Charade (2 page)

Taking a deep breath, she directed her full attention toward the man with the unfamiliar face who had backed into the shadows, watching them in silence. “You must think I’m awfully rude, sir, bursting in this way and interrupting your tender moment. I’m Sasha Bracciali.” Extending her hand, she walked closer to him, positioning the bra-cam to capture his face, and hoping that there was enough light for the image to be useful.

“You’ve grown into an exquisite young woman. More beautiful than even your
mother,
and she was a goddess.” The stranger kissed her fingertips respectfully. “You may call me zio Dante. I’m not really your uncle, but I’m an old and dear friend of your father’s, here for a short visit.”

Sasha tried not to stare, but the effort was wasted. This was just too good to be true. The man’s voice was familiar, but she had never seen that face before in her life. Rumors of Vincenzo “the Butcher” Martino’s plastic surgery had abounded for years, and she was sure she was now getting confirmation thereof, not to mention, a huge coup for the FBI’s Organized Crime Unit.

“Did you get a chance to see Daddy?” she asked him carefully. “He was here earlier, I’m told. But he left before I arrived.”

“Big Frankie and I had a nice visit last year when he came to Roma on a business trip. I was sorry to hear about your mother’s death, Sasha. She would be so proud if she could see you today.”

Yeah, it’s a shame Dad killed her, isn’t it?
Sasha challenged him silently.
But considering how many people you’ve offed in your time, I guess you’d be the first to understand why he had to do it. Caesar’s wife and all, right?

“Don’t talk about her mother. It makes her sad,” Gianna scolded the men. “This is supposed to be a happy occasion.”

“The happiest day of my life,” Antonio said quickly. “To see my daughter married—that is pure joy. And on that same day, to have both Sasha and my beloved cousin return to this house after too long an absence. It is more than a man deserves. We must drink a toast immediately.
Carmine?”

His beloved cousin?
Sasha’s pulse began to race.
Vincenzo is one of his cousins! Isn’t that enough proof of his identity to move in now? I hope Summit’s getting all this! If the bra-transmitter lets us down I’ll shoot myself.

Carmine poured brandy into four elegant snifters and handed them out. Then he murmured, “To Sasha. She’s as fucking stubborn as ever, but tonight, that’s gonna work in my favor.”

Antonio scowled. “What sort of toast is that?”

“Allow me.” Sasha lifted her glass with a flourish.
“To my family, not through blood but through choice.”

The man who called himself Dante chuckled. “Any girl who can quote Sinatra deserves to be a Martino.”

“To Sasha,” Antonio agreed, raising his glass.

As the others echoed the toast, Summit’s warm voice sounded in Sasha’s ear. “Okay, Camper. We’ve got more than we need. I’m going to ring your cell, you’re going to answer, and then you’re going to tell them your best customer just called you in hysterics over some dressmaking emergency and you have to go soothe the ruffled feathers.”

Her phone rang on cue, and she apologized, then stepped away from the group and answered it.

“Good girl,” Summit whispered. “You’ve done an amazing job.
First by designing that crazy bra, and now this.
It’s unbelievable. It’s also over, so get the hell out of there. And if that horny bastard Carmine tries anything, tell him you’ll sic your father on him if he doesn’t back off. Got it?”

“For heaven’s sake, Martha!”
Sasha exclaimed. “It can’t be that bad.
Just calm down.
I’ll be right there, I promise. Just don’t try to force the zipper whatever you do. We used the last scrap of fabric for the lining of the jacket. So
please,
just calm down. I’m on my way.”

She could see disapproval in the eyes of Antonio and Dante, not to mention annoyance in Carmine’s. “Sorry, I thought I turned that thing off,” she said in apology. “But it’s lucky I got the call, because my best customer is having a panic attack, and she’s having it in her five-thousand-dollar business suit. I’m so, so sorry, but I’ve gotta dash. Forgive me?” Before they could protest, she walked right up to Dante and said, “I’ll give Daddy your best. And next time I visit Mom’s grave, I’ll tell her all the lovely things you said about her.”

He patted her cheek. “She would be sad to see you put business ahead of a family wedding. You should marry young Carmine here. Then you’d never have to work again.”

“And we’d
really
be sisters,” Gianna agreed with a tearful smile. Wrapping her arms around Sasha’s waist, the bride insisted, “You were so sweet to come at all. I know it was awkward, but it meant the world to me and that hunky new husband of mine.”

Sasha gave her friend a teasing smile. “You’d better go find him. Last time I checked, he was dancing with Tessie Gallo.”

“What?”
Gianna scowled, then said to Dante, “Stay right here,
zio.
I’ll be back before you leave so you can kiss the bride one last time. Or the widow, depending on what’s going on out there.” Grabbing Sasha’s arm, she added, “Come on. I’ll walk you out.”

“No, I’ll do it,” Carmine told her, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Sasha and I have unfinished business. Right, beautiful?”

Sasha arched a disapproving eyebrow in his direction, and was pleased when he winced. Then she took Dante’s hand and smiled sheepishly. “I made such a silly bet with Carmine. He told me you were an old friend of don Martino, and I thought I knew everyone from the old days, so I bet him that I knew you. Is it possible I’m just forgetting? Maybe you met me once, when I was just a baby. I
really
want to win this bet, so…”

Dante chuckled. “There was one time in particular. You spit up milk all over my brand-new suit. I’d say that binds us for life, wouldn’t you?”

“That doesn’t count!” Carmine bellowed. “Sasha doesn’t remember it, so it doesn’t count.”

Sasha sent an inquiring glance toward his father. “I’ll abide by your decision on this,
zio.
”

“Fuck that,” Carmine muttered. “I won the bet, and I’m going to collect.”

Antonio Martino’s eyes darkened, but his voice was even when he announced, “My son is the loser here today, in more than one way.
Gianna?
Show our guest to the door, then go and pay attention to your husband. Sasha, take care.
And Carmine?”

The son’s expression had twisted with apprehension. “Yeah, Pop?”

“Apologize to Sasha for trying to take advantage of her.
And to your sister, for ruining her wedding day.
And then, if you are very, very lucky, I will allow you to apologize to
me.
”

“So? What do you think the don did to him? Slapped him around, right?” Winston Lowe grinned at Sasha. “Man, I would’ve loved to see that.”

“Yeah, but at least we got to see Carmine Martino cower in fear, thanks to Campie’s brilliant tittie-cam,” said his partner Chuck McBride, the third member of Jeff Crossman’s Organized Crime team.

Sasha bit back a laugh. “Have a little respect. It’s called a bra-cam.”

“Too bad you can’t find a way to have the lens implanted directly into your nipple,” Winston said wistfully. “That way if some hotshot like Carmine ever gets you naked, we could still see the show. Er, I mean, collect the evidence.”

“You guys are so immature.” She glanced toward the special agent in charge, hoping for a nod of agreement. But Jeff Crossman was scowling.

Oh, fine. The honeymoon’s over already?
she
asked in silent disgust.
Even after I got you a photo of Vincenzo Martino’s new face? You’re such an ingrate, Crossman.

Aloud, she murmured, “What’s the problem, Jeff?”

“As if there’s just one?”
He exhaled in apparent exasperation.
“Fine.
Let’s start with that toast of yours.”

“The Sinatra toast?” Winston asked with a wink. “Did you really quote Old Blue Eyes, Campie?”

“Stop calling her that,” Jeff warned him. “If you two clowns want to participate in this debriefing, grow up.”

“Sorry, Jeff,” his men said in unison.

But Sasha could see that their eyes were twinkling, so she threw them a bone by insisting, “I’m fine with ‘Campie.’ But I draw the line at ‘tittie-cam.’”

“That’s right,” Jeff muttered. “Laugh it up. I’m still waiting for an explanation.”

“Of the toast?”
Sasha shrugged. “It’s just something I’ve heard my father say.”

“So you didn’t mean it?”

“Pardon?”

“You said they were your family.
By
choice.
Did you mean that or not?”

Sasha stared into her handler’s dark green eyes and wondered if he could possibly understand, even a little, the complex world in which she had been raised. A world where family was everything, and sometimes, everyone was family. And sometimes they weren’t. Sometimes, even your own flesh and blood weren’t.

It was complicated.

And Jeff Crossman was a simple guy.
Clean-cut.
All-American, both figuratively and Heisman Trophyly.
With his six-foot-three athletic frame, his squeaky-clean background, his intact family and grass roots schooling—all of which had spawned a black-and-white view of right and wrong—he viewed Sasha’s world through an amazingly clear lens, when in truth, it needed multiple filters if one really wanted to discover the truth.

Jackass.

She sent a warning glare in the direction of Tweedledum and Tweedledee,
then
told Jeff, “Yes, I meant it. They’re family to me in one sense. But that doesn’t mean I endorse their behavior. And it doesn’t mean I’ll protect them. They’re criminals.
The kind of criminals who rob innocent victims of any chance for a normal life.
They robbed
me
of that when they killed my mother. And no one robs Sasha Bracciali and gets away with it.”

She paused for dramatic effect,
then
assured him, “Go ahead. Put
that
in your report. I dare you.”

“Did you ever sleep with Carmine Martino?”

She drew back, stunned by the question, and before she could stop herself, she answered with a resounding, “No!”

“Sheesh, Jeff. That’s kinda rough, isn’t it?” Winston murmured. “She just fingered Vincent Martino for us. Cut her some slack, will ya?”

Sasha laughed lightly.
“My hero.
Now if you boys don’t mind, I’m going home. I’ve got a raging headache.”

Jeff held up his hand. “Wait.”

She cleared her throat, wondering if for once this hunky marionette was actually going to apologize to her. “What now?”

He slid a picture of “Dante” across the table to her. “You’re convinced this is Vincent Martino, aka, the Butcher?”

“Absolutely.”

“Based on what?”

“Like I said, I recognized the voice, although I couldn’t swear in court that it was Vincenzo. But he said he was Daddy’s friend. And Antonio’s cousin.
And that whole thing about me spitting up on him.
And his crush on Mom—ugh. That seemed familiar, too.
So all in all?
Yes. I think we’ve got our guy.”

Jeff leaned forward, his gaze imprisoning hers. “And tell me again, just for the record. What is your relationship with Vincent Martino? Do you consider him family?
By choice, not blood?”

Sasha could almost hear the accusation in his tone, but she shrugged it off.
“My relationship with him?
When I was a kid, he used to slip me a cannoli every once in a while when my mother wasn’t looking. I
loved
him for that.”

Winston grinned. “Slipped you a cannoli? Is that as dirty as it sounds?”

Sasha stared at him, speechless for a moment. Then she burst into laughter. “That does it. You’re officially a pervert. But that’s better than Jeff, because
he’s
officially an ingrate.” Grabbing her purse, she headed for the door, adding over her shoulder, “Nice working with you, fellas. I’m outta here.”

E xhausted, Sasha would have crashed into bed within minutes of arriving home, but she was anxious to follow up on a news story that had been taunting her all week despite her need to focus on preparation for the wedding op. Now that she had been debriefed, she could stop tuning out the rest of the world, beginning with the fate of two kidnapped girls.

Her favorite twenty-four-hour news channel was rerunning a video of Representative Bryan Ellis of Arizona, who pleaded into the TV camera for the return of the two teenagers. According to Ellis, both victims had been students at a prestigious Arizona prep school for girls.

Athena
Academy
.

Thirsty for information about the status of her fellow Athenians, Sasha fired up her laptop to check AA.
gov
, but the alumni Web site was strangely silent about the fate of the girls. It simply parroted what Ellis had already told the media: that the abduction had been bold and well planned, the families had been notified and the whole country was praying for the safe return of the students.

“Bullshit,” Sasha muttered. “There’s a lot more than praying going on. We have women in the FBI, the CIA, NSA—you name it. These creeps are gonna wish they’d never been born when they come face-to-face with pure, unadulterated Athena force.”

Every fiber of her being wanted to call the school and offer to help, but it was the middle of the night. Plus, she knew that the Athena Academy had alumni much more experienced than she to tap. After all, Sasha’s function with the FBI was to be a glorified snitch.
An asset, not an agent.
It made sense, given the nature of her work, but still it
rankled
her, even on a good day. And on a bad night like this, it truly frustrated her.

As if they’re going to ask a Mafia princess for help on something like this?
she
mocked herself.

Immediately, she tensed. That was Jeff Crossman’s viewpoint, not her own. Apparently he had really gotten under her skin with his doubts about her reliability. And while she knew it wasn’t totally his doing—she had her own internal conflicts, especially in regard to her father—she still cursed Jeff for daring to speak them out loud so often.