Chapter 32
Wes
“What the fuck happened last night?”
My boss did not sound happy. Though the call didn’t come as a total surprise, not after the earful I’d gotten from Shelby yesterday evening when I returned to my seat. What could I expect after running to protect someone other than the person I’d been hired to protect?
But I’d heard what I thought was a gunshot and reacted on instinct.
I sighed. “I fucked up, Tom.”
“Obviously, since I just got my ass chewed by Shelby Warner, who says she never wants you working for her again. What happened?”
“A speaker blew. It made a loud pop sound. I thought it was gunfire and ran to cover…the wrong woman.”
“Who the hell did you run to?”
“My…ex. She wrote the screenplay for the movie. I didn’t even think about it. That’s just where I went.”
“Did you know she was going to be there?”
I swallowed. “Yeah, I did.”
He heaved a sigh. “Then you should’ve told me you couldn’t work the job when I assigned it. You know better than that. You can’t commit to provide protection for someone when you’ve got a conflict of interest. Your instincts are compromised.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I guess I was thinking about this job as more protecting actors from the paparazzi, not gunshots. But the job is protection. Period. I fucked up. I understand if you need to fire me.”
“I should fire your ass. But I’m not gonna. Because if I were in your shoes, I’d have probably done the same thing. Though I wouldn’t be in your shoes since I would’ve seen the conflict and avoided it. Let this be a lesson learned, though.”
“Thanks, Tom. I appreciate it.”
We finished our call, and a few minutes later I went on the grocery run I’d been putting off since I arrived in LA.
I stepped outside, and my phone buzzed as I climbed into the car.
I ignored it at first, but when it buzzed a second time before I could get the key in the ignition, I frowned.
Who the hell is texting me multiple times in thirty seconds?
I pulled out my phone and saw that two different people had texted me, and a third message came through as I looked down—this one from my mom.
Mom: Is Juliette okay?
My pulse kicked up. What the hell is she talking about? I clicked open the text and saw my mother had posted a link. In preview, I could read the headline.
Mob Boss Arrested.
What the…
I tapped the link, and a photo of Vince Ginocassi filled the top half of the screen—brown bathrobe hanging open with his hands cuffed behind his back as two agents wearing FBI jackets walked him to an unmarked car.
The caption below read: Mob underboss turns against his family.
Alleged crime boss Vince Ginocassi is taken into federal custody after feds flip long-time lieutenant Anthony “Tony Tall Tales” Mariano.
My heart thumped as I scanned the rest of the article.
The murder charges stemmed from an unsolved case that dated back almost a decade ago.
At the bottom were links to related articles.
Clicking on a video, I watched Vince being led out of his house while Juliette’s mother stood in the doorway crying.
Fuck. Juliette. What if she thought I had something to do with this?
I swiped to the phone screen and scrolled down until I reached her name.
Hitting call, I waited impatiently while the phone rang.
Once. Twice. After the third time, it went to voicemail.
So I switched over to text and thumbed off a message to her.
Wes: I just saw the news. I’m sorry. I hope you know I had nothing to do with your dad’s arrest.
The text went from Sent to Delivered, then a few seconds later turned to Read.
I waited and waited, staring at the screen, willing the phone to ring.
But it never did. My chest ached as I thought about what she must be feeling right now.
After ten minutes of sitting in the car, the suffocation I felt wasn’t just in my head anymore.
The air was thick, the walls closing in around me.
I needed to start the engine or roll down the window, do something.
But what the hell could I do? I wasn’t a cop anymore.
I couldn’t just call a buddy at the precinct for the inside scoop.
And Juliette… Well, she clearly didn’t want to talk to me.
So I continued with the only thing I could do—go to the market, like I’d planned. I started the car, shifted into reverse, and eased out of the parking spot. Rolling down the window as I switched into drive, I let in some desperately needed fresh air. It helped, just not with the knot in my gut.
A block from the market, my phone buzzed, and my heart jumped. For a split second, I was sure it was her. But the screen lit up with Mom. I exhaled, disappointment settling in before I finally swiped to answer. “Hey, Ma.”
“Hi, sweetheart. Are you okay? I saw the news and got worried.”
“Yeah, I’m good. Sorry. I should’ve texted you back.”
“How’s Juliette?”
I frowned. “I don’t know. She didn’t answer when I called.”
“Have you spoken to her since you got back to California?”
“I have. She wasn’t thrilled about it, but she did give me a few minutes to apologize, at least.” I pulled into the grocery store lot and parked. “She’s seeing someone.”
“Oh, Wes. I’m so sorry.”
I rubbed the back of my neck. “It’s my own fault.”
“What are you going to do about it?”
“You mean about the guy she’s seeing or the article?”
“Well…both.”
“I’m not sure there’s much I can do about either.”
My mom let out a quiet sigh. “That doesn’t sound like the Wes I know. The one I raised never stood by while people he cared about fell apart.”
“What am I supposed to do?”
“If you love her, don’t let her go through this alone. You might not be able to fix what happened, but you can show up. Even if she pushes you away, at least you’ll know you tried.”
I stared out the windshield, watching people walk by but not really seeing them.
“You always wanted to protect people,” she continued. “Sometimes protecting someone doesn’t mean throwing yourself in front of a bullet. Sometimes it means being there when they need a shoulder to cry on.”
I swallowed hard. “Yeah. You’re right.”
“Of course, I am. Mothers always are.”
I chuckled. “Thanks, Ma. I gotta go.”
Forgetting all about the market, I started the car again.
My pulse climbed as I shifted into reverse and backed out of the spot.
I wasn’t sure what I was going to say when I got there—if she even let me in—but I suddenly couldn’t get to Juliette fast enough.
I hit the gas as I turned onto the main road, driving way too fast for a civilian.
My thoughts were a mess as I merged onto the highway—Juliette in her kitchen, face streaked with tears, her mom crying alone back in New York, the smug look I imagined on the FBI agent’s face as he’d led Vince Ginocassi from his mansion wearing nothing but a bathrobe.
He could’ve let the guy throw on a shirt, maybe a jacket, but no—the agent probably enjoyed stripping the dignity from his collar.
When I finally turned onto Juliette’s street, my stomach dropped.
Two news vans were parked along the curb, satellite dishes on top.
Shit. I hadn’t even thought about that. Of course they’d be here.
Now that Juliette’s identity was public, it made sense they’d want a shot of the mob boss’s daughter looking broken.
I parked a half block away and stepped out, keeping my head down as I walked. Tommy stood at the front door, arms folded across his chest. As I passed the first news van, the passenger door swung open, and a woman jumped out carrying a microphone. “Sir! Are you connected to the Ginocassi family?”
I ignored her and kept moving to the house.
Tommy lifted his chin. “How you doing, Wes?”
“I’ve been better,” I said. “Is she home?”
He nodded once. “She know you’re coming?”
I thought about lying but decided against it. “No. And she might not be happy about it. But I want to be here for her.”
A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I was busy fending off the photographers, and you helped yourself inside the house. That’s the story if she gets pissed.”
“You got it.”
Tommy stepped aside, and I pushed open the door.
Inside the house was quiet, with the faint smell of freshly brewed coffee.
I found Juliette sitting at the kitchen table, hands cupped around a mug.
She looked up, saw me, and her bottom lip began to tremble.
I wanted more than anything to wrap her in my arms, but I also didn’t want to get my ass kicked to the curb the second I walked in.
“Hey,” I said softly. “I didn’t want you to be alone right now.”
Her face was blotchy, eyes puffy from crying. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“Maybe not,” I said, meeting her gaze. “But I am. I’ll leave whenever you tell me to, but I know there aren’t a lot of people you can confide in.”
She swallowed, and tears welled in her eyes. “I feel so conflicted. If he did what they say he did, he should be in prison forever. But he’s my father, and I don’t want him to spend the rest of his life behind bars.”
“Of course you don’t. There’s no right answer when it comes to family.”
A tear slid down her cheek. “I keep thinking of when I was seven and he coached my soccer team. The regular coach had broken his ankle and had to have surgery, so my dad stepped in and took over the job. He had no idea what he was doing, but he hired the kid down the street who played on his college soccer team to come teach him the rules. He was out in the backyard every night for hours, even after it got dark, trying to learn the sport.” She smiled and wiped her cheek.
“We were a terrible team, didn’t win a single game, but he kept trying. ”
I smiled and took the seat across from her.