The Good Daughter (3 page)

And she would have never allowed herself a chance if Paolo hadn’t gained her trust and then told her what really happened to her mother. It was a tale much different than the version she’d been told.

Not long after she’d been sent off to school, after the incident with her brother’s teenage friend and the stiletto she learned to carry, her father told her momma had deliberately overdosed on sleeping pills. She’d been revived, but the damage had been done. On her best days, she appeared to be off in la-la land, the land of the happy where nothing bad ever happened. And on her worst days she fell into a near vegetable state, where she sat in a wheelchair all day and had an attendant to take care of her every need. The change in her mother from a vibrant, flamboyant woman to this stranger had been drastic for Marisa, at a time when she desperately needed her mother’s protection.

But she never had reason to doubt what her father told her happened, and how he let her think she’d been the reason for momma’s overdose. Marisa had kept quiet about the teenage boy she stabbed--like poppa told her--but always thought momma somehow found out and couldn’t accept it. Her father never did anything to make Marisa think differently.

So the truth, when Paolo at last told her, had been hard to believe, and so much worse. Her mother never overdosed. The changes in momma were not Marisa’s fault. It was hard to let go of her guilt, but Paolo had proof Marisa could not refute. Evidence that made real the fact that her father was a monster, not only for what he’d done to momma but for letting Marisa believe it had been her fault.

Paolo helped her accept the reality, and his kindness and goodness was unlike anything she’d experienced. And there had been no turning back.

Until poppa stole Paolo away as surely as he’d stolen her mother.

For Paolo, for momma, for herself and all those many nameless people her father had hurt so much, Marisa marched on in her quest for some way to right the many wrongs.

Especially when Carlo turned his greedy sight on Sandro and his uncle and their restaurant. History repeating? No, not this time. No more.

Which led her to Dave.

Marisa was skeptical whether Dave could help but she’d researched him well and aside from finding him fascinating, he did have a track record for bringing down mob guys. Maybe he would be successful and she wouldn’t have to utilize “plan B” as they said here in America.

But going to Dave for help put her at risk for another--unanticipated--problem.

Dave had felt the same intense feelings as well. From the unconscious way he licked his lips and let his gaze flit across her body, Marisa knew he wasn’t immune to her.

She wouldn’t allow it to matter. She dressed to distract him, she reminded herself, so she could get a read on him. A slight miscalculation on her part; she had not counted on a reciprocal attraction.

Hadn’t counted on the spark she’d thought long buried when he took her in his arms. She only asked Dave to dance to reduce the intimacy of sitting directly across from him at that small table. Who knew the two-step could be so sexy?

With a sigh, she turned on the faucet to wash the last of the make-up from her face. Dripping water, she reached for the towel when her cell phone rang. Patting her face dry, she glanced at the caller ID and stiffened.

Gigi. She wanted to ignore his call, but that would be stupid.

Marisa wasn’t stupid. She pushed the button.

“
Ciao
, gorgeous.”

He sounded chipper, must have been a good night. She tried to make herself sound tired and sleepy in contrast. “
Ciao
.”

“
Why don’t you grab a cab to the
ristorante
and let’s have a late dinner. I feel like celebrating.”

Never mind that it was closer to breakfast time, and going to eat was the last thing she wanted to do with him. Next to last thing, rather. Worse would be if he wanted to take her to bed, and if she met him tonight, bed would be inevitable. One day, one day, she’d be past having to use her body as she’d been taught. But today was not that day. Nor tomorrow. But only a little longer. She clung to that thought.

“
Have a good night?”she asked. He and his friends often got a private room at Sandro’s restaurant for all night gambling.

“
I’m on a hot streak and now I’d like to spend some time with my hot Italian woman.”

This, on top of the day she’d already had. No. No. “
Amore mio
, I am already in bed,” she lied.

“
Bed. Just where I like you best.”

He must’ve been drinking heavily, that’s when he got all sexy--or what he thought passed as sexy. It would be laughable if it wasn’t so distasteful.

“
But come here first,” he continued. “Let’s eat and then we can go back to my place.”

“
Gigi. Did you hear?” Her temper flashed but she tamped it down. “I’m in bed. I’ve already taken off my make-up.”

“
Can’t you just slap some back on?”

She heard the irritation rising in his voice and debated whether she had the energy to fight. Yes, she decided. She hardened her voice. “No, I can’t ‘slap some back on.’ I was asleep, I’m tired. I’m going back--”

“
Wait,” he cut her off. “Why don’t I have Georgio pack us a meal and you meet me at my apartment? You can go there without getting dolled up. Don’t even bother getting dressed, just throw on your coat.”

“
Gigi, I--”

“
Or…” he cut her off again and added slyly, “I could bring the food to your place.”

No! She deliberately kept Luigi away from her apartment, wanting her own space. She had conceded by renting the apartment from him in a building he owned in the first place, a calculated move on her part to appease him, but she had never invited him over to stay the night. This was her private haven. He knew her rules and only presented the option to provoke her.

It worked. “
Va bene
. I’ll meet you at your place in a half hour.” As much as she didn’t want to she resigned herself to spending the rest of the night with Luigi, knowing she had to keep up this charade for her plan to work.

At least by going to his place, she’d be able to add the new snooping software to his phone. No, Dave didn’t know about it, but there was a lot he didn’t need to know.

He didn’t know all the things that’d been forced on her. The men she entertained because of her father...and her brother. And that Luigi was another one poppa had set her up with. Although this time she knew enough to turn the tables on them both. Without having to use her stiletto. She hoped.

Dave didn’t know the things she’d seen. Whole fingernails lying on a table, acid poured on a widow’s legs, a man’s tongue cut out. Dirty old men’s shriveled--.

She cut that thought short. If Dave knew those things, he’d realize she was slowly losing her humanity. And that her biggest fear was that she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from becoming an animal like everyone else in her family.

Chapter 4

FBI headquarters, New York City, two weeks later

“
Damn, Tony must’ve made the coffee today.” Dave grimaced as he forced the sludge in his cup down his throat.

“
Hey, be grateful I got here early enough to make it.” Tony shoved more paper into the printer. Always such a mother hen, Tony was.

Dave walked back toward his office through a row of desks in the main room. “That’s something to be grateful for?”

Two other men chuckled, but Dave saw a third man hadn’t cracked a smile. Frankie sat at his desk, headphones on his ears and a cup of coffee, probably long forgotten, placed to one side. Beneath his hand lay a notepad, the page nearly full of scribbled notes as he translated last night’s tapes.

“
How’s it going, Frankie?” Dave tapped the frowning man on his shoulder.

“
Hang on a minute, boss. This isn’t looking good.”

While waiting, Dave loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top button on his shirt. As much as he’d wanted to be an FBI agent, following in his father’s footsteps, Dave had never gotten used to feeling choked.

“
So, what do they say?” he asked, drumming his fingers on the edge of Frankie’s desk. “Has our bug paid off already?”

Though Marisa had been cantankerous and elusive, she’d finally come through. She hadn’t offered many specifics about Carlo’s business ventures, claimed to know nothing about the alleged weapons smuggling to the drug cartels beyond the border, but she did tell him where her father held his private meetings. It was a place Dave and his team had been trying to find for several months since previous wiretaps had netted them a big fat zero.

This new tap had been up and running less than a week. The fact Carlo and his men spoke in Italian, as Marisa had warned Dave, proved no challenge. Frankie had grown up in a traditional Italian-speaking home.

Dave looked around the room at his men, working in sync like any well-tuned machine. It had taken him eleven months to put together the original Organized Crime Task Force, but they’d worked side-by-side five years now and could read each other’s body language, perceiving unspoken codes in eye contact.

He’d snatched Steve, a fellow Texan, just out of the Academy. Standing over six feet tall, with strawberry blond hair and blue eyes, an east-Texas accent and cowboy boots, Steve stood out among the dark-haired Italians they stalked. But he was quick-witted, easy going and strong as a draft horse. He could easily bench 450 pounds and yet charm the most hardened mobster with no one the wiser. Dave was happy to have Steve in his corner.

And Frankie . . . steady, dependable Frankie. He and Tony, Italians both, had been childhood friends in Brooklyn. They both knew all the goombas and spoke the language like natives. Good guys, both of them.

And last, but not least, the newest members of the team, Roberto and Greggorio, aka Bobby and Gregg. They’d come on board right after the big organized crime bust three years ago when Dave had lost one member to retirement and another to a long-term injury. They were the youngest, least-experienced and therefore the weakest link. But they worked hard to earn their spot, and Dave trusted them.

Dave’s attention turned back to Frankie when he pulled off his headphones and read his notes aloud. “‘This is no good,’ Carlo says. ‘I want him. First thing in the morning.’

“
Now Angelo’s talking,” Frankie went on to explain. “He says, ‘You want him dead or alive?’ And Carlo answers, ‘Alive for now. There is much I want to tell him first.’”

Dave set his coffee cup down and peeked over Frankie’s shoulder. “Do they ever say who they’re talking about?” Dave asked, though he knew the chances were slim. Carlo’s guys were always careful, even when they thought they were safe. “Damn, I’d love to catch him in a slip.”

“
Afraid not this time. There’s no mention who they’re talking about, but I have a feeling they’re onto Sandro.”

Frankie’s softly-spoken words rang ominously in the suddenly quiet office.

A burning lump which had nothing to do with the coffee he’d ingested settled in Dave’s stomach. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“
Well, Carlo goes on to say nobody ever sets him up and lives to--”

“
Shit!” Dave sorted through the information, couldn’t deny the facts. “You’re right. He
has
to be talking about Sandro.” From all they knew, it couldn’t be anyone else. How could Carlo have found out? They had been so careful when Sandro offered them his help after Carlo had found Sandro’s family-owned restaurant in Little Italy an irresistible place to launder money.

“
Damn, that bastard’s slick. Gregg, call Sandro’s house,” Dave ordered.

Greggorio obligingly picked up the phone. “He’s probably already left for practice.” He punched in the numbers, waited a few moments. “No answer.”

A new panic hit Dave. Sandro’s wife. “Where’s Nia? Why isn’t she picking up the phone?” Dave had known Nia longer than he’d known Sandro. Since she was in diapers, to be exact. They’d grown up next door to each other in Dallas. Now, in a strange twist of fate, they both lived in New York with Nia married to someone else instead of him.

Life was indeed ironic.

“
Doesn’t she take the kid to the park most mornings?” Gregg asked.

The park. The knot in Dave’s stomach eased enough so he could breathe again. “You’re right, she does. Maybe she’s there.” Even though it was unlikely since a cold front was fast moving in. But he didn’t want to think something had happened to Nia, there was some innocuous reason she wasn’t answering the phone.

“
Yeah, nothing to worry about, I’m sure,” Gregg added. “Frankie said Carlo didn’t want Sandro picked up at home anyway. Wasn’t any mention of bothering Nia, was there?”

“
Yeah, right. It only sounded like he’s after Sandro. At least for now.”

Dave scanned the room. Somebody had betrayed them. No other explanation. He stiffened with the realization, clenched his teeth so hard he could feel his neck muscles tighten, ready to snap.

Who? One of his men? It had happened before to other teams. Dave looked again at each man, judging, questioning, until at last he mentally gave himself a shake, drew in a breath. No, it couldn’t be. He trusted these men with his life. And they each knew the life and death importance of keeping information tightly guarded.