Summer Kisses (184 page)

Nia’s blood grew chilled at the realization that these mobsters knew so much about her.

“You’re taking your own life in your hands to hurt her,” Angie warned.

“That’s a bunch of shit, and you know it. He’s gonna whack her, just as soon as he gets Sandro out in the open.” Mikey taunted her with his eyes, then awkwardly reached across his body with his left hand and pulled his knife out of its holder. “And when they’re both dead, won’t be any reason for the kid to live, either.”

“No!” She lunged off the couch, going for Mikey’s throat. Angie barely caught her in time. She shoved against his restraining grip. “You hurt my son and I’ll rip your heart out, I swear I will,” she promised Mikey, anger making her voice shake.

Laughing, Mikey popped open the wicked looking knife blade with his left hand. “Won’t be a thing you can do about it, bitch. When I slit his little throat, you’ll already be dead.” He made a cutting motion across his throat. “Just like butter.”

She made a growling sound, struggling wildly against Angie. “I’m going to break every bone in your body before I kill you,” she promised grimly, never before having been filled with such hatred and fear at the same time.

He laughed again. “I’m really sca–”

“Mikey, you fucking crazy? Shut up,” Angie told him. “Get the hell out of here. Go back to town, get your hand fixed. Giovanni, get him outta here.” He nodded his head in a dismissive gesture.

Giovanni placed a hand on Mikey’s shoulder.

“Yeah, I’ll go now, but I’ll be back. I owe her.”

Nia spat toward Mikey. He took a threatening step closer. She tugged against Angie’s grasp.

“Go!”Angie commanded. Giovanni grabbed Mikey’s jacket and led him away. “Lie down,
Bella
,” Angie told her, wiping the saliva from her mouth with one of the cloths. “Do not upset yourself. Your head must hurt.”

Nia only glared at him. The back door slammed.

“Here, hold this ice on your face. Do I need to tie you up, or can I trust you to stay put while I eat?”

She still didn’t speak.

He laid a cloth on her face, then propped the ice bag on top. He examined his work. “I will trust you for now. Giovanni, bring the food in here.” He pushed up from the floor and settled in a chair across from the sofa. “So, how did you manage to get away from us?”

She refused to answer, instead analyzing all she’d learned, knowing she had to find another way to escape. But her mind was too jumbled and her head hurt too much for her brain to work. And her stomach was sore, too. But fortunately no cramps. Yet. That had to be a good sign. Maybe that brutal knee didn’t hurt the baby. She was only a few weeks pregnant after all. Surely the baby was small and safe deep inside her womb. She sent up a prayer.

Giovanni walked in with take-out Chinese and answered Angie’s question. “She tied the sheets and blankets together and climbed out the window.” He went back to the kitchen.

Angie nodded, looking impressed. “Very resourceful. Of course you know you’ll now have to sleep without any linens on your bed.”

She started to spout off she didn’t plan to sleep until she found a way to free herself from them, but she’d said enough for the night. Threatening to kill a man wasn’t included in her everyday conversation. Yet she had meant every word to Mikey.

Discovering the depths of violence she was capable of shocked her. Yes, she was aggressive on the soccer field; otherwise she was pretty easygoing. Never violent. But this was her family they were threatening. Her very life.

She’d known Sandro was in some sort of trouble, but this kind of trouble she never would have imagined. Having the Mafia calmly discuss wiping out her and the two people she loved most as if they never existed.

Tremors started deep inside her. She fought the helpless feeling, knowing that somehow she had to free herself. Save her family.

Angie sat calmly unpacking the take-out Chinese from the white plastic bag. He looked at her. “Tomorrow I’m going to cook my pasta primavera. But tonight there wasn’t time. Giovanni, did’ja get my sun-dried tomatoes?” he called to the kitchen.

Giovanni walked back into the room carrying two cans of beer. “Yeah, I got ’em. That fresh garlic you asked for, too.”

“Good thing for you.” Angie opened a container and sniffed. “Hm, pork chow mein. Smells pretty good. Here, take a whiff.” He held the container across the coffee table. “Hey,” he said to Giovanni. “Where’s her drink? You want something to drink, don’tcha? You wanna brewskie? Vino?”

The smell of the food made her nauseous. With fear churning acid in her stomach and that knee in her gut, she was already on shaky ground.

She was going to be sick.

“Nah, you’re an athlete. You probably don’t drink,” he continued, apparently unbothered he was talking to himself. “How about a soft drink? Giovanni, what we got?”

“I need a bathroom.” She tossed the ice pack aside, interrupting his rambling monologue.

“Angie, she don’t look so good. She looks kind of green.”

Angie turned his gaze back to her. “You okay? You gonna be–”

“Please,” she interrupted. “A bathroom?”

“Yeah, sure.” He pointed. “Right over there.”

With one hand splayed on her roiling stomach, and one hand covering her mouth, she stumbled toward the bathroom.

“Giovanni, go keep a watch on her.”

“
Minghia!
What the hell for?”

“I haven’t had a chance to check out that bathroom, have you?”

“No–”

“There could be something in there she could use as a weapon.”

“Yeah, like what? Eyebrow tweezers?”

They laughed. “Yeah, eyebrow tweezers,” Angie chuckled. “She’s gonna come back out here and kill us with tweezers.” Abruptly he stopped laughing. “Get the fuck over there now!”

With a look of distaste, Giovanni went to stand outside the bathroom door.

“Angie, she’s really heaving it up in there.” Giovanni got a queasy feeling in his stomach. He walked closer to Angie, where the retching noises in the bathroom weren’t so loud. “Maybe she got hurt from the knee in her stomach.”

“Could be.” Angie shoveled in a bite of chow mein.

Giovanni didn’t know if he’d be able to eat now. “Or all that talk about killing her and her family could’ve made her sick. Damn Mikey and his stupid ass big mouth.”

“Listen, get back over there and wait for her to stop. Don’t give her time to look around.”

Reluctant, and still feeling green himself, Giovanni went back to stand by the door. Finally, he heard the toilet flush. He knocked briefly and opened the door. Nia paused in the act of blowing her nose. Her eyes were puffy, her hair tangled, and her cheek swollen and turning purple. She looked like shit.

“Do you mind?” she said.

“Sorry.” He shrugged. “Angie said I gotta watch ya.”

She finished wiping her nose, then tossed the tissue in the toilet. Ignoring him, she went to the sink and washed her face and rinsed out her mouth. “I don’t suppose you bought me a toothbrush when you were at the store?”

He looked blank. “Uh, no. . .guess I didn’t. I’ll pick you up one tomorrow.”

She dried her face, turned off the light. “Don’t bother.” She walked past him.

“Feeling better?” Angie asked.

“Just peachy.” She plopped on the sofa.

“Listen, I know Mikey upset you. I wanna tell you ain’t nothing gonna happen–”

“Let me tell you what’s
upset
me,” she said, leaning forward with a burst of renewed energy. “This morning I found out I was pregnant. And who’s the first person I’m telling? You . . . some half-ass mobster. When I should be telling my husband.” Was it only this morning? It seemed ages ago.

“Only he’s not home,” she continued before Angie could say anything. “He’s left me. Said our marriage was over and walked right out of my life. But now I’m thinking he was just trying to throw me off track while he drops out of sight. Because for some unimaginable reason you jerk-offs are after him. Wanting him dead.
My
husband. Who has never to my knowledge ever received even so much as a traffic ticket.

“And not only is he supposed to be killed, but one of your asshole thugs beats me up and threatens my life, the life of my unborn baby and my innocent two-year-old son.

“Yeah, I’d say I’m a little pissed, Angie. So, what the fuck are you gonna do about it?” She leaned back and crossed her arms.

Angie gaped at her, his fork frozen halfway to his mouth; Giovanni had the same, stupid open-mouthed look on his face.

Putting his fork down, Angelo closed his mouth and used his napkin to wipe his face. “I gotta keep you here, Nia. I don’t got any orders to kill you . . . or your son. Mikey was just mouthing off. As a matter of fact, Mikey’s liable to get whacked for what he did to you–”

“Killing Mikey is too good for him.” There was that surprising violent streak again.

“Probably.” He shrugged. “We’re supposed to hold you here and make sure you stay safe.”

“But you have orders to kill Sandro.”

He didn’t answer. She looked to Giovanni, whose gaze slid away from hers.

“But why? What has he done?”

Angie wouldn’t give her a direct answer. “Carlo’s supposed to be here tomorrow night. Ask him your questions.”

“Will he answer?” She divided her attention between them, trying to figure out what they weren’t telling her. It was their lack of responsiveness that confirmed her worst fears. Sandro was definitely in danger.

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Worrying about it won’t help anything. Eat something.”

She eyed the food with disinterest, her sudden energy burst short-lived.

“Come on. You got a baby to think about, you said. Eat something. You don’t want this, maybe some toast? Milk? Giovanni, we got milk–”

“I don’t want milk.”

“Okay, forget the milk. A soft drink. Here’s a plate. You want some of this?” He pointed to a carton of stir-fried vegetables with noodles.

Reluctantly, she accepted. He was right. She needed to eat. Not only for the baby, but for the strength to escape. Because one way or another, she was getting away from this house.

Alive.

Later, after she nibbled at her vegetables, Giovanni cleaned up the empty cartons, while Angie took a phone call in the kitchen out of her hearing range. She put her plate down and idly picked up a plastic card on the coffee table. Woo-Sung’s Chinese Take Out, it advertised. On the back it listed twenty-six places Woo-Sung’s was available in the New York/New Jersey area. Nia idly flicked the card around, until a thought occurred to her. She remembered the lock on her door and looked at the card more closely. About the same weight and thickness of a credit card. Perfect.

She quickly slid the card into her pocket before they came back into the living room.

Just in time.

“Giovanni’s missing a knife.” Angie walked back in the room. A dinner knife lay next to her plate on the coffee table which had been their informal dining table. “Ah, here it is.”

“What? Did you think I took it?”

“Wouldn’t put it past you. I did hear you threaten to tear out Mikey’s heart. I wouldn’t want you getting any ideas while I’m sleeping.”

“You’re not telling me you’re going to let me roam around the house while you’re sleeping?”

“Not on your life,
Bella
. You’ll be locked back into your room again. This time without your sheets.”

“It’s getting very cold.”

“You should have thought of that. And you should be grateful you didn’t escape earlier. With no jacket and those flimsy shoes, once nighttime hit, you’d have frostbite in no time.”

Frostbite would have been better than being held prisoner with nothing more to think about than her future. Or lack of one.

“I’ll leave you the comforter,” he finally conceded. “You won’t freeze to death tonight.”

Great. She wouldn’t freeze to death tonight. But by tomorrow night. . .or the next, she might be dead. She didn’t for one minute believe Angie about Carlo not planning to hurt her. Once they found Sandro, they had no reason to keep her alive.

She bit back a surge of fear. She was going to have to escape again. Tonight. Frostbite was better than dying.

A clock seemed to be counting down in Sandro’s heart. Minutes, hours, days, and Nia could be dead. Did they have days? No, he didn’t think so. He pulled on the black leather jacket that matched the black shirt and jeans Marisa had purchased, and wished he could throw off the sense of doom that clothed him as surely as the new clothes. He hoped their plan worked, but he had to take action. Sitting, hiding, worrying, that was not his way. Cautiously, he opened the door and scanned the hallway. Marisa had left minutes earlier and they were counting on anyone watching them following her.

With no one in sight, he slid through the door, closing it quietly behind him. When they arrived at this hotel, he had looked for the stairway. His feet made no sound on the carpeted floor as he strode quickly to the right door. Another quick look showed he was still alone. He pulled the door open and hurried through.

The stairs weren’t carpeted. But they were concrete and not metal. His new black sneakers would barely make a sound. He ran down the steps, his legs pumping, his heart steadily beating. Once he heard a door open somewhere above him. He stopped. Listened. Breathed.

Nothing.

He hurried on. Down nine flights of stairs and into the parking garage.

He found the maroon Buick and slid into the front seat, his nose wrinkling in distaste at the stale cigarette smell. Ignoring it, he located the right wires, touched them together and pressed on the gas pedal.

The car engine started. He twisted the wires in place, put on his seatbelt, and left the garage. He drove around the streets for a while to check if he’d picked up a tail. When he found no one following him, he decided either Dave hadn’t had time to get men in place, or else he was giving them some breathing room until he could decipher their plan. Sandro decided it was the latter reason. He knew Dave had had plenty of time to get men in place.

No, Dave wanted to know what they were up to without a chance of another leak. And he wanted a hand in helping to save Nia. Knowing the history between his wife and Dave, Sandro began to suspect the FBI man might be willing to go outside the limits of the law to rescue Nia.