Accidental Mobster (25 page)

“Apparently she wanted to use you against Del, to see if she could make him talk to Ray about your dad. Problem was, she never did her homework. Del never knew anything about Mike Esposito.”

I stare at him, a hundred questions forming, none of which, I know, he will answer.

“Anyway,” he continues, “I think there's a person at the door who would like to speak to you,” Gino says, nodding to someone. I twist (a bit painfully—my head is throbbing) toward the door and see Reggie standing there.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” Reggie replies, as I wave to Gino and wheel toward the door. Reggie and I move into the hall and wait for two nurses to pass us before speaking. I study my friend carefully. “How did you—?”

“Julia called me on her phone. Vince told her I was your best friend, and she tried the number you used when you borrowed her phone once. Kind of lucky, I guess. You probably wouldn't have called me after the things I said.”

I smile. “Of course I would have. You saved us a few nights ago. SWAT came just in time.”

Reggie glances toward the room in which Gino is recuperating. “I guess everything worked out.”

I nod. “Yeah, it did.”

Reggie swallows and looks down the hall. “You're staying with him, aren't you?”

“Yeah, Reggie. I'm going to stay in Newcastle, at least for now.”

Reggie says nothing, and we are both silent for a few minutes. “I don't think that's a good decision, Danny,” Reggie finally says. “Your godfather is still not a good man.”

“I know,” I reply, not letting myself get angry. Reggie is right. Frank is a hero. Gino is, well, it's hard to say. I'm already struggling with the fact that Gino may not give up the mob lifestyle. And even if he does, he might be hunted down for being the very rat that he hates so much. He's done terrible things, but now I'm worried about him and his family. I hope my godfather can change, but will he be able to? Will he have a chance? I feel responsible for so much of this.

“I've got to stay for now,” I finally say to Reggie. “The Vigliottis are a link to my past—a past I never knew anything about.”

Reggie nods. “Okay, I understand.” He pauses, then smiles. “So, you gonna tell me the juicy details or what?”

I grin and point to a chair. “Sit down. You're gonna love this!”

* * * *

A week later, Reggie and I are gripping the seats in the SUV, both hoping that this ride won't be our last.

“Vince! Slow down!” I order.

“Oh please, don't be such a baby,” Vince snaps. “You wanted a trip to Joe's lot—we're going to Joe's lot.”

“We want to make it to the lot alive,” Reggie retorts. Vince turns from the driver's seat to glare at him, chewing a large mouthful of Snickers, and nearly steers the speeding vehicle onto the shoulder. Reggie reaches out to steady himself as Vince overcorrects the vehicle. “I should have driven you, Danny,” Reggie says crossly.

I bite my lip. I love speed, but Vince's driving is downright lethal. “Seriously, Vince. Stop being an idiot. We managed to stay alive last week—let's keep that record going.”

Vince doesn't respond, but he does release the gas pedal ever so slightly. He zips off the highway into the car lot in minutes, completing a trip that should have taken at least thirty minutes in just fifteen. He slows the vehicle as it kicks up dust from the lot, coating the army of used cars glittering in the sun. I know we'll probably earn a lecture for Vince's mess. Vince jerks the vehicle to an awkward stop and unstraps his seatbelt. “Hey, remember when we took on Tommy and his stupid friends?”

I sigh. Vince enjoys bringing up all the times that we have spent together without Reggie. But Reggie doesn't seem to notice—he is captivated by the cars.

“Yeah,” I answer. “I heard he'll be taking a few months away from Newcastle High.”

“Well, I would too if my dad were behind bars. Ray didn't even get bail.”

“I almost feel sorry for the kid,” Reggie says, finally joining the conversation. Vince snorts. “Believe me, you wouldn't if you knew Tommy. He's cut from the same mold as his dad.”

“Hey, there's Portia,” I say, glad she is here to meet us. We haven't spoken much in the past week; the feelings between us are too mixed up.

I jump out of the SUV and stride over to her, a smile overtaking what I had hoped would be a cool expression. “Hey.”

“Hey,” she says, returning my smile. She looks adorable in jeans and a sweatshirt with her hair split by two braids. She seems younger, but cute. Always cute.

“You doing okay?” I ask, not really wanting to relive any of the events from last week.

“Yeah.” Her eyes sparkle, and I can't move my own eyes from them.

“Hey, lovebirds!” Vince calls, causing both of us to immediately turn bright red. “We gonna talk to Joe or what? You're wasting my time!”

“I gotta talk to your dad,” I say to Portia.

“Yeah, I know,” she says. “Hey, I wanted to tell you, Tony's really grateful that you helped catch the man responsible for hurting his dad.”

“That's great,” I say, not really wanting to talk about my rival for her attention. I begin to turn to follow Vince, but she catches my arm.

“It's just that, well, I—”

“What?”

She reaches her hand up around my neck and pulls my head to hers. Then she kisses me. It's quick and shallow, but enough to drive me to the edge of crazy.

“What's going on here?” Joe's gruff voice quickly ends my moment. Portia and I spring back from each other, but she continues to smile.

Joe glares at me. “You coming or what?” he says, and I reluctantly follow him toward the building. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Vince and Reggie making fun of me as they follow, passionately kissing their hands.

“Oh, Danny, I love you so much!” Vince mocks in a very high-pitched imitation of Portia's voice.

“Shut up, Vince. Stop making out with your hand, Reggie. You guys look like idiots,” I say, but I can't stop smiling. Nothing can ruin this moment for me, and besides, my two friends have finally found something in common—having fun laughing at me. Joe makes small talk as we traipse to his small office in the center of the lot. “So, Vince, I hear you may try out for wrestling.”

Vince nods. “Yeah, Danny here has practically talked me into it. He and Reggie think they can bring me up to speed.”

“Well, you'll probably do okay. I've seen you at work with Tommy Gallo and company. You've got potential.”

Vince beams at Joe's praise. “Well, my dad's not convinced—but I'll show him.”

We enter the building and Joe motions me toward a chair. Joe sits in the chair behind the desk as Vince scrambles to take the last seat. Reggie rolls his eyes and leans against the wall.

“So, Danny,” Joe starts, clearing his throat. “I've heard that you found out a little more about your past.”

“Yeah,” I answer, my throat tightening. “Apparently I'm not a Higgins at all. I guess I'm really Danny Esposito. Problem is, no one will tell me anything much about my real dad.”

Joe spins his chair, which creaks under his weight, so that he can stare out the window.

“He was a good man—just got caught up with the wrong people at the wrong time. But he loved your mother, and he loved you.”

“But I wasn't even alive yet when my mother left Newcastle. Gino told me she hooked up with Del a week before I was born.”

“True,” Joe said. “But your father did know about you, that you were going to be a boy. And he made a deal with me. He was already in a lot of trouble by then.”

“What happened to him?” I ask, not really expecting an answer. Joe smiles, but then shrugs. “Like I said, he made a deal with me. And I intend to keep it. I just wanted to wait until the time was right.”

Joe heaves himself up and turns to a cabinet, unlocking it and retrieving some papers and a key from inside. He places them on the desk in front of me.

“Danny, I'd like to present you with the title and key to your car.”

“My car?” I gasp, excitement and disbelief flooding through me all at once.

“Yeah, your car,” Joe affirms. “A nineteen-sixty-eight Mustang. Red. Completely restored and ready to go. Even has a CD player.” He points out the window. “Over there.”

I'm speechless. I rise from my chair and look out the window at my car, barely able to believe that my dad—
my dad—
had left me such a perfect gift.

“What? That's not fair!” Vince whines. “He can't even drive yet.”

“That's awesome,” Reggie adds, his envy showing through his words.

“Thank you,” I say to Joe, going back to the desk and fingering the key.

“Don't thank me,” Joe replies. “I thought about waiting until you had your license, but I think you deserve it now after the crazy stunt you pulled last week. Ray was about to take some of us out, and even though I'm not thrilled that Portia was involved, I also know she won't stay out of a scuffle.”

I laugh. “No, she's definitely tougher than she acts.”

“Just remember, she's my only child—my little girl. I'll be keeping an eye on you, Danny,” Joe warns, his expression turning into that of a protective father. I cringe under his judging eyes, nod awkwardly, and then turn to Reggie.

“Well, I might not be able to drive it, but you can,” I say, tossing the key to him. “How about a test drive to the Newcastle Mall?”

“Sure,” he replies, smiling as he catches the key.

“Hey, what about me?” Vince demands.

“What about you? You'll wreck it before I ever have a chance to drive it!” I joke.

“Then I call shotgun.”

“Shotgun? It's my car!”

“Shotgun!” Vince repeats stubbornly.

“Fine. But then I'm asking Portia to go with us.”

“She'll cramp my style,” Vince wails.

“Vince, no one could cramp your style.”

“You're right,” Vince says, grinning. “Last one to the car has to buy Snickers for everyone!”

We rush out the door and into the sun. I laugh as we race to the car, thinking I love my new life that seems to have happened so accidentally. And yet, I only hope Gino will take this chance to go straight, because if not, my happiness will always be in jeopardy.

M. M. Cox is a former journalist and public relations specialist who has always been fascinated with stories about the Mafia. She has lived in Los Angeles, Atlanta, Colorado Springs, Boston, and Washington D.C. and enjoys running marathons in different cities. She attended her first writers' conference at the age of 13 and has dreamed of writing books for a teen audience ever since. Cox currently resides in Edmond, Oklahoma, with her husband and children.

This is the end for one of us. The last man standing survives. I can see that he is tiring with each move he tries to take against me, and I can taste victory. He isn't going to make it because I am not giving in.

We circle each other for a few seconds. I blink rapidly to flush the salty sweat out of my eyes. I am so close to finishing him off, I won't give up now. If I can just hold on a little longer, I can take him down. This is not the end for me.

His eyes drop to my feet—just for an instant—and I make my move. I rush him, wrapping my arms around his stomach. We spin and his feet scramble to keep him from falling as I try to trip him. My head is smashed against his chest and my hands are straining to keep their hold on him. He tries to break away, but it's too late. I lift him, and his feet lose contact with the ground. Our bodies slam to the floor.

He's beneath me, but only for a moment. He rolls and is suddenly on top of me, trying to turn me on my back. Yet he's not strong enough to turn me all the way over. I struggle out of his hold and am on my feet in an instant. But he's quick too, and as he grabs me I fall to my knees. Next thing I know he's on my back, his arms wrenching my body, again trying to turn me as I use every ounce of strength I have to fight back.

He's reaching for my ankle, and I know if he gets it I will lose my balance. But as he grabs it, I make my move. I snatch the wrist of the arm he is trying to throw around my head, and I wrap my other arm around his thigh.

We fly backward, and he sails up and over me, his feet flying over our heads before his body crashes back down beside me. In the air, he has managed to twist so that he lands on his stomach, not on his back, but he's momentarily disoriented. My arms grab his body, trapping his arms against him, and I drive him to his back. I'm on his chest, pushing his back to the floor, and after only a few weak attempts to escape, he's finished. The battle is over. I pinned him.

I strain to my feet as soon as the referee confirms my win. As I stand, adrenaline rushes through me, keeping the exhaustion from overtaking me. High school wrestling matches sap all my strength in a matter of minutes, and my eyes search the area for the one person who will appreciate the struggle I've been through—the one person who has been there for me this past year. He is the reason I am standing here now. I spot him to my right and see that my godfather is grinning at me proudly.

Gino Vigliotti.

I smile back at him because I want him to see that I am happy—happy that I have won, happy that he saw me succeed, and happy with life in general. If I am happy, then surely he will know that taking me in was the right decision.

The referee raises my arm to signal my victory, and I walk—well, limp really—over to Gino.

“Great job, Danny,” he says as he smiles again and pats me on the back. I'm taller than Gino now, but I'm still in awe of my godfather. He's lean and wiry, a guy you wouldn't want to take on in a fight, and his keen, dark eyes always make me feel a little unsettled. Right now those eyes are traveling to the other side of the gym, where his son, Vince Vigliotti, is stretching.