Mobster's Bones (Mobster #5) (2 page)

“Hi,” Vito says.

“Hi? All you can say is hi? You just fucking grabbed me, put a bag over my head, and scared the shit out of me.” My eyes search the room. “Where’s Jake?”

“Where you left him?”

I run my fingers through my hair, catching a glimpse of my watch, frustrated. I try to calm my speeding heart.

“What did you do that for?”

“Because it’s fun.”

“You are so messed up! Did you fuck with the elevator too?”

“Yup.” Vito walks around my small dorm room. He opens my mini-fridge and takes a can of beer, popping the top. He sits down in my desk chair, relaxing like we’ve been friends for years and he is just stopping by for a visit.

Vito is a scary-ass dude. He has that kind of tough presence that can’t be taught. You either have it or you don’t. That is why he makes a great enforcer for the Delisi family in New Jersey. I wouldn’t have even known him if it hadn’t been for my friend Megan falling in love with a mobster.

Today, two years later, I’ve got a mobster, Vito Rossi, drinking my beer stash and hanging out like we’re frat brothers. I run my hand over my chin, my beard stubble a rough reminder of my need for a shave. I reach into my fridge and grab a beer. I sit on the end of my bed, sinking down.

“What are you doing here?” I take a long swig of the cold amber liquid, waiting for an answer.

“I need a favor.” A smug grin crosses his face.

“No. No, no, no, no, no, no!” I ramble on, knowing exactly what
favor
means in his fucked-up world. “At no point have I ever solicited to be indoctrinated into the mob. Nope. Haven’t. You take care of Megan and her sister, Erin. I am grateful. I did a favor for you last year. One and done. No more. No favors, ain’t gonna happen, nuh-uh! I’m halfway done with school, and I have no intention of becoming a missing person.”

“You don’t even know what the favor is.”

“I don’t have to know what it is; I know who it is coming from. You or Delisi.”

“Okay, fine, I need your help.”

“What could I possibly help you with?”

“It sounds better than favor.”

“Oh, shit,” I mutter and gulp down the rest of my beer, needing another one immediately. Anything he asks for, whether a favor or help, is not good.

Knock, knock…

I rise off the bed to answer the door, my heart slamming in my chest again at the knuckles rapping. Vito throws his hand out to stop me.

“Ask who it is,” he orders in a growling whisper. I narrow my eyes at him.

“Who is it?” I call out through the solid wood in front of me.

“Uh, Troy, It’s me.”

I whisper, “It’s a girl I fool around with.” I tip my wrist to check my watch. “She’s right on time.”

Vito’s face curls down into a
yeah right
scowl, not believing me. The entire rest of the conversation is in fast whispers.

“I do,” I mouth. He points to the door, letting me know to take care of this. I take a step closer to the slab of wood separating Celia from me and the scary-ass mobster next to me.

“Hey, Celia, I’m kind of busy right now, can you come back another time?”

Vito smacks me, startling me.

“What?” I mouth.

“She’s gonna think you’re with another girl. That ain’t fuckin’ right.”

“We’re not exclusive,” I say.

Vito rolls his eyes.

The sweet musical voice carries through my door again. “Um, Jake is on the floor out here. Can you help me get him to his room?”

“I’ll take care of it,” I call back. “Thanks.”

“Oh. Okay.” She pauses, hesitant. “I guess I’ll see you later.”

“I’ll call you,” I shoot back, letting her know that I’m not blowing her off.

Vito mutters to me, “Chooch.”

We wait a few minutes listening at the door. Vito motions for me to crack it open. I look down the hallway to the left, empty—to the right, empty, except for the long sleeping body by the elevator.

“Help me get Jake in his room,” I say.

“Help you?” Vito questions, his dark eyes devilish.

“Yeah. Help me.”

Vito and I get Jake up. We both sling an arm over our shoulders. Jake’s feet drag on the carpet. He’s out cold.

“He’s a couple of doors down. He has a game this weekend. The team is going to go nuts if he’s not at his prime.” We stop and I reach into the front pocket of Jake’s jeans, fishing around.

“What are you doing?” Vito asks, a look of horror on his face.

“What do you think? I’m getting his keys.”

“I don’t know what you dorm buddies do around here. Maybe you
swing
and shit like that.”

I hurl him a glare and unlock Jake’s door. We hoist Jake up onto his bed. I untie his sneakers.

“What the fuck are you doing now?”

“I’m taking his shoes off.” The implications that we are gay are getting annoying. “Would you want to sleep in your shoes? I’m guessing no,” I challenge as I slip them off.

“Oh.” He admits understanding. “Now you owe me a favor.”

“For what?”

“For helping you move Jake.”

I don’t bother to get in a pissing contest that I would have had Jake in his room already if Vito hadn’t cut the power to the elevator, put a bag over my head, and shoved me into my room. My face says it all—not the same thing.

“Are you friends with Megan?” The sound of his question is unnerving.

“Yes.” Hesitation makes me draw the shit out of my yes like it is the longest word in my vocabulary. I don’t like where this is going.

“Erin?”
His girlfriend… My brother’s ex. A girl I’ve babysat
.

I am reluctant to respond. “Yes.”

“Then let me explain something to you.” He puts his arm around my shoulder like a very bad scene from
The Godfather
. “You are friends with them. In turn that makes you friends with me… and Antonio is marrying Megan, your friend. Antonio is going to be
the Boss
. We treat friends like family. That means you are friends with, and practically family with, all of us.”

“I find this a very big stretch,” I cut and Vito looms over me even though we are almost the same six-foot-three-inch height.

“I don’t.” He glares at me with an icy expression. “I find it… the way it is.” His words carry a cold chill to them.

“So you are not asking me to do a favor, you’re telling me,” I clarify.

“I haven’t
asked
since I’ve been here. I told you what I needed. A favor.”

I park my car in the driveway, hesitating to go inside. I really wanted to ask to stay at Megan’s for the night but her mother is a horror and doesn’t like me. Her daughter and Antonio becoming an item is all my doing. I could have asked Antonio for a place to crash, but it just seems wrong now. He’s marrying Megan. The time for sleepovers is done. I have to face my nightmares alone.

I take my gun out of my bag and hold it in my shooting hand; I slip my purse over my shoulder and hold my keys in the other. I get out of the car taking a deep breath.
I can do this. It’s your imagination.

I slam my car door. It booms in my ears. I glance behind me fast, then to the side, and then my other side. My gun is by my thigh. My eyes dart around looking for any sign of trouble. They are hurting, straining to see the slightest movements in the darkness. I step forward and spill over my own feet, my anxiety getting the best of me. I want to be inside the house so bad that I’m unable to get myself under control, as if something is chasing me.

My fear catapults and gets the best of me and I start running. Clack-clack-clack ricochets off the sidewalk as my heels meet concrete. I steal a peek behind me, frustrated and angry for letting this get to me—and at the night for being so dark.

I spin back around only seconds from my front steps and run smack into Louie. I scream and he grabs my forearms. My gun is limp by my side.

“San! What the fuck?” he chastises. “What the hell is wrong? You look like you just saw the fucking devil!”

My heartbeats are in my ears as the blood rushes there. My breaths are shallow, making me dizzy.

“I… I…”

“Are you okay?”

“Um…” Terror paralyzes my words. “Yeah… I’m fine. I just got spooked, that’s all.”

Louie’s grip on me is making me feel confined. He lowers his head to look in my eyes. His brown eyes are inquisitive, concerned.

“Come on.” Louie wraps his arm around my shoulder and leads me up the steps to my house. At the top, I put my key in.

“Thanks,” I utter, my hands shaking.

“Is your dad here?” he wonders.

“No.”

“Do you want me to come in? I have to tell ya. You look fucked up.”

I lower my eyelids to glare at him. “Thanks.”

“No, seriously.” He is uncertain about leaving.

“I’m okay,” I punctuate and Louie doesn’t believe me. “Thanks. I’m good.”

“All right,” he sighs. “Call if you need me.”

“I will.”

I close the door behind me and lock it. I move the tiny lace curtain aside and it scrapes up against my face. I stare outside into the blackness of night, checking the space beneath the streetlights—nothing. I watch as Louie bounces down my steps. My breathing had seized at some point, and I let it out. Damn, my chest hurts. I switch the gun from hand to hand and wipe it on my shirt, getting the sweat off.

I walk to the living room and throw my purse on the couch. I click on all of the lamps, including some small ones by the chairs close to the fireplace. I continue to the kitchen and flick the main light switch for the bright overhead lights for cooking. Better.

I check the back door that was unlocked earlier.
Locked tight. Great.

I toss the water I didn’t drink from earlier into the sink and refill the cup, keeping a tight hold on my gun. I balance my water and gun, turning on the light for the stairs. It shines brightly. It relaxes me. I check the front hall closet; clear. I go through the rest of the house sipping on my water, carrying my gun, and checking for any signs of an intruder. With each room that passes the test, I breathe a little easier.

I investigate my dad’s room and his closet; they are clear, there is nothing there. I stop at my room and my heart pounds a little harder.
Did I shut my door?
I quietly put my glass on the floor by the wall and raise my gun. I suck in air and slowly turn the knob. I make sure my gun is at the right level like I’ve been taught and let the door slip open.

I blink.

I open and shut my eyes.

I do it again, gradually trying to clear the image of a sea of white fluff that covers my carpet—white against brown. I rush in and can’t believe it. All of my stuffed animals have been decapitated. Their innards are scattered across my floor. My mouth drops open and all of the memories that I cherish about each one of them comes to the surface. Vito winning me the largest teddy bear I own at a carnival. Antonio punching Gus in the face for playing keep-away with my favorite bunny.

I reach down and pick up what is left of him, Mr. Squeak. My dad got him for me on my tenth birthday. I hold his broken body to my chest in a surreal haze and squeeze him as hard as I did so many years ago when Antonio handed him back to me.

Who would do this?

A lonely blue car passes by me illuminated by the streetlights as I stand on the corner of two back alley streets in Chicago. When I got up this morning, the last thing in the world I thought I’d be doing is standing in the middle of Chicago at ten o’clock at night as a lookout for the mob. I replay Vito coming to the dorm and our conversation and still I don’t understand it. I square my shoulders; as each car passes I lock eyes with the driver, daring them to pull over or test me in my corner where a storm is brewing. It gives me a weird sense of power.

The area is quiet so I am praying that no one comes by. I sip on the Styrofoam cup in my hand. I had Vito stop for coffee so I could be at my peak alertness for a
Mafia lookout
. My instructions are clear. Stand on the corner and watch for people walking toward the narrow gap between the two buildings behind me. The coffee might have been a bad idea because it is making me jittery. I check my watch for the millionth time and only ten minutes have passed. I drop the cup to the ground, stepping on it, crushing it to the asphalt—the only sound around me. I begin to pace, impatient for this whole freaking debacle to be over. Compulsively, I check my watch again. I should be with Celia, then bed. That’s the schedule.

A man and a woman are coming down the sidewalk. They are holding hands; their coats are tight around their necks against the October chill. I’m not cold; in fact, I’m starting to sweat. This shit is nerve-racking. I pray that this couple doesn’t decide to turn off the sidewalk; I don’t want to be a Mafia enforcer tonight. What to do if someone does go down the alley was not addressed during the rundown, which consisted of
stand the fuck right here
intertwined with a mild roar.

I move deeper into the shadow of the buildings, hovering directly in front of the entrance. The couple zips by and takes no interest in me as if I wasn’t even here. I let out a breath, thankful that the passersby didn’t turn.

Clanking metal bangs come from down the pathway. I take two steps over, putting myself with my back to the white brick wall, suspicious that all hell may break loose. Gruff yelling accompanies more banging.
Shit!

I steal a glance down the alley and it’s shrouded in shadow; I can’t see anything. I butt back up against the wall and wait. I’m wrestling with staying here, running away, or going down the passageway to find Vito to make sure he’s okay.

Footsteps make me look up and coming directly toward me is a man—and he is definitely walking with a purpose. I try to act nonchalant but it comes off jumpy. His feet are pummeling the sidewalk like he wants to crush it—stocky arms swing as he approaches. His dark skin and glaring eyes ring an alarm in my head. This guy has some issues. I move back to the opening, whistling.
Stupid.

I think he is ignoring me, lost in his own vehemence, when one of his hands shoots out and whacks me in the middle of my chest. I fly backwards, hitting the corner of the wall.
Ouch! Shit!
He continues on stamping down the passageway.
Holy… This guy just pissed me off.

“Yo!” I shout and stand legs and feet planted. “What the fuck was that?”

The guy keeps walking, belittling my existence. “I’m talking to you, jackass!” I yell loud enough for Vito to hear it.

The creature from a Stephen King book turns, settling his flaring, vicious eyes on me. His blue flannel shirt strains against his heaving chest, marking his temper at a boiling point. He stomps toward me one bone-crushing step at a time. This guy is going to wipe the grimy pavement with me.
Shit!

I do whatever a smart third-year college student would do. I run like hell out of the alley, leading him away. My sneakers vibrate under me. It doesn’t take me long to realize that he isn’t following me.
Shit!

I swing around and run back past the building and into the opening of the alleyway, throwing myself on his back, covering his eyes with my hands.

“What the fuck?!” he roars, twisting to throw me off.

I hang on, desperate to stop this guy. He uses his hands to bend mine back painfully, uncovering his eyes. We struggle for a moment but he gets the best of me and before I know it, I am lying down on the ground peering up at a very large, perturbed man. I see the motion of his leg pull back and strike out to kick me. I roll away before he can make contact.

My instincts take over; I cover my head with my arms to protect myself. The guy grunts unintelligibly and I look up. I watch as the man becomes airborne, colliding with a recycling Dumpster that jerks and bangs with the force of his body. He lands hard and slides down it. Unfortunately, he shakes it off way too fast. Vito appears, standing over him, his face unlike I’ve ever seen it. A sleek black gun is in his hand with a cylinder attachment, a silencer. Vito pulls the trigger, shooting the brute in the leg.

“Ahhhh, fuck!” he curses and growls in pain, clutching his thigh.

“Let’s go.” Vito puts his hand out to help me up.

“What the hell?” I mutter to him, taking it. He pulls me to a standing position.

“Move,” he orders. The two of us walk out of the narrow alley back onto the main road and back to my car.