With Good Behavior (31 page)

“If you had joined my business, if you had agreed to work with me, this never would have happened, Sophie. I never would have let some mobster ingratiate himself with you like that.”

“Dad!”

“But obviously I was not persuasive enough to make you follow the right path. Like I said, I’m a horrible father.”

“No, you’re not,” Sophie argued again, but as she heard the words, she was infuriated. He was making this all about 
him
. What about 
her? 
Why the hell was she taking care of his emotions instead of her own?

He rebutted, “Yes, I—”

“This is bullshit!” she yelled, causing Will to pause midsentence. She rushed ahead. “You weren’t 
persuasive
 enough? You kicked me out of the damn house! You stopped paying for my college. Now I have major student loans hanging over my head, thanks to your 
persuasion
 for me to major in accounting instead of psychology.”

He looked astonished, but Sophie could not stop her wounded diatribe. “I was so hurt when you cut me off like that! I was so scared of being all on my own. And then, when you didn’t visit me in prison … when you looked at me that way at Mom’s funeral …”

She felt herself shaking, her cheeks flushed with the release of pent-up emotion. She turned her furious eyes on him.

“Do you know how 
awful
 it was in prison? Do you know how scared I was? How hard it was to go a whole year without talking to you once? Did you think about me at all that entire year?”

She finally paused long enough for Will to get a word in.

“I worried about you every day in there. Your mother was sick with fear—”

“She’s not here anymore, Dad!” Sophie exploded. “She’s not here to be a buffer between us. I need a father in my life, okay? I need you. I keep making really bad decisions, and I need your advice, okay? I’m sick of choosing men who hurt me! I’m sick of you never being there for me!”

Suddenly tired, Sophie found her father cautiously studying her. She withdrew, preparing for him to yell back at her for her disrespect and unladylike behavior.

Instead, Will continued staring with a curious look that bordered on admiration. “You’ve never talked to me like that before.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he said. “I deserved that.”

Sophie stared. He reached across the table and grasped her slender hand in his.

“Thank you for giving me another chance.”

“You’re not mad?”

“I wish I was. Pastor Tom told me anger was a healthy part of grief, but I can’t seem to get angry, no matter how hard I try.” He sighed. “But I wouldn’t be mad about you telling it to me straight up like that. Contractors go off on me all the time, and I don’t mind. It’s just business. I’d rather people be honest so we can solve the problem. If I’d known you could be so direct, I’d have been even more eager to hire you.”

“Dad,” she warned.

He chuckled. “Relax, I won’t incite your wrath again on the subject. I know you’re a psychologist. Um, I mean, uh, you were a psychologist.” An awkward moment passed between them and he asked, “Have you gotten yourself a job?”

“Yes, I just got a new job, but before that I was working on a ship—oh, shoot, what time is it?”

“A little before ten.”

“Oh, no, I’ve got to get there soon to talk to my boss …” She swallowed hard, silently finishing her sentence, 
before Grant gets there. 
“I have to quit.”

You know my brother?

“You’re not giving notice?” Will asked.

“What?”

“You’re not giving two weeks’ notice before you quit? That’s not a wise idea, Sophie.”

“Dad, I can’t! I have to quit today. I have no choice.” 
I can’t work with a man who lies.

Seeing the fear on her face, Will demanded, “What’s wrong? Why do you have to quit 
today
?”

She bit her lip, feeling too overwhelmed to confess she had fallen in love with Logan Barberi’s brother. “It’s complicated,” she said.

“Sophie? Are you in trouble?”

“No, Dad. Well, I won’t be in trouble once I quit this job.” 
You know my brother? 
Her chest tightened. She knew it was over with Grant. She just wished it didn’t have to hurt so much. “It’s complicated,” she repeated. “I may not have made the wisest choice when it came to my last boyfriend.”

“Shocker.”

Momentarily stunned, she could not stop her smile. “You’re never going to let Derek Bowden go, are you, Dad?”

“Sophie, Sophie, Sophie. You and your bad boys.” Will shook his head disapprovingly.

“Don’t worry. I’m swearing off men for the rest of my life.” She was determined to lock up her heart. She simply could not get hurt again.

Will stroked his chin. “Don’t call it quits on men yet, or else some lucky guy will miss getting to call you his wife one day.” He looked wistful. “I sure am lucky your mother married me.”

“But, Dad, you and Mom argued all the time.”

“I know, I know. I guess—you know what they say, ‘You only realize what you’ve got when it’s gone.’ I didn’t truly appreciate your mother until too late.” Sophie was shocked when her father’s voice thickened with emotion. Without excusing himself, he quickly left the kitchen.

She stared after him. 
You only realize what you’ve got when it’s gone. 
But she’d known very well what she had with Grant. She 
had 
appreciated what they shared for one glorious month. Even though he’d hurt her irrevocably, she didn’t know if she’d be able to make it without her McSailor.

* * *

Grant plodded toward the ship, grateful that his workplace was not far from the courthouse. A shooting pain seared through his left side any time he shifted the wrong way. He wondered if Logan had caused permanent damage with that last jab. But despite the pain, he had punished his body with a grueling workout. Perhaps he’d overdone his early-morning exercise regimen, but pushups were strangely calming for him, reminding him of his orderly days in the military. And running was all he knew to do when the demons of his family started chasing him again.

A paroxysm of anger and regret seized him. Recalling his heated exchange with his brother the night before, Grant ran his hand across his jaw, careful to avoid the tender bruise on his left cheek.

He hated how he’d acted like a child around his big brother the previous evening. He’d behaved like an eight year old, crying and telling Logan he wished he were dead. Grant winced as that wounded comment looped through his mind once again. What a horrible thing to say—but at least he’d gotten Logan to leave his apartment.

“You’re early!” Roger bellowed when Grant stepped onto the deck. He squinted into the July sun and saw his boss descending the steps from the bridge.

“Where’s your better half?” Roger inquired jovially.

“How should I know? I’m not her keeper,” Grant responded testily.

“Whoa. Trouble in paradise?” He noticed his employee’s battered face. “Yikes, did you let yourself get hit by a woman, Madsen? Should I call the cops and report domestic violence?”

Observing Grant’s distraught expression, Roger stopped kidding around. In a softer tone, he asked, “What’s wrong?”

Grant gulped. “Nothing. I’m going to go clean toilets.” The shit had hit the fan, and now it was time to start cleaning it up.

Roger watched him hustle aft, appearing eager to clean the restrooms for some bizarre reason. Shaking his head, Roger muttered, “Fucking parolee.”

About an hour later, Roger was reading the food section of the 
Chicago Tribune
, drooling over a recipe for Italian sausage meatballs, when he heard his name being called. Peering down his nose, he saw Sophie looking up at him nervously.

“Is Grant here?” she asked while Roger made his way down the stairs.

He was bamboozled by her sexy black pantsuit, and he ogled her while inquiring, “How are you going to serve drinks wearing 
that?
”

Sophie glanced down at her pantsuit. It was nothing special, particularly since she’d been wearing it two days in a row now. She hadn’t had the courage to put on one of her mother’s outfits, even though her father kept Laura’s entire wardrobe hanging in the closet.

“Rog, I, um, I can’t work today.”

“What?” he countered angrily. “I gave you yesterday off, Taylor. One day. I expect you to work today.”

“Actually, I can’t work any day. I have to, um, resign. I’m sorry.”

Roger’s jaw dropped. “You’re quitting? Why?”

She bit her lower lip. “I’m sorry, Rog. I hate to do this to you—you’ve been so kind to take me in when I really needed a job, but I …” She stopped talking as she sensed another presence on deck and felt intense gemstone eyes on her.

Swallowing hard, Sophie looked to the left, confirming that Grant had indeed emerged from wherever he’d been hiding on the ship. He looked pained and had a deep bruise on his left cheek, which made him look even more like a criminal. Her heart pounded furiously as she carefully stepped back toward the railing.

Perplexed by her fear, Roger studied Sophie, then Grant. Grant took a step forward, and Sophie inhaled sharply, her eyes growing wider.

“Sophie,” he pleaded.

“Stay away from me!”

Roger continued to stare back and forth between them. “What the fuck is wrong with you two?”

Seeing her so sickeningly scared of him made Grant want to run, to give her the sense of safety she desperately seemed to need, but he felt compelled to speak. He couldn’t help himself.

“Please, Sophie. I need to talk to you.”

“I have nothing to say to you,” she insisted. “Go run your con on some other woman.”

“It’s not a con,” he protested. “I had no idea what Logan did to you—I promise. I … I 
love
 you.”

“You lied to me!” she cried.

“I didn’t know what Lo did to you! How can I lie about something I know nothing about?”

“Stop playing games, Grant Barberi. You lied to me every time you pretended to be someone other than the son of Enzo Barberi. You lied to me every time you failed to admit you were the brother of Logan Barberi!”

Grant looked over to see Roger staring at him with an apparent new understanding, a look bordering between fascination and respect. Grant felt sick.

There was nothing he could say to refute her words, and he hung his head low. He felt utterly defeated, like a little boy who’d just been scolded. Sophie’s throat constricted, picturing him as an innocent four year old, beaten within an inch of his life. She had to look away, drawing her hand to her mouth to stifle a cry.

Grant noticed her distress and fought the urge to scoop her into his arms. She would never let him hold her now. How had this all gone so wrong?

Sophie backed up another step, and it was obvious she was about to flee. She delivered her last words in a seething tone, masking the tears in her voice. “I don’t want 
anything
 to do with you and your family! Your brother ruined my life!”

She leaped from the ship, running as fast as her legs would carry her.

Heartbroken, Grant held his head in his hands. “He ruined my life too.”

She was gone.

L
ogan rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he made his way down the deserted warehouse-district street. It wasn’t the first time he’d slept outside on a bench by the lake, but for some reason it seemed he’d sunk to an all-time low. He was responsible for putting two people—the only two people he cared about besides his son—in prison. A man responsible for such pain certainly did not deserve the finer things in life, like a warm bed or fresh, laundered clothing.

Although undeserving of others’ help, he’d still reached out for some financial assistance with the hope of affording a warm bed tonight, maybe in a hotel room somewhere. He’d called the one man who could not refuse him: his godfather, Angelo. Although Angelo had not sounded pleased about shelling out even more money, Logan knew he couldn’t turn away his nephew and godson.

Entering their rendezvous point, an abandoned warehouse on the west side, Logan stopped short when he saw who was waiting for him. It was not the calm, grizzled patriarch of the Barberi family. Instead, it was his menacing, envious, black-haired son, flanked by two imposing Mafia thugs. Logan eyed his cousin Carlo and the muscled men standing at a respectful distance behind him.

Logan nodded to the behemoth on Carlo’s left, who had somehow added to his bulk in prison. “Didn’t know you were out, Meat.”

Mario, known as “Meat” inside the family, simply grunted in return.

“And of course you know Tank,” Carlo said with a sugary smile, gesturing to the man on his right. Logan studied the six-foot-three, brown-haired bodybuilder Anthony Tanketti, whose eyes narrowed upon meeting his gaze.

Both remembered the incident three years ago. Angelo had ordered Logan to “take care of” Tank after he’d unknowingly attracted the FBI’s attention by falling in love with an undercover agent. Angelo had luckily discovered her true identity, and he’d commanded Carlo to kill the federal agent and Logan to rough up Tank. The feds had been on the Barberi family like sauce on spaghetti ever since, hoping to avenge the murder of their agent yet unable to prove the family had anything to do with her death.

Eyeing Tank’s transformation from lean to large, Logan surmised he’d decided to familiarize himself with the inside of a gym following such a humiliating beating. Tank crossed his arms in front of his substantial chest, smirking at Logan.

“Where’s Angelo?” Logan asked.

“He sent me instead,” Carlo replied, recalling their heated argument an hour ago. Carlo was incensed that Angelo overlooked Logan’s absence in the latest drug deal, and he’d become even more furious when he discovered his father was planning to loan some cash to his archrival. He’d used all his charm to persuade his father to let him take his place.

Maintaining his saccharine smile, Carlo added, “Angelo’s busy. You know, making money for the family? A concept that seems to be lost on you, 
cugino
.”

Logan cleared his throat nervously. “Yeah, I couldn’t make it last night. I had someone I needed to see.”

Carefully studying his cousin’s bruised face, Carlo scoffed. “Apparently that someone kicked your ass.”

Logan wondered if he’d said too much. “So, is Angelo showing up or not?”

“Not,” Carlo said.

Trying to appear nonchalant, Logan said, “Well, I guess I’ll leave then.” His subtle step backward caused the human guard dogs to tense behind Carlo.

“Not so fast, cuz,” Carlo warned, taking a step toward Logan with his two sentries by his side. “We got some things to discuss first.”

Despite the pleasant expression on his cousin’s face, Logan sensed the threat immediately, and his mind raced with options. Should he run? No. He quickly dismissed that act of embarrassing cowardice. Should he fight? He didn’t like the odds. Three men at once was a losing bet. The only choice was to try to placate Carlo until he could get the hell out of here and perhaps start a new life—one far away from Chicago.

“What do you want to discuss?” Logan asked evenly, sticking his hands in the pockets of his black leather jacket.

His apparent cooperation seemed to calm Carlo, whose shoulders relaxed slightly. “We got lots to discuss,” he began, ticking off each topic on the fingers of his left hand. “Where your brother is, for one. It’s about time the fucking coward joins the family. Why the hell the cops are after you, for another. Then there’s the matter of two hundred thousand dollars you owe us.” He smiled smugly. “But we’ll start with a discussion about job absenteeism. You took an unauthorized vacation day, leaving Tank over here high and dry if the police had caught wind of the transaction and shown up last night. The boss ain’t happy at all about you just deciding not to follow orders.”

“I’m sorry,” Logan replied in a conciliatory tone. “It won’t happen again.”

Carlo turned to Tank and mocked, “Aw, he’s sorry.” They shared a smirk before Carlo returned his attention to his cousin. “Where were you, Lo?”

Remembering the scene in his brother’s apartment, he winced. “I had some business to take care of.” 
Some lives to ruin.

“What kind of business?” Carlo edged imperceptibly closer to Logan.

“None of yours,” Logan assured him.

Tilting his head to the side, Carlo swept a questioning look up and down Logan’s tense body. His cousin behaved so protectively when it came to only one person.

“Were you with Grant?”

“No,” Logan responded a little too quickly, a trickle of sweat trailing down his spine. “Why would you think that?”

Carlo licked his lips and stepped in even closer. He had his answer. “Where is he?”

Logan felt the hairs on the back of his neck bristle. “I have no idea. This isn’t about Grant. This is between you and me—”

Carlo must have given some sort of signal because suddenly Tank and Mario lunged for him. Surprised, Logan recoiled to get off a hard punch and a swift kick, but before he knew it, he had both arms pinned behind his back, held in place by the inordinately strong men at his side. Logan managed to kick the side of Tank’s knee, making the big man groan and stumble, but not lose grip of his prey.

“Get him on his knees,” Carlo ordered.

“Get your goons the fuck off of me,” Logan snarled as they wrestled him to the floor. “Angelo is not going to like this.”

Carlo laughed derisively, yanking Logan’s chin and forcing him to look up into his black eyes. Though the motion was harsh, it reminded Logan of Sophie cupping his chin once, lovingly caressing his face as he cried in her office. However, there was nothing comforting about Carlo’s unyielding grip, his fierce gaze, or his livid words.

“You think my father would choose 
you 
over 
me? 
Think again, cuz.” His grasp tightened and his fingers dug into the bruises lining Logan’s jaw. “Where is Grant, you piece of shit? If you’re not going to do your job, I’ll find somebody who will!”

Logan gritted his teeth and shut his eyes, refusing to look at his cousin, which infuriated him.

Carlo cocked his right arm and sent his fist careening into Logan’s gut. “Look at me!” he screamed, clutching Logan’s chin once again.

Defiant blue eyes stared back at him, and Carlo desperately wanted to wipe the insolent smirk off his cousin’s face. “You and your brother—hell, your father too—the lot of you, you’ve never helped this family 
once. 
You only pull us down.”

“Speak for yourself, Carlo,” Logan retorted in his deep baritone. “Should I remind you how badly you fucked up Blackfoot?”

“You son of a bitch,” Carlo sneered, whaling another punch across Logan’s face. A trickle of blood oozed from Logan’s nose, dripping onto his white T-shirt.

“Carlo,” Mario cautioned. “
Stare attento
. He’s Enzo’s son, for chrissake!”

“
Silenzio
!” Carlo hissed. “What the hell can Enzo do, locked up in Gurnee?”

“You’re right to be concerned,” Logan told Mario. “Angelo’s going to discipline you both when he finds out you held me down.”

Tank twisted his arm tighter, and Logan grimaced in pain. “Shut the fuck up, Barberi,” Tank commanded.

“That’s the spirit, Tank.” Carlo smiled, then returned his attention to Logan. “The only person Angelo will be disciplining is 
you
, you spineless good-for-nothing. You 
will
 start pulling your weight in this family, Logan. Or I will beat you down every day until you do.”

Logan boldly jutted out his jaw. “You’ll have to threaten me with something a little more real than that, cuz. Your fairy punches are even weaker than Grant’s.”

Feeling blind fury, Carlo unleashed another jab, this time aiming for the contusions already adorning Logan’s jaw. Logan grunted when the blow glanced off his chin, and he swayed to the side, trying to catch his breath. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead.

Staring at the profile of his cousin’s damaged face, Carlo suddenly stood stock still. “Grant punched you,” he said, the realization dawning on him. “He’s the one who gave you those bruises.”

A malevolent smile crept onto Carlo’s face. He’d just identified a way to get both of the damn brothers, the 
chosen ones
, out of his way for good. He’d never have to compete for Angelo’s attention again, and he could finally assume his proper place in the family. A flash of excitement coursed through him, followed by a stab of fear. He didn’t know if he could carry out his plan.

Quickly whipping a knife out of his boot, Carlo held the weapon in front of Logan’s face and made sure his quarry watched him as he slowly unsheathed the blade, which gleamed in the slats of sunlight shining through the dirty windows of the warehouse.

Struggling against his captors’ hold as his cousin held the blade inches from his face, Logan felt his heart thump rapidly. Carlo ignored his associates’ reactions to the knife—a look of consternation on Meat’s face and an expression of smug triumph on Tank’s—and leaned in to hold the sharp edge against Logan’s throat.

“Tell me where Grant is,” he quietly seethed.

“Fuck you,” Logan retorted. He felt the pinching sting of the blade on his throat as Carlo allowed the knife’s edge to dig into his skin. The wound was not deep but elicited blood all the same, mixing with the crimson trail dripping from his nose.

“You really want to protect that pansy?” Carlo asked incredulously. “You want to risk your life for that lightweight? For 
Grant
?”

Logan pictured Grant at their mother’s grave, his eyes welling up as he placed flowers near her headstone. Logan’s deep voice was wistful. “He’s a better man than any of us here.”

“Oh, come 
on
,” Carlo scoffed, distractedly removing the knife from Logan’s throat and waving it around emphatically. “Grant has no fucking clue. He’s a weakling. That’s what you get when your real dad goes to prison and you go live with your pussy uncle.”

Feeling rage build up in his chest, Logan spat out, “
You’re
 the reason my dad went to prison! He got arrested trying to protect 
your
 sorry ass!”

Carlo’s black eyes flared with fury. “It wasn’t my fault!” he insisted. “I got shot! I could have died.”

His restrained arms aching, his skin bruised and bleeding, Logan glared at his cousin. “My dad should have let you die. It would have been better—for everyone. I know for a fact that Angelo would much rather have his brother with him than his screw-up son. You fucked everything up, Carlo.”

Carlo’s throat tightened as he fought for air, and his vision clouded over, veiled by a deep red that matched the blood leaking from his victim’s body. Suddenly he had no qualms about what he must do. Logan had just begged him to carry out his plan. It was the burden of his position of leadership in the family. He had a great responsibility—responsibility to rid the family of anything standing in its way, responsibility to take out the trash, just like his father had taught him to do.

Without another moment of hesitation, Carlo lunged forward, sinking the knife into Logan’s abdomen. Once the tip of the blade pierced his rock-hard solar plexus, it slid into his internal organs with a sickening sluicing sound. The shocked gasps of three men—Logan, Meat, and Tank—met Carlo’s ears, followed by dead silence.

Logan felt a burning tear while a fiery heat spread into his lungs and stomach. The pinch of the foreign body inside his twisted and turned, taking his breath away. Struggling to maintain consciousness, he stared dumbly up at Carlo, whose shiny black eyes looked equally stunned.

Horrified, Mario let go of Logan’s arm and took a step away. The smug grin had quickly departed Tank’s face. Despite his desire for revenge, he could not believe what he’d just witnessed. He too unleashed Logan from his vice grip. Once free, Logan wheezed for air and crumpled forward, the knife still lodged between his abdomen and chest.

Now Carlo didn’t know what to do. After a few surreal moments, he decided to remove the knife. As he jaggedly jerked out the blade, Logan felt a searing pain cleave him, and he moaned loudly. Carlo gaped at the leaking hole left in Logan’s flesh, then stared mesmerized at the seeping red stain flourishing on his white T-shirt.