Masked Innocence (19 page)

Forty

“She has to die,” Dominic Magiano said in Italian. “I’m sorry, Brad, but she knows too much.” Words Brad felt he had overheard a hundred times before. Proper regret placed on the syllables, but compassion never truly behind them.

Brad faced his father in the darkness. They stood on one of the many outdoor terraces of the home where he had grown up, facing the subtly lit and landscaped gardens. He said nothing, listening to the sounds of the night.

“Are you close to her?”

“Yes.” He said the word quietly, not needing to add anything more. Despite the estrangement, his father knew him well enough to understand the weight behind the response.

The old man stepped forward, a crack of light uncovering his features, features that had aged since the last time Brad had been home. His father was a handsome man, with a full head of white hair, olive skin and strong, powerful features. His eyes differed from Brad’s; they blazed blue instead of brown, and had never failed to find weakness in an adversary. But the skin around his eyes had sagged, and age spots now covered his skin. He looked like an old man, though Brad would never dishonor him by pointing it out. From Brad’s reflection, the aging process had begun when his wife, Brad’s mother, had left. Now, over twenty years later, there was little life left in his bones.
An old, stubborn man
.

They had eaten in the large formal dining room, a fire lit despite the summer month. His father, it seemed, was perpetually cold, an irritating condition for Brad, whose internal temperature was the exact opposite. They had been the only attendees to the meal, and sat at opposite ends of the ridiculously long table. Brad was grateful for the distance, if only because it put him farther from the fire’s heat. The dinner was long, five courses, and they were served by Abigail, a longtime employee of his father’s.

There had been little conversation, because Brad refused to discuss his father’s business and his father had little interest in Brad’s caseload. Brad knew that any discussion regarding Julia would wait until after the meal. Over beef tenderloin with new potatoes, Brad had asked about his brothers.

“Alfonso’s wife is pregnant again. They moved out of that townhome, they live in the Glades now, close to Dante. I wish you didn’t live so far away from the family. You isolate yourself, so far from the rest of us. You think you’re better than us?” He pointed his knife at Brad, his features dark.

This was where the conversation always ended up. No matter how it started, whether it was discussing the Yankees, the weather outside or current stock prices, it always ended with that accusation.

And now the night had finally climaxed to this point, cigars and whiskey on the balcony, Julia’s imminent demise.

He spoke slowly in their language, barely containing the anger in his voice. “Explain to me why you would order a hit, to someone I know, without contacting me first.”

“You assume too much. When I gave the order I did not know her connection to you. All we had was a name and location—her home.”

“I’m not just talking about Julia. You killed my business partner without consulting me.”

“It was business. He knew the risks, as did you when you refused the business. His work was sloppy. If it hadn’t been, our hand wouldn’t have been tipped before the takeover occurred.”

“Do you not have enough power? Why are you going after other families?” He puffed on his cigar, blowing the smoke up into the night sky, willing himself to stay calm.

“You know this business. We grow or die.”

“That’s Alfonso talking. You letting him call the shots now?”

His father’s features tightened. “Don’t forget your place, my son.”

“Don’t lose yours. You still stand in control of this family.”

His father’s face tightened around the lit cigar. He sighed, old again, and looked at Brad. “What do you suggest I do with this girl?”

“Leave her alone. She’ll keep her knowledge secret in exchange for safety.”

The older man scoffed, shaking his head at Brad. “You know better than that. Women cannot be trusted. As soon as you leave her, or scorn her, or she catches you with a whore, she will tell. She will forget the danger and do whatever she can to make you bleed.”

Automatic sprinklers started in the gardens below, and Brad leaned on the railing and ground out his cigar in frustration. His father spoke again. “No. Death is the only way.”

Brad straightened, turning to face his father. “I have stood aside and watched you ruin and take countless lives. You know my opinion of your business. I won’t dishonor you by voicing it in your home. But this is one time I am not coming to you and asking for compassion. I am demanding her protection. You have cursed me with this family. Now let me have one benefit from its association. If you come for her, you will be sacrificing me.”

The eyes of his father deadened, black holes on gray skin. “You’ve been away too long, Brad. You’ve forgotten how I respond to demands. You may be my blood, but you are also the biggest indicator of my weakness. And everyone watches me closely for weakness.” He stepped forward, gripping Brad’s shoulder with his hand. “It’s the principle of it, Bradley. My priority is this family. A family you ceased being a part of a long time ago. And she risks that priority. So, as I said before, death is the only way.” He released his grip and turned, stepping back to the railing and looking outward, away from his son.

Forty-One

Brad came home at 1:00 a.m. His cousin and Martha were in the den, Stevie watching TV and Martha dozing in a recliner. Brad leaned on the door frame, his hands in his pockets, and asked Stevie the question with his eyes.

“She’s upstairs. Asleep, in the guest room.” At his words Martha stirred, then opened her eyes, seeing Brad and nodding hello.

“The guest room.” Brad’s tone was quiet, questioning.

Martha swung the recliner closed and stood, stiff-legged, and came over to Brad. “There was a slip of the tongue, Brad. She knows who you are.”

Brad’s eyes showed his anger, but he patted Martha’s shoulder and kissed her head. “Thanks for keeping an eye on her. You go on to bed.”

Her shoulders slumped, she walked over to Stevie, kissing his cheek and squeezing him hard. “See you soon, Stevie. Don’t be such a stranger.” Then she left, and Brad followed her to the back door, waiting at the window until he saw her enter her apartment. He locked the door, then swung by the fridge on his way back to the den.

He rubbed his brow, stress evident on his face, and met Stevie’s eyes across the room. Walking forward, he set two cold beers down on the table, pushing one to Stevie. “Figured you might want one.”

Stevie grinned, and used his shirt to open it, taking a big sip. “Didn’t want to take one earlier. Thought you might want me sober.”

“You thought right.” Brad sank into a big leather chair, putting his shoes on the table and opening his own bottle, tossing the cap toward the corner trash can. It missed and Brad wearily closed his eyes, resting his head against the worn leather.

“So, what’s the verdict?” Stevie asked.

Brad opened his eyes in response, lifting his head and his bottle. He took a sip and then played with the liquid on his tongue, staring forward, thinking. Stevie let him think, knowing that he would get an answer eventually.

“I am in a bit of a predicament.” Brad spoke slowly, deliberately, his deep voice filling the quiet room.

“If you need help, you know you have my loyalty.”

“This is not your fight.”

“It’s not yours, either.” Stevie leaned forward, dropping his voice to almost a whisper. “She’s pussy, Brad. I know you hate collateral damage, but you need to let this one go. They will make it quick. She won’t suffer. And then all of this, the Broward mess, the family rift, the takeover complications, will disappear. And you can go back to your clean life and continuing pretending that you’re not
numero due
of the Magiano dynasty.” His eyes searched Brad’s and Stevie shook his head in disgust at what he found there. “Don’t give me that look. You know this world. I don’t know that girl, and I have no loyalty to her. My loyalty is to you, and I love you like a brother. You standing up on this—for her—it’s going to rip apart every bit of this life you’ve worked so hard for. She’s a fuck. Maybe a hot one, but one who ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time. These girls come and go—you know that.”

Brad spoke, steel in his words. “Because you’re one of the few friends I have, I’m not going to break your fucking face for that statement. I’m also not going to dignify it with a response. Except for this. She’s not just pussy. I don’t know what she is yet, but she means something to me. You’re right. I know this world, and I know the risks involved. And I’ll tell you the same thing I told my father. If they come for her, they will have to go through me. And I have no problem dying in that fight.” His eyes cold, resolute, he drained the rest of his beer and stood, walking toward the kitchen. On his way out, Stevie spoke.

“Martha was right.” His voice was bitter, quiet, and Brad dropped the bottle into a trash can and turned to face him.

“Right about what?”

“You
love
her.” He spat out the words as if they were dirty.

“No.” He shook his head quickly, looking away.

“Christ, Brad, you’ve known the girl, what, a month or two?” Stevie stood up, walked over to Brad, looking into his face, which was growing darker. “You, with the heart of steel and the unending supply of ass. You’re supposed to be the smart one!”

Brad’s right fist connected with Stevie’s chin in a strong uppercut, his left hand grabbing the gun out of his holster. In one smooth motion, he flipped the gun around and cocked it, pointing it at Stevie’s head. The wounded man recoiled, and he glared at Brad, not bothering to wipe the blood pouring from his split upper lip. They faced each other, two experienced men in the game of war, one unarmed and knowing his weakness.

“Get out.”

Stevie laughed, cold and hard. “You need every friend you got right now.”

“I don’t need any more bullshit right now. And you’re bleeding all over my fucking carpet.”

Stevie walked slowly around him, eyeing the gun, leaving the study and heading for the front door. “When you’re over this shit, I’m gonna want that gun back.” Then he left, slamming the door behind him.

Brad locked the doors and reset the alarm. Then he turned off the lights and walked upstairs.

* * *

H
E
CHECKED
THE
master bedroom first, hoping that she had moved there and was waiting for him in bed. But his bed was empty, the room silent. He turned to leave and then stopped, seeing something. Pieces of wood and ripped canvas scattered the floor and bed. He stepped forward, trying to distinguish the items in the dimly lit room. Then, realizing what they were, he swallowed a smile and headed to the other bedroom.

He opened the guest-room door quietly, stepping over a tray of untouched food and walking silently into the dark room. Julia was sleeping, her breathing quiet and regular. She lay at an awkward position, her arms splayed, head tilted up by too many pillows.

He watched her sleep, his mind thinking over Stevie’s accusation. Was it possible? Or was this his knight in shining armor instinct? He had felt things for her, had told her as much this morning. But it was way too soon for love.

He felt out of sorts, a sensation that he was not used to and was uncomfortable with. He was used to being in control, to manipulating circumstances so that everything flowed to his liking. Staring at her, frustrated, he let the thought move around in his mind.
Love
. The thought floated, flipped, then settled. Maybe they were right. And in the realization, he saw light at the end of the tunnel.

Forty-Two

I woke from the weight of his body, pressing on the bed as he pulled back the covers and climbed in. I felt cold air, then hard warmth pressing against my back, his arms wrapping my body and pulling me close to him. He moved one of the pillows underneath my head, and my neck relaxed into a more comfortable position.

“I’m mad at you.” I spoke through the layers of fabric but didn’t pull away. Our bodies felt too perfect in the warm bed.

“I know,” he whispered, planting a soft kiss on my neck. “As you deserve to be. But go to sleep now, and lecture me in the morning.”

“I’m starving,” I said, my tired stomach growling, reminding me of my missed dinner. Thank God I’d had some mac and...

“Do you want me to get you something?” Brad asked from behind me. But I didn’t answer. I was already back asleep.

* * *

M
ORNING
CAME
,
WITH
the normal warmth of sunshine filling the room, smells of bacon cooking and sounds of Martha downstairs. I kept my eyes closed, and tried to avoid thinking, tried to pretend for a little longer that everything was normal. Unfortunately, my mental defense system was weak and out of practice. My eyes opened, revealing the well-appointed guest room, and Brad stirred behind me, sensing my movement. I rolled over, still nestled in the cocoon of his arms, and stared up at him. His eyes, heavy with sleep, blinked, and he looked at me warily.

“Good morning.” His voice husky and dry.

I skipped the pleasantries. “Brad Magiano.”

“Yeah, um, Martha told me that you found out about that.” His eyes held no shame but twinkled with something close to mischievousness.

“And that’s funny? You being part of one of the largest crime families in the country? The family that’s hunting me down like a wounded deer?”

“Hey, it’s better than me
not
having connections to the family that’s hunting you down.”

I frowned at him, pushing away from his chest. “Stop being cute. This is a major problem. I would have left your house last night if I didn’t think I would be gunned down in the street!”

He grabbed my arms and tried to tug me to him, a movement I wormed out of, propping my body up on an elbow. “I’m serious! What the fuck? You are the fucking enemy, and I have been sleeping with you.” The Julia Roberts reference popped out unassisted, and I hated the joviality it inserted into the conversation. But his face straightened, and I saw the seriousness enter his eyes.

“Julia—I know I should have told you. There is no excuse for that, and I’m sorry.”

I waited, expecting the declaration of no excuse to be followed by an excuse. “So? Why didn’t you?”

He groaned, lying back and staring up into the ceiling, avoiding my eyes. “I changed my name when I was seventeen, when I left that life. I have no connection to my family other than traditional obligations. Their business, their lifestyle, I left all of that behind, as much as I could. Sometimes, like now, it is inescapable. I had hoped to handle it without you ever finding out.” He blew out a breath and turned to me, his eyes finally meeting mine.

I narrowed my eyes at his, rolling away from him and standing up. “So you
would
have kept this a secret! You never planned on telling me!”

“It’s not who I am. It’s what I was born into, and what I made the conscious decision not to be. I’ve been pigeonholed by it my whole life. I didn’t want that from you.” His eyes, frustrated pools of exposure, captured mine, and he held me there as he stood, the bed between us.

“So you didn’t know about the threat? About Broward, about me?”

“I’m not in their circle. I wasn’t consulted or aware of any of those actions. Please know that.” I saw truth in his eyes, in his desperation for my approval.

“It doesn’t matter. I understand you not starting the relationship with that tidbit, but when the shit hit the fan—when one of
your
family showed up to kill me—
that
is when you should have told me this. We have enough hurdles to overcome in the relationship, Brad. Big hurdles that already scare the hell out of me. Your family...I don’t know how I would have taken that under normal circumstances. But now, in these circumstances...it’s a deal breaker, Brad.”

He physically swayed from my words, his eyes closing and head dropping. He stayed that way for a moment, solid, unmoving steel. Then he raised his head and met my eyes. “A deal breaker.”

“Yes.”

“You. The woman who raised holy hell in my kitchen, who professed her love for me, love that seemingly had no bounds. You, who wormed her way into the life that I have so carefully constructed. Do you think I
want
this?” he asked harshly, his arms dropping, two tightly coiled expression of frustration.

“Want what, exactly, Brad?” I spat out the words, stepping forward until I hit the bed. “What exactly have I done to make your life so damn hard?”

“I didn’t want a relationship! Didn’t want to fall in love or be committed, or be required to share the intimate details of my life! But I’m here—with you, a curse of a woman who has taken all of my fucking walls and shredded them like fucking tissue paper in your tiny little hands! It’s been so easy for you, so effortless—and now, in the face of my darkest truth, you’re done. My family, the bane of my existence. A force I have battled my whole life, a fight I have won—and it means nothing to you.”

I opened my mouth, tried to cut in—to end this horrid rant—but stopped at the look in his eyes. It was desperation, it was rage, it was pure, uncontrolled anguish. I shut my mouth and did nothing but stare at him wordlessly.

“It’s not your fault,” he said quietly, his frame collapsing, the light fading from his eyes. “You’re young. You don’t know what love is. And this is a lot for you to handle.” He turned, running a hand through his hair, gripping his head with both hands, before releasing it and glancing back at me. “I grew up around this. I forget what it’s like for an outsider. I’m sorry.” He stepped to the door, opening it quietly, and then he left.

* * *

I
T
WAS
TOO
MUCH
to take in my raw and confused state. The only thing I did know, among the fear, and stress, and frustration, was that the one solid presence I had, the man I loved, was leaving. The one thing I should be holding on to, I had pushed away. I ran after him, pushing open the bedroom door, seeing him on the landing, his body turned, our eyes meeting. He looked beaten and confused, a look that contradicted every ounce of the man I knew.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I was wrong.” He raised his head slightly, wariness on his face.

“I mean...” I stumbled, stepping forward until I stood in front of him, short in my bare feet. “You were wrong—you should have told me. But I was wrong for pushing you away for it. I do love you.” I rose on my toes, running my hand softly along the curves of his face, his eyes closing, face turning down to mine. “I need you right now, need you to tell me that everything is going to be okay, need you to be on my side of this. When I found about about your family, I thought that you were with them, against me. And I couldn’t take any more unknowns. I’m sorry.”

He leaned down, catching my mouth, the kiss soft and forgiving.

I closed my eyes, sighing into his mouth. “But no more secrets.” I pulled away, opening my eyes, seeing relief in his, his body moving, arms wrapping around me, pulling my body tight to his, his mouth lowering to mine, a tentative kiss that turned deeper at my acceptance. He gripped my body and walked us both backward, until my back hit solid wall, and he braced his arms on either side of my head, locking me into his frame, his hard body grinding against mine.

When his mouth finally released mine, my hands tight in his hair, I looked up, shifting against him and eliciting a quick breath from his mouth. “So? Did your fabulous plan work last night?” His earlier joviality had to have been caused by something.

“I’m working on it.”

“Well, I don’t want to be a nag or anything, but I do want to live, to graduate, to grow old with someone.”

“I know. Don’t worry, I will protect you. From now on, relax.”

I sighed, leaning against the ridges of his body, resting my head on his chest.

“What happened to the print?” His chest vibrated with the words.

“The what?”

“The print. Above my bed.”

I snorted. “Sorry. It was a little dated anyway, don’t you think?”

He laughed softly, pressing his lips against my hair. “You gonna replace it?”

I wrinkled my nose, trying to imagine me, naked, on a fur rug, stretched out over Brad’s bed. “We can find a nice landscape or something to fill that space.” I heard Martha holler something from downstairs, and I straightened, leaving the warmth of his arms.

“Come to bed,” he commanded. “I have plans for you.” I felt his hand move up, sneaking under my tank, and I ducked away, under his arm, eliciting a frown from him.

I ignored his delicious body, lit by the morning sun. “I am about to start chewing on
you
if I don’t get something to eat. You can have your way with me after breakfast, if your ridiculous libido can make it that long.” I stepped backward toward the stairs, his expression changing and mischief entering his face. I spun and sprang to the stairs, thundering down them, his feet just steps behind, and we burst into the kitchen—scaring the crap out of Martha, my butt hitting a stool before he could get me.

I smiled at him smugly, grabbing a fresh strawberry from a fruit plate and popping it in my mouth. He wore dark pajama pants, no shirt and a bemused expression. It was unfair how incredible he made the combination look. He took a seat next to me and we said good morning to Martha.

Martha didn’t waste time in shelling out breakfast—warm French toast, bacon and cheese grits. I scarfed it all down, and she had seconds ready before I even had a chance to ask.

“I grabbed that plate of jambalaya still at the top of the stairs. You didn’t eat it last night?”

I shook my head sheepishly. “I was still pouting when you came up. I didn’t realize you had food.”

Her mouth thinned into a line that could only be described as petulant. “That was good jambalaya you wasted.”

“I’m sure it was. Any left over that I could eat for lunch?”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Think about whether there is any left over?”

“Think about whether I’ll give you another chance at it.”

We grinned at each other and she put another piece of toast on my plate. I looked at Brad. “So, what’s the plan for today?”

He smiled at me, surprisingly cheerful despite our bleak situation. “Let me make a call. Then I’ll let you know.”

He stepped outside, onto the deep back porch, his grin disappearing, a somber fix settling on his face. He walked down the steps and through the grass to the pool. Sitting down on one of the chairs that lined the blue water, he pulled out his cell. He looked at it a moment, thinking. He had gone to bed last night confident, his arms wrapped around Julia, content in recognizing his future. One with her. A woman who had unknowingly consumed him. Love, an idea he had tossed out with every other conventional theory, had tackled him unprepared. Tackled and possibly trapped him. Julia’s blowup had terrified him. In coming to terms with his feelings, he hadn’t considered the possibility of her leaving him. Now, having stared into that reality, knowing the effect it had on him, after only this short relationship...how would he handle it after six months of dating, or marriage, or kids? He had practically been brought to his knees upstairs. There was no way he’d survive it if he fell any further. She was so young. He barely knew love, almost missed it when it came and he had years of experience on her.

She had bent. When he had lost it, failed to control his emotions, she had wavered. What would she do next time? When he failed her, when he stumbled. She would run, leaving him broken and alone.

But this wasn’t a typical situation. He could either risk his heart or risk her safety. And, when it came down to that, the choice was easy. He closed his eyes, affirming his decision. Then he made the call.

His father didn’t answer, the automated voice mail picking up instead. Brad ended the call and waited, sitting in the sun. After a few minutes his phone rang, showing a blocked number.

“Hello.”

“What is it, Bradley?”

“There has been a new wrinkle you should be aware of. Tell the boys to hold off the bloodshed until we can talk.”

“Every hour that passes is more risk, you know that. I cannot extend any more—”

“Tomorrow morning. I’ll come over for breakfast. If you don’t think the information I give you then is worth your time, you are free to act. I will never give you my blessing, but I am asking you to listen to this information.”

There was silence, crackly, then his father’s gravelly voice. “Tomorrow morning. After that you will have exhausted my courtesy.”

“I understand.” Brad pulled the phone from his ear and ended the call.

* * *

T
HE
M
AGIANO
PATRIARCH
hung up the phone and looked into his reflection in the ornate gold mirror in his study. He looked older, his skin grayer than it should be. He decided to sit outside this afternoon, to get some sun. He needed to take care of himself, to ensure that he would be around for a long time. Long enough to convince Bradley to return to the family, to take his rightful place as head of the organization. He was the only one intelligent enough to keep it powerful. His other two sons had allowed power to corrupt them, had lost sight of proper business sense in the illicit world of blood, competition and status. Legitimizing the businesses would weaken them, but that would be Brad’s choice. He needed to mend fences with his son before it reached the point where Brad would have that powerful decision to make. This girl threatened that possibility, with both her life and her death. Brad had always needlessly involved himself in rescue plights, had always stood in the way of the family’s proper conduction of business. But this was a different type of stand. For Brad to put himself into the equation, to throw his life on the line, put him in a difficult predicament. Difficult, but an easy decision all the same. Family came first, and she was not family. He could not risk the entire family for one son and his temporary girlfriend.