Summer Kisses (197 page)

“Damn it, Sandro, speak English. I can’t understand you.”

Sandro drew a ragged breath. Tried to remember the English words. His mind failed him.

Marisa came on the phone. “Sandro.
Caro, calma, per favore
.” Her Italian words sank through the thick fog surrounding his brain.

“What happened?” he demanded in Italian.

“Poppa’s men found the safe house. They broke in—Daniele will be all right, Sandro,” she soothed when Sandro broke out in a string of crude Italian. “Poppa will not hurt him, this I promise.”

“You cannot make those promises, Marisa. He does not play by the same rules now. I do not play by the same rules.”

“
Si
, I understand. Sandro, there is more. Your
zio y zia
. They were injured.”

“Injured?
Dio
! Can’t the FBI do anything right? How badly were they hurt?”

“They are both in the hospital. Giuseppe has been shot. He is in ICU. Luciana was knocked unconscious. She has a concussion but she’s awake now.”

“Beppe . . . will he live?”

“They don’t know,
caro
.”

“What hospital?”

“Sandro, you cannot think to see them. It is too dangerous.”

“I must.”

“Sandro, no–”

“Tell me, Marisa.”

With a sigh, she told him.

The phone went dead in her ear. She handed it back to Dave. “He’s on his way to the hospital.”

Dave nodded grimly. He punched some numbers on his phone. “Sandro’s coming in. Get our men in place.”

~~~

As Sandro sped to the hospital, he asked himself how things could have gone so terribly wrong. But he knew the answer. It was his fault. Had he been a stronger man, he would have taken a stand against Carlo from the beginning. Found some way to not get under the Mafia’s control.

Yet to this day, he didn’t know what he could have done differently. Except perhaps abandon Nia, leave her behind in America. Instead of making her his wife.

But no, impossible. She had been the most precious thing to enter his life. He had been too selfish to give her up.

And then she had given him a son.

How could it be wrong for him to have the woman he loved, a son he adored? Every man had that right. And he had done what he thought necessary to preserve his family. Preserve his happiness.

In so doing, he had risked everything and everyone.

It was up to him, and him alone, to right his wrongs.

First, he would check on his aunt and uncle. Promise to get Danny back. Give his uncle a reason to live.

Afterward, he and Dave and Marisa needed to talk, to plan.

No, to take action.

The time for planning had past. Now, it was time to rescue his family. And right the old wrongs.

Darkness had fallen by the time he pulled into the hospital parking lot. White snow reflected the parking lot lights. He pulled up the collar of his jacket and tugged on a beanie cap he’d bought for the bad weather. He hoped no one recognized him. Scanning his surroundings for possible threats, he kept one hand inside his jacket, firmly gripping the Browning 9 mm he’d taken off that mobster. There’d been no need to buy another.

Still, the three men came from nowhere. He pulled the gun out of the shoulder holster he’d bought and aimed.

“Hold it, Sandro. We’re FBI.” With their hands raised in the air, they appeared to have no weapons. Sandro leveled his gun at one. “You. Prove it. Toss me your ID. Carefully.”

“My name’s Frankie,” the man said as he removed his ID and slid it across the ground.

Sandro bent to pick it up, holding it under the parking lot light to read it. “I have a friend named Francesco. We call him Frankie sometimes.”

“Yes, I know. Francesco Berti. He plays goalkeeper for Italy, as well as
Internazionale Milano.
”

“You watch Italian
calcio
?” Sandro looked over the ID. It looked authentic. Still, it could be fake. What did he know?

“Of course. I’m Italian. I watch soccer every chance I get.”

“Let me see your driver’s license.”

“Huh?”

“How do I know if this is real? Let me see more.”

Frankie took his wallet out of his pocket and slid it across.

“What is your birthdate? Your address.”

Frankie answered the questions. Sandro tossed him back the wallet. “Okay, now the others.”

“Sandro, you saw I’m for real–”

“Yes, you are FBI. But they could be Mafia. There has been at least one leak and now my wife and son are in danger.”

“We’re wasting time here, Sandro. You’re out in the open, putting yourself at risk. Already your aunt and uncle were injured, and two of our men lost their lives trying to protect your family.”

Shock stabbed him. Marisa had mentioned no deaths. “Then your men better hurry and show me their IDs.” He swung the gun to the next man who slid his ID and driver’s license across the snowy parking lot.

Then Sandro checked the third man’s information.

“Satisfied now?” Frankie asked.

Sandro stuck his gun into his shoulder holster. “Why were you waiting for me?”

“Dave sent us to keep you safe.”

“I’m going to see
mio zio y zia
.”

“We’ll escort you.”

“I need no escort.”

“Yes, you do. You’re taking a big risk coming here. You know it.”

Sandro didn’t want protection, didn’t trust anybody other than himself. Trying to depend on others, to do things the proper way had only made matters much worse.

“They’ll be watching the hospital,” Frankie reminded him. “They could be watching now.”

Sandro knew Frankie was right on that point at least. “You cannot take me into protective custody.”

“I won’t try,” Frankie promised. “We’ll just walk with you.”

“Okay.”

“You need to give me your weapon.”

Sandro stiffened. “Why would I do that?”

“There’s a metal detector and guard at every door. I can get your weapon inside for you.”

Sandro didn’t want to be without his guns in the hospital, even with supposedly honest FBI men protecting him. There was no choice but to turn over his guns. He pulled the Browning 9mm back out, released the clip, then handed the unloaded weapon to Frankie. Sandro handed the clip to another agent.

Frankie’s lips tipped in a small smile as he pocketed the gun.

“Wait,” Sandro said. He pulled up the leg on his jeans and took out his back-up weapon, Marisa’s derringer. He unloaded it, too, before he handed it to Frankie and the bullets to the last agent, making his weapons and ammo spread out among them. Perhaps overly cautious. Better that than dead, though.

“A back-up.” Frankie nodded his approval. “Good precaution.”

Sandro entered the hospital with the three men, waiting while they got clearance to enter with their weapons. Down the hallway toward the elevator and out of sight of the guard, Frankie stopped Sandro and handed him back his guns. The other two agents gave him his ammunition. Sandro breathed a sigh of relief.

“It is almost ICU visiting time. You wanna see your uncle first? There aren’t restricted hours on your aunt.” Frankie punched the button on the elevator.

“Yes, my uncle first. How is he?”

Elevator doors opened and the men stepped on.

“He’s holding his own. He took the bullet in his chest, but it missed his heart by an inch or so. He regained consciousness pretty quick after surgery, and the docs say that’s a good sign.” Frankie led the way off the elevator.

Sandro followed him down the hallway. The other two men stuck close, forming a protective barrier around him.

Frankie pushed open the door that said ICU waiting room. “We wait in here and then they’ll announce when it’s visiting time.”

“Is there someone watching him?”

“Yes, we have a guard posted. But we really don’t think Giuseppe’s in any more danger. He told us he was trying to protect your son. The men were wearing masks so I think their only intent was to take Danny. They only shot those who got in the way. Except for your aunt. She told us she was trying to run with Danny when one of the men stopped her and tried to get Danny. She fought with him until someone tapped her on the head. After that, she doesn’t remember anything.”

The thought that men in masks snatched his son and the terror Danny must have felt being ripped from
Zia’s
arms, nearly sent Sandro crashing to the floor. He clenched his muscles and forced himself to remain standing.

Frankie stared at him. “I’m sorry about your son, Sandro. I don’t think Carlo’s going to hurt him. What I think is he snatched Danny because Nia was so close to escaping. He’s just trying to keep her in line until he can get to you. That’s why Dave wants you guarded now.”

“I don’t need–”

“Sandro,
caro
, you are safe.” Marisa hurried to embrace him when he entered the waiting room. “I have been so fearful for you snooping around the warehouses. Afraid someone would recognize you.”

He accepted Marisa’s condolences, but put her aside and squared off with Dave as he approached.

“Sandro, I’m sor–”

Sandro slammed his fist into Dave’s face. Dave stumbled back into the wall. Sandro advanced, all his anger and frustration of the past two days targeted at Dave. He grabbed Dave’s shirt. Oblivious to his throbbing hand, he reared back to hit Dave again.

Two strangers in the waiting room gasped at the scene unfolding before them.

“Sandro, no!” Marisa cried.

Frankie and the other two agents rushed him, pulling at him. “Let him go, Sandro,” Frankie ordered.

Sandro had no choice but to release Dave. “You told me my son would be safe,” he growled.

Marisa hurried to Dave and helped him as he pushed away from the wall. Blood dripped from his nose.

“My aunt and uncle were injured; my uncle might die because of your incompetence.” Anger was still pounding through Sandro.

“I lost two men today,” Dave said, holding a tissue that Marisa had given him to his bleeding nose.

Sandro felt little sympathy. “I lost my son. My wife.” Everything was getting worse, spiraling out of control.

“We’ll get them back.”

“No, I’ll get them back.”

“You can’t go against them alone.”

“I won’t be alone. You will help. And if you make one more mistake to risk my family, I will kill you.”

“Calm down, Sandro,” Frankie ordered.

“Let me go,” Sandro demanded.

The men holding him waited until Dave nodded before releasing Sandro’s arms.

He walked to Marisa, who turned her attention from Dave to face Sandro. Her wide-eyed gaze locked with his. With sure movements, Sandro lifted her Florentine cross necklace and jerked. The chain broke off in his hand.

She barely twitched.

Sanity returning, more mindful of the people who were watching the drama unfold, he spoke to her in Italian. “You are my prisoner now,
Principessa
.” He smoothed her hair, pleaded with his eyes to soften the blow. “I know you want away from your father, but your freedom may have to be sacrificed.”

“I understand.” She didn’t blink.

“No,” Dave said, after Frankie quietly translated what Sandro had said. “That’s not acceptable.”

Sandro approached Dave, not stopping until he was face-to-face with the taller man. “Then you better make sure everything works just right, Dave. Because I will sacrifice whoever is necessary to rescue my family.”

A disembodied female voice came over the loud speakers in the waiting room then. “It is now visiting time in ICU. Please limit your visits to no more than two people at a time. Visits will be limited to fifteen minutes. Thank you.”

Sandro stepped away from Dave. “Which room?” he asked Frankie.

“Come on, I’ll take you.”

“When I return, we will talk more,” Sandro told Dave and Marisa.

Frankie and Sandro walked out together, the other two people who had been in the waiting room following at a safe distance, off to see their own friends or family members after having witnessed the unfolding drama.

Marisa wondered about the tragedies in those people’s families. Wondered if humankind was destined to suffer together forever. She shuddered.

Dave took her hand. “You okay?”

“
Si
, I am fine. But you look like shit. Sit down and wait here.” She went to the small waiting room restroom and wet some paper towels.

She wiped at the dried blood on his face, trying not to grimace. “Looks like it hurts.”

“Hurts like hell,” Dave agreed, talking like he had a bad cold. He gingerly touched his swollen nose. “Feels like it’s three times bigger than normal. I can imagine what it must look like.”

She tilted her head, then chose not to comment. “I can go to the cafeteria, get some ice,” she offered.

“No, stay with me. I don’t want you out of my sight.”

Marisa nodded and dabbed at the blood that had dripped onto his shirt. “I don’t think there is much we can do for this shirt while you are still wearing it.”

“I’ve got a change of clothes in my car. It’ll be fine until then.”

“I am sorry.” She laid her fingers against his face, his cheek warm beneath her touch.

“I can’t blame him,” Dave admitted. “Now, if he hurts you–”

“I understand. He has no choice.”

“Yes, there must be a choice. I won’t let you be sacrificed.”

“I will pray that everything will work out right.” She reached for her necklace, then remembered Sandro had it. She let her hand drop as tears welled in her eyes. “I never take it off,” she whispered uselessly.

“I know.” Dave pulled her into his arms. “I’ll get it back for you,” he promised. “I’ll get it back.”

~~~

Tubes and wires ran out of every part of Giuseppe’s body. Sandro’s uncle looked pale and frail and a little out-of-this-world against the stark white sheets and steel-and-tile room. The whole experience reminded Sandro eerily of death and he wanted his uncle out of this place. He wanted him back healthy and laughing and arguing with the head chef. Sandro vowed to make it happen.

He bent close, ignoring the antiseptic smell. “Beppe, it’s Sandro. Wake up,
Zio
.”

At Sandro’s command, Giuseppe slowly opened his eyes. His normally sparkling green eyes looked dull and lifeless. “Sandro–” He clenched his eyes shut as if a spasm of pain hit him.