Betrayed (Chianti Kisses #3) (9 page)

The bumpy road is not kind to the tiny little Fiat… or my behind for that matter as we feel
every single
rock and pebble on our route. With only one other beaten-up car parked in the makeshift dirt lot, we end our drive and park in our pick of empty spots.

I wait until the dust kicked up from our small wheels settles before attempting to disembark from the aluminum death trap we’ve rented. I’m not spoiled compared to most and I understand the need to appear inconspicuous, but I’m going to need a long stretch after being cooped-up in this little thing for so long. Maybe it’s true what they say about American’s being bigger people… because these cars are not exactly friendly to the average-sized New Yorker.

But, then I take one look at the Italian stallion next to me and rethink my position. He’s as authentic as they come, having been born and raised here until he was in his teens, although you’d never guess it by his adopted accent. Even he, with his large muscular frame and bulging muscles, looks ridiculous behind the wheel of such a microscopic little ride.

“Do you remember what I said?” he breaks my random train of thought.

I nod. “Yup. Young couple in love on vacation. From Connecticut. We heard about his wine from a friend and promised we’d bring them home a bottle.”

He’s pleased I was actually listening enough to recite our cover story. 

“And…?” he prods.

I exhale deep. “And…,” I make sure I sound as sarcastic as I can, “I
don’t
wander off. I
don’t
ask too many questions. I
don’t
drink anything I don’t see poured from a brand new bottle, and I
don’t
, I repeat,
don’t
call you Carmine. Did I forget anything,
Dan?”

He grimaces. “I hate that name.”

I laugh. “If you are going to call me a bimbo name like
Jasmine
,” I spit out the hideous name, “then I am going to call you
Dan
, Dan.”

“I happen to know quite a few
Jasmine’s
that would take offense to that,” he chides.

I squint my eyes. “
Strippers
don’t count,
Dan
.”

He chuckles as he reaches past me for the glovebox, withdrawing the gun he’d tucked away earlier.

“Well, I never said I met them in church.”

My breath hitches as I watch him work the weapon, inspecting it and setting it to the ready so comfortably that his smart-ass comment didn’t even miss a beat.

“Is that really necessary?” I ask him in all seriousness.

He tucks the sleek handgun into the back of his waistband. “Just a precaution, Jazzy.”

“I swear to God,
Carmine--
”

“Dan,” he corrects me quickly.

I grind my teeth. “I dare you to call me
Jazzy
again and see what happens.”

He laughs and opens the door, letting in some of the warm Tuscan heat, in the process. It’s not long before he’s reached my side and helps me out onto the packed soil that marks our pathway.

His sizeable hand takes mine in a tight grip as he leads me under the charming little archway that marks the entrance to the establishment. The old wooden floor creaks under foot, and an assortment of colored bottles are displayed throughout the charming but aged interior. Other than being in need of a good dusting, the storefront is as inconspicuous as any other around here, I guess.

A tiny bell affixed to the doorframe chimes our entry, alerting the yet unseen proprietor to his guests. There is a small shuffling from behind a display case and I can feel Carmine, er
Dan
, tense. He casually moves his hand to his side as if scratching an itch but I know better.

He’s positioning himself to grab his gun quickly if need be.

“Buongiorno. Posso aiutarla?” the small, elderly man asks in thick accented Italian.

We both freeze, eyes fixed on each other.

I know that voice
.

He seems to recognize me, too.

Carmine senses my reaction, and springs into action. The gun is no longer a concealed measure of precaution, but is now a very deadly weapon aimed at the gentleman who studies me.

“No! Carmine, don’t!” I move to intervene, blocking any potential bullet’s path.

I can see the frustration in Carmine’s eyes as I’ve done exactly what he’s asked me not to do, and at the first opportunity, too.

I’ve blown our cover, and interfered directly.

Once I’m satisfied that his finger isn’t pressing on the trigger, I turn my attention to the man behind me. He’s older than I remember him. He’s grown a thick mustache and his skin is many shades darker and much more wrinkled than I recall.

But the eyes are the same.

“Uncle Joe?” I ask, astonished.

CHAPTER EIGHT

CARMINE

“Uncle Joe?” Theresa asks the target.

The frail man looks like he’s seen a ghost. His eyes sink and his color drains. His gaze darts around the room nervously, assessing the entrance, the windows, all points of escape.

I grab for Theresa’s hand and pull hard and fast to secure her behind me in case the man gets desperate. My sudden movement seems to have triggered his survival instincts and I see him begin to move for the nearby sales counter.

“Don’t!” I command.

My voice has stopped him, and I use my gun to direct where I want him to stand. He moves obligingly, with his hands in clear sight. I keep my eyes on him and step close enough to the same sales counter he sought refuge behind. Slipping my hand blindly under the top surface, I feel around until I’ve found what I knew would be there.

Pulling hard, I release the old revolver from its hiding place and bring it out into sight.

The man looks disappointed that I’ve taken his only means of protection.

“You found me,” he speaks in English.

Theresa lifts her hands instinctively to her mouth, covering her gasp.

“B-bu-but… you’re dead?” she asks herself as much as she asks him.

He closes his eyes, breathes deep. “We should talk.”

He begins to move, but I keep the gun on him. He’s slow, cautiously stepping over to the front door. I readjust myself so Tre is always at my back as I follow him. His thin, liver-spotted hands turn the sign over to indicate that the business is no longer open, and he continues on to turn the lock on the ancient doorknob.

“Come...” he beckons us. “Let’s have a drink and sort this all out.” Before he takes another step, he addresses me. “You can put that away. I’m not going anywhere. I’m tired of running.”

~*~

The shady grove tree spreads its expansive branches low enough for us to have to duck to take a seat at the rickety table and chairs under its cover. I keep Theresa by my side.

I have half a mind to send her back to the car and tell her to go back to hotel, but know I have better odds getting a damn cat to do cartwheels. I can see by the hungry look in her eyes she’s not leaving this place until she’s satisfied.

“How did you find me?” he asks, setting out a couple of wine glasses and an old bottle of vino.

He listens as he pours each goblet halfway.

“Dom,” I answer. “He stumbled upon some old paperwork and followed the paper trail to this place.”

A drink is placed in front of each of us. Theresa moves to take hers, but I grab her hand quickly. I can see the old man’s eyes widen as he witnesses my caution. So, he raises his glass and takes a healthy sip before nodding to me.

I release her wrist, satisfied that the drink is not a danger to her, as he’s just sampled it.

“I’d never hurt her,” he adds. “She’s my Goddaughter afterall.”

I press my lips into a tight smile. “No offense, but trust isn’t something you should go looking for right now.”

The wine leaves a deep purple stain on his dry lips. “You have a lot of questions, I’m sure. I’m not sure where to begin.”

“Start at the beginning,” I suggest.

And so, that’s where the mystery begins to unravel.

“I’ve had a lot of time to think, being here. I can probably say now, looking back, I got greedy. There was a lot of temptation around in those days. It was somehow easy to just want… more. It was never enough. More ships. More business. More money, houses, bigger trust funds for my children. Cars. Vacations… there was no end.

“The only way to get the capital we needed to expand at the rate we did, was to borrow and get in deeper with some of the other families. Your father,” he nods to Theresa, “well, he didn’t approve of the kind of involvement they all wanted in return for collateral on those loans. So, I had to hide what I was doing. But, eventually it caught up to me.

“Somehow, Moretti had gotten on the FBI’s radar and they traced some cash transfer to me. Back then, we were considered small fish compared to who they really wanted… the commission. They knew I had enough info on all of them to take them down. At least temporarily. But, I wouldn’t snitch. I wouldn’t budge.

“So, they started to play hardball. Started planting rumors and fake evidence that I was going to turn, to corroborate. They were forcing my hand and backing me into a corner.

“They knew that by making me out to be a rat, they were making me a target. Not just me, but my family, too. They were putting everyone at risk. On the one hand, I could give in and give them the info they wanted, enter some sorry excuse for witness protection, and cost my family everything, not to mention
yours
,” again he nods to Tre.

“Or, I could stand firm and refuse to testify. In that case, they had enough evidence to send me away, Alfonse, too, by association, for a very long time. The commission would probably take us both out anyway, not risking that we’d sacrifice ourselves and them for our families.

“It was a lose-lose situation. There was no viable way out. Until your father came up with one.” He takes another sip of the full-bodied wine.

“He secured the safety of everyone we cared about, by going to the commission and seeking the permission to take me out. In their eyes, this proved his loyalty to them… to do what needed to be done. But, he set conditions, an out. All affiliation with them, died with me. If he was going to take care of their biggest liability,
me
, he wanted assurances that both of our families would be free to decide whether of not they would continue in that life.”

“The commission agreed, and the deal was set. My best and oldest friend in the world would have me murdered. Moretti had his doubts, though. So… he set up his own deal behind the scenes. If he could get to me first, he would take my stake in everything, including ATH. We found out about it and knew we had little to no time. So, your dad set up a car bomb… well, what
looked
like a car bomb. He made it look convincing by having me roughed up and paid off an E.R. doc that was in deep to us for a nose candy habit to sign off on a death certificate.

“I was wheeled down to the morgue and met by your dad who set up a fake name, passport, and one-way ticket here. I bought this place and made a little something of it. Your dad would send enough money every few months to keep it up and running. He was the only one who knew. When he passed--” Guiseppe swallows hard, choking down some emotion for his long lost friend, and reaches for Theresa’s hand.

“When he passed, it was the last connection to my old life. He made me a promise. One that I knew he’d keep, and he did. He took care of the one thing that ever really mattered to me. The most precious thing… my family.”

Theresa moves to wipe a falling tear from her eye. “But, you just left them? How could you? They all think you’re dead.
Murdered
. My brother has killed for it, Carmine.” She looks to me. “Has taken a bullet for it. You can’t let them go on thinking that.”

The old man that was once a legend to me, sets his glass down.

“They have to, Theresa. The only way to keep them safe is to leave Guiseppe Lombardi six feet deep. There’s no telling what damage would be done if anyone found out.”

“It’s true,” I add. “But it’s not our call. The boss decides.”

The ghost of a man is startled by the term.

“Boss? And just who
is
the boss?”

Theresa and I lock eyes.

He doesn’t know.

I relieve her from having to break the news. “Dom. Your son-in-law.”

~*~

DOM

I watch her.

She sleeps soundly, her bountiful chest rising and falling with each peaceful breath. I want her to stay like this… safe, happy, loved. It’s all I’ve ever wanted for her.

Long before I fell for her, I knew I was meant to protect her. I remember the conversations with my father late at night. Just he and I, in his study, on the boat, or around the kitchen table after everyone else had gone to bed.

He taught me so much. How to be a man. How to handle my responsibilities. And one of those responsibilities, he would explain to me one night after V’s father has passed… would be to take care of that crying little girl who now needed our protection.

I’d known for a few years before that, the old traditions from our home country had more than a little something to do with arranging a union between our families - one that resulted in the little baby sleeping in her belly now.

I’d thought it trivial, stupid, to impose something so archaic on either one of us. But, just one look at the sad, broken little girl sitting in the church pew behind her father’s coffin had convinced me that no matter what, I would at least protect her as best I could. With every ounce of strength until my last breath.

I just felt something deep... something that told me she needed me, although I was nothing more than a kid myself back then.

But I got older. And so did she.

Her eyes changed. They would look at me and I’d wonder if they would ever be able to see something more than what they had. If they’d ever be able to look at me with the love that was growing in my own for her.

And they did.

Arrangement aside, I wanted nothing more than to spend my life with her. I almost lost her, though. When the secrets started to come out, it nearly cost me everything.

But, she was able to forgive. She was able to move forward and trust in me to always be truthful with her from that point on. It’s been an adjustment for me, not something I’ve taken to easily as it’s an old habit to break… thinking I’m protecting her by keeping things from her.

Things that could hurt her.

Things that could damage what we have.

But, she’s proven her strength. She’s proven to me that she’s not that same weak, helpless child. She’s strong. She’s fierce… and she’s loyal. That’s the core of everything.

Loyalty.

But it’s not given blindly. It has to be earned. And as I sit here, knowing the love I feel for her… I feel ashamed.

I haven’t earned it. Not in the way I should have.

But I can….

“V,” I snake my arm around her shoulders. “Wake up, baby.”

I kiss her cheek, her forehead, her nose.

She stirs. “Again?” she asks sleepily.

I laugh. No, twice was enough last night.

“Baby, I have a surprise for you,” I coax her.

I can see her eyes fluttering but she’s fighting it. I know she’s more tired these last few weeks and I’ve left her to sleep in. But, then I got the call. The call that’s going to change everything.

“Remember what I said to you last night?” I kiss her bare shoulder as the sheet moves free, slipping down as she tosses mildly.

She breathes in deep. “Which part?”

I can see sleep tempting to reclaim her. I lean forward and gently swipe the tendrils of hair from her ear before whispering.

“That you come first. That you always come first.” I kiss the lobe I leave behind.

She smiles into her pillow. “I do remember that, yes. I also remember you
showing
me, too.”

“Both times, too.” We both smiled wickedly at the memory of both of her eruptions last night.

Don’t get distracted
, I tell myself. Knowing she’s lying there naked with nothing more than a sheet is doing things to me.

I close my eyes and get back on course.

“Well, I’m going to prove it to you again. To make up for everything. I’m taking you away. A vacation… a second honeymoon.”

Her eyes shoot open. “What? Where? When?”

I smile at her reaction. Seeing her happy is everything.

“Tuscany. Tonight. You should probably get up and pack.”

~*~

Her laughter flies around with the wind as much as her hair does.

“Dom, you know I can’t drink!” She points to her midsection.

I squeeze her hand as it rests on her upper thigh. “I know, baby. We’re not going there for the wine. We’re going for the company. It’s an old friend of my dad’s.”

“As long as it’s in this beautiful place, I don’t care what we do.” She closes her eyes and slinks down in the passenger seat, stretching her neck back and basking in the late afternoon sun and airy breeze.

The convertible top is opened, allowing the fresh country air in.

“I could stay here forever,” she calls out breathlessly.

I pick her fingers up and bring the tips to my lips, placing tiny kisses on each of them.

“We’ll see what we can arrange.”

She turns her neck to watch me.

“I know that look,” she warns. “The last time you had that look, we had a new summer house.”

I shrug my shoulders.