Making Angel (Mariani Crime Family Book 1) (4 page)

He wanted me more involved. I tried to mask my disappointment, and nodded. “Yes sir.”

“Good, good.” He patted me on the back. “Now, I need you to pick up a couple of associates from the airport tomorrow afternoon. I’ll forward you the details. And don’t forget you promised the twins you’d take them out for Halloween. Then family dinner Sunday.”

“Of course, Father.”

He nodded. “You’re a good son, Angel. A good family man.”

Considering my family, I wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or not.

An announcer stepped onto the stage and prepared the crowd for the start of my little sister’s ballet recital. I turned to head to my seat, but Father grabbed my arm.

“Angel, I want you and Bones to spend some time on the shooting range. This thing with the Pelinos is heating up, and we may have to make a move. I want you two ready in case I need to send you in.”

My stomach sank as I stepped forward to take my seat. Everyone said my baby sister danced her legs off that night, but I was too busy wondering what the old man was planning to even pay attention.

CHAPTER THREE

Markie

W
ITH MY SUITCASE packed and set beside the door, I paced the small, dank room I had shared with eight orphans for the past eleven months. Empty, lumpy mattresses sat atop four sets of bunk beds, the absence of their occupants filling my stomach with lead.

The door opened and I stopped in my tracks, hopeful.

Tad stepped into the room, wringing his hands as he scanned the space. “They’re still not back,” he said, leaning against a bunk.

Somewhere north of forty with skin darker than a starless night and heart larger than Texas, Tad had devoted his life and finances to running this orphanage in the impoverished, AIDS-ridden village of Mwembeshi, Zambia. He had patience for days, but I’d managed to wear it thin on more than one occasion. Today was no exception.

He glanced at his watch. “If we don’t leave in the next ten minutes, you’ll miss your flight, Ms. Markie.”

“I know. I just—” Having no idea how to finish the statement, I closed my mouth. Almost four hours ago the children—six girls and two boys ranging from ages three to ten—had set off to deliver fresh water to a family in the bush north of the village. We’d made the trek together dozens of times, but this time I stayed behind to pack and say my good-byes to the villagers. The delivery should take two hours, round trip, and knowing I was on a schedule, the children had promised to hurry back. And with every minute they were late, my stomach tied in another knot.

“I’m sure they’ll be all right, Ms. Markie,” Tad said. “They know the land. They will not get lost.”

My worries had more to do with Zambia’s recent Boko Haram infestation than with the children getting lost. If those psychos got their hands on the children… there’d be nothing I could do. We’d be lucky to ever see them again. Guilt gnawed at my insides, making me wish I’d just gone with them. A little voice in the back of my mind reminded me I was abandoning the children to head back to the states and they’d have to make the delivery without me from now on. Doubting my decision to leave for the millionth time, I checked my cheap, international cell phone again, hoping for a text from my sister. Nothing. It had been weeks since I’d heard from Ariana.

The voices of children calling my name drew my attention from my phone. I looked up just in time to see all eight children rush through the door and stop short, breathing heavily as sweat dripped down their faces.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” I asked, wondering if they’d been chased.

“We didn’t want to miss you,” the oldest boy, Kael, breathed.

I didn’t care how sweaty they were, I wrapped each in a hug and kissed their moist cheeks. “Where have you guys been? I was so worried!”

“Ms. Tanishia was having her baby, and Hadiya had to help,” the five-year-old girl, Aboyomi, said.

“I had to learn,” Hadiya, the eldest girl, defended. “I knew you’d understand, Ms. Markie.”

I did understand, but Tad took that moment to remind me we were out of time. The children carried my bags to the jeep, we said hurried good-byes, and then Tad and I were off to the airport. Tad drove as fast as his broken-down jeep could, and we arrived only moments before I needed to board. I barely had time to thank him before being whisked onto the plane and strapped in. As Africa shrank beneath my feet, the reality of my departure hit me. I didn’t cry—never been big on shedding tears, especially not in public—but I felt like I’d been sucker-punched in the gut. I lowered my head and tried to pull myself together.

“You okay?” someone asked.

Startled, I looked up to see the elderly woman in the next seat watching me. She flashed me the trust-gaining smile of a politician or a preacher, and, based on the leathery condition of her sun-saturated skin, I figured she was the latter. Probably a missionary, in fact. My first instinct was to lie and assure her I was fine, but as an external processor, I couldn’t. We had a long flight ahead of us, and if I didn’t talk to someone now, I’d be ranting to myself like a lunatic in no time.

“Honestly, no.” I replied. “I’ve been volunteering at an orphanage, and now that I’m heading back to the states I’m worried about the children. There are so many dangers, and if I’m not there to protect them…” My incomplete thought lingered between us as I fought to form my concerns into words.

The woman nodded, patting my shoulder. “You’re worried about their ability to survive without you.”

As her words sank in, I realized how arrogant they made me sound. Did I truly believe a group of tough-as-nails children couldn’t survive without the help of a five-foot-seven, one hundred-and-thirty-five-pound, twenty-two-year-old white girl? What could I really do for them that Tad couldn’t?

“I remember my first mission here,” the woman added, clearly oblivious to my inner battle. “I felt the exact same way. Cried the whole trip home. Then some wise old lady reminded me that the children were all right before I came and would be fine after I left. So now I’m going to be that wise old lady and tell you the same thing. Those children have their own path to follow, and you wouldn’t be able to control it even if you stayed. Who are you to protect them from life?”

Feeling robbed of whatever empathy I’d been expecting, I bristled. But in the end, I knew she was right. The past couple of years had taught me that control was an illusion easily shattered by circumstances or details. “You
are
wise.”

“Of course I am. I’m old and have earned my knowledge the hard way.” She smiled and squeezed my hand. “You can always come back and check on the children, you know?”

Even in all her wisdom she was wrong, but I didn’t have the heart to correct her. We chatted for a while. When we were done, I put earbuds in and came to terms with my decision, knowing it was far too late to turn back now.

After what seemed like a lifetime of flights and layovers, Las Vegas appeared in the small window. Swimming pools in practically every yard, replicas of world-famous buildings, flashing lights. I couldn’t help but get swept up in the possibilities of the city I’d never seen in person. By the time my flight landed, I felt much better about being in the states and was mentally prioritizing an after-I-smack-Ariana-around list of things to do.

After a brief stop at baggage claim, the welcome aroma of pizza smacked me across the face, reminding my growling stomach that it took more than a handful of airline pretzels to make a meal. Temporarily tabling my search for my sister, I followed my nose to Don’s Pizzeria. The place was packed. I sighed and gave my name to the hostess before wheeling my luggage over to sit in the waiting area. I didn’t have to wait long before a man stood before me, smiling. Barely older than me, he worked the sexy Italian look like a movie star. His tailored suit might as well have had moneybags taped to it, and as I glanced down at my rumpled sundress and sandals, I hoped he wasn’t the manager, appearing to escort me from the premises.

“There’s only one in your party?” he asked.

I nodded. “Yes.”

“You shouldn’t have to wait. My friend and I have an extra seat at our table if you’d like to join us,” he offered.

Startled, I gaped at him like an idiot. I understood what he said, but it didn’t make sense. Why would someone like him offer someone like me a seat? I thought of the childhood warnings my mother had given, hesitant to trust a well-dressed stranger in what everyone referred to as the city of sin.

His smile melted away and his posture stiffened. “If you don’t want to, that’s okay. Just thought I’d offer, since we have an extra seat.”

My brain kicked into gear enough to realize my hesitancy could be seen as offensive. I jumped up, ashamed. He was offering me a seat at a public restaurant, not luring me into the back of his van with candy.

“Sorry, you caught me off-guard. Thank you, yes. I’d love to join you.”

I followed him to his table where he introduced himself, Angel, and his companion, Bones, without offering last names.

“Angel and Bones, huh?” I asked, looking them over. They seemed like men who worked out. Bones had muscles on top of muscles and very little neck. I could feel several sets of eyes watching us, and wondered who they were. Clearly, they were important. And why withhold their last names? “Nice suits, code names… you’re not secret government agents, are you?”

Bones had just taken a sip from his water, and he almost spit it all over the table, coughing and choking. Angel pounded Bones’s back until he stopped.

Once Bones started breathing again, I said, “I’ll take it that’s a no, not government agents.”

Angel chuckled. “Definitely not, and they’re just nicknames, not code names.”

“Good to know. I’m just Markie, no full name, no nickname. My parents wanted a boy, but got two girls.” Realizing they probably didn’t care about my life story, I pointed at their wine glasses and changed the topic. “What are you drinking?”

“Merlot. Would you like a glass?” Angel asked. Before I could answer he slid one of the two glasses in front of me. “They poured him a glass, but Bones doesn’t drink. At least not wine.”

“What? Why would they bring you something you didn’t order?” I asked.

Bones shrugged. “They’re human. They make mistakes. Are you even old enough to drink?”

Since there was still a possibility the two mystery men could be cops, I pulled out my ID and handed it to Bones. “I’m twenty-two.”

Bones glanced at the ID before handing it to Angel. “Knock yourself out,” he said, gesturing toward the glass.

“Thank you.” Unsure whether or not I’d like it, I took a sip. Blackberries and currents danced over my taste buds, reminding me of other reasons it was good to be back in the states. “Mmm. This is delicious! You’ll have to excuse me. I barely turned twenty-one before I went away, and I’ve never had anything that tasted like this.”

“Went away? You get locked up or something?” Bones asked.

“Locked up?” I snorted. “As in jail?”

I knew I looked rough, but jail?

“Okay, wait a minute. I realize I look frumpy. I’ve been traveling for days, and I’m sure I could use a shower and a change of clothes. But do you really think I’m some convict? Is that why you guys brought me over here?”

They gaped at me for a moment, and then the two shared a look I couldn’t read.

I scowled directly at Bones. “Is it?”

Before Bones could answer, an Asian man appeared carrying a pizza almost as big as the table and piled with more toppings than I’d ever seen. He set it atop the riser, and then a server handed Angel and Bones each a plate.