Owned: A Mafia Menage Romance (17 page)

“That's impossible.”

"Not impossible,” he counters, “it's just weird. Everybody’s here, right? All the players from both families… somebody should know something. And yet…
nichego
. I mean, you are right… It's really fucking weird. Usually somebody would know something about somebody somewhere… But nothing. Like a ghost. Maybe a third party?”

I cut my eyes toward him. “You really think that?”

He shakes his head. “No, I really don't. But there's no reason Don Lauro would send guys like that after her. Not when he’s got Nuncio and Paulie and Jimmy just hanging around with nothing better to do than babysit her anyway. Geez. These guys.”

We stand there for a minute, sucking our teeth and feasting our eyes on
these guys
. What a bunch of pansies. It amazes me that they’re even still around. What is it, tradition? Nostalgia? They’re a bunch of dinosaurs. They should be extinct.

“Is there any reason there would be a third-party?” I say, feeling a little bit lost. My understanding of this Chicago landscape is that the Italians and our family keep dancing around the same neighborhood. They take a little land back, and then we take a little land back. They take a little action back, then we take the same action back.

It's just thumb wrestling, but sometimes it gets a little bloody. But there's no room for the Puerto Ricans or anybody else as far as I know.

“What about the casino?” I muse. Some of our guys on the west side have been pushing into the loan sharking around the casino by the airport. That can introduce a new element, if the borders were outside this neighborhood, but something about that doesn't feel right either.

Alek shrugs one shoulder. His eyes won’t leave the far end of the room, and I watch him stare into the crowd with a small smile on his face. He hasn’t stopped watching her, not even for a second.

“I gotta think it's not that complicated, Roman,” he admits. “I gotta think that maybe we’re missing something…”

Missing something? That's an understatement. “Okay, like what?”

He chews his lower lip as his eyes scan the room. Even though he's not muscle, Alek's still pretty savvy about relationships. He can read a room as well as anybody. “Like, maybe you brought something back with you? From Atlanta?”

I want to object, but my breath freezes in the back of my mouth. Maybe he's got a point. I guess in my line of business sometimes blood gets on you and it doesn't wash off.

“I highly doubt it,” I inform him, but I know it is possible.

He sighs for a long time, rocking back and forth on his feet. Automatically, his eyes find Marie again in the crowd. It’s almost like I can see a tiny mirror image of her, reflected in his pupils.  

He scrubs his palm across his face. He's a good-looking guy, still as pretty as the day Mama made us. Unscarred, clean-shaven and he does something to his eyebrows too. Something feminine. Don Lauro probably should have given Marie to him. Pretty people belong together.

“Well, what can I say. I'll keep my ear to the ground on this, Roman,” he assures me. “Something will shake loose, it always does.”

I nod slowly, watching Marie make her way across the empty dance floor toward the elevated bride’s table. She's walking slow, holding up the front of her dress slightly with one hand. Already drunk. That figures.

“I think this will be okay,” Alek says in a low voice, and I know he is talking about Marie. When did he get to be such a romantic? I can’t imagine.

“It’s not going to be okay, Alek, not at all.”

“Aw, don’t be like that, brother,” he complains. “Just try it. Try to like it. Try to like
her
. You do already, I can tell.”

“I do not.”

“Yeah, you do,” he needles, elbowing me in the ribs, hard. I forget that he’s as strong as me sometimes, until he does something like that. “You really do.”

ALEK

Marie opens up the door just as I'm coming up the steps. Her hands drop to her sides and those big brown eyes open as wide as saucers.

“Honey, I'm home!”

“What… What are you doing here?” she hisses, her eyes shifting left and right, looking for Nuncio or one of those guys.

I hold the box out in front of me. “We’re moving in,” I explain and gently nudge my way into the foyer. Looking around, I give a low whistle. “Wow, nice place! Roman loves wood floors and lots of windows. He's going to be so excited. Now just stand back for a sec...”

Pulling the RF detector from my pocket, I start a sweep of the room. Marie follows me with just her eyes, her arms folded across her chest.

“I really love this wallpaper,” I say as I’m scanning the pictures and the bowl of flowers on the small six-legged table. The small led lights show barely a flicker but I’m not convinced and keep sweeping the edge of the room, around the mouldings and the tops of the doors.

“I don’t know what you think you’re doing here—”

“ — Sh.”

I hear her mouth snap shut and the air puff out her nostrils. Adorable.

The RF detector flashes once as I walk back to the small closet under the stairs, then flickers back off. Interesting.

“Alek, I don’t know what you—”

“Sh!”

“Fine!” She stomps out of the room, clearly fuming. I can’t even help but smile. She’s really pretty cute.

Following every wall, I sweep every corner and decorative object, every light fixture and all the heating vents. Something is here, I know it. When I enter the kitchen, Marie growls her disgust and tries to push past me, but I stop her with a hand.

“Shhhh,” I start.

“Yeah I know!” she snarls back. “You want me to—”

“No wait, I mean it,” I say, holding up a hand. “Listen… do you hear that?”

Adorably, she squints as though that’s going to improve her hearing. “What am I listening to?” she says in a low murmur.

“It’s like a hum, like you can barely hear it,” I whisper.

She listens for a few more seconds and then looks up at me with a startled expression. “Oh!”

“Yeah,” I nod. I sweep the antenna in the direction of the almost imperceptible sound. It’s coming from one arm of the chandelier. Reaching behind the bulb, I pluck a tiny black node from the fixture and hold it out to her, then drop it on the floor and stomp it into shards under my heel.

“What the fuck was that?” she stage whispers.

“That was a camera, Princess,” I tell her, and walk quickly out of the room. She follows right behind me, squeaking her objections.

“Hey stop! What the… Hey, what are you doing?”

I twist around, holding up a hand to hopefully get her to stop her chattering. She flinches back, her brow knitting together.

“Just pipe down,” I growl at her, hoping she gets the clue. Just as she’s about to bleat out another objection, I pull a small disk from behind the ornate picture frame over the fireplace.

“Oh my God,” she breathes, her eyes wide.

“Yeah, I don’t think He had anything to do with it. Any other guesses who did?”

She shakes her head fervently.

“Guess again, Princess…”

“No.”

I shrug. “Fine. Suit yourself,” I tell her and resume sweeping every surface I can find. Before I’m done, I have a small pile of cameras and listening devices in splinters in a baggie and I’m shaking it in front of her scowling face.

“Still no guesses?” I tease her.

Setting her jaw stubbornly, she shakes her head but I see the doubt in her eyes.

“So you have more surveillance equipment than a narc’s minivan and you have no clue as to why?”

“None,” she pouts.

“Yeah. Okay,” I sigh. If she’s just playing dumb, she’s really good at it. “So, where do you keep your purse?”

“Excuse me?”

“Just how do you think everybody and their hairy henchman knew you were at O’Hare, Marie?”

Her mouth opens but she stops, mute. Holding up one hand, she leaves for the hall closet and then comes right back with a very expensive handbag swinging from her finger. The RF meter lights up like a Christmas tree, and I see her eyes go dark.

“Don’t blame yourself, kiddo,” I tell her as I run my fingers along the seams and piping of her bag. It’s really nice and I’m hoping I won’t have to cut it into ribbons to find the tracking device. “If I was your father, I probably would have had you bugged and filmed and followed for your whole life too.”

She drags her lower lip between her teeth as I pluck the small, striped transmitter from the bottom of the front pocket and hold it up to the light for her. With trembling fingers, she takes it from me and stares at it fretfully.

“That’s sick,” she whispers.

“That’s life, Princess. Now snap it in half and drop it in the bag with the others.”

Pouting, she mangles it between her shiny, petal-pink nails and leaves it with the others. I feel sort of bad for her. This has really got to be a blow, finding out your dad had you on virtual lockdown your whole life. Then I hold out my hand.

“Your phone.”

She winces. “What? No.”

“Sorry… yes,” I repeat, wiggling my fingers. Heaving a sigh, she digs into her bag and finds the sparkly, spangly thing she calls a cellphone and drops it in my hand. I pop it open and flick out the SIM card and battery and then slide all three into the bag. Then I fish the new one out of my back pocket and hand it to her.

“What’s this?” she mutters uncertainly.

“It’s a wedding gift. One that hopefully won’t get you abducted.”

“What about my contacts?”

“You’ll figure it out,” I assure her.

“Oh. Thanks,” I think she mumbles as I go back to the front door and grab my box again. Her eyes flicker toward it, then up to my face.

“What… What’s in the box?”

I jiggle it lightly. “Whips, chains, a collection of riding crops… the usual.” Her eyelids fly open and I have to laugh. “Just kidding! Geez… Just the normal stuff, Marie. Shaving stuff, shoeshine, fourteen kinds of hair gel. Mind if I go upstairs?”

She shakes her head, not understanding.

“To my room?” I add helpfully.

“You can't stay here!”

I shrug. “Why not?”

“Because… Well, it's not — I mean you just can't!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Tell it to the judge, sister!”

I give her a wink and start up the stairs. The curving staircase winds around to the left and I can see a stained glass circular window at the top. Really nice architecture. This is great.

“Are you gonna show me which one is our room?”

Marie bolts up the stairs, her tiny bare feet padding lovably on the plush Chinese runner. Her hands are flung out in front of her like she's going to grab me and drag me back down.

“Alek, you can't be here! This isn’t right! Nobody told me you were gonna —”

I lay the box down on the top stair and pivot to face her. She gasps a little when my hands circle her arms, and I pull her close enough that her breath bounces off the skin of my throat.

“You're right, Princess,” I say softly, pulling her close to me. I can feel her heart beat fluttering against my chest and my body begins to hum like a plucked wire. There certainly is something about this little doll.

“I — I’m right?” she says in a tiny, suspicious voice.

“Well, I never did get to kiss my bride,” I say and lift her toward me. Her mouth opens and I want to cover it with mine, but at the last second she turns her head, pushing at my chest with the heels of her hands. Instinctively I pull her closer, but she still won’t turn to me. Yet as we stand there, locked in an impasse, I feel an unmistakable slackness in her body. She relaxed, just a little bit.

Just that small admission, that small shift from rigid to pliable does something to me, wakes something up deep inside me. Suddenly I'm hungry for her all over again just like the first time and my mouth begins to water. I want to explore her mouth, to taste every part of her.

But I don't. Instead I force myself to place her gently back on the top step. When our bodies finally separate, she's breathless and blinking, staring up at me with a look of utter astonishment.

“You see?” I say softly.

“I… I don't know,” she admits in an adorably honest voice.

“Well I guess that settles it.”

“What? Settles what?”

“I think you know,” I tell her with a wink.

We hear the front door open again far below us and heavy footsteps on the maple floors.

“Alek? Marie?”

I smile at her and push a soft strand of caramel-colored hair behind her pretty pink ear.

“Daddy's home, darling,” I inform her.

I jog back down the stairs with Marie right behind me muttering
this is crazy, this is crazy
 over and over. We find Roman in the foyer, frowning and peering into the few rooms he can see from where he is standing. He jerks his chin at me when I come down, indicating a sort of approval.