Summer Kisses (200 page)

“I thought so.” Sandro paused. “You must let her go for her own happiness.”

“Have you asked her then? Has she said yes?”

“No, I have not asked her. I will ask her in Italy, after she has a chance to fall in love with my country. Ah, I see hope in your eyes. Do not get hope, Dave Armstrong. She will marry me. And she will be very happy.”

From that moment, Dave hated Sandro with a smoldering rage.

In shock and despair, he retreated to his house and started drinking, although the last time he drank too much, he had made that colossal mistake with Nia at the pool.

The bourbon bottle was nearly empty, but that didn’t stop him. When he drank the bottle dry, he moved on to tequila. The old song
Wasting Away In Margaritaville
came to mind, but he was too intent on getting drunk to waste time making margaritas.

When his brother came home about ten o’clock, Dave was sitting on the couch, crying. He hadn’t realized he was crying until Jared said something.

“What’s wrong with you, man? Someone die?”

Dave mumbled an answer.

Jared knelt down in front of him. “What’d you say? Something about Nia? Is she okay?”

“No, sheeee’sss not ’kay. She’s gonna be Italian.”

“Man, you are making no sense. I’m calling her to see what’s going on.”

“No. Don’t. She doesn’t know.”

Jared only raised an eyebrow and picked up the phone. “Oh, you’re going to Italy. That must be it,” he said a few minutes later. “I just thought something had happened to you the way he’s bombed out of his mind over here.”

“Shu’ up, ’sshole,” Dave demanded.

“Yeah, that might be a good idea. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

It seeped through Dave’s soaked brain that Nia was coming over. “No!” He tried to stand up, but his legs collapsed and he fell back on the couch.

Moments later, the doorbell rang. Jared let her in. “He’s in there.”

Dave closed his eyes, tried to will himself away since his legs weren’t working.

She touched his knee. “Dave? Geez, what have you done? You smell awful.”

He opened his eyes and she gasped. “Look at your eyes.” She gazed around and found the empty bourbon bottle and near-empty tequila bottle. “My, God, did you drink all this? Are you trying to kill yourself?”

“Don’t leave me, Nia.”

“God, Dave, why are you crying?” She knelt in front of him and wiped at his face. “I’m just going to visit. I’ll be back.”

“No, you won’t.”

“Of course I will.”

“Don’t go.”

Finally, he got to hold her. But she was the one offering comfort, not him. “I know it’s not the smartest thing in the world for me to go, Dave. I know I’m gonna be hurt when I have to come back. But I have to go. I love him.”

Dave buried his face in her neck, a part of him mortified that he’d turned into a sniveling fool, but unable to help himself. “I know you love him. That’s what he told me.”

She hesitated. “Is that what has you so upset?”

Dave shook his head, then wished he hadn’t, belatedly realizing she was going to probe for more answers.

He was right.

“What, then? What else did he tell you?”

Dave pulled away from her, lay his head back against the couch and refused to answer.

“Is Sandro the reason you’re drunk? What did you say to each other?” A noise behind her caught her attention. Sandro had followed her apparently. He and Jared stood side by side. “What did you say this afternoon, Sandro?”

Sandro stared at her without answering. She turned back to the couch. “Dave? What?”

“I can tell you what they said, and I wasn’t even there,” Jared offered. “They were both staking a claim.”

“A claim? Over me? Dave, I told you last time–”

“Go home, Nia. I didn’t call you.” Dave couldn’t take one more moment of humiliation. “Take him with you.”

Sandro touched her shoulder. “Come,
cara
.”

She bit her lip, touched Dave’s knee again, sadness in her eyes. “God will bring someone special for you one day.” Then she stood and took Sandro’s hand.

Dying was nothing, Dave thought, watching them with bleary eyes leave hand-in-hand. Sometimes in training, the FBI students would discuss among themselves the real possibility of dying on the job, whether it would be painful. But that was a useless worry, Dave realized. The real pain came from living and losing the woman you loved.

That wouldn’t happen again, Dave vowed, pulling himself from painful memories, heart pounding. The snow began falling again, melting on the heated windshield. He turned on the wipers.

Nia and her child were important, but even for them Dave wouldn’t let Sandro sacrifice Marisa. There had to be a way—to rescue Nia and Danny—and help free Marisa.

The woman he was growing to love.

~~~

The snow continued to fall, leaving the late afternoon sky as dark as evening. Dave glanced at Marisa as he turned the car into the underground garage of her apartment building. Sandro sat behind her, muttering in Italian. They’d left the stolen Honda behind.

As Dave parked, Sandro said to Marisa, “Hurry, I want to leave again in five minutes. Grab your computer. We’ll come back later for anything else.”

“I’ll go,” Dave said.

“No,” both Marisa and Sandro said at the same time.

“I’ll go,” Marisa said.

“I’ll go with you.”

Marisa shook her head.

“You’ll slow her down,” Sandro explained.

“What if she runs into someone, what if–”

“I’m a big girl, Dave, and anyone who might be here thinks I’m still on their side. Don’t be silly.”

Dave tightened his lips, unused to being overruled. His gaze glued to her shapely behind as she hurried off.

“You care for her,” Sandro said. It wasn’t a question.

“Yes.” Dave watched Marisa until she was out of sight.

Sandro nodded. “That is good.”

“Good?” Dave turned to face Sandro. “It’s a bitch. She’s a Mafia princess; I’m a Fed. Not the best foundation for a relationship.”

“All relationships have problems that must be worked through. Yet men need a partner beside them. To share their life.”

“Is that why you married Nia? You wanted a partner, and you were selfish enough to put her at risk?”

“Marrying me was not a risk–”

“You were involved with the mob–”

“No.”

“I know you missed that goal that sent Italy home in second place because of Carlo. Marisa told me you gave in because he threatened your family, your girlfriend’s family. Are you denying that’s true?”

“That was a one-time thing, he said.”

“Once is never enough with the Mafia.”

“
Si
, I was very naïve.” Sandro nodded. “The next time instead of giving in, I gave up my career in
Serie A
, closed my soccer school, and fled Italy. Now, I run no more. I stand and fight.”

“If you had been honorable, you would have never married her.”

“She would never have married you, Dave. Even if I had gone to Italy and left her, she wouldn’t have married you. And she would have been very unhappy. Did you wish for her to be unhappy?”

“I could have made her happy.”

“You can’t force another person to be happy, Dave. Like you tried to force her to have sex with you. It doesn’t work.”

Dave rubbed his hand across his face. “I always suspected she’d told you.”

“Marisa is a good woman, Dave. Get her away from her father and she will be a good partner for you.”

Dave gave a bitter laugh. “You’re handing her right back to her father.”

“If things go the way I plan, Marisa will be free. I will be free. My family will be free.”

“You’re just as likely to be dead.”

“If that is the case, Nia still will not marry you. You are dear to her, yes, like a brother. She will accept help from you, but even if she is alone, she will not marry you. When all this is over, marry Marisa and find happiness. It doesn’t come around often in a lifetime.”

Watching for Marisa out the windshield, Dave said, “I’ll take your words into consideration.”

Fifteen minutes later, the three of them sat in a hotel room, Sandro on the bed, Dave in the chair by the table, and Marisa at a small, serviceable desk. She booted her laptop and plugged in her USB Internet card, not wanting to risk the hotel’s unsecured Wi-Fi.

She pulled up the accounts. “Two are clear, the other three are still in process. They’ll clear soon.”

Sandro nodded. “I want to go to Carlo’s tomorrow then. He should be at his club after lunch.”

“How are you going to get away, Sandro? Poppa won’t let you walk out of there alive.”

“He will have no choice. I have his money and his daughter.”

Marisa answered, “He can have his men hold you, torture you–”

“I don’t think he’ll do that,” Dave interrupted. “He will let you walk out, but he’ll send men to follow you. Once he finds out where Marisa is, then he’ll have his men nab you.”

“I can lose his men.”

“Don’t be so sure. I can have men stationed to help you–”

“No. I trust no one.”

“Don’t argue, Sandro.” Dave held up his hands. “I know you want to do this on your own, but nothing will be accomplished if you’re captured. Carlo won’t let you go until you return his money to him, then he’ll kill you and Nia both.”

It was clear frustration was eating at Sandro. “But I have Marisa. He won’t hurt me as long as she is my prisoner–”

“I think you overestimate his affection for me,” Marisa cut in. “He loves no one.”

“Love doesn’t have much to do with it, Princess,” Dave said. “It’s a pride thing. Look, Sandro, if his men follow you, then they’ll find Marisa. All I want to do is station men to keep Carlo’s men from following.”

Sandro clearly wasn’t buying Dave’s offer of help. Dave couldn’t blame him. He added one last tempting morsel. “He already knows that you’re working with the FBI. I think he’ll look at it as a challenge to outsmart us all.”

“All right,” Sandro conceded. “We’ll talk to your men. Only your most trusted men,” Sandro warned. “I like Frankie.”

“Frankie’s a good man,” Dave agreed, relieved the troubled Italian was seeing reason. “So are Tony and Steve.”

As Marisa shut down her computer, her phone rang. The three of them froze. Another ring and Marisa snapped to action.

“
Por Dio
, it’s Luigi” Marisa said. “He is looking for me. I should answer.”

Sandro pulled the phone out of her hand. “No. You are my prisoner now. I want your father to know you are missing.”

“It might be too early to play that card,” Dave suggested. “If they think Marisa is missing, then they may tighten their security. We don’t have everything lined up yet.”

Sandro thought for a moment. “You are right.” He gave her back the phone.

“What do I tell him?”

“That you are out with friends. You went to an opera and coffee afterwards, and now you are headed home.”

“He’ll check up on me.”

“By then it will be too late.”

Marisa took the phone. “Hello. She listened for a moment, then repeated the story Sandro suggested. “No, no. Not tonight. No, please. I am very tired. I will see you tomorrow. Promise.” She hung up.

“Did he believe you?” Dave asked.

“I don’t know. He wanted to meet me at my place, but I talked him out of it.”

All three felt the noose tightening as they stared at each other. So far so good, but one little misstep—

But no, failure was not an option.

She was running. Running as if demons from hell were nipping at her feet. She knew if she fell, she was dead. Hurry. Her heart hammered frantically against her ribcage. Her breath labored through her lungs. Move, feet.

Move, move, move.

Safety was close. Just a little further. She had to make it.

Then she heard it. An echo of a gunshot from behind her.

Instinctively, she ducked, and urged her churning legs to greater speed.

Someone hurled a bowling ball into her shoulder. Another loud crack sounded. She went sprawling. She scrambled to stay on her feet, scraping her knees, her fingers clawing at the ground to push her upright.

Blood dripped—

“
Cara
, you are dreaming.” A strong hand brushed against her hair.

Nia blinked her eyes, struggling from the depths of the nightmare. “Sandro?” Then her gaze focused. Her heart dropped. Not Sandro after all.

A strange man knelt beside her, touched her. She had been sleeping on the small cot, curled protectively around Daniele’s warm little body. She sat up, careful not to wake her son.

“Good, you are awake. You were having the bad dream.”

“You’re new. Who are you?” A gold cross hung around his neck, large diamond and gold rings adorned his fingers. An air of importance surrounded him, and she knew she had seen him at the restaurant, like the others. The nights she performed, she always studied the audience. Like most of the other Mafia guys, he had olive skin, big dark eyes and a somewhat familiar face, but she couldn’t specifically place him.

He seemed insulted she didn’t know who he was. “I am Carlo’s son, Massimo.”

Her heart stuttered. The big guy’s son. Was this a good development, or bad? “Why are you here? Have you found . . . found Sandro?”

“Your husband is still missing.”

“Thank goodness,” she murmured under her breath.

“You sigh in relief. But do not be too happy,
cara.
I imagine Sandro has some grand plan to rescue you, but it will never work. He will have to give up sooner or later.”

Nia detected his gloating, superior tone, and decided she liked Massimo even less than his father.

He turned his attention to Daniele, touching her son’s hair. “Curly hair, like his father.”

Deliberately, Nia moved his hand away from Daniele’s head.

He met her gaze and smiled. The smile didn’t reach his eyes. “
Il caprino
.”

She sent him a sharp look. He had repeated the childhood nickname for Sandro—the goat boy—the one Giuseppe had told her to call to Sandro the first time they met.

“Yes,” Massimo nodded. “I knew Sandro when he was a boy.”