6. Matti
Matti
F rom the front seat of my rented Lexus, I watch as men pull wreckage out of the lake. The sun is high in the sky, and the heat is building up, so I have the AC on full blast.
There’s a harsh glare coming through the windshield, and I shift my phone so I can get a better view of the screen. Texts are coming in nonstop from Vin.
But right now, his texts feel like noise, static I don’t have time for as I watch men dredge the lake, excavating the plane and its contents piece by piece.
You find what you’re looking for ?
Not yet. They’re not done pulling
everything out of the lake.
Just get proof. Shit is blowing up back here.
Need you in NYC sooner than later.
I shake my head and tap Vin’s name on the contact information, filling the car with the sound of his phone ringing. When he answers, he sounds run down and irritated.
“What’s going on up there?” I ask, watching as a new and larger boat pulls onto the lake.
“Aurelio’s on the warpath,” Vin grumbles.
When he calls his father by his first name, it means trouble between them.
I can’t remember the last time he didn’t call him by his first name.
“This whole thing with Mikey has him on a fucking reign of terror. He’s fucking with everybody, throwing a fit about the dumbest shit. ”
“All a big show, though, right? He doesn’t give a fuck about Mikey.”
“Not at all, but he has to make it seem like he cares or the rest of our men are going to get paranoid thinking that they aren’t protected with us.”
“What do you need?”
“I just need you to get back here because I don’t know what he’s going to do next. Everyone is on edge,” Vin says, his voice hard. “How’s it going down there? Find what we need?”
“Not yet. I’ve gone through all the wreckage they retrieved so far, but they’re not done pulling everything out of the lake,” I say, slowly. “But I did have an unexpected visitor.”
“What do you mean?”
I hesitate. Normally, I’d tell Vin everything, no holds barred. But in this situation, it seems prudent to give as few details as possible when it comes to Siena.
“Some woman showed up asking questions.”
“What do you mean? Like a local?”
“I don’t know,” I lie. “I don’t think so.”
“Was she hot?” Vin has a one-track mind when it comes to women.
I ignore the question. “She grabbed a couple of evidence bags and cut out.”
My lips twitch at the memory of her stomping away, heels digging into the dirt like she owned the ground she walked on.
Did she think I’d chase her down, tackle her to the pavement? Not my style. Besides, the local cops didn’t even clock it. They’ve barely looked at me twice since I rolled in here and started barking orders. Sometimes, all it takes is a good suit and an air of authority.
“What did she take?” Vin’s tone sharpens, no longer amused.
“I’m not sure. Didn’t look like anything important.”
The image of Siena flashes in my mind, bold and unapologetic, arms full of stolen bags, daring me to stop her. There was a defiance in her glare that set my pulse hammering, a defiance betraying a fire that I don’t see often. A fire that demands attention.
“Why didn’t you stop her?” Vin’s voice cuts through my thoughts. “You want to fuck her?”
I roll my eyes. “I didn’t stop her because drawing attention would’ve blown the job. Plus, it’s unlikely that she took what we need. You and I both know that thing probably got blown up or is at the bottom of the lake. Protecting her was the best option.”
The memory of Siena’s face flickers in my mind like an old film. The way her grief twisted her features, the pain etched so raw it made my chest tighten.
I understand that kind of loss. I live it every damn day. And seeing it mirrored in her? It sparked something primal in me, a need to shield her. To find every bastard who has ever hurt her and make them bleed for it.
Vin chuckles darkly. “Unless she’s married to or blood-tied to one of our guys, she doesn’t get that protection. So what is it, Matti? You protecting her because you want to bend her over? Because you are aware that you can do that and still get the shit back that she took, right?”
“Fuck off,” I mumble, but I can’t help imagining what she’d look like bent over in those tight jeans, her round ass up in the air, her big tits spilling out of her tight sweater and her black lace bra.
My cock stiffens at the thought, but I close my eyes and shove the thought away, smothering it like a flame under a blanket of darkness.
“When was the last time you got laid? Have you considered that you might not be such a cranky fuck if you got your dick wet a little more often?”
“I’m fine,” I snap. “I’m a cranky fuck, because you’re an annoying asshole.”
I don’t have an issue finding women to fuck when I feel like it, but it’s not something that Vin would necessarily be aware of.
Not that I hide it from him, but I have a strict rule about keeping anyone I fuck far away from work and the Demonio family.
It’s a lesson I learned the hard way a long time ago.
And fucking Siena is already off the table, anyway. Complicated doesn’t go with my line of work, and Siena, with her fiery attitude and ties to the family, is definitely complicated. Case in point, I’m already lying to my best friend and partner about her.
“Alright, well, if you don’t locate what we’re looking for, can you find her to get back the shit she stole in case she grabbed it?”
“Yeah. New Jersey plates. She’s probably headed back home.”
Shit, I shouldn’t have said that. This is exactly the problem with women. Thirty seconds of thinking about fucking her and already I’m fucking myself up.
“Bridge and tunnel girl, huh? Wait, didn’t you just tell me you didn’t know if she was local or not? What is up with this female?”
I shrug even though he can’t see me. “Nothing. I’m just tired. Probably bridge and tunnel, yeah, but who knows? I’ll check it out when I get back.”
“Fuck it. What we need is proof that Mikey is dead and you back here ASAP to help me manage the shit storm that the old man is creating up here.”
I hang up the phone with a sigh, turning my attention back to the chaos on the lake.
As I step out of the car, shouts echo from the lake, sharp and urgent against the still morning air. I move closer, my shoes crunching on the gravel, until I have a good view of the commotion near the middle of the water.
The diving team is surfacing, their movements jerky as they struggle with something unwieldy. In the boat, law enforcement is wrangling a massive white contraption that is part sling and part stretcher with gaping holes designed to let water drain out.
Curiosity pulls me forward. I walk down the dock, the wood creaking beneath my steps, as a winch on the boat groans to life. The rope spins over the wheel, straining as the stretcher emerges from the lake. Water cascades off it in sheets, revealing the unmistakable shape of a corpse.
Guys on the dock stop what they are doing and stand beside me, watching. One by one, the men on board the boat pull three bodies from the water with grim efficiency, their faces tight with focus as each one is heaved onto the deck.
A motorboat buzzes up to the dock, its engine slicing through the eerie quiet left in the wake of the shouting.
It pulls up beside the South Carolina Emergency Management boat, and Officer Clifton is the first to climb out.
His boots thud on the wooden dock, but his eyes don’t meet mine.
He looks anywhere but at me, his avoidance so pointed it’s almost a physical gesture. Smart man.
I step forward, planting myself in his path as he heads up the dock toward the parking lot. My body is a wall, blocking his way.
“They get three bodies out of there?” I ask, my voice low, steady.
Officer Clifton pulls his phone out of his pocket and acts like he’s checking something on it. He won’t meet my gaze. “Yes, sir.”
“Any identification yet?” I ask. It’s too much to hope for, I know.
“Not yet.” Clifton stays locked on his phone.
“They’re working on it?” I ask.
“I believe so. Someone is going through the personal items we pulled from the wreckage now so that we can make identification, contact loved ones, and start the investigation.”
Another officer on the dock barely looks like he’s over 18.
He’s got a baseball cap on backwards and one of the clear ponchos, but underneath is a police t-shirt and jeans, no uniform.
He’s kneeling, bagging up the remaining items on the dock.
He points in the direction of where the cars are parked.
“I think they found an ID up there, and I have three passports here. They were all in the same pouch.”
Fucking kidding me. If one of these belongs to Mikey, I’m golden. I can’t wait to get the hell out of here.
I walk over to where he is gesturing and squat down to inspect the passports. One is a female. The passport says she’s 35, and she looks a lot like Siena and Franco, but with lighter brown hair that is shoulder length. The name doesn’t say Emily Bellamorte Briarone, though. It says Rebecca Finch.
I look at the other passport and the name on this one says Christopher Finch, but Mikey Briarone stares back at me from the picture. That makes Mrs. Rebecca Finch none other than Emily, for sure.
The other passport belongs to a Sean Lodge. He looks familiar, probably the person they hired to charter the plane, but I don’t remember his real name. He’s from the MacCuinn Clan, an Irish mafia group that was sometimes competitive with us, sometimes friendly.
The question is, were they friend or foe when Sean Lodge got on the plane? And will the MacCuinn Clan be friend or foe now that he’s dead?
That’s a problem for another day, though. Right now, the three passports together are the proof I need that Mikey was on that plane when it went down. Now I just need to find what Aurelio wants so I can get the hell out of here and get back home.
Clifton is watching me closely, as I don’t move to return the passports. I jut my chin in the direction of the trucks full of items from the wreckage. “I’ll get these where they need to go.”
Officer Clifton glances at the kid in the backwards hat then back at me, clearing his throat nervously. “Uh, maybe we should keep it all together and bag and tag it….”
His voice trails off as I lock eyes with him in a hard stare.
I don’t say anything to him and continue walking up the dock. Behind me, I can hear the kid ask, “Who is that guy?”
Officer Clifton responds, “I don’t know. Maybe FBI?”
I let them think what they want, and when they’re no longer watching me, I go back to working my way through the bagged wreckage searching for what I need.