Luca's Dilemma (28 page)

Sheila thought back to the last pie Janie had brought by. Now that she thought about it, it had disappeared off her counter. Luca was smooth. She gazed at him lovingly, hesitating a moment before giving into the strong desire to touch him. Wrapping her arms around his waist, she hugged him, her front to his back, the feel of a pistol tucked in the waistline of his jeans pressing into her stomach as she rested her head on his strong shoulder. She’d been so wrong about him and wanted to tell him how sorry she was. But, at the moment, she was too overcome with emotion.

“You hurt me,” Luca whispered, suddenly shifting topics. His movements stilled. “Do you know how embarrassing it is for one of the world’s deadliest men to explain how his fiancé not only blackened his eye but knocked him out cold?”

Sheila didn’t have to see his face to know he was pouting. “I wasn’t thinking clearly. I’m sorry.” She hugged him tighter, a smile gracing her lips.

“No you’re not. I can feel your cheeks bunching against my shoulder from your smile, even through all this clothing. You’re enjoying this.”

Slight, but deliberate, movement in her periphery squelched Sheila’s mirth–filled response. Without a thought, she grabbed the firearm from Luca’s pants and fired. A clean, red dot formed right between Janie’s eyes and her hand slumped back from the gun she’d been reaching for. The coldness of the barn became more noticeable as Sheila watched the final trail of Janie’s life force roll into her hairline.

Luca’s strong hand steadied her trembling one. Lowering her arm, he gently removed the weapon from her grasp before seizing her in a strong bear hug. He began rocking her side to side, his strength warming her chilled bones as he kissed the top of her hooded head.

“It’s okay, babe. She could’ve taken us both out.” There was a brief pause before he blurted out, “Where the hell did you learn to shoot like that?”

“Tina. She always said only a fool of a girl would live so close to New York City and not know how to defend herself.”

Epilogue

Australian weather in March could be iffy, but Sheila hadn’t cared. Once Luca suggested they take a cruise to the land known for its koala bears and kangaroos for a destination wedding, Sheila hadn’t hesitated.

On the way to a small island off the coast of the mainland, the cruise ship had been hopping since, coincidently, the CEO of Ferreira Cruise Lines’ wedding was taking place on board. All passengers had been invited to participate in the festivities. The CEO’s bride was beautiful with her tiny self, albeit quite feisty from the condescending look she gave the tall, beautiful brother that tried to cut in and dance with her groom during the bride–groom dance.

Luca and Sheila were married in a quaint, beachside ceremony with the ultra–scenic Pacific Ocean as their backdrop. Sheila looked ever so elegant in a simple off–white, bodice–hugging, spaghetti–strapped gown that maximized her hour–glass figure. Daddy Leigh proudly walked her down the makeshift aisle as Momma, Calvin, the entire Moriatti clan, the Sparrows, and of course Tina and Richard bore witness to their joining.

Turns out the exotic redhead, Aiko — who Sheila later learned was one of her backup protectors, not her assassin — was a member of the Moriatti family who just so happened to have the authority to preside over weddings. But Sheila’s heart ached for Aiko. In addition to a newly acquired disdain toward Chino, a rift had formed between Aiko and her father, Steven, a consequence of his continued pursuit to be a menace to the Moriatti family. Sheila hoped they would reconcile their differences before it was too late.

Now after spending three months jumping from continent to continent and country to country for their honeymoon, Sheila was more than ready to settle down to what she hoped to be a quiet life as a full time artist, volunteering at the local community center twice a week and, of course, spending time with her new husband. As always, he’d risen well before her to work out and tend to the horses, allowing her to get much–needed sleep. The man was insatiable.

She needed to make sure hubby was fed well since he’d been working double time revamping the rental unit she’d vacated into her own private art studio. He was actually doing a good job with the remodeling project, leaving Sheila to suspect that her husband had Evy — A.K.A. the remodeling queen — on speed dial. Luca kept saying the studio was one of many wedding gifts he had planned to shower her with, and that there were many more to come. Sheila wasn’t about to start complaining.

Standing by the stove, she welcomed the bittersweet smell of her favorite breakfast meat as it popped and sizzled in the frying pan. Despite Luca’s clear look of disgust and whiny protest, she just couldn’t get enough of the salty treat lately.

“Seriously, Shi. You cooking that shit again?” Luca said, sounding exasperated as he entered the kitchen.

“Oh, stop. You act like pork is made from poison or something. Bet you’ve never even tried to like it.”

With a roll of his beautiful eyes, Luca embraced her from behind and placed a chaste kiss on her cheek before grabbing the morning newspaper off the counter and seating himself at the small kitchen table. “Whatever you say, babe.”

Turning off the range, Sheila shuffled the last few pieces of bacon from the entire package she’d cooked onto the waiting paper towel–lined plate then placed a heaping stack of freshly made buttermilk pancakes in front of her spouse. Before she could move her hand away, Luca grabbed her wrist and swiftly pulled her onto his lap.

“Hey!”

“No hey. You haven’t kissed me yet, and I’d rather you do so before eating
that
,” he stated with revulsion evident in his voice. Lifting her face toward his, Luca stole what he had demanded, causing Sheila’s heart to leap as his kisses always did. Breaking the kiss, he began applying chaste kisses to her neck and above her collar bone, while moving one of his hands under her shirt. “What’s with all the bacon anyway?” he asked in between pecks.

Sheila drew in a long breath, something she needed to calm the growing heat between her thighs and to build courage for what she was about to tell him. Now was as good a time as any. “You might not like bacon, but apparently your son or daughter does.”

His perusal stilled as his gaze shot up to meet hers. The blue of his eyes began to brighten as comprehension slowly set in. “You mean…” Luca trailed off, pressing his palm to Sheila’s flat stomach. “Oh my goodness,” he stated, gazing down at the hand. “We’re gonna have a little Moriatti?” His head shot up, and he met her eyes again, panic written all over his face. “I’m almost fifty years old, and I’m gonna be a daddy. Why am I so happy about that?”

Sheila couldn’t help but laugh at the mixture of awe and anxiety in his voice. “Calm down, baby, it’ll be okay. There’s some testing I have to go through because of my age.” She placed her hand over his. “But I’m in it for better or worse… if you are.”

Confusion etched his features. “What do you mean ‘if you are’? Of course I am. I love you, and I love our child with all of my heart.”

Luca’s image blurred as Sheila’s eyes filled with tears. “This is going to be wonderful.”

“Yeah, it is.”

The next thing Sheila knew she was on her feet watching Luca’s back as he rushed over to the counter. Without warning he grabbed the plate of bacon she’d just spent a great deal of time slaving over and emptied the contents into the trash.

“Are you crazy? What the hell did you do that for?”

“No way in hell is my child going to eat that shit.”

Sheila shook with rage. “I don’t know why you keep insisting that I stop eating pork. I’ve been patient, I’ve been kind, but this, Mr. Moriatti, is—”

Luca held up two fingers, effectively cutting her off. “You keep asking me two questions.”

“So?” Sheila asked, exchanging some of her rage for confusion.

“Why don’t I eat pork, and how do we get rid of the bodies?” After giving her what Sheila had come to know as his “duh” gesture, Luca turned and sauntered out of the room, literally leaving Sheila with food for thought.

Suddenly, a sharp gasp escaped her as the gravity of what her husband had just implied began to set in. Slowly, she began to move her head from side to side in disbelief. “Nah–uh, that can’t be true. Who in their right mind would…? Luca!”

***

Rural Uzbekistan Two Months Earlier…

Intense pain filtered through Sal Patina’s dulled senses as consciousness returned once more. As awareness kicked in, it became apparent he remained bound to the cold table, hanging upside down with the coarse metal still biting into his wrists and ankles. His limbs started to quiver, causing the chains that detained him to clack lightly against the table as the combined chill of the slab and the environment surrounding him seeped into his pores. The manure–tainted sack over his head prevented him from deciphering his whereabouts, as well as the identities of his tormentors.

One voice, a woman’s, which held a distinct British accent, could be heard most frequently and often rose strong and proud above the rest. Sal started to suspect she was the ringleader in this kidnapping. Apparently, the woman had no idea who she was dealing with. Boy would she pay.

Muffled voices alerted him of his tormentors’ approach. His mind went into overdrive, trying to concoct the words that would get him out of this. Then, like a shining star in the dead night, it came to him. He would use the heavy weight of the Moriatti name, a tactic that had always proved to serve him well in the past. How poetic.

“I see you’re awake,” a familiar female voice taunted. “Gotta say I’ve never had the privilege to work on anyone prone to wink out so easily.”

Sal grunted. Each taunt she gave would simply make his retribution that much sweeter.

“Bring him upright,” the female ordered.

Sal felt the blood rushing from his head as the table rapidly shifted parallel with the floor and then continued in the other direction, practically bringing him upright. His feet landed on a solid surface with a cruel thud, radiating pain throughout all the broken bones and bruises on his body. It took a minute for the vertigo and throbbing to dissipate.

Suddenly, the sack was snatched from his head. To his horror, Sal realized the smell of manure wasn’t originating from the sack, but from the room itself. His eyes widened as he took in his surroundings, but the bigger shock was the occupants of the room. Uncontrollable fear seized him, and the chains that held him began to bang loudly against the metal surface.

“Let’s see. Something tells me you either know who I am, or you recognize my brethren,” the tall, dark–skinned man relayed smoothly.

“Wha–wha–what I did, I did for you, Calvin,” Sal stuttered. “Her inheritance would have been yours.”

His eyes darted from Calvin Leigh, Jr., who sat comfortably in front of him, to the three people flanking him. Even sitting, Calvin’s height was evident and daunting. He was taller than the others and just as wide. Drago Moriatti sat to Calvin’s right with his elbow on his knee and his head resting in the L of his thumb and forefinger. Rie stood akimbo beside her husband.

But the one he feared most was Luca, who casually leaned against the wall to Calvin’s left with his arms crossed. Never in his life had he imagined being in the same room with four of the remaining
Tenshi Ansatsusha
and living long enough to acknowledge it. The term loosely translated to Dark Angel Assassins, and their reputation gave little reason for them to ever be mistaken for their kindness.

“Does our presence surprise you?” Luca asked snidely.

“Or is it the fact that your head is still intact?” Drago offered.

“Not for long.” The female voice came from beside him.

Sal turned his head just enough to get a glimpse of the woman and was taken aback to see flowing red hair and slanted eyes like Rie’s but set within a vanilla face. Her nose was distinctly European.

“You’re right, Aiko,” Calvin stated, rising to his feet and focusing on Sal. The size of him seemed to swallow the room. “Now that I’m sure you know who I am, there’s no way I’m going to allow you to walk out of here. And not just because of what you did and tried to do to my sister.”

“It–it wasn’t me. It was Randolph McRae, her boss from the insurance company. Sheila stumbled upon his money–laundering scheme, and he came to me for help. He tried just firing her, but by then, she’d drawn too much attention, and his associates started getting nervous. I swear I didn’t know she was your sister until after the hits had been ordered.”

“Interesting,” was Calvin’s trite reply. He gestured to the redhead, who came to stand in front of him and Sal. In her hands she held a small box. “You see, Randy had a different story.”

Aiko opened the box, her face devoid of any emotion.

Sal felt the acidic contents of his stomach lurch. Inside the box was a finger, one he recognized immediately by the ring it bore.

“I always wondered why such a proud, native Italian boy would cherish a Celtic ring so dearly… one resembling the one in this box. Randy was nice enough to enlighten me of your Scottish ancestry. As a matter of fact, you two just happen to be second cousins, am I right?”

All Sal could manage was a faint nod. Sweat began to pour down his cold body as he continued to stare in revulsion at what he quickly surmised to be the remains of his cousin. The clacking of his chains grew louder and became rhythmic with his tremors.

“So you decided to play along with your cousin by sending Janie to shadow my sister, who you didn’t
know
was my sister, and eventually decided it best to hire Luca and anyone else you could find to kill her.”

Sal nodded profusely, hoping the information he’d just divulged would be enough to save his life.

“Bullshit! I’m willing to presume my sister’s near discovery of you and your cousin’s miss deeds was only the beginning. Once you found out who she really was and that she’d unexpectedly moved within proximity of a Moriatti, the temptation to fuck with me became too great. Did you really believe your foolish plan to ignite my rage against the Moriatti family would work?”