The Good Daughter (30 page)

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.

Chapter 25

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.”

“
Of course you did. Apparently everyone around here knew him when he was younger.”

“
We played on the same team,” Massimo continued. “From the first, it was obvious he was destined for greatness.”

The sound of jealousy rang clear in his voice. Nia prodded him, unable to help herself. “What about you? You didn’t go professional?”

The look he sent her said he knew what she was doing, and she had better beware baiting him. “A knee injury.” He stood; his knee popped as if to prove his point. “I never made it out of
Serie C
.”

Serie C
was a third division league. One where the soccer players had talent, but not enough to make it with
Serie A
, the elite Italian league. Every professional soccer player in Italy--indeed many the world over--aspired to the Italian
Serie A
teams. First class. Big money. Lots of prestige. Sandro had made it. At one time, he was the best of the best. Until he gave it up to come to the United States for her.

Thoughts of Sandro and how his life was in jeopardy made her angry. That anger made her speak before she stopped to think. “I’m surprised with your father’s money and
influence
, he didn’t buy your way into
Serie A
.” As soon as the words left her mouth, she realized she might have pushed too far. She held her breath, wondering how he was going to take her dig.

This time his evil smile actually reached his eyes. “I’ve heard you have a smart mouth.”

“
Oh, yeah? What else are they saying about me?”

“
That you have a big set of balls.” He made an obscene gesture. “Get up. I want to see these balls.” He took her hand.

She refused to stand until he started squeezing her fingers. She squeezed back, a useless game, she knew. It was soon obvious he was much stronger. Finally, realizing he wouldn’t stop until he broke her fingers, she stood.

“
Ouch, you son of a bitch.” She tugged at her hand, but he wouldn’t release it. “What the hell did that prove?”