Clean Slate (New Mafia Trilogy #2) (11 page)

           
“Let’s walk,” Grant suggested and we fell into a lazy
stroll, the wet sand making sucking sounds with each step.

           
“Grant, how do you do it?”

           
“Do what?”
    

           
“Kill someone and act like it’s no big deal? I killed one
man in self-defense and it’s eating me up from the inside out. Not just the
guilt, but the way his life blinked out of his eyes when the bullet entered his
brain. I saw his vitality extinguish and can’t get that image out of my head.”

Grant started to
respond, but I wasn’t done. “The way Marco and the other men treat women is
disgusting, how can you stand by and let that happen? I know Mom didn’t raise
you that way.”

           
“That’s fucking hilarious, are you Team Mom all of a
sudden? How easily you forget that she checked out after dad left. If I hadn’t
stepped up, Child Protective Services would probably have been called in. I
saved our asses from foster care.”

           
“No, I haven’t forgotten and I’m not ‘Team Mom’, but I
know you don’t feel that way towards women, right?”

           
“Of course I don’t and Dom doesn’t either. Marco and
those guys are old school. Now back to your first concern,” Grant stopped
walking and ran a hand through his hair, which was flying around in the light
breeze, not slicked back like usual. “I don’t know why it doesn’t bother me.
I’m given a job and I do it. Even the first guy I killed to save Dom’s dad,
afterwards it was no big deal.”

           
“Don’t you feel remorse? If you don’t then you’re like a
sociopath or something.” I stood with my arms crossed, staring up at him.

           
“Sure, I feel remorse, but it isn’t crippling. I push it
aside and move on. Nat, these people I kill, they know the risks when they do
business with us. They fuck up, it’s on them.” He put his hands on my
shoulders. “You’re of a different make-up. I’ve tried to shield you from my
life and really thought I could protect you when I got you the job at Crimson.
I failed you and for this I feel a shitload of remorse.”

           
“There’s nothing we can do about that now and I certainly
played my part. You tried to dissuade me from seeing Dom and I didn’t listen to
you, but listened to my hormones instead.” I stepped closer to him and gave him
a hug, something we rarely ever did. He hesitantly put his arms around me. To
bystanders we probably looked like a couple, with Grant being shirtless and I
was still in a camisole and sleep shorts. “I can’t go back to Philly, Grant.
Mentally and emotionally, I’m not ready.”

His body tensed before
he released me with a sigh. “I know. Your panic attack at Dirty scared the shit
out of me. I’m not going to force you to go back, and I’ll talk to Dom. He’s not
going to like it, but if he loves you, and I’m positive he does, then he’ll
come around. We’ll just have to figure out a way to protect you here after
we’re gone.”

           
“Really? You’re not going to like toss me in the trunk
and not let me out until we’re in Philly?”

           
“Don’t be ridiculous, Nat. I love you too, ya know.
You’re my sis and I got you into this situation, it’s my responsibility to get
you out.”

           
“Thanks for understanding, Grant.” I gave him another hug
before we turned around and started walking back to the beach house. I didn’t
realize how far we had gone, easily a mile and a half. The sun was high
overhead and early stages of sunburn prickled my skin by the time we returned.

Grant opened the deck
door to chorus of angry voices. He shoved me behind him and cautiously stepped
inside. I followed, peering around his shoulder to see who was yelling. Chelsea
and Dominic were basically having a stand-off in the living room. Jason stood
in the background like a spectator at a tennis match, watching the volley of
words like a tennis ball.

           
“You got my girl in a fine mess, asshole!” Chelsea
screeched. “She cries out in her sleep every night, did you know that?”

           
“How can I know that when she left me? It’s hard to
protect her when she vanishes leaving us all behind and worried sick.”

           
“I don’t blame her for leaving. She got fucking shot!
She’s supposed to be in grad school, not hiding out scared of every little
sound. A car backfires and she practically shits herself.”

           
“Hey, enough!” I yelled, stepping out from behind Grant.
“Chelsea, I appreciate you defending me, but this isn’t helping.”

           
“Are you seriously thinking about going back there with
him?” She asked, gesturing towards Dom with an angry fling of her arm. Her face
was red with white splotches on her cheeks. It had been a long time since I’d
seen Chelsea worked up like this. Unfortunately the last time was about Dom as
well and that fight resulted in me moving out of the apartment Chelsea and I
shared in Philadelphia.

           
“And you,” marching up to Grant, she jabbed a finger at
his chest. “What the fuck were you thinking? She’s your sister!”

Grant didn’t even
flinch at Chelsea’s incessant jabbing instead he stood there and let her wail
on him.

           
“Chelsea!” I stood in front of my brother, forcing Chelsea
to stop. “I’m not going back to Philly, right Grant?”

           
“Right. Natalie’s staying here.”

           
“What the fuck?” Dominic shouted. “Grant, it’s not safe,
we talked about this.”

           
“We need to talk, come on.” Grant went back outside to
the deck and Dominic followed him. Once the door shut behind them, the tension
in the room immediately dialed down a notch or two.

Within seconds Chelsea
was pulling me into one of her lung collapsing hugs. “I was so worried about
you when Jason told me Grant and Dom were here.”

           
“You don’t have to worry. If they could encase me in
bulletproof glass they would. Grant and I worked things out. I’m staying in
L.A., if that’s okay with you? I mean, I can get my own place so you’re not at
risk or anything.”

           
“Of course you’re staying with me!”

           
“You’re really staying?” Jason asked. He had moved
closer. His bright eyes latched onto mine making me momentarily forget his
question.

           
“Yes,” I said after a few seconds, “and I’m really sorry
you got dragged into all of this. I’ll repay you.”

           
“For what? You don’t owe me anything.” He reached out and
lightly brushed his hand against mine. “I’m glad you’re not going back there.”

My attention was drawn
away from Jason and Chelsea to the escalating voices coming from outside. I
looked out the windows to see Dom pacing back and forth, gesticulating wildly
as he yelled at my brother. Grant shouted something back and charged, grabbing
Dom’s shirt in a tight grip, practically immobilizing him. He raised his other hand,
curled into a fist, to punch Dom and I snapped. Rushing forward, I pounded on
the glass, causing the whole pane to shake in its frame and making enough noise
to distract Grant. He looked up and saw me, instantly dropping his arm and
releasing Dom. Like boxers going to their corners between rounds, Dom and Grant
went to opposite ends of the deck. I kept watch and they didn’t fight after
that. A few minutes of “time-out” later they were sitting at the table where we
ate breakfast, talking like civilized adults. When Dom started nodding in
agreement to whatever Grant was saying, only then did I move away from the
window.

           
“Jesus, I’ve never seen Grant like that,” Chelsea said.
She had been standing behind me watching. “I knew he could be overbearing, but
physical like that? Your bro’s a bad ass.”

           
“Yeah, remind me to stay on his good side,” Jason joked.
He too had been watching.

           
“I think you can hold your own against Grant any day,” I
said to Chelsea.

           
“What do you think they’re talking about?” she asked.

           
“Grant said they need to come up with a plan to keep me
protected here for when they go back to Philly. First, he had to convince Dom
that is was better for me to stay.”

           
“Who will they get to protect you?” Jason asked.

           
“I think we’re about ready to find out,” I said. Grant
and Dominic were walking across the deck towards the door.

Dom’s eyes sought me
out the moment he was inside. He saw me sitting on the sectional and crossed
the room to sit beside me. He reached for my hand, entwining his fingers with
mine. “I’m sorry you saw us fighting. I was letting my selfishness get in the
way of what’s best for you right now.”

           
“What do you mean?”

           
“I just want you back, Natalie Ann Ross. I miss you, I
miss us.”

“I
miss us too.” My eyes misted up with tears before he lowered his head to mine
and captured my quivering lips with his. I forgot that anyone else was is in
the room the moment we connected. He leaned forward, his weight pressing me
back into the sofa cushions. Savoring the crush of our bodies and being
surrounded by his warmth, I buried my hands in his thick hair, pulling him
closer, deepening our kiss.

“Um,”
Grant cleared his throat. “I really don’t want to see this and I’m not the only
one.”

I stopped kissing Dom
and he lifted his head slightly, rubbing his nose against mine. My cheeks were
hot, so hot the tears that spilled down them felt cool. “Did I persuade you to
come home?” he asked softly, his voice husky.

I shook my head,
knocking another tear loose. “No, but you sure gave it a hell of a try.” I was
breathless when I responded and he gave me a sad smile, kissing me one more
time before pulling away. Sitting up, I adjusted my camisole top, which had
been pushed up past my belly button and looked around the room. Jason was no
longer there and Chelsea was standing by the door to the deck with her arms
crossed. She was shaking her head at me, giving me the “I’m disappointed in you
scowl” that was an exact replica of her mother’s, right down to the way the
fold in the crease between her eyebrows looked like a “Y”.

Grant briefly met my
eyes before sitting down on one end of the sectional, a couple cushions over
from where we were sitting.

           
“Dom and I need to pay a visit to Giovanni Bianchi now.
We’re going to see if we can make protection arrangements for you.”

           
“Wait, this is the guy you suspect those men who were at
Dirty work for, right?”

           
“Yeah,” Dom answered, giving my hand a reassuring
squeeze.

           
“But, isn’t that dangerous?”

           
“I’m not going to lie to you, Nat,” Grant said, staring
me straight in the eyes. “It’s risky. We don’t know for sure if those men last
night were there because of the hit. We’re going to find out. If it was just
coincidence, then we’ll negotiate some protection terms, if Gio is willing. He
might not be since it’s going against a mark issued by one of the Five
Families. Either way, we need to let him know we’re in town, it’s a customary
thing.”

           
“Do you have to kiss his ring like in The Godfather?”
Chelsea asked, sitting down next to Grant.

We all laughed. “No,
nothing like that,” Dom answered. He stood up and I followed, not willing to
break contact. He turned to face me. “We’ll be okay, baby, and will be back
soon.” Reaching a hand up, he brushed a stray hair off my cheek then bent down
to kiss me. His lips lingered over mine, a contrast of softness surrounded by
coarse stubble, which stimulated every nerve ending. Sighing, I wrapped my arms
around his waist and tilted my head back, an offering for more. I knew I was
only making it harder for myself, but I missed him and needed to savor the
moments we had before Grant and Dom went back to Philadelphia, without me.

We slowly separated
from each other, but only because Grant was hovering, impatiently jangling the
car keys in his hand. I walked with them outside. Right before they got in the
car, I noticed Grant subconsciously check for his weapon again, like he had the
night before, reminding me that they were going into this situation
unprotected. A riot of nerves erupted in my stomach and I almost ran after the
car as it pulled out of the driveway.

DOMINIC

We drove up into the
hills. The road was curvy and Grant navigated each turn with ease giving me the
opportunity to take in our surroundings. I occasionally caught a glimpse of the
Pacific, a much brighter blue than the Atlantic. Houses were spread out, most
hidden behind ornate fences and security gates. Not a single child could be
seen playing in a driveway or riding bikes in the street. The neighborhood was
dead quiet, which made me uneasy. I was used to the South Philly streets I grew
up on where everyone knew your business and it was perfectly acceptable for
other mothers in the neighborhood to discipline other kids. On a bright, sunny
day like this one, I would have been outside playing basketball at the courts
or buying water ice, making damn sure to burn up every last second of daylight
outside. Here they might as well have signs up on their perfect lawns that said
“No Children Allowed.”

Grant slowed down as he
reached the top of the hill and I double checked the address. “This is the
place,” I said. Grant pulled into the driveway and stopped at a call box
located outside the large wrought iron gate.
 
I noticed a surveillance camera at the top of one of the fence’s stucco
pillars. It moved to focus on the car.

           
“State your business,” a voice crackled over the
intercom.

           
‘Dominic Grabano and Grant Ross – we’re here to see Mr.
Bianchi.”

           
“You don’t have an appointment.”

           
“No we don’t, but it’s urgent that we speak with him.”

           
“Stand by.”

Grant put the car in
park and leaned back with his arm hanging out of the window. I tapped my
fingers against my leg and gnawed on my lower lip. Five minutes passed without
any movement or further communication. We waited a few more minutes before the
voice crackled over the intercom preceded by a burst of static.

           
“Mr. Bianchi will see you now. Please pull in and park
out front.”

The gate rattled open
on its tracks and Grant pulled forward. I watched in the side view mirror as
the camera swiveled to follow our progress. The palm tree-lined driveway cut a
line through a desert landscape loaded with palmetto and bougainvillea which
were bursting with fuchsia blossoms. Ahead loomed a Spanish-style estate, the
exterior was a burnt orange colored stucco and a wide stone archway marked the
main entrance. The circular driveway wrapped around a large fountain and there
was an expanded area off to the side large enough for three cars. Grant parked
there and we stepped out. I paused admiring the view of the Pacific, clearly
visible through swaying palm fronds. Grant followed me up the wide stone steps
to another wrought iron gate and peered in through the bars at a courtyard.
Approaching footsteps echoed within the courtyard walls. We straightened up and
stepped back from the gate.

A short and stocky man
filled the entryway. While Grant and I stood close to a foot taller than this
guy, he was clearly a musclehead. His black t-shirt was so tight over his giant
biceps it looked as though the short sleeves were either going to explode or
cut off the circulation to his arms. He pulled out a medieval looking key and
unlocked the gate, which swung inwards with a squeak.

           
“Do you have any weapons?” he growled.

           
“No, we’re unarmed,” I answered.

           
“I need to check anyway. Arms out.” We complied, standing
with our arms extended and legs spread. After the man patted us down, he let
out a satisfied grunt before locking the gate behind us.

           
“Follow me. Mr. Bianchi said he can spare ten minutes
since you’ve come such a long way.”

We were led around the
courtyard along a shaded walkway; a series of smaller arches, lined with
brightly painted Spanish tiles, cast a half-moon of sunlight on the flagstone.
Metal bistro tables and chairs were set up in clusters by each arch. A metal
loveseat and two chairs, all covered with brightly colored cushions were set
facing a freestanding stucco fireplace in the center of the courtyard.

I wasn’t surprised at
the opulence. Giovanni “Gio” Bianchi had his hands in a lot of lucrative pots,
which explained the tight security. One of those pots was a heroin trade
business that extended from coast to coast. He was a business partner of Uncle
Marco, which is why I was hoping he’d be willing to lend us some weapons while
we were in town.

At the opposite end of
the courtyard from the main entrance was a double sided glass door, which was
wide open. Gio’s man ushered us in and we stepped onto gleaming hardwood
floors. The ceiling was low, but when we moved further into the room, I
realized it was because a balcony was above us. It had a dark iron railing and
ran the length of one wall, ending at an archway that led to another section of
the house.
 
A sweeping staircase seemed
suspended in air as it curved to the second floor; each rise was decorated with
Spanish tiles. A matching reddish brown leather chair and loveseat sat on top of
an ornate rug. Natural light filtered in through arched windows above the
balcony and cast the room in a golden glow.

We passed through this
room, through another archway and down a hallway. Gio’s man stopped at a closed
wooden door and rapped on it.

           
“Come in,” a muffled male voice said.

The door swung into an
office. Gio Bianchi sat behind a massive gothic style desk, the wood so dark it
looked black. He leaned back in a leather desk chair, his hands forming a
triangle in front of his mouth. He watched us as we entered the room, tracking
our every movement. Two men stood on each side of him facing the door. I took note
that they were both packing; Glocks from the look of the grips sticking out of
their holsters. One of the men was tall with long, dark hair and I recognized
him from one of the many negotiations, what my uncle liked to call “summits”.
His muscular arms were covered in tattoos that disappeared underneath the
sleeves of his black t-shirt. The other man was shorter and completely bald,
which drew attention to a jagged scar that ran from the corner of his right eye
down the length of his cheek, ending at his chin. The right side of his mouth
hung down in a permanent frown from the nerve damage.

Not wanting to stare, I
diverted my attention back to Gio Bianchi. He was the smallest in the room, but
stature didn’t mean anything. When he spoke, all of his men listened. We were
wise to do the same so when he told Grant and I to sit, gesturing to the two
chairs in front of his desk, we complied.

           
“You boys are a long way from home, but I’m glad you’re
checking in. Victor told me you were in town.” Gio nodded his head in the
direction of the tall tattooed soldier who was standing to his left.

There was an unwritten
rule that when visiting another Mafioso’s territory, you were to make your
presence known within 24-hours. Grant and I were cutting it close, but the fact
that he already knew confirmed it wasn’t coincidence those men were at Dirty.
My fists clenched at the thought of Natalie being watched and vulnerable. I
noticed Grant’s jaw was bulging and the vein in his temple was popping so I
knew he was having similar thoughts.

           
“Let me guess, you’re here about the girl,” Bianchi said,
leaning forward.

Fuck, he did know about
Nat. My immediate reaction was to lash out like a feral animal and eliminate
the threat, but we were unarmed and outnumbered.

           
“I have to admit I was a little surprised that Marco
outsourced the job. He usually takes care of things in-house. Did he change his
mind?”

           
“What are you talking about?” I asked.

           
“The mark on the girl, you know the one that Marco issued?”

I turned to look at
Grant, he shifted in his seat. “Marco put the hit out on Natalie?” It was
Grant’s turn to ask.

Gio smacked his hand
down on the desk and leaned forward. “You guys didn’t know? What the fuck are
you doing here then?”

           
“The girl is my sister and we were going to ask for
protection until we took her back to Philly, but considering this new
information…” Grant stood up and started pacing, rubbing the back of his neck
as he processed the latest development. “Are you sure the hit was issued by
Marco and not one of the five families?”

           
“Your sister?” This information seemed to pique Gio’s
interest.

           
“Yes, and she’s my girlfriend,” I added.

           
“And you’re Marco’s nephew, right?”

           
“Yes and Grant’s engaged to Marco’s daughter, Miranda.”

Gio sat back in his
chair as if this new information literally knocked him backwards. “What the
hell did your sister do to piss Marco off?” he asked.

           
“The only thing I can think of is that she left – she
basically ran away out here after saving Dom’s life.”

Gio’s gaze switched
focus to me. “Yeah, there was a drive-by and I would have died if it weren’t
for Nat.”

           
‘Interesting,” Gio said, tapping his fingers on the desk.
“Victor, what do you know of this girl?”

Victor uncrossed his
arms and shifted his stance. “Aside from being a hot piece of ass?” he snorted
and the other soldier laughed too. I tensed at his statement, but managed to
stay calm and not launch out of my seat. “She seems harmless. Although as far
as her being your girlfriend, she’s pretty friendly with that blonde bartender
at Dirty.” Victor directed this comment at me. I could still taste the kisses
Natalie and I shared that morning and being reminded that Jason had feasted on
those same lips really pissed me off, but I couldn’t react to Victor’s jab.

           
“It’s complicated,” I said instead.

           
“So she wasn’t Marco’s girl and fucked around on him, she
didn’t steal anything like money or drugs?” Gio asked.

           
“No, she’s a total newb to the life.”

           
“Fucking Marco,” Gio said, pushing his chair back and standing
up. He walked around to the front of his desk, sitting on the edge. His feet
barely touched the tile floor. “Sounds like he’s still crazy, huh?”

This was like the pot
calling the kettle black because Gio’s own ruthlessness was just as legendary.
There was a rumor that when Gio caught his first wife cheating on him, he had
her lover killed right in front of her then he forced her to bathe in his
blood.

           
“Are you going to let your uncle get away with this?” Gio
asked.

           
“No,” I answered, staring the short fucker down so my
seriousness wasn’t questioned. Learning that Uncle Marco was the one who
ordered the hit on Natalie, feeding us misinformation to make us think New York
had issued the order only accelerated our plans to remove him as Don.

           
“Interesting.” Gio smiled a malicious smile that didn’t
reach his eyes. “Is it safe to assume there might be some new leadership in
Philly?”

That was a loaded
question and one that needed to be answered carefully. Grant, who had returned
to his seat, twisted around to face me. He nodded his head toward the door.

           
“Can you excuse us?”
 
I asked Gio.

           
“You have two minutes and they better be worth my time.
Understand?”

We agreed and left the
office. The same man who showed us in stood guard outside the door. He watched
us as we moved further down the hall out of earshot.

           
“What the fuck is going on?” Grant hissed. “Fucking Marco
wants Nat dead? How did we not know this?”

           
“I didn’t have a fucking clue. Swear to God. My dad
probably knew this whole time too. Fuck!” I wanted to punch something, but
putting a hole in Gio’s wall wasn’t a good idea.

           
“Dom, I know you didn’t know. As much as I don’t want to
admit it, you love my sister and I trust you.”

           
“Are we agreed that Marco needs to be eliminated sooner
than later?” Our foreheads were practically touching as we whispered.

           
“Yeah, but do we reveal our plan to Gio or is he going to
tell Marco?”

           
“I know they’re not best buds or anything and Gio is
still pissed at Marco over the heroin deal.”

           
“Why?” Grant asked.

           
‘Gio wanted a twenty percent share and is only getting
fifteen.”

           
“So, if we promise an increase once we take Marco out, do
you think he’ll go for it?”