over her shoulder and then smiled. “Nothing. Planning this together just makes me happy. And six is great.” I’d spent my entire life alone. Even while surrounded by marines in combat, I didn’t allow myself to become attached to any of the men for fear of losing them during battle. Only after the war was over did I

allow Cap and Lucky to become close. Having a family, even if I was simply marrying into one, excited me. To think of holidays like Christmas and Thanksgiving being spent with people I loved—and who loved me in return—was almost incomprehensible. “I’m excited,” I said. “About having a family.” She pushed her wine to the side and closed the book. “Let’s, um... Let’s just do this later.” “What do you want to do?” I asked. She rubbed her eyes and then laid her head on my shoulder. “Hold you.” I held her close for some time, and then carried her to the bedroom. Without instruction, we both got undressed and into the bed. She pounded her fist into the pillow until it was shaped the way she wanted it, then turned to her side and rested her head on her open palm. “On Christmas Eve, we make eggnog from scratch. We get to open one gift on that night, but not the big one.” “Big one?” She smiled. “When we were little, there was Santa Claus. He always left the biggest gift. Then we got older, and found out it was a farce. But we still got the big gift. But my father said opening the big one on Christmas Eve was cheating, so we had to pick another.” Her decision to talk about Christmas out of the blue was further proof that we often shared the same thoughts. Decisions about restaurants, clothing and shoes—that should be arguable—weren’t. “So, you sit around and drink eggnog, and then open a gift?” “We talk. Kind of reflect on the year, and how grateful we are for everyone and everything. And we eat. You’ll find that out soon enough. Italians eat. A lot.” “It sounds fun.” “And then, on Christmas morning, it’s a disaster. The tree is like...” She sat up and spread her arms wide. “Covered in gifts. They’re spread all over the room. My mother makes her own bows, and they’re beautiful. Anyway, Peter and I hand out all the gifts, and then we watch each other open them. It takes forever.” “You have a real Christmas tree? An actual tree?” I tried to recall if I’d ever had a real tree at Christmas. I recalled plastic trees at the orphanage. In foster care, I was never around for the holidays. She nodded eagerly. “We still go pick it out as a family. It’s a big deal.” “Is that something I’d do with you?” Her eyes narrowed, and she blinked. “Michael.” She leaned over and touched my shoulder. “You’re a part of all of this now. You’re a member of the family. Just like Peter and me.” I felt like a little boy again, and tried to hide my joy. “I was just wondering,” I said, trying not to look elated. “It’ll be a nice change, that’s for sure.” She took her position on the pillow again. “And on Thanksgiving. Everyone comes over. I mean, we eat as a family, but all day it’s in and out, in and out. Everyone stops by. I remember when I was little, I used to think all my father’s associates were relatives. They’d come over with their wives, bring wine and food, and stay for a while and talk. I think I was, like, thirteen or something before I figured out that they weren’t related.” So far, there was little differentiation between the family and my family. I was now beginning to think of the family as an extended version of what would be my family. She explained about birthdays, New Year’s celebrations, how her mother had been her best friend and her father had been her protector. She shared how she often fought with her brother, but loved him

nonetheless. That night, we talked until I filled with so much hope I thought I might burst. That night, her life’s experiences became my dreams. And that night, my dreams were so close I could almost touch them. Almost.

Chapter Twenty-Six Terra Dunkin’ Donuts was a guilty pleasure that Michelle and I shared while in school. I shoved half the doughnut into my mouth and wondered how many hours we’d spent discussing boyfriends and breakups at that very booth. I pushed my half-eaten cherry-filled pastry toward the center of the table. “No more. I can’t believe I’ve eaten this much.” “At least you’re eating,” Michelle said. “You looked sick the other day.” “This is cheating, not eating. I’ve got to start watching this stuff.” “Why?” “Seriously?” I shot her a look. “The wedding.” “So, you picked out invitations?” she said. “That’s exciting.” “Fairy tale. We both picked the same one.” “Isn’t that fuckin’ cute,” she said, her voice infused with sarcasm. I took a drink of coffee and flipped her off with my free hand. “Did you ever think I’d be first?” “First what?” “First to get married?” “No. Seriously? I thought you’d be long after me, for sure. I always thought, you know, that you’d be one of those girls like that Karen Simpson bitch.” I had no idea who she was talking about. I leaned forward. “Who?” “That pasty white bitch with the cheap extensions. The platinum blonde that was always flipping her hair?” She swept her hair over her shoulder dramatically, and then cocked her head to the side. I glared at her. “The one with the boobs? Who screwed Bobby Wilson? That one?” “Uh-huh.” I shot her a look. “What the fuck?” “You know, she went from guy to guy to guy, and each guy would always be worse than the last one. They were always slapping her around, but she thought it was love. I felt sorry for her.” I stared at her in disbelief. “Really,” she said. My stare continued. “No, really.” I let out a sigh. “I can’t believe you sometimes.” “What?” I picked at the doughnut. “You thought I’d end up bouncing from guy to guy to guy?” “Not like that. I thought you’d be a long time figuring out what or who or whatever you wanted.” “Oh.” I slid into the back of the booth. “I think Michael found me, really.” “Kind of.” I believed Michael and I met as a result of fate, and wondered if anyone else shared such thoughts. “Do you think everything happens for a reason?”

“Like destiny?” she asked. “No, not destiny. But, like, I’m in this place, and this guy comes there at the exact time that this thing is happening, and it just so happens that he’s protective, and he steps in, and then we meet again, and everything just kind of works out?” She laughed. “That’s destiny.” “Okay, whatever. Do you believe in it?” She shrugged. “Yeah. Kind of.” “What do you mean, kind of?” Her eyes fell to the table, and she picked at the half-eaten Danish. “I think sometimes things like that happen, and maybe you don’t, I don’t know, like, do the right thing, and then you mess up what was supposed to be.” She looked up. “Or whatever.” “Oh wow.” I leaned on the edge of the table and met her gaze. “Do you have a big regret?” She shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t know.” “Oh my God. Tell me.” “It’s just—I don’t know. Cap is just—He’s like—I don’t know. He’s, like, perfect.” “And that’s a problem how?” “My dad would kill me if he found out I was with him.” I reached for the Danish and took a bite. “He’s Italian.” “I know.” I took another bite. “His dad is the attorney who got my father out of jail.” Her eyes shot wide. “What?” “Pretty cool, huh?” “What? Are you serious?” It dawned on me that I must not be the only one having information kept from me. For an instant, I felt better, then it quickly faded. I began to wonder if it was something I was going to have to get used to, and then realized I hadn’t responded to her question. “Yep. I forgot to tell you when I texted you. I think I was still in shock.” “Cap’s dad? He was the attorney?” “Yep.” “I didn’t know his dad was an attorney.” “I didn’t either,” I said. “But he is.” “Wow.” She sat there for a moment, and then slumped into her seat. “What’s wrong?” “You know how my dad is,” she said. “The first thing he’d want to know is what Cap did for a living. Anything sketchy, and he’d throw a fit. Cap’s a great guy, but what they do is pretty sketchy.” I was beginning to accept this as being a fact. Or, at least I was trying to. “Your dad’s one to talk.” She twisted her mouth to the side and raised both eyebrows. “I know.” “If it wasn’t for him, would you see your relationship going the distance?” She nodded. “I mean, for me? Yeah.” I tossed the Danish remnant onto the plate. “Really?” “Um. Yeah,” she said. “We have, like, everything in common.” “Do you think you’d, like, get married?”

“Do you mean, would I marry him if he wanted to?” “Yeah.” “Fuck yes, I would.” I grabbed the remaining Danish and shoved it into my mouth. “Really?” “I mean, I don’t know if he’d ever want that, but yeah. I would so marry him. Things are so much different with him. What I want to do, he wants to do. We like the same shows. We laugh at the same things. We both love the same foods. And he makes me come so hard.” “You shouldn’t let your dad get in your way. I didn’t.” She laughed so hard I was afraid the entire doughnut shop was going to turn and stare. “Really?” “What?” “You didn’t even tell him who you were. Cap knows who I am. I mean, he hasn’t met my father or anything, and I haven’t told my parents about him, but I haven’t lied to him, either.” Hearing her say it stung. One thing I could always count on with Michelle was blatant honesty, though. “I wish I wouldn’t have. Stick with the truth.” “With Cap, I will. With my dad? I’m saying nothing. He’d kill me. Or Cap. Either way, it wouldn’t be a good thing.” “Maybe he’d be like mine,” I said. “Maybe he’d tell you how happy he is that you’re happy.” “Don’t think so.” “So what do you think will happen?” “I don’t want to think about it,” she said. “For now I want to just keep doing what I’m doing.” “Maybe it’s destiny, or whatever.” “Maybe it is.” “Then you should figure out a way to make it work.” “Well. If the destiny thing is like you said—” she picked up her purse and shrugged “—if it’s meant to be, it’ll work itself out.” I grabbed my purse. “I hope it does.” “So do I,” she said.

Chapter Twenty-Seven Michael The entire restaurant was empty, but at 10:00 a.m., I didn’t expect it to be filled with patrons. At the same location where all the meetings seemed to be held, Sal, Agrioli and I sat and discussed opinions and options. Agrioli folded his hands together and leaned forward. His eyes met mine, and then shifted toward Sal. “I don’t know who the rat is, but I know who it’s not.” Sal looked at me and then at Agrioli. I swallowed heavily. Agrioli nodded his head toward Sal. “It ain’t you.” He looked at me and nodded. “And it ain’t you.” Thank God. Losing Agrioli’s trust would be the end of life as I knew it. Married or not, my dreams of a family would vanish into thin air. If he couldn’t trust me, I’d be useless to him. “But. Anybody else?” He leaned against the back of his chair. “Who fuckin’ knows.” I inhaled a shallow breath, looked at Sal and then turned to face Agrioli. “It’s a matter of record that there’s a confidential informant close enough to the family that he’s provided the feds with information about the murder of Jackie Four Eyes. I’m convinced the first guy—although he was an ATF agent—was on his own, but we haven’t been tied to that murder yet.” With his teeth clenching his lower lip, he stared back at me. “Without a doubt,” I said, “someone told the feds about Jackie Four Eyes.” “Someone that’s still alive, boss,” Sal said. “They took me from my daughter’s fuckin’ celebration. Her engagement party,” Agrioli growled. “His, too.” Sal nodded. “I know, boss.” “Everybody knows.” Agrioli’s fist came down onto the table with a thud. “It was on national fuckin’ news.” Agrioli stood, shook his head, and then sat down. “Get Vinnie. Talk to him. See what he says.” “You think it was Vinnie the Fifth?” Sal asked. “I don’t think nothin’. I think the fuckin’ feds got someone to turn rat, that’s what I think. You two? You two find him, whack him and shove a rat down his fuckin’ throat.” He pushed himself from the table, folded his arms in front of his chest and glared at Sal. “And then toss the dead motherfucker on the steps of the courthouse.” “You got it, boss.” “As God is my witness, I want this son of a bitch dead.” Sal nodded. He slammed his fist down, toppling over the three glasses of wine. “Dead!” I reached for the glasses, righted them on the table and tossed a napkin over the mess. “We’ll find him, one way or another.” He shifted his eyes to me. “You’ve got surveillance?” “I do.”

“Use it.” “I intend to.” “That rotten fuckin’ Frank Gazzone.” He looked at Sal. “That rat motherfucker wanted a plea bargain. To cooperate. Did he tell you?” Sal shrugged. “What can you do?” “That fuckin’ rat,” Agrioli seethed. “I’ve got something for him.” His hot temper was right up there with mine, but I couldn’t say I blamed him. If one of my men had turned me in to the feds for a murder, I’d be just as angry as he was. He looked at me. Although his eyes expressed disappointment, they no longer reflected the anger he had earlier possessed. It seemed, unlike me, that he could turn his hot temper on and off at will. “You did good, Michael.” He reached for my shoulder. “You’re making your place here.” “I’ll do my best.” He laughed a low laugh, looked at Sal and tilted his head toward me as he spoke. “He’ll do his best.” Sal chuckled. “You saved my son from the Russians. You whacked two feds. You got me an attorney—a goddamned fiorintino—who got me out of jail, and you’re going to find the fuckin’ rat that snitched to the feds.” He looked at Sal. “In what? Three months? Four?” “He’s thorough,” Sal said with a laugh. “You’ll do your best.” Agrioli chuckled and patted me on the shoulder. “I’ll take it.” “The kid tell you they broke into his house?” Sal asked. Agrioli nodded. “I heard from Terra. Took the dog. Who takes a dog?” “Personally, I think they were after the teeth,” I said. “It’s the only thing that can actually link us to the murder.” He turned his palms up. “Lori says he needs them.” “He told me they couldn’t search his office,” I said. “Makes me nervous to let anyone have them, but if that’s what’s best...” “Get the teeth to me. They can’t search my house. Not for that,” Agrioli said. “I’ll put them in the safe.” He was right. He couldn’t be arrested for the same crime again. But keeping the teeth—long-term— simply made no sense to me. According to Cap’s father, tossing them wasn’t the answer. Keeping them seemed even more foolish. “I’ll get them to you,” I said. “But I’m melting the weapons down in my shop.” “You’ve got good instincts.” I agreed with him. I did have good instincts. And my instinct told me that keeping the teeth of two dead federal agents wasn’t in anyone’s best interest.

Chapter Twenty-Eight Terra We met at the restaurant because he had “business to take care of” afterward. Originally, I thought meeting was a great idea. Now I wasn’t so sure. As he held the piece of sushi between the tips of his chopsticks, he stared blankly at the center of the table. “Is everything okay?” “I, um...” He looked up. “I was thinking.” He poked the sushi into his mouth. While he chewed, he gazed beyond me, preoccupied with whatever it was that had kept his attention all night. I tapped my chopsticks on the edge of my plate. “Hello.” He patted his hand against the lapel of his jacket, and then his eyes met mine. “Sorry.” It was the third time he’d done the same thing, and I couldn’t figure out why. “You know you can always...” I poked the pile of ginger with the tip of my chopsticks. “I know that you can’t talk to me about everything that goes on—or anything, for that matter. But you can talk to me about how you feel.” He picked up another piece of his roll. Momentarily, his eyes met mine. “Okay.” “You just seem kind of off tonight,” I said. He looked away. “Just trying to figure some things out.” We ate without speaking for a few minutes, during which time I thought of Michelle’s comments about me living with my head in the sand. I’d given her speech considerable thought since my father’s release, and in short, she was right. I had spent my life denying the existence of my family’s business. Now that Michael was somehow tied to my father’s activities, I was forced to accept that he was now involved—at some level—with the mafia. It wasn’t an easy thing to do, but it was time I pulled up my big-girl pants and made the transition from being in denial to accepting Michael’s involvement as being what it truly was: My husband’s—and in turn, my—way of life. I laid my chopsticks down and took a drink of wine. “I want you to know something.” He glanced up. “Okay.” “I’ve always denied what it was that my father did. I want you to know that whatever you’re doing, or whatever you have to do, no matter what it is, I’m no longer denying what it is that you do.” He took a drink of wine and then grinned an ever-so-slight grin. “Okay.” “And I support you.” I smiled. “One hundred percent.” “Okay.” He tilted his glass of wine toward me. “I appreciate it.” His eyes searched the table as he ate one more piece of sushi. When he finished, he pushed his plate to the side and then draped his arms over the back of the booth. His eyes met mine. “Everything I do, I do with us in mind,” he said. “Not me. Not you. Us. I want what’s best for us.” “So do I.” “No different than any other job, there’s good days, and bad days,” he said. “And sometimes there’s

problems to solve. Today, there’s a little of both.” “I hope you get them solved.” “So do I.” He leaned forward and reached for his wine. “I’m still not very happy about the dog.” “Do you think it was just some random kid or something?” “Hard to say.” “And you’ve never found anything else missing?” “My keys. I called BMW and canceled the key that was taken. Called the Humane Society yesterday, too. They’ve had no English bulldogs brought in.” “That sucks.” “Sure does.” His jaw went tight. “Too bad they can’t track him through that chip.” “The little thing in his neck?” “Yeah. I was thinking they could, but they said they can’t.” I recalled the day I picked up the dog, and how they had placed an identification chip in his neck. And just like that, it came to me. “Wait,” I said excitedly. “His collar.” He shot me a look. “What about it?” “The paw thing. I bought it. I mean, they asked, and I didn’t know, so I said yes. It’s, uhm—It’s—He’s got a little deal on his collar. The thing that looks like a paw.” “What the fuck are you talking about?” “That thing on his collar. It looks like a paw print. It’s a GPS tracker.” “Seriously?” I nodded. “I’ll need to see if I saved the paperwork for it, but yeah. That’s what they said.” “I thought it made him smell good.” He leaned forward and grinned. “Kiss me.” I sat up and kissed him, proud that I’d had the foresight to get the collar, but feeling foolish that I’d forgotten about it. “Sorry I forgot about it.” “I’m glad you remembered, though. Doesn’t mean we’ll find him, but it’s worth a try.” “I’ve just got to find the paperwork. I remember they gave him a name and a password, it’s on a little card.” I sighed. “I’ll find it.” “I’ve got to deliver some things. It shouldn’t take an hour or so. When I get home we can look together.” I smiled at the thought of finding Hank. “Okay. Do you have to go now?” “I should.” “If you need to go,” I said, “go.” He reached for his wallet. “I need to pay—” “Just go. I meant what I said. I’m here to help.” I grinned. “I’ll pay for it. Just go. Get your stuff done, and I’ll see you when you get home.” He kissed me, stood and patted his hand against the lapel of his jacket. “I should be about an hour. If it’s going to be longer, I’ll send you a text.” I reached for my purse and smiled. “I’ll see if I can find that stuff for the collar.” “Okay.” He turned and walked away. I had no idea what he had in his jacket pocket, but whatever it was, he was nervous about it. And if he was nervous, I was sure I didn’t want to know.

Chapter Twenty-Nine Michael With slight reluctance, I was on my way to deliver the teeth. There were very few people in life that I trusted. Agrioli had quickly become one of them. His wholehearted acceptance of me as his soon-to-be son-in-law was one of the factors that weighed heavily on my decision to trust him. Knowing that he took the code of Omerta to heart was the other. In the end, the only thing a man possesses that can prove his worth is his solemn word. If his word isn’t worth anything, neither is he. I’d always considered myself a man of my word, and I viewed Agrioli as being the same as me in that regard. After being exposed to him, it was easy to see why he had risen in the ranks to become the godfather. He would just as soon die in jail for a crime he didn’t commit than talk to the police. He was truly a man of his word, and for that, I respected him. I parked at the side of the restaurant and peered inside. Once again void of any outsiders, it was occupied by Agrioli, Sal and Gino. I exhaled a sigh of relief and walked inside. After a greeting of hugs and handshakes, I sat down. “What a fucking day.” “This kid’s a piece of fuckin’ work,” Gino said. “Whackin’ feds and runnin’ fuckin’ guns.” “He’s the boy I always wanted,” Agrioli said with a laugh. Sal poured a glass of wine and slid it across the table. “Drink.” I reached for the glass, wondering what to do with the teeth, but nervous about doing anything without being asked. “We’re going to open our books,” Agrioli said. I had an idea of what the term meant, but wasn’t certain. I took a drink of the wine and nodded nonetheless. “Peter? Peter will always be a soldier. He has no...” He leaned back and turned up his palms. “No business sense.” I nodded. “And no balls,” he said. Sal chuckled. I looked at Gino. Expressionless, he sat in his chair with his arms folded. “The administration,” Agrioli said. “We’ve talked. You will be a Capo. Caporegime.You answer to the underboss.” He motioned to Gino. Gino gave a slight nod. “Sal? Sal tells me I need more soldiers,” he said. “We argue. Eventually, I agree. So, we need more soldiers.” Although I hadn’t been formally advised, I had suspected—wrongfully so—that Sal was the underboss. As I waited for Agrioli to continue, I decided it didn’t matter. He leaned forward. “Your associate. Cappi Lori, the attorney’s son. He’s a good man. Sal wants him for a soldier. Out of respect.” He shrugged. “We ask.” Cappi? I did my best to hide my surprise, but would have been shocked if I succeeded.

I lowered my glass. “It’s up to him.” “We’ll talk.” “At least he’s fuckin’ Italian,” Gino said with a laugh. Agrioli’s eyes went thin, and his brows met in the middle. As he glared at Gino, he took a few long, deep breaths through his nose. “I’ll act like you didn’t say that. But, you fuckin’ fuck, I won’t act like it again. Capisce?” Gino swallowed hard. “Sorry, boss.” “Essere un coglioni.” I had no idea what it meant, but he said it with anger in his voice. After a long glare at Gino, Agrioli looked at me. “My apologies. He doesn’t always think,” he said. I didn’t respond. I fully realized that there would be animosity toward me from some, if not all, of the members of the family. If I was thin-skinned I wouldn’t have agreed to do it. “Peter will report to you,” Agrioli said. “Maybe Vito in a few weeks.” “Whatever you want,” I said. “Whatever I want.” He looked at Sal. “My capos need lessons from the son-in-law.” Sal raised his glass of wine, and then glared at Gino, who was still giving me the eye. “What the fuck, Gino?” Gino shook his head and then looked right at me. “The teeth.” I looked at Agrioli. He looked at Gino. “You impatient fuck. If you weren’t my underboss...” He turned to face me. “The attorney is coming for dinner next week. I’ll let him tell me what to do. Bottom of the river is what to do with ‘em.” I chuckled. “Makes sense to me, too. He said if we toss ’em, they’ll be found eventually. Fuck, I don’t know.” “You’ve got them, no?” I reached inside my jacket and pulled out the plastic bag. “Goddamn,” Gino howled. “You collect those motherfuckers?” “Two men,” I said. “Sixty-three of them.” “You counted ‘em?” Gino asked. I nodded. “Wesley, or whatever his name was, was missing one.” Agrioli reached for the bag. “I’ll keep them in the safe.” “That’s where I had them,” I said. “Tomorrow,” Agrioli said. He looked at Sal. “You two go do what you’re supposed to do. Talk to Vinnie.” “We was gonna,” Sal said. “But we didn’t.” “Excuses,” Agrioli said. “Everybody’s got ‘em.” He raised the bag of teeth, nodded and shoved them into the inside pocket of his jacket. “We’ll talk to your associate. I want you there.” “If you want me there, I’ll be there.” He grinned and patted me on the shoulder. “The son I always wanted.”

Chapter Thirty Terra The sound of the garage door opening was the last thing I wanted to hear. Two hours of hunting had produced nothing. I didn’t want to disappoint Michael, but I had no idea where else to look. I had hoped to have the house picked up before he got home, but it was pointless. On my knees in front of a mountain of what should be trash, I didn’t even bother getting up. “Find anything?” were his first words upon walking in. “All this stuff,” I said over my shoulder. “But not what we wanted. I have no idea.” “You look in your car?” “Yeah.” “Garage?” “Yeah.” He looked around the living room and then at me. “Quite the mess.” I looked at the three piles of paperwork spread out on the floor. “I know. I was kind of organizing it, though.” “You can just go there tomorrow and tell them you lost it, huh?” “I can. But I wanted to find it tonight.” “One more day won’t kill us.” “Did you get everything done you needed to do?” I asked. “I did.” “Feel better?” “I do.” He removed his jacket and laid it over the bar stool. “Good.” “I feel filthy.” He unbuttoned the first few buttons on his shirt. “I think I’m going to shower.” Still sitting on the floor beside the piles of paper, I looked up at him with lustful eyes. “I feel filthy,” I said. “I think I want to suck your cock.” He took a few steps toward me. “It seems like we haven’t—” “It’s because we haven’t,” I said with a laugh. “Since I got in trouble. Too distracted, I guess.” “Something,” he said. “Get it out. I want to see it.” He unfastened his belt and unzipped his pants as he took the last few steps toward me. I fixed my eyes between his legs and waited. He flopped his half-stiff dick free of its confines and kicked off his shoes. While he fumbled to push his pants down his thighs, I crawled directly in front of him and wrapped my hand around the base. “Let me get undressed,” he said with a laugh. I had no such plan. I took the tip into my mouth, circled it with the tip of my tongue a few times and began to suck his cock like it was my last opportunity to do so. Within seconds, it was as stiff as a rock. While stroking the thick shaft with one hand, I worked him deeper and deeper into my throat. Now forcing myself to gag with each eager stroke, I met his downward gaze.

“Jesus,” he gasped. “What’s got into you?” I held the tip against my throat for a few seconds, and then gasped as I pulled my mouth free. “Sucking your cock makes me horny,” I said. “I’m soaked.” Before he had a chance to respond, I took him into my mouth. I cupped his balls in my hand and began to work my mouth up and down his throbbing shaft. I felt powerful when his cock was in my mouth. Whether he realized it or not, sucking his cock was therapeutic for me, leaving me feeling that there was one thing I could always offer him that satisfied him like nothing else. My eyes closed. Lost in the act itself, I continued to suck him with vigor while massaging his tight scrotum. I opened my eyes as he pressed his hand against my forehead. “Get up.” I pulled my mouth free and gave him an innocent look. “What?” He stepped to the side and reached for the leg of his pants. “Take off the sweats.” Score! I jumped to my feet and pushed my sweats and my panties to my ankles in one swift motion. My pussy was on fire, and my mind was in the gutter. I wanted him to fuck me senseless, or at least until I collapsed from exhaustion. I kicked my sweats to the side and waited for further instructions. He tossed his pants behind the couch. Dressed in his socks and his half-buttoned shirt, his stiff dick swung from side to side as he walked toward me. He pulled me tight to his chest and pressed his lips to mine. Our tongues circled one another, and together we jockeyed for position as his cock twitched repeatedly against my clit. Within seconds, his passionate kiss had turned my legs to butter and my mind into a useless organ that was incapable of making the simplest of decisions. He pulled away and looked me up and down. I’d had enough. Knowing that much more than bending over would have sent me into a tailspin, I stumbled forward a few steps and bent over the arm of the couch. It was my invitation for him to continue. I felt his hand against the small of my back, followed by slight pressure against my aching pussy. And then... “Oh God,” I gasped. “Yes.” In one quick stroke, he filled me with dick. No tip first, no short strokes, just one long thrust, pushing himself balls-deep. He was where he belonged. And where I wanted him. Deep inside of me with his hands gripping my hips as if he had no intention of ever releasing me, he began a rhythmic series of deep thrusts. With each in-stroke, he forced the air from my lungs completely. As he pulled himself from inside me, I gulped the air for my next breath. The sound of skin on skin filled the room, and acted as a reminder of what it was I loved about having Michael fuck me. He had a huge heart, and was as kind as any man could ever be, but he fucked me like he owned me. And I loved him for it. His right hand slid around my waist and between my legs. I buried my face into the cushions of the couch and prayed to last long enough for him to reach climax. His finger found my swollen clit and began to circle it with precision as he continued to pound his way into my heart. My clit began to tingle and my legs started to shake. I arched my back and opened my mouth, feeling

fair warning was in order. “I’m—” “Hold on,” he begged. His hips pounded against my ass, shoving me into the arm of the couch with each powerful thrust. His finger worked my clit into a throbbing frenzy. Trying to wait even one more second would be an exercise in futility. I inhaled a deep breath, held it in anticipation of the inevitable and pressed my chest against the couch’s cushion. As I felt myself begin to climax, his cock swelled to what felt like twice its girth. His breathing became labored, and in one more stroke, he bellowed out into the room. “I’m going to come inside you,” he wailed. Every muscle in my body relaxed, tensed and then relaxed again. A shock ran through me from my pussy to my nipples and then back. And I felt him release himself deep inside me in three massive bursts. “Holy shit,” he said. “We need to do this more often.” “Agreed.” I breathed. “Much more often.”

Chapter Thirty-One Michael While Terra showered, my OCD behaviors kicked in, and I began tidying up the paperwork that was spread out across the living room floor. After satisfying myself that it was as good as I could make it, I started on the couch. Our sexual romp had the couch sitting askew. I moved it back to its original position, and then pulled out each individual cushion and fluffed it. Upon removing the last cushion, an envelope that had been wedged between the fabric and the arm of the couch fell to the floor. I picked it up and studied it. In the upper right-hand corner, the words Real-Time GPS were printed. I tore the envelope open and rifled through the contents. After finding a card with all the pertinent information written on it, I walked to the kitchen and opened Terra’s laptop. I logged onto the website, typed in the username and password, and waited. In a matter of seconds, an orange beacon blinked over an address that was not more than fifteen minutes away from where we lived. I gathered up the paperwork, stuffed it into the envelope and shoved it into my back pocket. Relieved, nervous and a little anxious, I walked outside and called Sal. “Want to buy me breakfast?” he asked as he answered the phone. “Found the dog.” “Where?” “Terra remembered it had a GPS on the collar. Long story. Just logged onto the website, and found the address of where he is. Maybe fifteen minutes away. In Overland Park.” “Want some help?” “Well, it could be nothing. Or it could be who fucking knows what. Guess it depends if someone just took the dog or was after something else.” “Pick me up.” “Alright. For now, I’m not telling Terra. Just in case.” I considered the worst possible outcome. “You know.” “See ya in ten.” The phone went dead. I walked to the bathroom and cracked the door open. “I’ve got to run for a bit. Maybe an hour or so.” “Okay,” she said. “Love you.” “Love you, too.” * * * Sal opened the door and looked inside the car. “I’ll drive. Park this piece of shit.” “I’m already in here, and it’s running. Get in.” “It ain’t a fuckin’ Cadillac.” “Fuck you.” I chuckled. “It’s better. Get in.” “Piece of German shit.” He pulled the door open wide and fell into the seat. “Roomy fucker, ain’t it?” “Pretty spacious, yeah,” I said. “You ready?”

“I’m fuckin’ in here, what the fuck do you think?” I’d learned from the time we’d spent together that although he was constantly cussing and complaining, he meant nothing by it. “Buckle your seat belt,” I said. “I’m not going to listen to that thing buzz all the way there.” “You know you can unplug that fucker in a Cadillac,” he said. “Good to know.” “So, where is this place?” “I don’t know,” I said. “I programmed it into the navigation. Overland Park, somewhere.” He fucked with the controls on the seat until he was comfortable, and then looked in the backseat. “How big’s the trunk?” “Huge.” “How big’s huge?” “Three suitcases, four sets of golf clubs and a couple pizzas.” “You a golfer?” “Nope.” “They’re pies.” “What?” “Pies. Not fuckin’ pizzas,” he said. “Pies.” “Duly noted.” “You’re a funny fucker, you know that?” “I was just getting ready to tell you the same thing,” I said. “My wife tells me I’m a pain in the ass.” He laughed. “She doesn’t see the fuckin’ humor.” “I can only imagine.” I exited the highway, and followed the instructions as they came over the navigation system’s speaker. After turning into a residential area, Sal looked out the window. “Nice neighborhood,” he said. “Some of the family lives around here.” I gazed out the window. “It’s pretty nice, that’s for sure.” “In five hundred feet, your destination is on the left.” “Coming right up,” I said. He gazed out the window to the left. “In three hundred feet, your destination is on the left.” “How we gonna handle this?” I asked. “Pull in front of the fuckin’ house,” he said. “Then I’ll tell ya.” “In one hundred feet, your destination is on the left.” “Your destination is on the left.” I pulled to the curb and rolled to a stop. “You have arrived at your destination.” I glanced to the left. The home was a nice two-story house with two plastic trash Dumpsters at the curb and a Cadillac SUV in the drive. It looked like a family man’s house, not a dog thief or a thug. “There it is,” I said. “10783.” “You sure that’s it?” I nodded. “10783. That’s it.” He rubbed his jaw between his thumb and forefinger. “You fuckin’ sure you got the right address?” “Yeah, why?” “You need to be fuckin’ sure.”

I reached into my back pocket and pulled out the paperwork. “Why? What the fuck are we going to do?” I flipped through the papers, found the card and held it at arm’s length. “There, 10783 Breckenridge.” He slumped down in the seat. “Let’s go see the boss.” “This prick’s got my dog.” I switched off the ignition. “I’m going to see what the fuck’s going on.” He pressed the start button. “I said we’re going to see the boss,” he said. “Drive the fuck away, and make it slow.” I inhaled a deep breath, then shifted the car into gear. “Tell me what the fuck’s going on.” “Just drive,” he said. “We’ll discuss it later.” * * * Agrioli slid his keyboard to the side. “Punch it in.” I still had no idea what was going on for sure, but simple deductive reasoning told me my dog was somewhere that Sal didn’t suspect it to be. I typed the username and password into the log-in screen. The map loaded, and the beacon blinked at the address of the house where we had been earlier. Agrioli looked at Sal. “What the fuck?” Sal shrugged. “What the fuck is right, boss.” Agrioli looked at me and then at Sal. “I can’t think of one good fuckin’ reason for him to have that dog. Something smells.” “Smells like a rat, boss.” Agrioli clenched his fists. “If that motherfucker...” “What do you want to do?” “See if he’ll talk.” “If he won’t?” “Persuade him,” Agrioli said. “And if he’s a rat...” “Hard to believe, boss.” “You’re fuckin’ telling me?” He shook his head lightly, and his eyes lost their focus. “Boss?” “If he’s a rat...” Agrioli said through his teeth. “Whack him.” “You got it, boss.” I glanced at Agrioli and then at Sal. “One of you going to tell me what the fuck’s going on?” Sal nodded. “The rat,” Agrioli seethed, “is Gino.”

Chapter Thirty-Two Terra “Well, what do you think?” She picked up the invitation, studied it for a moment and then nodded. Her lack of excitement left me wondering. “What?” I asked. “You don’t like it?” Still clutching the paper in her hand, she looked at me and shook her head. “It’s just...” Her eyes had become red and swollen. “Michelle,” I said. “What’s wrong?” “It’s beautiful.” She bit into her quivering lip. “It’s perfect.” “What’s wrong?” “I want it, too.” I slid off the edge of the bar stool and wrapped my arms around her. “What?” “This.” She lifted the invitation. “To get married.” “I’m sorry.” I held her for a moment and then sat down. “You will.” “Last night he said he loved me.” “Cap?” She wiped her eyes. “Yeah.” “Oh my God. Was that the first time?” “Yeah.” “What did you say?” “I told him I loved him.” “That’s awesome.” “Yeah, until my dad finds out.” “It might go better than you think.” “And it might not,” she said. “I hate thinking about losing him.” “Don’t say that.” I reached for her hand. “Everything’s going to be fine.” “I wish I could tell him everything. How Cap makes me feel. How he’s funny and goofy, and that we lay on the couch and watch TV until we fall asleep. And how he gets up and cooks me breakfast in his underwear.” “He cooks you breakfast?” “All the time,” she said. “And it’s good.” “In his underwear?” She laughed. “He wears boxer-briefs. Black ones.” “I thought my father was going to kill me. You did, too. Remember? You told me that.” “I thought he would,” she said. “So did I. But he didn’t. And now he loves Michael.” “He’s going to hate Cap. All I hear is how I need to find someone that’s not shady. Someone with a real job and an education. He goes on and on. Like, every time he sees me.” “If you look for those things first, who knows what you’ll find.” “I’m not looking for anything. I don’t care what happens. I love Cap.”

“So you’re going to tell him?” She sighed. “Yeah.” “When?” “Soon. Cap’s asked. I’ve made up excuses. I mean, I haven’t done what you did, but I just keep putting it off. Luckily, at your party, he was inside all night. I didn’t even tell Cap he was there. I was thinking if he came outside I’d just act surprised and deal with it. And then, you know, after the cops came, everything just kind of ended.” “But you are going to tell him, right?” “My dad?” “Yeah.” “I have to. It’s making me sick.” “It made me sick, too.” I hated the thought of Michelle going through the mental torture I had gone though. “What if I tell my dad?” She scrunched her nose and stared back at me. “Huh?” “What if I tell my dad about you and Cap? Maybe kind of hint around that you’re seeing him, and ask what he thinks?” She shook her head. “I just need to tell him.” “You sure?” “Then your dad tells him, and he gets all mad, and by the time he gets to me, he’s already decided. Then, he won’t listen to anything. I just need to tell him.” “What are you going to do if he tells you to stop seeing him?” “That’s the thing that’s stopped me from telling him more than anything. If he tells me to stop seeing him. Like, if he demands it?” She shook her head. “He’ll be dead to me.”

Chapter Thirty-Three Michael Gino walked into the restaurant with the same smug look on his face that he always had. Knowing his fate was being sealed by what responses he offered left me feeling nervous, but I wanted answers nonetheless. Answers only he could provide. Regardless of what we learned in our sit-down with him, I had already decided I didn’t trust him. Sal glared at him as he approached our table. The restaurant, as always, was empty. Sal sat to my left, and there was a glass of wine to my right. Gino motioned toward the glass. “Is this me?” “Sit down.” Sal said in a snide tone. “What’s with you?” Gino pulled out the chair and sat down. “Always with the stick in your ass.” “We’ve got questions, Gino.” Sal leaned forward. “And we want fuckin’ answers.” Gino looked at me, and then at Sal. “What? You and the kid?” He coughed out a laugh. “Questions for me? What? The kid want to know how to make a fuckin’ meatball?” Sal’s eyes went thin. “Enough with the mouth, Gino.” Gino glared at me for a split second, and then shifted his eyes to Sal. “Watch your tone, Sal. If you think —” “Shut the fuck up, Gino,” Sal snarled. “Shut up and fuckin’ listen.” Gino’s eyes went wide. Before he had a chance to speak, Sal leaned against the edge of the table and locked eyes with him. “You a fuckin’ rat, Gino?” Gino blinked a few times and then looked at me. “Go wait outside.” “He ain’t going anywhere,” Sal said. “Answer the question.” “You askin’ me if I’m a rat?” Gino snarled. “I’m the fuckin’ underboss. I’ve been with the family for—” “Answer the fuckin’ question.” “Are you a rat?” Gino asked. “What about this fuckin’ kid? Probably a fuckin’ Mick, if you ask me. And you wanna—” “We know about the dog, Gino.” Sal tilted his head in my direction. “What the fuck were you doing at his house?” Gino pushed himself away from the table. His eyes darted back and forth between us. “What fuckin’ dog?” “Frank!” Sal shouted over his shoulder. “Get the door.” Frank emerged from the back of the restaurant, walked to the front door and locked it. “You tell me the truth,” Sal said. “And we can fix this. You lie to me? I’ll whack you right fuckin’ here. Get to talking.” Gino buried his face in his hands. “This ain’t easy, Sal.” “It ain’t gonna get any easier. Start fuckin’ talking.” After a tense moment, Gino looked up. “This kid. He tells me he’ll give me twenty large if I tell him about the operation. The family. All I’ve got to do is tell him about it, that’s it. Fuck, Sal. I got that place down in Florida, and the fuckin’ termites took out the whole fuckin’ second floor. Fuckin’ Mexicans want two hundred and fifty thousand dollars to fix it. Took out the second mortgage on my house, and money got

tight. They’re talking about taking my house, so I need that twenty large just so they don’t foreclose.” “You piece of fuckin’ shit,” Sal growled. “You fuckin’ ratted out the family?” “Hold on, Sal. We can fix this. This kid. He’s the informant. Kid got pinched on a cocaine deal, and he’s snitching to the feds for a reduced sentence. The feds don’t even know who I am. Never talked to ’em once, I swear.” “You rat to the kid, and he rats to the feds. A rat’s a fuckin’ rat.” “I can make something up, Sal. I can tell him whatever the boss wants. We can fix this.” “You tell the kid about Jackie Four Eyes?” “Sal—” “You tell the kid about Jackie Four Eyes?” “Sal, I—” “The truth, Gino. I’ll whack you right fuckin’ here.” Gino nodded. “I had to give ’em something—” “You motherfucker.” Sal stood and began pacing the floor beside the table. “You ratted out the boss to fix your termite-infested house on the fuckin’ beach?” “Sal, I swear—” Sal stopped and shot Gino a glare. “What about the dog?” Gino looked at me. Half in shock about everything that was happening, and not certain of how it was going to end, I cleared my throat and glared back at him. “It was the kid’s idea,” he said. “I was showing him where you lived, and the door was just fuckin’ open. He was gonna hit your house when everyone was gone. You know, to get the teeth. They said if I got the teeth it’d all be over. So we drove by, and the fuckin’ door was wide open.” “So, you came into my house and took my fucking dog?” He shifted his eyes toward Sal, who was now standing by the window talking on his phone. He paused for a moment, looked at me and lowered his head. “It was the kid’s idea.” Sal stepped to the table. “Who’s the kid? The informant?” “I swear, Sal. I don’t know. Some drug dealer from Wyandotte County. He just came to me out of the blue and offered me the money.” “You got no fuckin’ idea of who this kid is?” “Some kid with JC tattooed on his neck. That’s all I got.” Gino shook his head. “I swear.” Sal looked at me. “Go to the bathroom, Michael.” “Excuse me?” “Go to the fuckin’ bathroom.” I clenched the edge of the table in my hands and waited until Gino looked at me. As his eyes met mine, I stood from my seat and glared back at him. “Whatever the boss decides, I’ll stand behind,” I said. “But no matter what he says, I’m going to beat the living shit out of you before this day’s over.” He looked back at me, opened his mouth, but didn’t say a word. I turned away, walked to the bathroom and washed my hands. After a moment of wondering just what in the fuck I was supposed to be doing, it dawned on me to check my phone. Sal had no way to communicate his—or the boss’s—decision to me without Gino knowing, other than texting me. I pulled my phone from my jacket pocket, swept my thumb across the screen, and opened Sal’s text message. I read the lengthy message. Re-read it, and then exhaled a deep sigh. Time to make your bones, Cap.

* * * When I sat down at the table, Gino and Sal were arguing. Gino, obviously nervous about his future on this earth—and with the family—was pleading for what I was sure he believed to be his life. “I ain’t getting in the fuckin’ car, Sal.” “Be a fuckin’ man, Gino. I told you what the boss said. You’re driving your car to the bus station. Then, you’re taking a ride with us and we’ll see if we can fix this.” “I’ll follow you to the boss’s house. It’s the best I can do.” “I told you what he said. You’re taking your car to the fuckin’ bus station,” Sal said. “It’s the only way we can get the feds to stop fuckin’ with you. If they think you’re gone, they won’t look at the boss for whackin’ ya. If you just disappear, they’ll come for the boss. You made this mess, Gino. Now it’s time to make it right.” “Sal, I’ve been with the family my whole fuckin’ life.” He shrugged. “Have the boss come here, I’m fuckin’ begging ya, Sal.” Sal pulled his phone from his pocket, and held it at arm’s length. “You call him and tell him you don’t want to do what he’s asking you to. Tell him you got a better idea, Gino. Tell him you think he’s fuckin’ stupid.” Gino shook his head. “Then you’re getting in the fucking car.” “So you can whack me?” “I ain’t gonna fuckin’ whack you. The boss wants to talk. You’re going to tell him what happened, just like you told us. But first, you’re going to call your wife.” “Swear on your mother’s life that you ain’t gonna whack me.” “Vaffanculo!” Sal snapped back. “I ain’t getting in the car.” “You’re one to ask me to swear, you rat son of a bitch.” Sal shook his head. “I swear on the life of my mother, God bless her soul, I ain’t gonna whack you. And neither is he.” Gino looked at me. I looked at Sal. Sal shrugged. “I don’t have a mother,” I said. “So, all I can do is tell you it’s a good damned thing the decision isn’t mine to make, because if it was, I’d whack your ass right now. But I answer to Sal, and Sal says it’s not going to happen.” Gino looked at Sal. “I’ll ride in the back. I ain’t getting up front and getting one in the back of the head.” “I don’t give a fuck where you sit,” Sal said. “But you’re doing what I told you first. Call your wife and tell her what the boss told you to tell her. It’s the only way this is going to work.” “How long am I gonna be gone?” “For fuckin’ ever, you rat bastard,” Sal snapped back. “You’re lucky he’s not having us whack you.” Gino pulled out his phone. “I’ll be back in a minute.” “You ain’t going anywhere,” Sal said. “You’ll talk to her right fuckin’ here, so I can hear what you say.” Gino sighed, dialed a number and waited. After a few seconds, he began his explanation. “I won’t be,” he said. “No, listen. Damn it, Angelica, listen to me. I’ve got to leave town for a while... Because I do... Yeah... No... I don’t know, but I’ll be gone for a while. This is... Just listen... No, it’s not about any of that... Because I’ve fuckin’ gotta, that’s why... Yeah. It’s best for all of us. I’ll get somewhere,

and then I’ll get in touch as soon as I can... I will. I love you... I said I will, so I will.” He put the phone in his jacket pocket. “Call the kid,” Sal said. “Just like I fuckin’ told ya. Or those rat fuckin’ feds will be crawling all over the place looking for ya.” Gino pulled out his phone and made another call. “Nothing... No... Listen, you little fuck. I told you already... No, you listen. I’m going to be gone for a while, I’ve got some family problems I’ve got to take care of... No, it’s none of your goddamned business. I’ll be in touch in a few weeks... Fuck ‘em. Tell ’em I’m fuckin’ busy. I’ll be in touch.” He hung up and then looked at Sal. “Satisfied?” “We’ll follow you,” Sal said. * * * We pulled up beside Gino’s car and parked. He got out, walked into the bus station, and after a few minutes, returned. He opened the door, got in and sat down behind me. “Show me the ticket,” Sal said. “I got one to Philly.” “Use your credit card?” “Yeah, I used my fuckin’ card.” “Show it to me.” Gino pulled out the ticket and handed it to Sal. After a moment, Sal tossed it in the back seat. As we pulled away, I pushed the send button on a pre-typed text message. Troost and Admiral. 3 minutes. “Where’s my dog?” I asked. “It was the kid’s idea,” Gino said. “You’ve said that two or three times,” I said over my shoulder. “I want the fucking dog.” “Kid wanted to use it for ransom,” he said. “It was his dumb fuckin’ idea, not mine. I swear to ya. He wanted to use the dog to try and get you out of the house so we could get the teeth, but then you gave ’em to the boss.” “I need to get that dog back,” I said. Gino cleared his throat. “Dog’s in the river. Kid killed it. Collar was in my trash, just like I told Sal, went out to the curb this morning.” I clenched my teeth and stared straight ahead. The thought of someone killing a dog for any reason didn’t sit well with me. It wasn’t worth me causing an argument, though; I needed Gino to sit still for just a few more minutes. Sal got into the left lane, and then rolled to a stop at the traffic light. I peered through the windshield and looked up at the street sign. Admiral. I leaned forward slightly. Sal glanced to the right, nodded and released the brake. As we pulled through the intersection, Cap’s truck rolled alongside us. My muscles tensed at the sound of the window shattering. Immediately following, the distinct sound of the silenced pistol being fired again caused me to wince. I

glanced over my shoulder. Gino’s lifeless body was slumped in the seat. I glanced to my right. Cap turned the corner and sped away.

Chapter Thirty-Four Terra We were supposed to be looking at wedding dresses, but we hadn’t even made it out of the house yet. Michelle arrived with exciting news, and drinking wine seemed to be a much better idea. At least until Michael and Cap came home. “Telling her went really well,” Michelle said. “She was actually pretty excited about it all.” “Did you tell her everything?” “Not everything. But yeah, pretty much. I told her I’d been seeing him for a while.” “And she didn’t flip out?” “Not at all. She asked me a lot about him, and I told her he was in the Marines. She said, ‘Oh wow, what does he do now?’ I lied. I told her he was working part-time training rebel soldiers to fight ISIS.” I laughed out loud. “Where the hell did that come from?” “I have no idea.” She took a drink of wine. “It just came out.” “What did she say?” “Nothing, really.” “She didn’t ask any more questions?” “Oh, yeah. She asked a lot of questions. How tall he was. What his parents did. I didn’t tell her about his dad and all, I just said I wasn’t sure, and that they lived, like, two hundred miles away. She wanted to know if he was nice, and I said he was. I told her we watched TV a lot, and she said she wished her and Dad did, but they didn’t. Oh, and she wanted to see a picture of him, so I showed her one.” “And?” “She said he was ‘cute.’ I was like, ‘Mom, he’s not cute, he’s hot.’ And she said, ‘What’s the difference?’ I told her cute was like Justin Bieber and hot was Bradley Cooper. She had no idea who either of them were, but then I showed her pictures. She recognized Bradley Cooper, but she said Bieber looked like a girl.” “That’s hilarious.” “I thought so, too. She asked me if it was serious or just a fling. That’s what she called it. A fling. Like I was a slut, or something. I was like, ‘Mother, really?’” “But you told her it was serious?” “Uh-huh.” “Still haven’t told your dad, though?” “No, he wasn’t home, which is another thing. They’d been in a fight, and she was still mad at him. I stayed and we talked for, like, three hours.” “A fight about what?” I asked. “He called her and said he had to leave town for a while. He wouldn’t tell her where, or why, just that he had to go out of town. She was pretty upset. When she told me, she started crying.” “That’s weird. He just left?” “Yeah. I guess.” “But he didn’t say anything about why? Or that something happened, or if there was an emergency?” “No. You haven’t heard anything, have you?”

“I never hear anything, you know that.” “She said he acted like it was something that just came up, and he had to go. She hasn’t heard from him since.” “Nothing?” “Not a word.” “That’s strange.” It seemed strange, but no differently than Peter being in Argentina, a person never really knew if what they were being told was even remotely close to the truth. “I know,” she said. “I’d just like to know what’s going on. My mom does, too.” “Michael hasn’t said anything about ever seeing him, but he never says anything anyway. I don’t even know if he knows who your dad is. I mean, unless your dad told him or something. I can ask him if you want me to.” “You can if you want.” “Okay,” I said. “I’ll ask. So, are you going to introduce him to your mom?” “I don’t know. I want to, but I hate to keep it from my dad. If she meets him, then he doesn’t meet him for a while, and he finds out about her already knowing him, he’ll flip out.” “Yeah. Probably be best if you wait.” “That’s what I’m thinking. But I’m pretty excited about it. She said she didn’t think he’d be mad at all. I hope not.” “I guess whenever he gets home, you’ll find out.” “Yeah.” She rolled her eyes. “Whenever that is.”

Chapter Thirty-Five Michael “It’s nice they let us in here before they opened.” I leaned over the edge of the deck and gazed out into the vineyards. “I like it a lot.” “Enough to have our reception here?” Terra asked. “Absolutely.” “I think it’s pretty,” she said. “I didn’t even know we had a winery this close.” “I didn’t, either. And it’s so peaceful.” “Isn’t it pretty?” “It’s like being somewhere else. This is what I expected Montana or Wyoming to look like, really. Not Kansas.” “Their menu looks really good, too.” “It does.” The fact that we were going to be married was finally sinking in. It seemed since we returned from Belize that it had been one clusterfuck after another, leaving me no time to enjoy spending time with Terra. The only remaining loose end was the informant, and I was pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to get any additional information about the family’s inner workings without Gino. I found not knowing who he was to be troubling, but not so much that it kept me from living life. She leaned over the handrail and wedged her way into my line of sight. “So...” I smiled. “Let’s do it.” Her eyes went wide. “Really?” “I don’t know why not.” “It’s just...” “You hate making decisions. So, I’ll make it for you. Let’s have it here.” “I love this place.” She drew a deep breath and then smiled. “This is so exciting.” Fifteen miles away from the city, the winery sat atop a hill overlooking the vineyards, which were half a mile deep and just as wide. Beyond the winding rows of symmetrically placed grapevines, trees surrounded the establishment, making it appear even more secluded than it was. A breathtaking one-hundred-and-eighty-degree view was available from the second-floor deck, which was where we were standing. Weather permitting, all of our guests would be able to enjoy the scenery while they ate and danced until the wee hours of the morning. “It’s beautiful,” I said. “Now that I’ve seen it, I can’t imagine having it anywhere else.” “So it’s settled?” she asked. “As far as I’m concerned.” She smiled. “It’s settled, then.” “So, we’ve got invitations and our reception decided. What’s left?” “Oh God,” she said. “This is only the beginning.” “What else is there?” “Well, we have to choose our colors for the wedding. You know, for tuxedos and dresses. And then the colors for the floral arrangements. We’ve got to pick those out, too. Then, what types of flowers we want.

We’ve got to pick out a DJ for the music. We need to decide who’s going to make the cake. Then, what kind of cake. And the rehearsal dinner. We need to decide where that’s going to be.” “Holy shit.” She sighed. “It’s stressful.” I sat down at one of the tables. “I had no idea there was so much shit to decide.” “It’s not shit.” “I didn’t mean it like that,” I said. “There’s just a lot of stuff. I thought it was easier than this.” Her hair was twisted into a messy little bun, which allowed me an unobstructed view of her face. I admired her as she sat down beside me and crossed her legs. “I want it to be perfect.” She let out a sigh. “It’s the only time we’re going to get to do this.” “I want it to be perfect, too.” I reached for her hand and cupped in mine. “And we haven’t spoken about it yet, but I want you to know that money’s not going to be an issue. Whatever you want, we’ll get.” She smiled. “Um. My parents pay for everything.” I cleared my throat and returned a playful glare. “No, they’re not.” “Yes, they do. It’s—” “Not for my wedding, they’re not.” “It’s tradition.” “Whose tradition?” “It’s wedding tradition. Wedding etiquette, or whatever. The bride’s parents pay for everything except the rehearsal dinner.” “Seriously?” She chuckled. “Seriously. It’s just how it’s done.” “I had no idea.” “But my father said the same thing. He said he wanted it to be whatever we wanted it to be, and not to worry about the cost. I thought it was nice.” “That’s nice of him.” She reached into her purse, pulled out her pink book and a pen. “Flowers?” “I have no idea.” “It’s simple, but I like the white ranunculus with larkspur. Not just a few, but the vase just stuffed full. It looks like a big flower marshmallow.” “I wouldn’t know a ranunculus if it ran across the street in front of me.” She goofed with her phone for a minute, and then handed it to me. An arrangement of fluffy white flowers with purple-flowered decorative sprigs was on the screen. After admiring it for a moment, I handed her the phone. “I like it.” “Like it or love it?” “As far as I’m concerned, it’s perfect. I like simple.” “You think it’s too simple? Boring?” “No. I like it.” I extended my index finger. “Let me rephrase that. I really don’t care what else you show me, I’ll always go back to that picture and compare everything to it.” “Me, too. I love it.” She smiled and reached for the pen. “It’s perfect.” “Decision’s made. Write it down.” She wrote in the book, and then looked up. “What color tuxedos were you thinking?” “I hadn’t really thought about it, but I think a traditional black tux looks better than anything. It’s classy.

The blues and whites don’t do it for me.” “I think black is good. It’d make my father happy,” she said. “Why do you say that?” “Can you imagine if they were powder blue? He’d have something to say about that for sure,” she said with a laugh. “We can look at black options, but I think that’s what I’d like.” “Okay. Have you thought about who’s going to be your best man, and who’s going to stand up with you?” “We’ve got to have the same amount, right?” “I want a maid of honor, and four bridesmaids. So, you’re going to need a best man and four groomsmen.” “Cap, Lucky, Trace and your brother. And, I don’t know. Truthfully, I’ll probably ask Sal. We’ve got pretty close here lately.” “Oh,” she gasped. “I almost forgot. Do you know Michelle’s dad? Not know him, but have you met him?” “Your Michelle? Cap’s girl?” She nodded. “Uh-huh.” I found it odd that she’d ask, and wondered how she thought I’d know Michelle’s father. “I have no idea who he is, why?” “I just thought you might have seen him around. He’s over at the house all the time. You know, he’s a ‘business associate’ or whatever.” I shrugged. “What’s his name?” “Gino.” Oh fuck. My heart stopped. I stared back at her open-mouthed for an instant, and then tried to mask my emotion by faking a sneeze. I stood up, raised my hands to my face and sneezed. “Bless you.” I met her gaze. “Oh, Gino. I’ve met him, yeah. I had no idea it was her dad, though.” “Have you seen him lately?” My stomach knotted. “No, why?” “He just kind of disappeared and she was wondering if I knew anything. I said I’d ask.” I shook my head. “I haven’t seen him in a while. Maybe a week.” “Well, if you see him or hear anything, let me know. She’s worried.” “I will,” I said. Knowing that Gino was Michelle’s father made me feel sick. I was sure my discomfort, however, was going to be nothing compared to how Cap felt when he found out.

Chapter Thirty-Six Terra Michael’s participation in the “family business,” combined with my father’s acceptance of him as my soon-to-be husband, forced me to admit—and accept—that Michael was involved in what I had spent a lifetime denying even existed. The door was open, but I knocked on the wooden trim to get my dad’s attention. “Hello?” He glanced at me, removed his glasses and then looked them over. “These glasses. I put them on, I can see the computer. I look up, I can’t see anything. I put them on, I take them off. I can see, I can’t see. Too close, too far. Nothing’s where I can see it.” I chuckled. “You’re getting old.” He tossed the glasses to the side. “They’re for reading. You mother bought them at the Walgreens. I wear them for her. It makes her happy.” He shook his head and let out a sigh. “We make sacrifices for those we love.” I smiled. “Are you busy?” “Never too busy for my daughter,” he said. “I just wanted to talk. Things have been so crazy lately, and I finally feel like I’m caught up on everything. Well, kind of.” “Sit.” I sat down across from him and relaxed into the leather chair. “Have you got time to talk?” “I’ve got until your mother gets home, and then there’s only time to listen,” he said with a smile. “That woman...” “Well. I don’t really need anything, I just wanted to tell you some things.” He pushed his chair away from the desk and turned up his palms. “So, tell me.” Michelle had been right when she gave me her little speech about admitting what it was that Michael— and my father—were involved in. And, as odd as it seemed to be admitting it, I was proud that Michael and my father were becoming close—even if it was their work that was bringing them together. “I want you to know that I’m glad you and Michael are getting along so well.” “He’s a good man,” he said with a slight nod. “He makes me proud.” “When I met him, I didn’t know what he did. You know, the guns. And when I found out, I got so mad —” “He sells guns.” He shrugged. “You can buy guns at the Walmarts.” “I know. What I was saying, or what I was trying to say, was that I think I was acting madder about it than I really was. I don’t know how to explain it. I overreacted. And I think I did it because of you.” His brow wrinkled. “What did I do?” In any relationship, sacrifices must be made for them to succeed. My inner admission of the truth about my father, I suppose, was mine. I inhaled a deep breath, and then let it out. It wasn’t a topic that we’d ever discussed, and I knew it was something he wouldn’t want to talk about. But it was necessary. “You’re the mafia boss,” I said. “The godfather of the mob. Whatever you want to—” “The mob.” He chuckled. “There’s no mob. The news, they say things. I’ve got a business. We make

deliveries.” “Papa...” He shrugged. “Okay. Whatever you want to call it. But I’ve never liked it. Actually, I’ve kind of always wished that you did something different, so I think I told myself that you didn’t do what you do.” He shrugged. “I do nothing.” I laughed. “Well, I’m glad that you and Michael do nothing together. And it makes me happy that you two get along. And, for what it’s worth, I’ve accepted what it is that you do, and what Michael does, even if neither of you will admit it.” “You came here to tell me this?” It wasn’t as easy as he probably thought. I swallowed hard, and then smiled and nodded. “Yes. And it wasn’t easy.” “You’re growing up. You’re going to be a woman, get married, have a family—” “I am a woman.” He shook his head, grinned and then walked around the edge of the desk. As he opened his arms, I stood. “You’re my little girl,” he said as he took me into his arms. “Until June. And then? Then, I will give you away to the man who I am proud to call my son.” A rush of emotion ran through me. Hearing him say those words hit me right in the heart. I swallowed the lump that had risen into my throat and looked him in the eyes. “And you’re the man,” I said, “that he’ll be proud to call his father.”

Chapter Thirty-Seven Michael I swallowed my food, wiped my mouth and answered his question. “It’s a lot like being in the Corps.” “I can see that,” Cap said. “All the action a motherfucker wants, and you get paid on top of it. That’s why I joined the Corps, to tell ya the truth. Nothing like getting’ paid to get rid of the bad guys.” “Same thing here, but the money’s better,” I said. “You’ll move up quick. Before you know it, you’ll have your own racket, and you’ll be earning big.” He waived at the waitress. “Can you bring me another burger?” “Everything on it?” “Just like the last one,” he said. “And two more beers.” “Okay.” She smiled and turned away. He glanced at his empty plate, and then looked at me. “Half-pounder, my ass.” “Burned too many calories fucking last night, didn’t you?” “That, and working out this morning. I’m fucking starving.” He glanced over each shoulder, and upon being satisfied no one was listening, looked at me. “And as long as a motherfucker ain’t a snitch, he ain’t got nothin’ to worry about, huh?” “You take an oath. Basically, you agree if you ever do snitch, you sacrifice your life.” “Well, I ain’t a snitch. Again, just like being in the Corps. What’d they tell us if we were taken prisoner? Name, rank and number. Nothing else. Even if we’re tortured.” “Agrioli was going to do a life sentence before he said a word to the cops. For a crime he had nothing to do with.” “Everything’s a fucking secret with them, huh?” “It’s best that way,” I said. “Nobody talks about anything to anyone. Hell, the mob doesn’t even exist.” “And you’re sure they’re going to accept me?” “That’s why I’m here.” “Since when does the mob have a fuckin’ associate go recruit for ‘em?” “Capo.” “I don’t see no capo. You got someone in your pocket?” he asked. “Ain’t nobody here but a starving idiot and an associate of the mob.” “I’m a capo.” He wrinkled his brow and stared. I nodded. “Get the fuck outta here.” He slapped his hand against the table. “You’re a captain?” I nodded. “Goddamn, that didn’t take long.” “Pretty satisfied with my performance, I guess. Hell, I think I got credit for whacking that Wesley fucker.” “You know I didn’t do what I did the other night because I wanted recognition. I did it because that Gino motherfucker was a piece of shit. Hell, he woulda taken you, me, Agrioli...everybody down for, what did you say? Twenty grand?”

I nodded. “You’re right, he was a piece of shit.” I wanted to tell him who Gino was, but continued to struggle with whether I should do it before he took the oath, or after. As I sat and struggled with what to do, I realized oath or not, it didn’t change who Cap was. I either trusted him, or I didn’t. And I trusted Cap with my life. “I need to tell you something. Something pretty devastating.” “You know me. You got something to say, spit it out. Ain’t never believed in beatin’ around the bush, brother.” I took a deep breath and then leaned forward. It wasn’t going to be easy, but I had to do it, regardless. “The boss, Sal, four captains and roughly twenty soldiers. That’s what this family consists of. Or, did consist of.” “Bigger’n I thought.” “As tight-lipped as everyone is, hell, there’s no way to know who’s who. You know, what their real names are. They’ve all got nicknames anyway—” “Jimmy fuckin’ Cupcake.” He chuckled. “I’d beat a fucker’s ass if I got a nickname like that. So, what’s devastating about any of this?” “Gino. The snitch?” “What about him?” He chuckled lightly. “Don’t tell me, he’s got seven kids and no wife, and they’ve all got to go to the orphanage?” I paused for a moment. If for nothing else, for him to understand the seriousness of what I was about to say. He shook his head lightly. “You know I didn’t mean nothin’ by that orphanage comment, Tripp. I ain’t too politically correct most of the time. Sorry, brother.” “Gino?” I let out a sigh. “He was Michelle’s father.” He blinked a few times. “Michelle who?” “Your Michelle,” I said. “Gino was her father.” The muscles in his jaw flared, and his eyes went glazed. For some time, he stared back at me, blankly. “Here’s your burger and the beers,” the waitress said. Cap thanked her, and then stood. “Be back in a minute.” As he walked away, I gazed along the row of booths toward the door. I never enjoyed killing, and I was sure I never would, but my time in combat left me immune to the sensitivities associated with the act. Understanding that my line of work exposed me to people who may be willing to take my life—or the life of someone I loved—I lived my day-to-day life in the civilian world not much differently than I did in combat. The taking of a life was always a matter of survival. To learn the personal information about a victim prior to—or even after—killing them allowed the act to become just that: personal. Not allowing it to become personal was also a matter of survival. Cap’s hand on my shoulder brought me out of my semiconscious state. “Had to piss,” he said. “And do some thinkin’.” “I want you to know that I had no idea who he was until Terra told me he was missing. I put two and two together and just kind of figured it out,” I said. “And, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. Had I known, I would have asked someone else—” “Don’t second-guess yourself, Tripp. I don’t like what happened. Wouldn’t be human if I did. But I

can’t second-guess a decision like that, or the next thing I know, I’ll be second-guessing one instead of pullin’ the trigger.” “Just know—” He raised his hand between us. “Here’s what I know. I know he took that oath you was talkin’ about. I know that. And I know he knew what was gonna happen if he got caught. And he got caught.” “I’m sure it’ll all sink in here in a day or two,” I said. “Just want you to know if you want to talk about it, I’m here for you.” “If he’s the kind of fucker that’ll rat out the boss for a crime he didn’t even commit, I don’t want any part of grieving over his death. Sorry, but like I said, I ain’t always politically correct.” He reached for his burger, took a bite and washed it down with a drink of beer. “And about that other thing. When was you wantin’ to do that?” I was completely lost. “What other thing?” I asked. “Gettin’ sworn in, or whatever?” “So, you want to do it?” “You think I’m gonna let you have all the fun?” He took another bite of his burger and then laughed. “Afraid not, Tripp. Afraid not.”

Chapter Thirty-Eight Terra I’d never felt so beautiful in my life. I stepped across the platform and glanced in the mirror, not knowing what to expect. My reflection confirmed my feelings. I looked fabulous. I had no idea if how I felt was normal, but I had to fight to keep myself from crying. The dress—a ballgown style—fit me perfectly. Long, full and flowing, it looked exquisite. I turned a quarter of a turn and peered over my left shoulder. I looked even better “What do you think?” Silence. I raised my voice slightly. “I love it. What do you think?” Still nothing. I looked to my right. My mother stood at the edge of the platform with her hands covering her mouth and tears rolling down both cheeks. “It’s perfect,” she murmured. “Momma...” “You look beautiful,” she said. Seeing her was too much. I joined her, crying for no other reason than having had witnessed the definition of what beauty truly was: a bride in her wedding dress. Nothing could be more beautiful. I wiped my tears and shuffled to her side. “It’s only the first one. I want to try the others.” She didn’t stop crying, nor did she speak. She simply nodded like a child who had been asked if she wanted a second helping of ice cream. I lifted the dress and walked to the fitting room. A few minutes later, and I emerged wearing the backless mermaid-style long-sleeve dress. As soon as I stepped onto the platform, my mother gasped. “Semplicemente magnifico.” Simply magnificent. I looked in the mirror. She was right. I turned left. I turned to my right. I turned away and looked over my shoulder. Unlike the ball gown, I could actually see that I had an ass. And it looked semplicemente magnifico. With my eyes fixed on the mirror, I gave my opinion. “I love it.” I turned to face my mother. Her head bobbed up and down. “What will Papa say?” She shrugged. “Who cares.” “Will he think it’s too...” I glanced in the mirror again. “Too tight?” “He has no fashion sense,” she said. “Who buys his suits?” I had no idea. “You?”

She nodded. “I pick them out. He gets them fitted. And I buy his shoes. His shirts. His ties.” My father dressed in the most modern fashion, and always wore a modern fitted suit. I suspected he picked them out himself. “I think you should get this one. It fits you well.” “They’ll order it in my size.” I took another quick look in the mirror. “This one is a little too big.” “It fits your personality well,” she said. “It fits you.” I couldn’t agree more. Within an hour, I had tried the mermaid, column, ball, tea, trumpet, princess and empire dresses. My personal favorite was the mermaid. “Can I try it again?” I asked. “Certainly,” the saleswoman replied. “They don’t have prices. How much is this one?” “As configured,” she said. “Backless with the sleeves, it’s twenty-five thousand dollars. It’s a complete custom.” I smiled. “Thank you.” I tried it on again, walked onto the platform and did my best pirouette. “I like this one the best, but—” “But nothing,” my mother said. “It’s the most beautiful of them all.” “Do you think Michael will like it?” “If he doesn’t, he doesn’t deserve you.” “Mother!” “It’s true. You look like a porcelain doll. It fits you so well.” “And Papa?” “Your father will love it.” “It doesn’t have a back, and it’s tight around my hips. He might not like it.” “Your father will love it. Your pictures will be so pretty. The boys are wearing black?” “Black and white.” “This will be white?” I nodded. “It’s perfect,” she said. “Have her order it.” I really loved the dress, but priced at a ridiculous twenty-five thousand dollars, it was very impractical. I suspected that although I determined what I wanted, we would have to look elsewhere for a more reasonably priced gown. “It’s twenty-five thousand dollars,” I whispered. “Papa will throw a fit.” “We get to buy one wedding dress. Only one. Your father has worked his entire life for this moment. Everything he does, he does for you, and for Peter. Not for himself,” she said. “Order the dress.” “Are you sure?” She nodded. “I can’t wait until he sees you in it.” “I can’t wait, either.” I love you, Papa.

Chapter Thirty-Nine Michael After Cap took the oath of Omerta, Jimmy, Sal, Little Frank, Cap and I stood in Agrioli’s office drinking wine. Agrioli turned toward his bookcase. “Which of you men is man enough for this?” he asked as he turned around. He cradled a twenty-five-year-old bottle of Macallan scotch in his hands. Cap looked at it, cocked an eyebrow and cleared his throat. “I’ve heard rumors about the existence of a twenty-five-year-old bottle of Macallan, but I’ve never seen one. Count me in.” “I’ll have a taste,” I said. “I drink that shit every time I’m at the kid’s office,” Sal said. Little Frank nodded. Jimmy nodded. Agrioli poured a double shot for each of us, handed them out and raised his glass. “The new regime. May our wives remain young, our opposition turn weak and our wallets grow fat.” “Hear, hear,” I said. Everyone stared. “Salute!” Cap shouted. Everyone laughed and raised their glasses. “Salute!” I said. We sipped our scotch, talked about business and told stories about who’d made the largest cash pickup of all time. Agrioli claimed to have made a 1.8-million-dollar cash deal early in life, and Sal confirmed having seen the cash. “Hell, I would have retired,” I said with a laugh. “Gonna tell him about the gold?” Cap asked. In Baghdad, our platoon stumbled onto a cache of weapons, and while waiting for orders to either destroy or confiscate them, we searched the remaining portion of the home and the surrounding area for more weapons. In doing so, we found a hole that had been dug in one of the rooms. In it were twenty-four twelve-kilogram bricks of gold. I’d forgotten all about it. “You tell it,” I said. “Hell, I forgot all about that.” “So Tripp and I were in Baghdad before they had liberated it all, and people were just shooting AK47s in the streets like idiots. We ended up following a guy into a house who had taken a few shots at another platoon, and after we got him captured and zip-tied, we searched his house and found a cache of weapons. About thirty AK-47s and a handful of RPGs. We secured the weapons, and were waiting on orders, and Tripp tells two of the PFCs to search the rest of the house.” He took a sip of scotch and glanced at each of the men. “So they start searching the place for more weapons, and our POW gets all wild-eyed when they go into the back of the house. Tripp sees him wigglin’ around and actin’ all nervous, and he figures they’re

onto something—probably a bomb. When he goes back into the room, he can tell the floor is hollow.” He paused and stomped on the floor, producing a thud with each step. “Hear that? Now, all them poor fuckers over there got dirt floors in their houses, they ain’t got subfloors and wood construction. So, a hollow sound like that means you’re in for trouble.” “We dig it up, and find a wooden box that’s buried about a foot down. I take my bayonet and pry it open, and inside is six hundred and eighty pounds of fucking gold.” “Holy shit,” Little Frank said. “What’d you do with it?” “Hold on,” Cap said. “Let me tell ya about it.” I shook my head, realizing the point he was going to make. I was anxious to see what everyone had to say about it. “So, the two kids that dug it up were about nineteen years old. They wanted to know what it’s worth. Ol’ digit-head here does the math in his head. Any of you fellas wanna guess what it’s worth?” “Two-fifty large,” Sal said. Cap shook his head. “Mil, at least,” Jimmy said. Cap laughed. “Nice try.” “Two million bucks,” Little Frank said. “Ten million,” Agrioli said. In current prices, he would have been right. Cap shook his head and took a sip of scotch. “Then, it was worth eight and a half million dollars, but gold was only about eight hundred and fifty dollars an ounce.” “What’d you do with it?” Little Frank asked. “This is the part you’ll either love or hate. Tripp calls it in, and tells the captain. Captain secures it, takes it back to company headquarters, and the company commander takes it to Battalion. Battalion does who-knows-what with it, and in the end, it comes up missing. Nobody knows what happened to it. But I know who didn’t get it. Me or Tripp.” Everyone started giving their opinions at once. Agrioli raised his hand, silenced the group and looked right at me. “Could you have taken it? I mean, would it have been possible to take it, if you wanted to?” “Sure,” I said. “It would have been easy.” “Could you have got it out of the country?” “Sure.” He looked at Cap. “What did you want to do?” “Didn’t matter much, boss. Tripp was in charge.” “If you were in charge, what would you have done?” “Same as Tripp.” Agrioli nodded. He looked at Jimmy Cupcake. “What would you have done?” “Snuck that shit right out of there. Gave each of the two kids that found it a bar each for hush money.” He looked at Little Frank. “You?” “Same as Jimmy, boss. But I’d have had them split a bar.” He looked at Sal. “You?” “I’d have put a bullet in each one of their heads, and taken it all. Dead men tell no tales.” Agrioli grinned, and then looked at me. “Why didn’t you take it?” “It would have been stealing, and I’m not a thief.” He kept his eyes fixed on mine for long enough that he made me uncomfortable. Eventually, I looked

away, and it appeared even moments later that he was still in deep thought. As the men told stories and talked, I was left to wonder what Agrioli thought about the story, and about my decision not to take the gold. It was apparent he either loved it, or he hated it. But I didn’t know which.

Chapter Forty Terra Michael motioned toward my plate. “How is it?” “It’s good, how’s yours?” “Excellent,” he said. “I’ve always liked veal, but this is really good.” “I can’t think about eating little baby lambs,” I said. “It makes me sad.” He chuckled. “Veal isn’t lamb. It’s beef. A calf, to be specific.” “It is not.” “It sure is.” I turned toward my father. “Papa? What’s veal?” With his mouth filled with pasta, he looked up. “Meat.” “What kind of meat?” “Beef,” he said. “Veal is beef.” “Is it really?” He glared at me. “Veal is beef, Terra,” my mother said. I looked at Michael. “I had no idea.” “Now you know,” he said. I was shocked. Either way, I wasn’t interested in eating it, but I’d spent a lifetime believing it was lamb. I wondered how many more childhood beliefs I had that were later going to be crushed when I learned the truth. Santa Claus and veal were the biggest two so far. We were eating out, and although Peter didn’t make it, I still considered it a family dinner. After I’d moved out of my family’s home, I didn’t return regularly for their Sunday dinners. At first I did, but as time passed, the occurrences became less frequent, until I reached a point that I rarely saw them on Sundays. Now things were different. I looked forward to spending time with them again. I glanced at my mother, and then at my father, and wondered how many times they had similar dinners with their parents and had the same thoughts I was having. Being able to one day have dinner with my own children was my dream, and hopefully, in time, Michael would make my dream a reality. My mother nudged my father. “Tell him about the restaurant.” “What?” “The restaurant. For the dinner.” He set down his fork and looked at Michael. “Vito knows a guy. He’s got a restaurant a mile away from the church. Nice place. Called the Waterfront. It’s by the river. Steaks, chops, seafood, pasta. He said he’d let us use it for the rehearsal dinner.” “Sounds great,” Michael said. “We’d discussed it, but we haven’t decided anything yet.” My father looked at me. “I don’t care. It’s fine with me.”

He looked at Michael. “It’s fine with me. If I need to pay a deposit let me know,” Michael said. “No deposit. It’s taken care of.” “I’d like to take care of it,” Michael said. “It’s the least I can do.” “We’ll talk.” I looked at Michael and smiled. “It might be a nice place.” “It is a nice place,” my father grunted. He looked at my mother. “Did I say it was a nice place?” She nodded. “You did.” He glared at me. “I said it was a nice place. It’s a nice place.” Sometimes, he was impossible. Having him communicate at dinner was a nice change, though. I lifted a forkful of my pasta and looked at Michael and shrugged. “It’s a nice place,” I said with a Philadelphia accent. My father peered at me over his glass of wine and laughed. “You should be on the television.” “She should be a model,” my mother said. “You should have seen her in her dress. She looked so—” “Mother!” I shouted. “You can’t tell them. It’s a secret until the wedding.” “He can’t see you,” she said. “He can hear about it.” “I want it to be a secret.” My father looked at her. “She wants it a secret.” “Thank you,” I said. “What about the tuxedos?” My father asked. “Can we talk about them?” “Sure,” I said. “It’s not a secret subject.” He looked at Michael. “What color?” “Black.” “What about the shirts?” “White.” He raised his glass of wine. “I was afraid of the powder blue.” “I knew it,” I said. “I knew if he picked a color other than black, you’d have something to say about it.” He glared at me. “Tuxedos should come in the one color. Black. It’s classy.” “Mother says you have no taste in clothes.” “Terra Agrioli!” my mother shouted. “You don’t like my suit?” “I think you look nice, Papa.” “I have taste.” “Mother says she picks your suits.” He shot my mother a glare. “She buys them. I tell her what to get.” “She said she picks them, and you get them fitted.” “Terra!” my mother hissed. “No more secrets.” Michael looked at my mother, and then at me, and laughed. “Who picks out your suits, Michael?” my mother asked. “I do.” “Your shirts and ties?” “I do.” “You always look so nice.” He grinned. “Thank you.” “He’s got big feet,” my father said. “Have you seen his feet? They’re like the water skis.”

“Papa...” “It’s true. Look at them.” He held his hands two feet apart and looked at the space between them. “Like this.” I shook my head. Michael chuckled out a laugh. “You know what they say about the big feet,” he said. “Papa!” I screeched. I couldn’t believe my ears. My father was making jokes at the dinner table. For my entire life, we ate when it was time to eat, and talked only after we had finished. Seeing him enjoy himself was a change I could easily become accustomed to. I had no idea what he saw in Michael that he didn’t see in Peter, but whatever it was, I was glad that he recognized it as being valuable. Maybe it was that he saw how happy I was, and was appreciative of what Michael offered me. I had no idea for sure, but for whatever reason, he was happy. And seeing him happy made me want to see more of him. We finished our meal, ordered tiramisu and then had coffee. After deciding we’d all go to my parents’ house and enjoy some wine, we got up and walked to the door. My father held the door, and Michael and I walked out onto the sidewalk. After he and my mother walked out, we let them walk in front of us. I admired them as they passed. It was as if I were seeing them in an entirely different light. She walked by his side with her head resting on his shoulder while he spoke to her so quietly that I couldn’t hear. His long strides expressed his confidence, and his strut reminded me of Michael’s. I decided as I watched him walk up to the door of the car that he and my mother were Michael and me, only older. They were every bit as in love as we were, and he was her protector, just as Michael was mine. He pressed the button on the key fob, unlocked the car and reached for the door. My mother glanced in my direction and smiled. I smiled in return as he opened the door for her. All of a sudden, men jumped out of cars that were parked along the curb and started screaming. Dressed in black, they came from everywhere, all carrying machine guns. “Don’t fucking move!” one shouted. “Freeze!” another said. One jumped out of the back of a truck. “Freeze!” “Don’t move, Agrioli!” Several men stepped from behind the building adjacent to the parking lot, all screaming and waving their guns. And then, the man I recognized as Special Agent Whistler stepped from behind the building. Standing between us and my father, and holding a machine gun, he was wearing black pants, a black shirt, a bulletproof ATF-labeled vest and boots. He looked like a commando, not a cop. This can’t be happening. They said they couldn’t arrest him again. My stomach knotted. I felt sick, and scared, and vulnerable, and lied to all at the same time. “Don’t, you’re hurting him,” I shouted as they shoved my father to the ground. Whistler looked at Michael. His index finger was positioned right by the trigger of his gun, and it was

twitching. “Looks like you need to find a better crowd to run with, Tripp. It’s Tripp, right?” “Fuck you, Whistle-dick” Michael snapped. “You want to know my name, arrest me.” “I just might,” Whistler said. Please, no. “Tell them you won’t answer any questions without your attorney present,” Michael shouted. “I’m calling him right now.” “It won’t do you any good this time.” Whistler locked eyes with Michael. “We’ve already served the search warrant.” Michael pulled out his phone and began scrolling through his phone numbers. “We’ve got the teeth,” Whistler said, grinning from ear-to-ear as he spoke. “He’s fucked.” Teeth? I glanced at Michael. His face had gone stark white. “Michael?” He fumbled with his phone, but I could tell he was upset. “They’re arresting him again... I don’t know. Right now, I’m standing in front of agent Whistle-dick. We just walked out of the restaurant, and they were waiting for us... Alright, I’ll tell him. Appreciate it.” Michael hung up. “Attorney’s on his way,” Michael said. “He’s sure going to need one,” Whistler said with a laugh. He turned around and walked toward my father. As they pulled him to his feet, I looked at Michael. “What’s happening?” I asked. “They said they wouldn’t arrest him again. They can’t keep doing this.” Michael placed his hands on my cheeks and looked me in the eyes. “There’s two things you need to know. One: they can do whatever they want, whenever they want. They don’t play by any rules. And two: no matter what you hear on the news, or what the outcome of this is, always remember this—your father’s an innocent man.” “How can you say that?” I asked. “You don’t even know what they’ve charged him with.” His eyes remained locked on mine. “Do you? Michael?” My lip began to quiver. “How do you know he’s innocent?” He didn’t have to respond. I could see it in his eyes. I may have spent my lifetime with my head buried in the sand, but as they took my father away in handcuffs—charged with a crime he apparently didn’t commit—I realized something. My father was willing to be arrested for a crime he didn’t commit. And if he was willing to do that, his love for Michael was true.

Chapter Forty-One Michael “He has insisted that you get in to see him in a secure location,” Al said. “Secure location?” I asked. “What? How in the hell—” “The room we use to prepare his legal case is private and confidential. There are no cameras, nor are there recording devices.” “And you can get me in?” He handed me a slip of paper. “Here.” I looked at it. It was a check for fifteen hundred dollars written out to me from his law firm. We were sitting at a coffee shop a few miles from the jail. Shocked by his calling of our meeting, and even more so at the check I was holding, I looked at him with eyes filled with uncertainty. “Your name’s Aldo? I thought it was Albert.” I chuckled. “And what’s this?” He grinned. “My given name is Aldo, but I go by Al. And I listed you as my paralegal. Kansas doesn’t have a state requirement for the minimum education of paralegals. The bar has a recommendation, but it’s only that. Just to keep things semilegitimate, we’re going to drive through your bank, and you’re going to deposit that check. Okay?” “I’m your paralegal and this is my paycheck?” He nodded. “I employ you. I’ve listed you on the form, and I’ve already taken the liberty of emailing it and faxing it to the authorities.” “And this will get me in to see him?” He grinned. “The law has a provision for it, yes. Will you be my paralegal?” “If it’ll let me get in there with you and see him, I’m good with it.” “Just remember. In that courthouse, and in the jail, you’ve got to maintain a professional attitude. None of this ‘my cock’s bigger than yours’ bullshit.” I folded the check and put it in my jacket pocket. “I’ll be professional.” “Are you ready to deposit the check?” “I, um. Yeah, I guess so,” I stammered. “Leave your car.” He stood. “I need to grab a coffee to go, and then we can leave. I’ll drive.” “Okay.” After depositing the check, we drove to the jail. A quick—and uneventful—trip through the metal detectors later, and we were escorted through a corridor, and into a meeting room. I looked the room over thoroughly and sat down. A simple meeting room with four chairs, a steel table and a water cooler, it was minimalistic. “You’re sure there’s no way they can record this?” Al removed documents from his satchel and placed them on the table. “You have my assurance. It’s not only contrary to law, but even if he admitted to murder in the confines of this room, they wouldn’t be able to use it in court. You may speak freely.” The door opened. Agrioli stepped in with a guard right behind him. After uncuffing one of his hands and securing the cuff to the underside of the table, the guard left the room. Agrioli sat down, looked at me and shrugged. His mouth twisted into a smirk. “The coffee. It’s

terrible.” Al slid his cup of coffee across the table. “Eight shots of espresso. It’s the best I could do.” Agrioli grinned. “Put it on my bill.” “You called this meeting,” Al said. “As far as what I know, nothing’s changed. I’ve filed the motion for discovery, but we know they’ve got the teeth. Sixty-three total, from what the inventory sheet says that’s attached to the search warrant.” I glanced at Al. “So, are you thinking that Gino must have said something to the informant before he got...” He nodded. “That’s my guess. My motion for discovery not only asks for what you may expect, but it also calls for any recordings made, be them electronic, oral, written or transcribed in any manner. It will include any information from wiretaps.” “Do you think they’ve got the restaurant wired?” He shook his head. “I’m quite certain that’s not the case. A judge must sign an authorization for wiretap, and a public place will never be allowed. It’s invasive to the right of expectation to privacy. Too broad a swath of the Fourth Amendment’s paintbrush, I’m afraid.” “Didn’t know that,” I said. “You’ll learn a lot during this trial, I’m sure.” Al looked at Agrioli. “Did you do as I asked?” Agrioli nodded, leaned forward and pointed to the notepad that was sitting beside Al’s leather satchel. “My apologies,” Al said. He slid a notepad and pen across the table. “Here.” “Take a walk,” Agrioli said. “Five minutes?” Al asked. Agrioli nodded. Al left the room. Methodically, Agrioli tore a sheet of paper free, placed it on the table beside the pad and began writing. When he was finished, he pushed the paper across the table. I looked at it. Hillcrest Village. Justin Carter. Call Katie Miller 316 249 3618. Pay her $50,000 cash. “Justin Carter?” I whispered. “What’s this?” “I asked around about a cocaine dealer that got pinched and hasn’t gone to prison yet. The tattoo on his neck made it easy. That’s him.” He nodded toward the paper. “Pay her fifty large. Her husband needs the money for legal fees.” “Good work.” I folded the paper and put it in my pocket. “I’ll get this taken care of.” First, I’d make him pay for what he did to my dog. Then I’d make sure he wouldn’t testify in the case against Agrioli. Without Gino, and without the informant, I doubted they’d even be able to present their case. With his face covered in whiskers, and wearing his orange jumpsuit, Agrioli looked no differently than when Terra and I came to see him the first time he was arrested. He pulled against his handcuff, causing the restraint to rattle against the steel table. “This? This is my life. There’s only so much I can do from here.” He took a drink of the coffee, tore another sheet from the tablet and wrote on it. When he was finished, he pressed his free hand against the sheet, leaned forward and lifted his chin slightly. “You take this to Sal.”

“I will.” His eyes met mine. His mouth curled into a smile I wouldn’t have guessed any man in jail would ever smile. For that one moment, at least, he was truly happy about whatever it was he was thinking. “The men,” he said. “They may complain to themselves. But. They’ll be respectful. In time?” He shrugged. “In time, they’ll decide. Like I decided. This is what’s best for the family.” “What are you talking—” “I talk.” He chuckled. “You listen.” “Yes, sir.” “Peter. He is...” His eyes fell to the table. After a moment, he shook his head, sighed and then looked up. “This stays between you and me.” I nodded. “Absolutely.” “Peter,” he said. “He is my son, and I will always love him. But he doesn’t like the women.” I had no idea Peter was gay, and I was sure Terra didn’t, either. I didn’t care one way or the other, but for the sake of our conversation, Agrioli sure seemed to. “You will marry my daughter soon. And you will make me a promise.” “Absolutely,” I said. “You will have the grandchildren.” He smiled. “And you promise me that you will bring them to see me.” Emotion washed over me that I wasn’t expecting. My mouth went dry, and I fought to swallow. “We will. And, we will. We’ll come over for Sunday dinners, they’ll play, we’ll—” He raised his hand and shook his head. When he met my gaze, I could see that he was just as emotional as I was. He shook his head. “I said never. You will never bring them to see me. This? This is my new home. I don’t want them to see me here. To the world, I can be a criminal. To them, I am a legend.” His lower lip was quivering. Seeing a man of his stature attempting to contain such emotion tugged at my heart strings. He cleared his throat. “God will grace you with a son. You will give him my name. You will call him Anthony.” Upon hearing him say it, my entire body began to tingle. I couldn’t speak. I simply nodded my head. “Make the promise.” “I promise,” I stammered. “I’ll name him Anthony.” He slid the sheet of paper across the table. With swollen eyes, I glanced down. Sal, Michael will take my place as the boss. Stand at his side as the Consigliere. Together, you will make me proud. Anthony I read it, re-read it and chewed against my bottom lip for a moment. After gaining my composure, I looked up. “I can’t—” He raised his hand. “The Omerta. You took an oath to obey my orders, no?” “I did.” He nodded his head toward the sheet of paper. “That is an order.” I fought to swallow the lump that had risen in my throat.

With his hand cuffed to the table, he stood the best he was able. “Take care of my daughter,” he said. “And take care of the family.” “I will.” I walked around the corner of the table, and we embraced in a hug. “I love you, my son.” he said. Son? A father’s love. They were words I had yearned for a lifetime to hear, but knew they’d never come. I swallowed hard and tried my best to maintain my composure. It wasn’t easy, but I somehow accomplished it. At least long enough to speak. “I love you, too,” I muttered. He pressed his free hand against my shoulder and looked at me through watering eyes. “You will be—” he murmured. “You will be...” He cleared his throat. “The good boss.” I’d hoped for a family since the day mine was taken from me. Now I was being given a chance not only to be an integral part of a family, but the acting father of the family. The family I could trust. The family I had grown to respect. The family I would protect at any and all costs. No one knew what the future held for Anthony, but it looked grim. I met his tearful gaze and held it. “I will make you proud.” I would do that and more. For the man who had become the father I had never known? He was right. I would be the good boss.

* * * * *

Acknowledgments Michelle. You were right. You’re always right.

Also available from Scott Hildreth and Carina Press The Gun Runner And coming soon in the Mafia Made series The Good Boss

About the Author Born in San Diego, California, Scott now calls Naples, Florida, home. Residing along the Gulf of Mexico with his wife and children, he somehow finds twelve hours a day to work on his writing. A hybrid author who has published more than two dozen romance and erotica novels, he can generally be found in a tattoo shop, on his Harley or in a local coffeehouse when not writing.

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ISBN-13: 9781460396872 The Game Changer Copyright © 2017 by Scott Hildreth All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario M3B 3K9, Canada. All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A. ® and ™ are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Intellectual Property Office and in other countries. www.CarinaPress.com