Chapter 16
Ringo
The hard case of my phone rattled on the nightstand. Ellie was wrapped around me so tightly, I could barely move.
Luckily, she was a sound sleeper after the nightmares wore her out. I slipped an arm free and stretched to grab the buzzing annoyance before it rattled right off the edge. The screen displayed a familiar number.
“I’m up.” My raspy voice and the whisper I used so I wouldn’t wake Ellie told the caller that I was lying.
“Are you alone?” Mario’s sharp question jarred me because I’d been expecting the gruff and heavily-accented tones of the family’s shot-caller who always observed social niceties before talking business.
“Hang on.”
I could practically see the expression on my friend’s face. He hated my obsession with Ellie, thinking it distracted me. It did. Last night’s failure being immediate proof. I moved to the laundry room which was in an obscure offshoot of the flat.
“I’m clear. Whatcha got?”
I must be on speakerphone because Don Manca spoke next. “What are your intentions with my granddaughter’s sister?”
Shit. I thought he was on board with this. “What do you mean, my intentions? You’re the one who sent me here.”
“I did not tell you to set her up as your mistress.”
I wasn’t doing that. Mario had to be fuming right now, which explained his brusque greeting. This needed to be nipped in the bud. “Where are you getting that idea from?”
Mario’s low curse rumbled in the background.
“Who are you with this morning?” Don Manca demanded.
Busted. “Ellie.”
That cursing wasn’t as quiet now.
“I can explain—”
“Taci!”
The urge to continue talking and ignore Don Manca’s command was strong, but I was still very much their pawn.
“Alfonzo Conti-Messina tells us his favorite piece of ass is in the hospital. She was at Ellie’s home early to drop off clothing you purchased for her.”
In the background, Mario uttered the word, “lingerie” as if it were a filthy word.
I held the smile from my response. “Sì, I replaced what was damaged. You said hospital?”
“Damaged?” Mario must have approached the microphone because his voice was clearer.
“Yeah, Pornstach broke into her house last week and cut up her underwear among other things. And since your wife kept the stuff she bought for the trip—”
“Leave my wife and her clothes out of this.”
I laughed. He had it bad for Ellie’s sister. I addressed Don Manca because Mario had his head up his ass. “Will the giga pull through? And more importantly, why didn’t Alfonzo call me first?”
“You’re sleeping with Ellie?” Mario was uncharacteristically unfocused.
Don Manca overrode his question with one of his own. “The woman was badly injured, but is not dead. You can guess why he did not contact you. I’m certain you are smart enough for that. Do you know for certain it was Porciello who broke in?”
“Oh yeah. The dick left his juicy calling card all over her mattress. I moved her here with me the same day. Tell Mario, he owes me for four nights of interrupted sleep because she gets nightmares every damn night.”
“That doesn’t mean you have to sleep with her!”
Mario shoved that stick back up his— “Excuse me? Who was it who married a woman he stole from less than an hour before the wedding?”
“Ragazzi!” Don Manca’s dressing down shut us both up. “Porciello is a problem. One you were sent to Chicago to correct. Why haven’t you done so?”
The long answer was that I was distracted, foolish, and sidetracked by one very beautiful, very frightened woman who owned my heart. The shorter answer was even more embarrassing. “He is slippery.”
Silence.
I filled the void. “I believe the cops are looking for him. That’s not on record, but there is an agent watching the bar every night. She thinks he’s going to try make contact with Ellie.”
“Which he did. Twice, as of this morning.”
Don Manca didn’t know this, but technically, it was three times. At least this morning, Ellie wasn’t home. “That’s why she’s with me.”
“That’s the only reason?” Mario asked.
“Nipote, cease.” Don Manca was a wise old bird. He could have sent any of his men here. Or sent more than one man with me, so I could deal with the Conti issues without distraction. But like the wicked Filonzàna, he spun a larger web. “This agent has a name, no?”
If this call was monitored, saying it might trigger an investigation.
“I’ll pass it on, along with any information I have about our problems.” There were many.
Ellie’s ex was an annoyance, but fixable with the right circumstances.
The other issues were much more headache-inducing.
Starting with the fact that Alfonzo cut me out.
I hadn’t even been in town one week and he’d dismissed me.
And that was on top of cleaning up the betrayal in the organization’s ranks.
Surely, he’d heard a rumor about that by now.
I needed to teach him how to respect the Left Hand.
“Then, I’ll find out where Porciello is holed up. ”
So much for spending a fine morning in bed with Ellie.
“Have you even looked?”
Mario was not being helpful. I couldn’t help but needle him. “I had your list. Perhaps you got something wrong? Maybe ask your wife—”
That was all it took. I smiled as Don Manca reined Mario back. Then he addressed me, “Have you asked your woman if she knows where that pig is?”
“I doubt she knows.” If she did, she’d probably steal one of my guns and hunt him down.
“Did you ask?”
While obvious, it wasn’t the right question. “With all due respect, Don Manca, she doesn’t need anymore nightmares.”
He measured his next words carefully. “You must take care of those.”
Oh yeah, I would. “It’s at the top of the list.”
“Good. Call Alfonzo. Remind him you are not only trained to be left-handed, but you are also right-handed by birth.”
That would be a mean trick. Reminding anyone that I was Don Conti’s blow-by was a matter for lab technicians and lawyers. Convincing them I’d inherited his ruthlessness? I didn’t even want to acknowledge that let alone broadcast it.
Moreover, failing to kill Johnny Porciello was undermining my reputation. He had to have friends helping him, or a safe place to cower in. Somewhere, someone in his background held the key to his downfall. Too bad I killed all those men. One might have talked.
But they were a good place to start. They had associates, friends, neighbors.
And I had bait.
Lovely, sensuous, delicious bait.
“You’re insane.” Ellie squared off against me with the kitchen island as a battlement.
“It’s one bet.” And I’d be there as her backup.
Her eyes narrowed. “Do you have any idea how much that man lost on me last time?”
I snatched a slice of bacon from a plate she’d set on the counter. While I chewed, I calculated where Vincent’s demarcation between business and problem would lie. “Forty-grand? Sixty?” That would put a dent in the monthly profit.
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t. You just hate that I know you, the real you.
” I couldn’t help it my eyes dipped to her chest. Those delectable treats were encased in lingerie I’d bought, then covered with a thin steel gray sweater knitted from the finest cashmere money could buy.
The garments hugged her, shaped her, and drove me absolutely rabid with envy.
“Has anyone ever explained to you how much oxygen trees waste on you?”
That was a good one. I stared into her eyes. “You love me.”
Her face turned pink. “I’m never gambling again. Think of a different way.”
“You won’t like the other way.” I didn’t like it. She’d hate it.
Her eyes spoke of my death. “Don’t underestimate me.”
I shifted in my seat. “Okay, it involves going door to door and begging his friends for information on where he is. Your cover story is that you’re desperate to find out why he dumped you, and you want him back.”
Her upper lip curled.
“Told you. You hate it.”
“It’s a good plan, but not me. I’d go door to door asking where he is so I could murder his ass for being a dumb shit and cheating on me before the wedding.”
“We’re trying to avoid getting associated with his demise, remember?”
She deflated. “Fuck.”
“How much did Vincent lose?”
My question was ignored so she could pour the beaten eggs into the pan. Once they were secured and heating, she kept her back to me. “The odds were five to one. I made three hundred thousand. Do the math.”
Jesus. “And you walked away?”
“Yes. Losing that much is stupid.”
“But you didn’t lose.”
“Eventually, everyone loses.”
True.
I studied her. Despite her projected recklessness, she had a solid center. It was strange. Her twin projected that competence as her personality. It was one of the main reasons Mario noticed her because they were so alike in that way. Ellie hid hers.
I moved the glass of orange juice she’d poured for me. It sat between us. Once she’d turned to face me again, I pointed at it. “Is that half full or half empty?”
“Don’t try to psychoanalyze me. It doesn’t work.”
“You sure?”
She picked up the glass and chugged down the contents, then set the glass between us again. “Are you happy now?”
I stared at the residue collecting on the bottom. “It can be filled up again.”
Her finger poked at me. “You are an optimist.”
“No, I’m not.”
“You’re definitely not a pessimist.”
I smiled. “I think outside the box.”
“I destroy boxes. How’s that for a head trip?”
She was being argumentative for a reason. It made for a good distraction while I worked out a plan that wouldn’t involve gambling or groveling. “Does Johnny owe you any money?”
She blinked. “I—”
This was going to get interesting. But pressing her on an answer was delicate. The change in her demeanor was abrupt. A twinge of jealousy clouded my mind for a second. It whispered, she still loves him.
Or she hated him. But there was passion there that had caused that mood shift.
“I spoke to Don Manca this morning.”
Her eyebrow went up at the subject change. Quickly she masked it and turned to address the eggs. “How’s Allie doing?”