Bellissimo Lotta (Beautiful Struggle): Companion Novel to Bellissimo Fortuna (The Family Trilogy Book 2) (15 page)

Dakota

Bronson is off the rails, destroying this case and his life. Being without Callie is doing enough damage but the fact she chose her father and has disappeared is making him insane. He and Bianca are at each other’s throats. She won’t believe the worst of Callie, and he won’t accept anything other than the betrayal he feels. Every day I go over to wake him up, and usually I find him hung-over. I find another picture shattered, another memory desecrated. I don’t know how to reach my best friend, and I don’t know how to warn Bianca she may be heading for heartache if she believes in her friend. I’m the type of person that believes if it looks like a duck, quacks like a duck . . . it’s a motherfucking duck. Callie left, handed Bronson his ring and his heart. Her dad was there to witness it, it happened in Locati’s front yard. She disappeared without a trace . . . therefore there is some truth in Bronson’s beliefs.

Bianca goes home to visit her mom at least twice a month, and I try to make it there one of those weekends. She hasn’t been back to Miami in months, and I miss her. Plain and simple. The struggle we had with her dad and his business is null and void, and I’m tired of the weekend hook-ups, hearing about her dating, acting like what we are doing doesn’t have a future. I’m ready to lay it all on the line for her, but she makes it hard. She brought some dweeb home last month, and each time he touched her I wanted to break his hands. She was mighty uncomfortable when I cornered her in the hallway and told her not to bring that dickhead home again.

“Bianca, don’t bring that guy here knowing you’re fucking with me.”

“Dakota, we aren’t anything. Remember, this is me exploring. I’m not fucking with you. He’s a nice guy.”

“Nice guy, huh? Has he made you scream his name?”

“None of your business.” Her eyes flash, she wants a battle.

“I’m pretty sure the last name you screamed was mine, and sweetheart it will be the one you scream next time you come.”

“Think highly of yourself, don’t you?” I watch her breathing get shallow, and I know if run my fingers under her shirt her nipples would be hard, and if I dipped my hand under her skirt she’d be drenched . . . for me.

“Not fucking around, Bianca. Don’t want him embarrassed, do you? Don’t. Bring. Another. Dick. Home. Unless. He. Has. A. Future.” I got close to her face when I delivered those words to her. It took all my control to resist crashing my lips to hers and prove my point, but she needed to come to that realization.

So much had happened since we broke up, yet here we are back at the beginning, playing games and waiting for the other to cave. I thought it was going to be her, I was going to wait for her this time, not force her to confront her feelings, but my patience is wearing thin.

I grab my phone when it rings. “Dakota Hyatt.” I bark into the phone.

“It’s Callie.”

“What the fuck?”

“I know I’m the last person you want to hear from . . .” I cut her off.

“Actually, I do have a few words for you. What the hell did you do? He fucking loves you, and without a second thought, you vanished. Why are you calling me now?”

“Are you going to let me talk?” I give her my silence so she continues. “I don’t have anything substantial for you, I can’t call Bianca or Bronson, but this was done for them. My father has a vendetta and an agenda. Two dangerous things where he’s concerned. “

“Maybe. I don’t know if I believe you. But know this. You fucked with Bronson, hard.
He’s worthless, Callie. He’s close to ruining the career he was beginning to build, and it’s all because of you.” I needed her to know the mess she created.

“Fine, Dakota. It’s established I’m the worst person in the world. You won’t get any arguments from me. Listen to me; don’t let him lose focus. Stay on top of him, remind him of what Frank Locati has taken from him, fuel his anger, but don’t let him wallow in it.”

“You sound like you care?”

“Damn it, Dakota. I care. You know I do. Just keep him safe. I can’t tell you anything, because I don’t know the details, and I don’t have a way to reach you. Calling today was a risk. This is a ploy of my father’s. He needed a distraction, and he got one with me. Fucking fight for him. With him. Don’t let him give up now.”

“What’s really going on here, Callie? Why did you walk away so easily?”

“Easy? You think this is fucking easy? It’s agony, Dakota. Every day making the choice to get out of bed, kills me. I don’t want to. I have to. I don’t have a choice.”

“How did you work this out with your dad?”

“Frank,” I correct him. “I had a maneuver he wasn’t expecting, and that’s all I can tell you.”

“So, you’re saying you did this for Bronson?”

“For all of them, yes. Mostly him. Frank has reach, and he had pictures of him, and I know at any of those times he could have killed Bronson. Just do what you have to.”

“Are you safe?”

“For now. As long as I don’t lose my bargaining tool, I’m golden.”

“What?”

“If anything happens to me, you’ll be the one to know. I need you to make sure to keep it safe. I have to go.” Click. She’s done, obviously.

Fuck it all to hell. This is one hell of a situation she’s put me in, but I can’t help but feel the pain her voice carried. I was a dick. She deserved that, I think. I’m not so sure. What the hell is her bargaining tool, and she needs to be safe playing this game with her old man. I head over to Bronson’s apartment to see the chaos I find today. We’re trying to find anything we can to take down Frank, but it’s proving to be challenging. And we are running into trouble every turn. We think we have something solid, and it turns into a dead end.

I use my key and let myself into his apartment, and trip over my feet from the stench. He needs to get a maid, stat. I follow the trail of clothes and liquor bottles to his bedroom. Callie’s words replaying in my mind.
Keep him safe. Don’t let him give up
.

I flick on the light, see his eyes squint; his hands go to his head. Serves him right.

“Get up, Bronson. Sober the fuck up and help me with this case.” I keep my voice loud hoping to inflict some pain.

“Fuck you, Dakota.”

“No, fuck Locati. You gonna let him win? Everything he took from you, including your girl, this is how you’re going to go down?” I go directly for the sucker punch to the heart, hoping to jolt him from his stupor. I don’t have time for this shit.

“He didn’t
take
my girl, she
left
. Whatever you’re trying to do, it won’t work. What’s the point . . . justice? What a fucking joke that is.”

“Really? You know that for a fact? What if there’s some chance bringing him down can bring her back?” I want to see just a flicker of emotion in my best friend. This dead man walking shit isn’t working for me.

“I don’t give a fuck,” he lies to me. He gives a whole lot of fucks but admitting to them would open him up, and he would rather remain numb.

“Tell that to someone who may believe you. Right now, I’m going to your office.” I’m thanking all of the powers that be that we kept the files at his house. After the phone call from Callie, I’m realizing Locati had a reason for using her, and until I know what it is, we can’t afford for anyone to get close. We’ve been busting our asses for twelve long weeks, and until I heard her voice today, I doubted Bianca’s logic. I know there is more to the story. She didn’t open up, so I have no idea what I’m up against. I hear the crash against the wall mixed Bronson’s cry of agony.

“FUCK!” He’s hurting, and I’m debating sharing the phone call I got, but I’m afraid he’d go on a wild tangent and no telling how that would end. He’s too raw and a liability to himself and to Callie’s safety.

“You feel better? Tossing your shit? The shit you picked out together? You think if you break every damn picture, piece of furniture, memory in here you’ll rid yourself of her? You won’t. She’s inside you, she has been since day fucking one, and until you man up and work on what really happened you’re going to stew in your own bullshit . . . and I’m tired of it.” I hope those words spur something inside of him.

He walks in after his shower, and I see the glint in his eyes. He’s pissed, but he knows I’m right. “Have you seen Bianca lately?” His question is to get under my skin, and he hit his target.

I turn to him, muscles taut with fury, itching to deck him. I’m tired of taking the shit he is doling out in piles. “She’s supposed to come home next weekend. I think she’s bringing a new guy.” The chair I throw at him misses him by a few inches, and I slam his office door. Space is the only thing that will stop the blood bath we are inciting on one another. Each for different reasons. Both from hurt, betrayal, and confusion.

“Take it from me, time isn’t promised. Cherish what you have!”

“Thanks, Aristotle. Just keep fucking looking at the files, I’m getting us some food.” I pray he is coming back from the dead place he’s been. I need my best friend, my partner. I also need to throttle his sister.

She didn’t come home last weekend and said she wouldn’t make it this weekend either. This makes me suspicious, so I took a day off and headed my ass to the campus of FSU. I swing by the office on the way to the airport and grab some paperwork to keep me busy during the flight. I’ve got keys to stay at the apartment since it’s empty and Bronson’s blessing to remove his sister’s head from her ass.

I don’t make much headway with the paperwork and notice a case file I’m not familiar with just as we are landing. I shove everything back in my briefcase and have one destination in mind. Her fucking dorm room. Have I mentioned that I hate her staying there? This weekend I plan to keep her in the apartment . . . with me.

I knock and wait for an answer. She throws open the door, without checking the peephole. Her eyes widen when she sees me standing in front of her. “Dakota, what are you doing here?”

“We need to talk.”

“Okay, I have class in half an hour.”

I hand her the roses I got at the airport, and she’s shocked. Her eyes study me, and it dawns on her why I’m here. Her mouth drops open, and I take my chance. “Bianca, you’ve driven me crazy since you were sixteen years old. You’re everything I didn’t know I wanted, and so much more. I’ve loved you as long as I can remember. I know shit went down with us, partly my fault and the way I handled it, but I didn’t know what else to do. Baby, those same circumstances aren’t in the way now.” I hate to remind her of her dad’s death, but she needs to know where I’m coming from.

She takes a step back, shaking her head. “I can’t do this again, Dakota. I can’t go through that pain.”

“I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here to heal you. I want you. I want you in my arms when you have a bad day. I want it to be your voice in my ear when I fall asleep. I want it to be your face I see when I wake up. I just want it to be you. Always.”

I see her close her eyes and inhale. She’s relenting, I can see it in the way her face relaxes and goes soft. “So much has happened. I can’t lose you. I have your friendship, and I don’t know if we could salvage it again if this didn’t work.”

“This will work, baby. I swear to you. It will work.” I see her hesitation. “I’m going to the apartment. I’ll wait for you to come after your class, and I’ll prove it to you, show you this can work.”

She nods, and I take a step, bringing us closer. She doesn’t retreat from me. I pull her close and hold her. I feel her tremble and rub her back. I step back and force her eyes to mine. “
Lasciare che l'amore vincere,” I plead. I leave her staring after me, praying she heeds my words. Let love win. This time, please let it win.

I’m going crazy sitting here waiting for her class to end. It’s been ten minutes since I arrived at the apartment, and I still have at least an hour or so. I open my briefcase, trying to occupy my mind. I grab the case file that was shoved in my stuff. I flip it open and cease breathing.

CASE NUMBER: 18976432

DECEDENT: Dana Hyatt

BACKGROUND AND FACTS:

Decedent was found on 13 March 2012 at approximately 02:12 AM after Derrick Hyatt, decedent’s father, called the Indian Harbor police department (IHPD). It appeared to be a single gunshot wound to the head, known as ‘execution style.’