Mafia Secret (9 page)

Stepping out of the bathroom, she jumped in surprise at Marc leaning in the doorway between the living room and bedroom. This was becoming an unwelcome habit of his. He really needed to make more noise when he moved. She was about to protest when she noticed his remote mask was back in place.

Lessa cocked her head. "Everything all right?"

"You ready?"

She tugged at the three-quarter length sleeves, but gave up in disgust. Who was she trying to impress anyway? "Ready as I'll ever be."

Picking her purse up off the bed, she followed him out. Her stomach fluttered and her nerves jumped at the thought of where she was going. In the short time she'd known Marc, she'd counted on him to keep her feelings at a manageable level, but he was now distracted by whatever was upsetting him and wasn't inclined to share the information with her.

The house was quiet as they walked through the front door.

"Everyone's left?" Lessa asked.

He opened the back door of a large black sedan and leaned against the open door. "About an hour ago."

She stopped halfway across the leather seat in surprise. He bumped her as he climbed in, and she scooted the last foot over. "That long? I didn't realize."

He was silent a moment. His gaze fixed on the window before he finally turned to her. "They needed to make sure everything was ready. Ever been to a Catholic funeral?"

She shook her head. His terseness was making her nerves worse and she had to blink to push unexpected tears back.

"We're going to a Requiem Mass at the family's church. No one gets up and talks except for the priest. After the Mass, we'll go to the cemetery. There'll be several important people there paying their respects. Some of them will come to the house afterward. I," he hesitated, "I want to keep you under the radar as much as possible."

She raised her eyebrows at the intrigue, almost relieved to have something else to occupy her thoughts. "How do you propose to do that?"

"Just try not to attract any attention."

She laughed. In this dress she highly doubted anyone would notice her. "Then I don't think you need to worry."

Marc looked as if he was going to disagree, then shook his head. "Just do what I say."

"When haven't I?"

He slouched in his seat so he could look at her fully. "You had several family conversations without my permission."

"Permission? I wasn't aware of any rules regarding speaking with my family."

"You're right." He inclined his head in acknowledgement, and a small smile teased his lips.

The car pulled into the parking lot next to an impressive Catholic church. The driver stopped at a side door.

"It's time," Marc said. "It'll be starting in the next couple of minutes."

"Are we late?"

He shook his head to reassure her. It worked. He always managed to loosen the knot in her stomach. She glanced around to distract herself as he guided her up the short stairs. The parking lot was full, and she could hear the murmur of voices from inside the sanctuary.

They joined the last of the stragglers squeezing into the room. She didn't know if she was glad or disappointed she couldn't see the front because of all the heads in front of her. He pulled her back even farther, and they sat in the last row next to a large pot overflowing with flowers.

"Are we hidden enough?" She tried not to laugh. This wasn't the time to laugh, but his insistence on trying to keep her hidden was either hysterical or scary. She preferred hysterical.

He looked around them with narrowed eyes. "Probably not."

She glanced at the flowers cascading over her skirt and smiled. The priest's voice boomed out and the Mass began. Since she'd never been to a Catholic funeral before, she listened attentively at first, but found she couldn't make out what the priest was saying. So she gave up on listening and focused on observing as much as she could. Trying not to be too obvious, she glanced around the church in curiosity. The family, her family, had to be up front, but she was interested in seeing the other people attending Jiovanni's funeral.

Finding herself the subject of several cool appraisals from those around her caught her by surprise. Wondering if she'd done some sort of faux pas, she dismissed the thought as she saw their eyes go to Marc first and then to her. They were interested in her only because she was with him. His large hand still held her arm as if afraid he'd lose her if he stopped touching her. Wasn't he expected to be in the front of the church with the family?

Marc mumbled something under his breath, drawing her attention to his frowning face. "This wasn't a smart idea."

"What?"

"You're attracting too much attention."

"They're wondering why I'm with you."

"Let's go." He stood up.

Those who hadn't noticed them before immediately shot looks in their direction.

"We'd probably catch more attention leaving," Lessa whispered.

He sat back down with a frown. "You're right. Just," he pulled at the clip fastening her hair, "hide your face."

She released the barrette and let her hair cascade down. "Maybe you should put your jacket over my head?"

His lips quirked for a second before resuming his frown, but he didn't respond.

The priest called for prayer and everyone bowed their heads. The service continued in the same sober tone for almost an hour. Lessa was developing a decided crick in her neck from tilting it to keep her hair blocking her face, and she was getting very bored staring at her shoes.

Finally, all of the mourners rose, signaling the end of the service. Marc hustled her out of the cathedral and out a side door. It was a short walk to the gravesite. Because Marc was a pallbearer with Jiovanni's sons, she'd been passed off to some burly guy named Silvio.

Silvio was a man of few words, she discovered as they trailed behind the service. The few questions she'd asked him had been answered by either a "yes" or a "no."

Giving up, she waited with him as the priest began the funeral rites over the burial site. Marc slipped away from the family and headed to the small grove of trees where she waited beside Silvio. Her escort nodded at Marc as he drew near before walking off to where the Tazio cars were lined up on the drive.

As Lessa watched the casket being lowered into the ground, it hit her much more forcefully than in the church that her father—a man she'd never had the chance to know—was gone forever. She automatically pictured Peter and struggled with the idea of replacing his memory with Jiovanni's image. Her eyes started to burn and she took a deep breath, trying to stop the swelling of grief. It was easier being an observer than a participant. Lessa felt a sudden pang of regret that she hadn't asked to see him. Her father was about to be buried, and she had never even looked upon his face.

Lucia sobbed hysterically as she clutched Jio. Lessa focused her energy on the widow who had just lost her husband. She seemed to have loved Jiovanni very much. It had to be difficult for her to have proof of her husband's indiscretions right in front of her.

"Ready to go?" Marc asked, interrupting her thoughts.

She pulled herself away from the drama around the gravesite. "Can I ask you a question?"

"What?" His eyes narrowed as he focused on her.

"I understand the family doesn't want me to intrude on their grief, but you seem to be taking it to the extreme. Why can't I pay my own respects?"

"It doesn't have to do with the family's grief." He glanced over his shoulder at the scene she was watching. "Look at Clarissa."

"Okay." She focused on her half-sister who kept her gaze on the ground and her hands clenched behind her back.

"Do you see who's around her?"

Lessa frowned, not understanding what he meant. "The family."

"The two men standing about ten feet away are her guards for the event. She never goes anywhere without at least two guards. Do you see Nina and the kids? Now, Jio is with them so his guard is doubling as their guard, but there are four altogether assigned just to them. Lucia's guards have been with her for years. She probably sees more of them than she does her husband."

His lecturing tone drew her gaze to his face. "What are you getting at?"

"No one knows who you are. It's prudent to keep things that way. Do you like your life back in Florida? If you want it to bear any resemblance to what you left, I highly suggest we leave. Clarissa has to be protected not because she knows anything. If anyone asked her, she'll clearly tell them she has no interest in the business and knows
nada
. She has to be protected because a competitor of Jiovanni's could target her for revenge or to force Jiovanni into doing something."

Biting her lip, she was suddenly glad for the breeze which kept blowing her hair into her face. "Where's your guard?"

Marc's lips curved in humor. "I am a guard. Your guard."

"You enjoy speaking in riddles."

He shrugged and put his arm around her waist to urge her to walk away from the funeral. "As long as no one has any clue of your connection to the family, you can go back to your little life. If it gets out . . ."

Turning her head to peer up at Marc, she noticed the family's attorney, MacDonald, walking briskly toward where the cars were parked. She followed the man's gaze to a young woman walking from the parking lot toward the gravesite. Even from this distance it was clear she was crying. MacDonald confronted the girl, grabbing her shoulders, keeping her from getting any closer.

"Who's that?" Lessa asked.

Marc frowned at the small drama. "Ryan's daughter, Opal. He said she was sick."

"She doesn't look good." They drew parallel to Ryan and Opal.

"Everything okay, Ryan?" Marc called out just loudly enough for them to hear.

MacDonald jerked and looked at them briefly. "Oh, Marc. Yeah, Opal's not feeling well and shouldn't have come."

"I'm fine," Opal cried. "I want to say goodbye."

Her father put his arm around her shoulders and forced her to turn and walk back with him to his car. He spoke in a low voice in her ear, and the girl crumpled even more. Lessa's view of them was cut off as a car pulled in front of them. Silvio jumped out of the passenger seat and opened the back door.

She slid in, noticing the driver was the same one who had brought them to the church. She wondered if he'd sat in the car through the entire service.

Marc slid in next to her. "Back to the house."

M
arc looked up the stairs for probably the fiftieth time in the last hour. He'd taken Lessa up and deposited her in her room just before the first guest arrived. She'd nodded distractedly as he'd given her instructions to stay in her room and not come out until after the last guest left. Yet, he kept waiting for her to come sneaking down. It was what he would have done in her position. She hadn't even attempted to make an appearance.

The main door opened, and Marc frowned at the new arrival. He pushed away from his position on the wall and paced alongside the lead lieutenant of Jiovani's long-time rival Benito Romano. Rocco Paolo subtly gave him the middle finger salute just as he stepped into the parlor. Marc gritted his teeth, but followed him. Grabbing Rocco and throwing him out might cause too much of a problem. At least until Jio decided what he was going to do.

He suspected that the external challenges Jio mentioned earlier were coming from Benito and his men. Rocco walked up to Lucia and took her hand, his face a false mask of sorrow. Jio made a beeline for his mother.

Jio spoke quietly but forcefully into the man's ear. Marc held back the urge to go and assist, but this was a test. Jio would have to deal with the unwelcome intruder on his own without assistance. Marc turned subtly and observed the room. Several gazes were trained on the exchange between the two men. Jio looked up, caught Marc's eye and jerked his chin to the door. Rocco reluctantly walked with Jio toward Marc.

"Marc, Rocco has overstayed his welcome and needs to be escorted to his car."

"My pleasure," Marc replied, giving Rocco a hard stare before grabbing his arm and propelling him out of the room.

It wasn't until they'd stepped out of the house that Rocco opened his mouth. "Nicely done, Marco." Rocco wrenched his arm away and smoothed his suit jacket as Marc stopped in front of his car. "My employer wishes to offer you a branch."

"He needs to speak to Jio." He braced his feet and kept his arms hanging loose and ready.

"He's not interested in dealing with the Ivy-educated whelp. You were brought up the right way. You know what it's like to start from the bottom and claw your way to the top. He'd like to offer you a position."

Marc went from suspicious to amused. Benito knew where his allegiance lay. It was another test for Jio. He was going to have to let Jio know Benito was trying to tempt people away to check his loyalty base. "Tell Mr. Romano, thanks, but no thanks."

"You should think before you answer." Rocco frowned when Marc didn't say anything else, but finally climbed in his car.

Marc waited until the car had disappeared out of sight. "Silvio."