Betrayed (Chianti Kisses #3) (5 page)

Knowing his timing the way I do, I allow one more extra-long stroke to bring him just to the peak before he pours himself over.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” I cluck with my tongue, wagging my finger for emphasis. “Not quite yet. I’m nowhere
near
done with you.”

I ease myself up to straddle his legs, using my palms to shimmy the bottom of my satin shift up, allowing my thighs the room to slip one by one to the outside of each of his legs.

I watch his chest rise and fall with each pant his open mouth makes, I stand tall on my knees and line myself up, knowing the descent will be one we’ll both get lost in.

“Ssss…” I hiss through my closed teeth, and close my eyes as I feel the slickness glide against me, within me.

I arch and elongate my neck, stretching it as if reaching to touch the slice of heaven I feel. His enormous hands take each hip in a solid grasp and use them to thrust against himself.

I fill to the brim and pause, immersing myself in the entirety that only this position affords me. He allows me the moment but his impatience eventually gets the best of the both of us and takes charge of the situation.

I breathe out, moaning my appreciation each time my body reaches bottom, devouring every inch of him along the way.

“Baby, you gotta catch up,” he stretches his thumb a few inches from its grip on my hip, deeper to the inside of my thigh… and then deeper still.

He finds the nub he wildly searches for and presses into it, working hard to put us on even footing, coaxing it around and around in small circles.

Delicious sparks begin to set off under his finger and I can feel the nerves begin to tighten.

“Ready, baby?” he asks. I hear the frenzy in his quivering voice as he struggles to keep it together.

I’m barely done nodding before his speed multiplies and his hips double their efforts, pounding their way to the finale. He gets us there quickly and my thighs clamp around him tightly just in time to brace myself as I crash.

Dom holds me tight as I fold onto him, lying face to face, with the both of us reeling from the combustion of our bodies.

~*~

DOM

“I’ll be back by four.”

V kisses my cheek before disappearing from sight. I know she has some charity lunch thing today, and I’d already arranged for Carmine to not only drive her, but also to remain close by for protection now that she’s the wife of a high-level boss.

I’d arranged that protection before my Chicago meeting with the commission when I had imagined the greatest danger she would ever face would come from the
outside
. Now, reeling from all the revelations the Dons of the other families have given me, I find myself facing a whole new unsettling realization.

Perhaps the greatest dangers we face in this new position in life… are from those we love and trust the most?

I can’t wrap my head around this. Giuseppe Lombardi and my dad had grown up together, knowing each other as small schoolchildren in the same poverty-stricken village back in Italy.

They shared the same dream and left that life behind with only each other, a dream, and a will to succeed. They became each other’s family through shared sacrifices, successes, trials, and tribulations.

I remember the day my dad found out about his long-term friend’s accident. I remember the look on his face when he was told my future father-in law hadn’t survived it and had died, been murdered.

I remember the lock down we had gone into and the last-minute hurried meetings he had secured with Moretti to guarantee a truce, convinced we could be the next targets in a full-on assault against our families.

There’s no way the emotions and fears that man had shown during those few days were insincere. Yet, the commission would have me believe that he had ordered a
hit
on his dearest friend in the world?

I just- it’s just- I… I can’t believe it.

And the explanation those men gave me was almost just as hard to swallow as the actual concept.

He was a rat
.

The man who built the more…
unsavory
part of our family business on the old code of Omerta, or silence above all, never ratting, was in fact a rat? It’s impossible.

My gut tells me it’s as fugazy as the cheap gold watches sold down on Canal Street, yet I can’t deny that there are some incriminating pieces of evidence that could support it.

A hidden shell company was making huge payouts to some obscure entity back in Italy starting almost immediately before V’s dad’s murder… and ended promptly with my own father’s death years later.

With that timeline, it’s only a reasonable assumption that my father was in fact behind the payments himself, with no one else privy to the transactions to continue them.

It’s a damning clue but circumstantial none the less. I can’t accept this theory of our dads, knowing that it will ruin both of our families
and
my marriage, until I have concrete, bullet-proof confirmation. And there is no way I’ll get another moment’s peace until I have that proof.

My dad’s
not
a murderer.

V’s dad is
not
a rat.

If I’m wrong… everything I’ve ever believed in this world has just been tossed upside down. And if I’m wrong… it could cost me everything I love.

I pick up the disposable cell phone from nearby on my desktop. I change these business phones every few days, using untraceable lines to keep things as safe as possible. I punch in the memorized number and wait for the imminent answer.

“Joe,” I greet the man who answers, the man who’s been loyal to my family for decades and who’s stepped back up to the plate and back into the game now that we’ve resurrected our family’s presence.

“Boss. Whatchu need?” His thick Brooklyn accent is unmistakable.

I clear my throat. “Who do we have on the fed payroll?” I ask my second in command.

The pause is almost nonexistent.

“We got an agent. Some old tima who’s in deep with tha ponies. You need somethin’ from him?”

Perfect. Sounds like this fed could be just the ticket to the information I need.

“How deep is he in?”

Joe thinks on his answer for a moment, no doubt gathering the correct data to give me.

“Maybe sixty G’s?” he replies.

That’s deep all right, but not nearly enough to persuade him to do what I’ll need.

“Extend his line of credit. I want him at least a quarter of a mill’ in the red by tomorrow. Then, I want him to turnover a copy of every single file the bureau has on V’s dad
and
my dad in order to forgive his debt.” I lay out my plan.

“You got it, boss. I’m on it.”

And then, just as we all know to do, he ends the call with a simple click just before the ninety-second mark to avoid any possible line-tapping.

With the task complete, I toss the piece of junk phone aside and rest my elbows on the hard top of the desk, weaving my fingers together quickly in a web to catch my falling head.

If I were any less of a man I would lose it about now, but I know I can’t. I have to hold it together and pretend nothing’s wrong. There are too many people who could catch-on if I start giving them reason to suspect there might be something wrong.

The number one person on that list of possible sleuths is none other than my very own wife who just so happens to be the daughter of the very man I’m trying to clear my dad’s reputation of murdering.

There’s no direction I can turn right now without running into someone directly affected by the possible outcome of these accusations.

My mom, the late wife of the very man standing accused, is not only the best friend of the widow of the murder victim, but she’s also the godmother of the children of those people. Not to mention, she’s about to share a grandchild with those same people.

If this is all true, what the commission is saying, then could my mom have known? There’s no way in hell she would ever have stood aside and let my dad make a decision like that.

But who am I kidding? My dad would never have included my mom in such
business
decisions, just like I would never include V in such dealings.

My brothers-in-law John, Tony, and Mike wouldn’t hesitate to claim a vendetta against the family of the man who had their father killed, leaving behind a young grieving family and betraying every single unspoken promise between our families.

My mother-in-law is the widow left behind with four fatherless children to care for. I can’t imagine she’d look too kindly on the son of the man responsible for those circumstances, having married her only daughter and siring the grandchild who will finally bind these two long-term, allied families in blood rather than just oaths.

That pretty much sums up every single person I come into contact with on a near daily basis. There is no way in hell I’m going to be able to get by each of them without someone finally sensing that something is amiss.

It could be the end of everything if it were to lead to the unraveling of these secrets. That’s not an option. I hate to admit that the only way I can be sure that this doesn’t happen… is to stay away from all of them. It’s for their own good and for my own as well.

I couldn’t live with it on my conscience if the destruction of our decades-old alliance was ruined by my somehow revealing the treachery that was lying underneath the whole time.

It won’t be for long
, I tell myself. Just until I can uncover the truth that will actually clear my father
and
my conscience. Then, I can tell them all and know that we’ve survived another tragedy… the terrible false accusations that threatened to destroy us.

CHAPTER FIVE

And… twelve.

I drop the heavy bar down, releasing my sweaty grip from the metal, and listen to the loud thudding echo of the weights against the rubberized floor mat. My heavy breathing is deep but controlled as I feel the heat rush through my arms.

The floor to ceiling mirrored wall reflects the flushed skin of the muscles I’m honing. The steady beats vibrating through the plastic ear buds planted in my ears set the pace of my reps, all mixing in with the quick beating of my pulse.

Needing to replenish the buckets of sweat I’ve lost over the past half hour, I pop open the cap to the water bottle that’s been serving me and gulp down every last bit.

Several drops escape my mouth, trailing down the skin of my cheek and tickle as the beads of water disappear into the depths of the folds of the terrycloth towel I dab blindly against my skin.

I stretch my neck and release some of the building tenseness and kick off my sneakers into the nearby corner. I leave them behind, beginning the trail of clothes I scatter on my way to the wooden sauna where I’ll sweat the rest of the toxins out, and maybe even some of the guilt building in my conscience.

The weight of my cell phone feels like a million pound anchor in my pocket, dragging me down. I pull the wires one at a time, freeing the little speakers from my ears and move to wrap them around my thin phone, trying to hide the screen within a web of white cable,

I’m not fast enough, though, as the screen lights up once again with V’s picture flashing across the display with her latest message.

I GUESS YOU’RE BUSY. I’LL JUST BRING YOU HOME SOME DINNER LATER THEN.

The text quickly joins the several others in today’s inbox, all unanswered.

The temptation to type a quick reply, to send a random funny picture or even to call her has been overwhelming. I thought pounding out some weights would take my mind off it, but no such luck.

She’s doing nothing but being her usual, thoughtful, loving self… and here I am being an asshole. This plan sounded a hell of a lot better when it was just a loosely laid strategy in my head.

Avoid them all, figure all this crap out and do it all as quickly as possible so I can put this nightmare behind us and get back to whatever “normal” is for this family.

I take out my frustrations by throwing my crumpled gym shorts aside and step into the wooden chamber, sealing myself inside and pouring a fresh ladle of water over the ceramic coals.

The water sizzles and lifts into a thick steam that I avoid direct contact with by sitting back on the hard bench. The air of the small chamber becomes thick, filled with the vapor that snakes around my naked body.

I can see the tiny tendrils of white vapor pool together and form the clouds that begin to occupy the empty space on either side of me. This is the only companionship I’m looking for right now, the only kind I deserve.

~*~

“Baby!” I hear her sweet voice before I see her actual body as the office door opens. “I’ve been texting you all day. Why didn’t you answer?”

I’ve rehearsed the B.S. answer in my head a hundred times.

I shake my head feigning remorse. “Sorry, V. Crazy busy day. My phone’s been ringing off the hook. No time to text back.”

I play it off as genuinely as I can, knowing full well the words sound idiotic. Her face flinches as it registers the dismissal.

“Oh… well, I brought you a plate from Aliberti’s. Some sausage and peppers and a salad. Come eat in the kitchen and I’ll keep you company.”

I tense my fists invisibly in my lap, hidden from her view. “I’m swamped. Just leave it in the fridge and I’ll pick at it later.”

I actually feel a sharp pang in my chest as I sidestep the invitation. I haven’t seen my wife the entire day. What I wouldn’t give to just sit and talk with her but I know my guilt would be eating me away the entire time. How I can I sit there, looking at those angelic eyes of hers knowing that they’ve cried enough to fill a river over the years for her dad… all the while knowing there’s a possibility my own father was the one responsible.

“You alright, Dom?” she asks, concerned.

I swallow hard. “Y-yeah, sure. Just trying to get some things straightened out. It’ll be a late night. Don’t wait up.”

She nods all the while eyeing me with worry. “Well, don’t stay up too late. We have a doctor’s appointment in the morning.”

I smile tightly.

“Oh! And John called me looking for you. He’s been trying to get ahold of you all day, too. Make sure you call him. Something about an incoming shipment with no manifest and a lost something or other. He lost me once he started talking business gibberish. He’s kinda freaking out with the new responsibilities.”

I laugh. I’m sure he is.

“I’ll call him, V. Go get some rest. You look tired.”

She blows me a kiss and gently closes the carved door behind her leaving me to my charade. The instant the heavy door clicks shut, the pretense of a smile falls from my lips.

Between her texts, John’s calls, and even Mikey’s emails, I feel like I’m dodging bullets in all directions trying to avoid them all. I can’t keep this up much longer.

I pick up the phone and pound in the numbers.

“Get your ass over here,” I command into the receiver when answered.

I don’t wait for a reply, a question, or even an acknowledgment… although he knows better than that. I simply take out my anger at myself by passing it along to him.

Comes with the territory and he knows how to take it.

It takes him mere minutes to show himself, meaning that for once he’d actually been where he’s supposed to have been. In his
own
place. Good. Maybe  that sneaking around shit between Theresa and him is finally over.

“Yeah, boss?” Carmine doesn’t even bother to knock while rushing in with a half –eaten sandwich of some god-awful cheesy mess and a soda in the other.

I roll my eyes at his meal choice. “You really
do
eat like shit, don’t you?” 

He answers by taking another messy bite, threatening to drop some tomato sauce on the imported area rug that costs more than he makes in a month. He makes a save, though, and holds the crispy-crusted sub high to lick the glob of red from the bottom.

“That crap will kill you one day,” I finish.

He shrugs his shoulders. “Better this than a bullet.”

The agitation building in me throughout the day finds an escape. “Not likely.”

He stops mid-chew and freezes, taking in the weight of my words. Considering he’s already taken a bullet for me and at least three others judging by the scars that I’ve been able to see on his upper body, I realize that phrase probably hits a little too close for comfort.

“Sorry… I didn’t mean that.” I quickly try to douse the flames but I can see the damage has been done.

His lifestyle and career choice have a limited shelf life and unfortunately …not a very long life expectancy. Just one more reason why he doesn’t need to form ties with people who would be left behind to mourn him like V did with her dad. Like Theresa would….

Carmine’s suddenly lost his appetite and looks at the sandwich like it’s a pile of raw dog food, tossing it into the nearby wastebasket. He busily chews the food in his mouth and dabs at his greasy fingers with the paper napkin from his pocket.

“No sweat,” he puts on a brave face. “What do you need?”

Men like Carmine, cold-blooded killers, they don’t want to dwell on hurt feelings and sappy stuff so I move on quickly.

“I need you to go over to Joey’s shop. He’s got some files for me. Things I don’t want sent electronically. Good old-fashioned paper charts that can be burned later without a trace. I need them.”

I know Joe and Carmine get along like two starving dogs fighting over a bitch in heat. Joe’s made no secret of his distrust for Carmine, and Carmine’s had no qualms about calling Joey out on his lack of experience being out of the game for all the years our family has chosen to remain apart from the action.

With Joe as my right-hand man and Carmine as my left, these two need to get over their issues sooner rather than later before it ends in some petty garbage or a careless slip that could cost someone his life.

“Sure thing. I’ll go pay Joey boy a visit and take a look at this garage he’s always bragging about. I’ll bet it’s nothing more than a glorified Jiffy Lube.”

Carmine uses his thumbnail to scratch off a bit of melted cheese from his sandwich on one of the shell buttons near his collar. Knowing him and his penchant for style, I’m sure he’ll go have a GQ wardrobe change before going to meet his “buddy”.

“And don’t get lost on the way. I want you back ASAP, kid. No detours.”

He knows exactly the kind of
detour
I’m talking about… the kind that take him anywhere
near
my sister’s apartment. I’ve known about their little secret meetings and have had more than an urge to confront both of them and put an end to it.

The only thing stopping me is thinking I’ll only push them further into each other’s arms.

Theresa’s a smart girl. She’ll figure out soon enough that he’s not the guy for her. He broke her heart once, years ago, and I can’t blame her for wanting to get some real closure on all that.

But my patience can only go so far. I’m not giving her much more time to figure that all out on her own before I help the situation by seeing to it that she’s transferred to the new ATH Miami offices and he’s kept busy right here.

I know mama will have a fit if that happens but I’m willing to deal with that rather than a brother-in-law like Carmine breaking my sister’s heart and ruining her life.

~*~

CARMINE

Huh.

So far, from what I can tell, this place looks halfway decent. It pains me to say it looks like the kind of place I would even take
my
car to. And anyone who knows me, knows how I feel about my car. No truer words were ever said than to treat your car like you treat the ladies. You take care of them and they’ll take care of you.

So far, on both fronts, it’s proven true. Every lady who’s passed through my sheets has left satisfied and left me even more so. Well… every one of them except Tre. Something happens when I’m with her. I can get off on just the thought of getting
her
off. That just goes against every code I’ve lived my life by so far.

“You lost, Sonny Boy?” The sarcastic voice breaks through my thoughts just in time to keep my crotch in check from becoming a standing tribute to the thought of Tre in my bed.

He looks at the classic restored black ’64 Pontiac GTO behind me, gleaming  in the mid-day sun like a fine woman on display.

“The junkyard’s over about eight blocks,” he quips. “Maybe they can take care of this relic.”

I stand up tall and straighten my tie, cracking my neck. “Jealousy looks good on you, old man. Maybe one day you can do enough oil changes and tune-ups to save up and buy your very own great American muscle car, but until then, don’t even think you’re touching mine. I only let
real
professionals work on my baby.”

He laughs. “And which one is that? The car or the girl you let distract you?”

All kidding and joking has just turned a corner with that last comment. Joe’s a married man with three kids running amuck and yet he still finds time to step out on his woman. He’s much older than I am, but I’ve seen the way he appreciates Theresa’s…
assets
.

“Both. I’ll put a bullet in any man who tries to touch either. Capisce?”

Joe stares at me hard. “Keep your cool, kid. They’re not my type. Either of them. I like imports… not domestics.”

I gag a little. I’ve seen some of the “imports” he’s talking about. Russian girls no older than a schoolgirl. It’s disgusting.

“Boss says you’ve got a package for him,” I change the subject before this escalates further and I have to explain why I beat the man bloody with a wrench.

He waves his hand for me to follow through the aisles of car parts. I carefully step over the puddles of motor oil, and narrowly miss getting my tailored jacket caught on a nail from one of the support columns.

This place is a walking disaster, and his office is no better.

“Take a seat,” he says, offering me the chair facing his piece of crap desk with about a dozen trees worth of piled paper on it.

I take one look at the rickety metal-framed chair with a torn cushioned seat and decline his offer of uncharacteristic hospitality.

“I’m good, thanks.”

He rolls his eyes. “You know what your problem is, kid?”

I’m intrigued. “Besides a hostile work environment?”

Joe sits back and reclines in the half-broken chair of his own. “You don’t know how to show respect.”

I laugh. “Oh, I know how to show respect. I just do it a little differently than you. I’ve got the scar to prove it. Not to mention the bullet fragments only inches away from my kidney. You show your respect by sitting on your ass and making phone calls. Believe me, the boss prefers my kind of respect over yours any day of the week.”