Summer Kisses (203 page)

“I saw Nia earlier today.” This from Massimo, and obviously designed to throw Sandro off guard. From the look on Carlo’s face, Sandro suspected the news was just as much of a shock to him. But Carlo quickly recovered.

Sandro struggled to resist the urge to rip off Massimo’s head, while Carlo nodded as if the news were expected.

“And how is she feeling?” Carlo asked.

“She is
feeling
just fine.” This was said in a lewd tone to match Massimo’s wolfish grin.

With the deliberate emphasis on “feeling” and the self-satisfied grin, Sandro knew without a doubt Massimo had been touching Nia.

Sandro saw red. The whole world in front of him went fuzzy then burst into the brilliant bright color. He clenched his jaws and cautioned himself to patience. Self-control lay at the heart of a good soccer player. All his plans would do no good if they were forced to kill him now.

“I am glad to hear she is feeling well,” Carlo said to Massimo, then turned to Sandro. “I understand that congratulations are in order.”

Having no idea what Carlo meant, Sandro tried to keep his face blank and waited expectantly for Carlo to continue with his revelation. A revelation, no doubt calculated for the most emotional response. Carlo didn’t disappoint.

“It is always joyous to learn you are going to be a poppa again, don’t you agree?”

A poppa . . .again?
Dio
, was Nia pregnant? The idea slammed into Sandro’s gut. He searched his brain for any remembered sign. Had her breasts been fuller? Had she been more tired lately?

He couldn’t remember; he had been so caught up in his own problems of working with the FBI to rid himself of Carlo, he must have been neglectful. Remorse tore through him.

“Are you feeding her properly?” he asked, hoping to cover his lack of knowledge.

Carlo looked offended. “Of course we are feeding her properly. We wouldn’t defy
una donna incinta
proper nourishment.”

“Is she eating the food? Has she been sick?”

“Such concern is wonderful to see. Yes, I believe Angie said she is eating well. And she was rather ill one time, but none since, I don’t believe.”

Suddenly, Sandro had to know more. “What of my son? Is he safe?”

Carlo smiled at the desperation Sandro had unintentionally allowed to slip into his voice. It was like a cold stab of reality. Sandro forced himself back under control.

“Daniele is safe and happy with his momma. As long as she behaves herself, he will stay with her.”

Sandro allowed an inward smile that Nia had so obviously caused them trouble. Though he regretted the trouble that led to his son’s abduction and
zio y zia’s
injuries, and deaths of Dave’s men, in no way did Sandro blame her. Carlo was the one to blame. This whole disaster would not have happened without Carlo’s orders.

And even though so much tragedy had come as a result of his son’s abduction, perhaps Daniele was safer with his mother. Sandro knew she would die before she allowed harm to come to their child.

“Of course, how long they are safe is up to you,” Carlo pointed out. “And whether you decide to cooperate.”

“I rather hope he doesn’t cooperate,” Massimo said to his father, then turned to Sandro. “Nia is a beautiful woman. I have offered to take care of her—and your children, of course—once you are dead. With her fiery temper, I bet she is
magnifico
in bed.”

Sandro came up out of his chair and went after Massimo without a conscious thought other than to stomp the last breath out of the little bastard’s body.

Massimo jumped out of his chair, but Carlo moved quickly to intercept Sandro, shoving against his chest. Almost in his face, Carlo said in his deadly quiet voice, “Perhaps you see how much risk your family is in now. My son . . . well, he’s my son and I love him very much, of course, but sometimes he is rather
. . . rough
with his women. You understand?”

Brilliant stars burst in Sandro’s head, blurring his vision. Nose to nose with Carlo, Sandro’s breath came heavily as if he’d just run the length of a soccer field, flowing hard through his widened nostrils. He gritted his teeth, and forced control back into his body. As his vision cleared, he noticed at a glance that Massimo had wisely backed away from him.

Sandro turned to Carlo. And said deliberately. “I have your daughter.”

Carlo backed away. “Is this a threat?”

“If you love her, it is. Earlier you said you were a good father, no? A good father loves his children.” He pulled out Marisa’s necklace and dangled it in front of Carlo. “Recognize this?”

Color faded from Carlo’s face. “
Si
.”

“I want my family back. If you want your daughter back, you will be willing to make a trade.”

“Do you honestly think I believe you will hurt her?” Carlo quickly recovered from his initial shock.

“Do you honestly want to find out?” Sandro deliberately mimicked Carlo’s words.

“No, Sandro, you are a good boy.” Carlo smiled. “I do not think you would harm my daughter.”

“I am a desperate man, Carlo. Surely you know not to underestimate a desperate opponent. You know of what great lengths I go to on the soccer field when the situation is desperate.” Sandro had never hesitated to sacrifice his body if it meant a win for his team.

Carlo’s smile had not wavered. It was time to present him with the second part. “I have your money as well.”

Carlo’s smile dropped off his face. “
Che
?” Then he laughed. “You have my money? You are talking nonsense.”

“Unfortunately, you are wrong. Your money in your overseas accounts…I’m afraid it’s quite gone.” Sandro reached into the inside pocket on his suit jacket and pulled out the hard copy of Carlo’s accounts with the balance at the end of each account summary printed as a big fat zero.

“You see, you have no more money. Poof. No more. I have it all now.”

A red so bright it almost looked purple rushed into Carlo’s face. His eyes bugged as he stared at the papers. “Let me see.” He snatched the papers from Sandro’s hand. After studying them a moment, he reached into his pocket for his phone. He punched a number.

Nearly successful at regaining his composure, Sandro stood by and watched Carlo sweat.

“This is why they got Roberto,” he mumbled, when apparently no one answered.

“Roberto was understandably in the way, of course,” Sandro conceded.

Carlo’s eyes narrowed.

“In case you don’t believe me, though, I’ll give you time to think about it. I’m sure you might even want to put in a call to the bank managers. Let’s see, your banks are six hours ahead of us, so they are closed now, of course. You should be able to reach someone by two a.m. I’ll expect to hear from you after then. If not before.

“I have Marisa’s phone.” Sandro pulled the cell phone from his pocket to show a stunned and surprisingly quiet Carlo. “Call me on it.”

“What do you want, Sandro?” Carlo finally found his voice. “What do you hope to gain?”

“It’s very simple. I want my wife and child back. Your daughter for my son. Your money for my wife.”

“I can have you all killed when this is over.”

“Oh, Carlo, such a threat.” Sandro’s gaze narrowed. “It is not good to threaten an enemy when he’s holding all the cards. Perhaps then, you’ll be the one to die.

“I see in your eyes you do not believe me capable of murder, do you? Remember what I said. I’m a desperate man. I’ll do anything to keep my family safe. Including murder.

“So perhaps it will be better for us all to make this deal and live happily-ever-after, each going our separate ways. Remember, I’ve gotten the best of you once. I can do it again.”

Sandro turned to walk out. At the doorway, Carlo called to him.

“Sandro! While you are waiting for my answer, think about my son . . . and your wife. Together.”

Rage poured through Sandro as he turned back to Carlo. In his own deadly quiet voice, Sandro promised, “If Massimo touches Nia, I will rip him apart piece by piece.”

~~~

In the seconds after Sandro’s departure, Carlo stood stunned and silent.

Finally, Massimo spoke. “Poppa, let me go after Sandro. We can hold him hostage, too, torture him for the information. Do you not think he will talk as he watches me with his wife?”

A new respect entered Carlo’s eyes. “Very good, son. Very smart of you. Yes, yes, get him.”

Eagerly, Massimo took off running, pulling the gun Angie had taken away, then returned to him, out from beneath his jacket. He stormed into the front room. “We have to stop Sandro!” he ordered.

Instantly, three of his men were with him as he burst through the front doors. To be met with two men armed with semi-automatics.

“Going somewhere?” one of them asked.

Massimo and the other three stopped in their tracks. Pedestrians scattered away from the unfolding deadly drama.

“Drop the guns and hands up,” the man said. “That’s right.”

In frustration, Massimo raised his hands as he saw Sandro enter the passenger side of a car down the street. Massimo made mental note of the make, although the car was too far away for him to see the license number.

He turned his attention back to the men in front of him. “I know you,” he told the man who had been doing the talking. “You’re Frankie.”

Frankie only nodded.

So, the FBI was still helping Sandro, Massimo thought. Bad news for now. Good news for later. If Sandro was working with the law, then he wasn’t going to carry out the death threats he made. Massimo smiled to himself. Sandro was going to suffer. Massimo would make certain.

Frankie glanced down the street and saw Sandro drive off. “We’re just going to leave now.” He nodded to the other man who backed his way to a car parked out front and got into the driver’s side.

“And just in case you’re thinking of following us, Massimo . . .” Frankie turned to Massimo’s car and sent a spray of bullets into the tires. “ . . . You’ll have to change the tires first, or find another car, I’m afraid.”

Frankie backed toward the car as his partner started the engine.

Massimo heard a noise behind him, from right inside the club. “Drop Massimo,” Joey whispered from the doorway.

Keeping his gaze trained on the agent getting into the car, Massimo yelled, “Now,” and he and his buddies hit the ground while Joey sent bullets flying toward the two agents.

~~~

“Shit.” Frankie stumbled backward from the onslaught, then sent more bullets toward Carlo’s club. “Haul ass,” he told Tony, diving into the car.

Tony stomped on the gas and pealed out of the parking place. Frankie covered them with bursts from his semi-automatic, not wanting to think of all the paperwork this shoot-out was going to cause him.

When they were out of range, he leaned back in the seat, his heart pounding. “Man, that was close.”

Tony looked at him. “Jesus, you’re shot.”

Frankie glanced at his shoulder and laid a hand over his wound, squeezing. “Just in the arm. I’ll be okay. My vest saved me from anything worse. Hurts like hell, but I’m okay.

“Think they’ll follow?”

Tony looked in the rearview mirror. “Oh, yeah, they’re following.”

“Let’s lose them, then.”

“Pedal is to the floor.” With that, the car jumped forward.

Frankie clicked the mike on his walkie-talkie, then turned to look behind him. “Sandro’s away, but they’re in pursuit. I’m sure Massimo got a good look at the car Steve and Sandro are in. We’re ready for phase two.”

Phase two was “Stop the Bad Guys.”

Frankie waved at the driver of a garbage truck as they sped by. A minute later, with perfect timing, the big truck pulled out and parked across the road. Tires squealed and then a crash rocked the big truck.

Frankie leaned back and grinned.

~~~

Luigi hurried toward the elevator of Marisa’s apartment building, not stopping for idle chit-chat with the doorman this time. He punched the button and waited impatiently for the doors to open. Traffic had been a bitch, there had been some wreck with a garbage truck and it had taken him almost twenty minutes to detour around the snarl.

Impatiently, he waited to reach her floor. Grim determination lay in every step as he exited the elevator and walked toward Marisa’s door.

Marisa was helping the FBI. As incredible as it seemed, it was the only scenario that presented itself given the evidence. Carlo hadn’t made the connection yet. He still believed Sandro was holding her, but Luigi could see no other way for Sandro to pull off his stunt without Marisa’s help. Even if she claimed to be a prisoner of the FBI.

And nothing could have been more devastating to Luigi. He loved Marisa. He felt incredibly grateful that she gave an old fart like him the time of day. He knew it wasn’t his power that attracted her like it did some women. Her father was the most important man in the family; by now, it was likely he was the most important man among all the families in New York.

So Luigi had thought although her father offered time with her as a prize for a job well-done, that she’d stayed because she had really been attracted to him. Had slept with him and appeared on his arm in public because as incredible as it seemed, she desired him.

She’d played them both. She had been using him for information to help the FBI make a case. It was the only explanation possible.

Head throbbing, with rapid, impatient taps he knocked on her door.

No answer.

Then like some low-classed common person, he pounded on the door and yelled. “Marisa, I know you’re in there. Open up.” He knew she was there. He had men watching both exits and she hadn’t left. Neither had Dave Armstrong.

Still no answer, so he banged on the door again. “If you don’t open up, I’m going to shoot the lock.”

Surely by now, the other tenants had noticed the disturbance. Any moment, he expected security to barrel up the stairs and come after him. And if they weren’t, he’d fire their asses.

The door opened. Marisa left the chain on and peeked her face through. From what he could see, she had on her jacket as if she were about to leave. He knew she’d been there less than half an hour, he’d come as soon as his men saw them pull up. Why did she have her jacket on, ready to leave again?