Dangerous Ladies (19 page)

“His men cried when they saw Nonno’s hand. In his field, there was never anyone like Nonno before. There never will be again. He was an artist. Breaking his hand was like smashing the Romanov Blaze.” Roberto watched her, his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped together.

She knew now why he’d started this. It wasn’t a party trick; it was the best way to illustrate how dangerous the Fosseras could be. Not just killers, but men who enjoyed their work . . .

She surrendered, as Nonno and Roberto had known she would. “All right. I won’t go to the police about them.”

“Promise?” Nonno gave her back her watch, her ring, her keys, and her cell phone.

“I promise. I get it!” She sank down on the couch, her knees weak from the thought of such violence, such pain. “I’m not stupid!” But she flinched.

Was her father right? Was she stupid? She had landed herself in a stupid situation with professional thieves as allies and more professional thieves possibly threatening her life, and the lawyers who should have been her allies were her enemies, and one of the most prominent judges in Chicago scorned her for the company she kept. She rubbed the pain over her right eye and tried to ignore her father’s derisive voice as it echoed in her head.
Brandi is stupid.

She wasn’t. She knew she wasn’t. She was successful in school, and her friends valued her good sense.

But at times like this, when she was tired and in turmoil, it was almost easier to believe her father.

She attributed the familiar churning in her gut to worry about the situation. “Roberto, if you don’t work for Mossimo, will he take a ball-peen hammer to you?”

“Don’t worry about Roberto. He can handle himself. He isn’t the thief I am, but he’s one hundred times smarter.” Nonno tapped his forehead and winked. “Well, not one hundred times, but he’s a smart boy.”

Roberto laughed. “Nonno, are you still dating Carmine?”

“No, she got possessive, you know?” Nonno flopped down in his chair in disgust. “Like when I took Tessa golfing, Carmine got mad. I’ve got no time for that.”

By the change in conversation, Brandi knew they were satisfied with her promise. She leaned her head back on the couch and tried not to think about a hammer crushing Nonno’s hand, or the guns and brutality, or her apartment being ransacked, or her precarious job. . . .

“Mama says you should marry again,” Roberto said.

“Your mama should mind her own business,” Nonno answered.

“She says she will when you do.”

Roberto’s voice sounded far away. She turned her head and looked at him. He was so handsome. Even his profile was gorgeous. He made her heart contract and the hair on her arms prickle, and when she remembered how deliciously they had made love . . . Whoa! She lifted her head. Of all the things she shouldn’t think of, that was
number one. Never, never should she reminisce about that night, that weekend. . . .

What were they talking about? It sounded like relatives now . . . in fact, she couldn’t understand a word. Had her hearing failed her?

No. She smiled. They were speaking Italian.

She was warm, she was full, she hadn’t had enough sleep last night . . . she was in trouble and she knew it. Tiffany wouldn’t approve of her going to sleep on a visit, but she would close her eyes for a few minutes . . . just a few minutes. . . .

Nonno nodded at Brandi and smiled. “She’s out.”

“I knew she was going down for the count.” Roberto stood up and looked down on Brandi, hunched into one corner, her chin settled on her chest. He moved her sideways so she was reclining. Nonno slid a pillow under her head while Roberto lifted her feet onto the sofa. She murmured and frowned, her nose wrinkling as if her dreams weren’t pleasant.

Well, of course not. How could they be? She’d had one shock after another. Altogether, it had been one hell of a day.

“Get her cell, Nonno. We don’t want her to wake up.”

Nonno plucked the phone out of her pocket.

Roberto took the afghan Nonno offered and tucked it around her. He liked seeing her here, asleep in his Nonno’s home, her golden hair spread across the dark upholstered pillow. He tucked a strand behind her ear, then turned to go with Nonno.

Nonno was watching him, hands on hips.

“You look like an Italian fishwife,” Roberto said softly.

“Yeah. Sure.” Nonno took the decanter and an extra bottle of wine and headed for the kitchen.

Roberto shut the door behind them. They settled down at the old table, glasses between them.

“So who is she?” Nonno demanded.

“A girl I met.”

“A nice girl. What are you doing with her?”

His
nonno
could be damned cutting when he chose. “She picked me up. I let her. Then when I found out she was my lawyer?” Roberto spread his hands in a typical Italian gesture of resignation. “What was I to do?”

“You’re crazy, bringing her along on a job.”

“I’m not doing the job yet, and you should have seen the Fosseras when I introduced her. They didn’t know what to make of her—or me.” Roberto laughed softly and poured the two glasses full. The men clinked them and drank. “They didn’t know whether to believe she was my lawyer. They couldn’t take their eyes off her. I won’t put her in danger, Nonno, but I’m going to use her to blind them to what’s really going on.”

“What is really going on?”

“We’ll know soon enough.” Roberto glanced at the back door, then at his watch.

It was gone. “Give it back.” He held out his hand, offering his grandfather a handful of change.

Nonno groped in his pocket, and a smile blossomed on his face. “Hey, boy, you’re getting good. I didn’t know you’d been in there.”

“I’ve been practicing.”

“Damned straight.” Nonno handed over Roberto’s watch. “For a job like this, you have to be the best. Tell me again why the girl is involved?”

Roberto took a breath that made him aware of his expanding lungs, of his swelling chest, of the blood pumping in his veins, of an excitement he barely understood and had never experienced before. “I want this job to go down perfectly. I want revenge for your hand. I want to show the world what I can do. I want those bastards who hold my feet to the fire to realize who they’re dealing with. And I want her with me. I want her at my side.”

Nonno nodded his head, a slow bob of acknowledgment. “Boy, for so many years you buried the Contini deep in your soul. But I see it now. You’re as crazy as the rest of us.”

“I don’t like to be pushed into a corner.”

“No. And I like the girl.” Nonno bent a dark glare at Roberto. “Are you sure she’s who she says she is?”

“No. Not sure. She could be a plant, from the Fosseras or the FBI, most likely.” Anything was possible.

“Yeah.” Nonno rubbed his chin. “According to gossip, Mossimo’s in trouble.”

“Why in trouble?”

“He’s got no skills. All he’s ever been good for is planning these jobs and bullying people to pull them off. And it’s been a long time since he’s successfully delivered a big payoff. Rumor is that the younger men are getting restless, starting to branch off on their own, setting up their own protection rackets, making trouble on the streets—fights and robberies. Big family. Big trouble. None of them have been caught yet, but I think maybe there might jockeying to see who replaces him.”

“Fascinating.” Roberto thought of the men around Mossimo’s table today. Which of them would take Mossimo’s place? Greg? Dante?

No. Fico, the man with the acne scars and the sharp, intelligent eyes. He’d watched the action between Mossimo and Roberto without emotion, as if he had no vested interest in who won and who lost.

“Mossimo’s
got
to force you to work for him and
got
to pull this job off or he’s going into retirement whether he likes it or not,” Nonno said. “Make sure you have a care for the girl. Mossimo is in a corner, and a cornered beast is dangerous.”

“I won’t let anything happen to Brandi.” Roberto would tie her up before he allowed her to step into harm’s way. And he would kill before he allowed anyone to hurt her. “Anything else I should know?”

Nonno grinned. “I got the museum plans.”

“I never had a doubt.” Roberto grinned back.

“But they cost me a bundle.” Nonno fetched a clean, crisp roll of blueprints from behind the chipped, green ceramic bread box.

“I’ll pay you back.” As Nonno unrolled them, Roberto stood and put his full glass on one end to anchor it.

Nonno put his glass on the other. “Ack, no. This is the most fun I’ve had since I landed in the hospital with this hand.”

Their heads almost touched as they discussed the points of entry and exit, what they knew about security, the likely traps they didn’t know . . . what the Fosseras had planned and how to thwart them. It was a war council, and it was missing only one of its generals.

A knock sounded on the back door.

Roberto picked up the plans and stashed them in the pantry. Walking to the bread box, he flipped it open and took out the loaded pistol Nonno kept there.

Nonno went to the door between the kitchen and the living room and checked on Brandi. He nodded at Roberto and shut the door again.

Roberto looked through the peephole at the two men standing there. Their collars were pulled up, their hats pulled down, but their faces were bare and they looked straight ahead, knowing they had to be identified before he’d let them in.

Not that they couldn’t shoot their way in if they chose.

He disengaged the alarm, clicked the lock on the door, and held it open while silently they slipped inside.

Nonno stood beside the table, his lip curled, his back stiff with rejection.

Roberto locked the door behind them and reset the alarm. “Did anyone see you come in?”

“No. They’re watching the house, but they didn’t see us.” The older man shed his coat and hat without consciousness.

The younger man kept his coat on, staring at Roberto as if he were a criminal. Which, Roberto supposed, he was.

No one shook hands.

The older man seated himself at the table. He gestured to the younger man. “Get out the museum plans and sit down.”

Reluctantly, the young man pulled his laptop out of his briefcase.
He opened it and the plans for the Art Institute were there—and they looked almost identical to Nonno’s plans.

Almost. But not completely.

Roberto leaned forward and immediately identified the changes. Interesting—and more challenging.

“I never thought I’d be working with the likes of you,” Nonno said to the strangers.

The older guy looked at Nonno. “I’m not thrilled about this myself. Now let’s get to work. We’ve got a jewel robbery to plan.”

B
randi opened her eyes. She didn’t know where she was.

Where was she?

She drew in a sharp, panicked breath.

Then, in a gush of memory, the truth was upon her.

Roberto. This was his grandfather’s house—Nonno’s house. His grandfather had suffered such a grievous injury by men she’d met today. And she dared not go to the police.

Her apartment had been vandalized, her treasured dragon broken.

Her first day on the job had turned into a nightmare.

She was in an unfamiliar town. She had nowhere to turn. No one could help her except Roberto, and he was a jewel thief—or worse.

Slowly she sat up and looked around. She was alone in the living room. The light in the corner had been turned on, the curtains closed. She’d been prone on the couch. Asleep. When had she gone to sleep?

Had she heard men’s voices in the kitchen?

Where was Roberto?

She leaped up so fast her head spun. She dashed through the door into the kitchen, and stood swaying against the wall, staring.

Roberto stood at the stove. He had his white sleeves rolled to his elbows, wore a ruffled white apron, and stirred a pot with a wooden spoon. Nonno was looking into a pot and arguing with Roberto about the contents.