Mercenary (Gangsters of New York Book 3) Page 7

  A bump stronger than anything Rosa had given me made my bucket rattle. Alcina stormed passed me, and when I called her name, she turned around, walking backwards. She lifted her arms. “Mi scusi,” she said, her tone as fired up as the fucking volcano.

  The group of women she walked with turned their heads at her tone. The men kept looking between us, trying to mind their business but not.

  We could have an audience. I’d taking a fucking bow once this was over.

  I grabbed her by the arm when she turned her back on me. She tried to yank it out of my hold, but I held on, dragging her toward a more secluded area. A manicured grove with a manmade path through the trees, which were evenly spaced. Not balanced on crooked lava rock.

  As soon as I let her go, she went to storm off, cursing me in Sicilian as she did, waving her hands wildly in the air.

  Before she could get far, I grabbed her by the shoulders, turning her around, her back slamming against a pistachio tree when she tried to move away from me.

  Her eyes rose up to meet mine in defiance when I put both arms around her waist, locking her in. Her chest heaved like she’d run a marathon. Her breath washed over my face. Her fingers were curled into fists at her sides.

  If I stared into her eyes for too long, my angel eyes, she fucking possessed me. My mouth slammed against hers, and her hands fisted into my hair, her leg coming up to wrap around mine. I ran my hand under her dress, feeling her hot skin against my palm as I cupped her ass.

  All of a sudden, this woman was both the center of my world and the bane of my existence. A vice and a visceral need. She was stubborn and willful. Fucking wild, like she was made from the moon, and that madness moved through my blood like nothing ever had before.

  It was one of those warring things that were total opposites but couldn’t live without each other. I never wanted to have her, but I was desperate to keep her.

  She moaned into my mouth, her hands fisting in my shirt, and then she pushed me away as hard as she could. She couldn’t move me with physical strength alone, but when she said the word, “No!” I took a step back.

  Her hand trembled as she set it over her mouth. She shook her head. “What is going on between us? I don’t understand it. I don’t know you, but somehow I have known you my entire life. I know you have come to drag me back to hell, and you probably will, but I do not mind the thought of going with you. Because when you kiss me, when you touch me, you take me to heaven, too.”

  She stared at me for a minute, and then she shook her head and lifted both hands. “But I cannot do this. I cannot be envious when you walk with another woman. I cannot think about you with her and want to claw her eyes out. Yours, too! The thought of you marrying that—that woman burns me deeper than the lava on that mountain.” She flung a hand toward it.

  “You are not mine to keep, Corrado Alessandro Capitani, but my soul tells me you are! You are mine. But how can I keep you, when it will start nothing but trouble? Not just for me, but for you.”

  She went to run away from me, but just as she could push me back with one word, I could stop her with one, too.

  “Alcina,” I said.

  She stopped, keeping her back to me.

  “Lu murrisi per tia,” I said in Sicilian. I would die for you.

  “If you stay,” she said, balling her hands into fists again, “you will. And so will I. It is too late for us.”

  She disappeared into the orchard as the sun sank completely into the horizon. The volcano came even more alive in the darkness, spitting out fire, the air filled with the smell of smoke, ashes drifting in the wind.

  11

  Alcina

  I did not realize that I was cursing under my breath until my sister told me to stop.

  “You told him to go!” She waved her hands at me.

  “I did not tell him to go!” I waved my hands back. “I told him—I did not tell him to actually go.” Which he had. He had been gone for five days. His men went with him, but Nicodemo had stayed behind.

  She leaned against the counter in what I called my candle kitchen. The hidden casa on the property had a small kitchen for cooking, plus another one set in the back, which I used for my candles. No one knew about the casa but my sister and Fabrizio’s famiglia.

  It had been Fabrizio’s grandfather’s casa when he was still alive. He did not care for people, but only the company of his cats. The product of a past generation sat in the window, licking her paws, watching as my sister and I shouted at each other.

  “What do you want, Alcina? Tell me. Tell me as if you are speaking to a wish maker.”

  I turned from my sister, wiping a hand along my forehead. It was hot with the burners going and the summer air from outside. The smell of lemon and chocolate was pungent in the small space. Especially the citrus. I made my own oils for the candles.

  “I want my life to be mine,” I said. “I want his life to be his.”

  “That is a simple wish,” she said.

  “How can it be?” I wiped my hand on a towel, staring out of the window. It was secluded in this area, nothing but trees and cats. “It is complicated. I am wanted for what I did to Junior, and I am to be married to a man who would start another war if he found out I have even been spending time with another man. It has been doomed from the start.” I waved a hand casually, but my eyes burned.

  “You are right,” she said, and even though I could not see her, I knew she was nodding. “The two of you will start a war. On your side and his. It is good that he has gone. Let him marry Rosa, and you marry Elmo—I mean, Eraldo. Everyone lives unhappily ever after.”

  Even though it was the truth, and I needed that from her, it made me mad. “It might not be Rosa,” I snapped.

  My sister started to laugh. I whirled on her, a candle in my hand.

  She lifted hers. “It does not matter her name, does it? I hit a soft spot.”

  “Sì! I do not know how to make it go away. The jealousy.”

  “It will not,” she said, all traces of humor gone from her face. “Because you love him, Alcina.”

  “Love does not happen overnight!”

  “Sì! It does. Every second of every day, love happens. It just moves at its own speed. Sometimes it comes as a speeding thunderbolt. Sometimes it moves at the speed of a lazy summer breeze. It does not matter how fast or how slow. All that matters is that it moves us.

  “You will never know real love, Alcina,” she said, her voice taking on a pleading tone, “until you give yourself over to it. It does not matter if he marries Rosa, or if you marry Eraldo. What matters is that you give in to love. However this ends, you can always say you had today.”

  “I do not have today.” I snatched a basket from the counter. “He is gone.”

  She grabbed my arm, stopping me before I rushed out the door. I usually made the candles to clear my head, to create light in my life, but I needed air. My heart and eyes burned from the ache I could not escape. The internal had overflowed to the physical.

  “Wars are started for much less,” she whispered to me, “than true love.”

  I took a hard step out of the door, landing at an awkward angle on the step. I fell forward, right into the arms of a man. Lo scorpione.

  “And we meet again this way,” he said, looking down at me.

  “How did you find me?” I said, looking up at him.

  It took a minute for him to right me. When he did, he set me straight but did not let go. “Walk with me, Alcina.”

  I swallowed hard and nodded. I thought I would never see him again. I thought he was gone for good. The relief I felt was both physical and internal, much deeper than anything I had ever felt before.

  I turned to set the basket down, but my sister took it instead. “Today, and for much less,” she whispered to me in Sicilian, and then went back into the casa.

  Corrado and I walked next to each other in silence. It took about ten minutes or so to leave this part of the land and head toward the main property, where the man
icured grove was. The place where we had our last conversation.

  “You were gone,” I whispered, looking at him from the side of my eye.

  He nodded but said nothing else.

  “Have you come to say goodbye?” I asked.

  He stopped walking and so did I. That’s when I noticed two bikes sitting side by side.

  “You can ride?”

  “Sì,” I breathed out. “Of course.”

  “Let’s go.”

  My sister’s voice echoed inside my head. Today, Alcina.

  “Where are we going?” I smiled.

  “Wherever you want to go.”

  I nodded, and after we both took our seats, we started peddling toward the exit of the property. The two men Corrado brought with him came with us. The Italian stayed in front, peddling a bike with a side seat for Uncle Tito. Corrado wanted to laugh but didn’t. The chipmunk always lagged in the back. It took us longer to get to the city because he had to keep stopping.

  Once we did, he demanded food. We ate in the piazza, and I tried not to laugh when he stuffed his puffy cheeks with pizza. When he caught me staring, his grin came slow, and so did mine.

  We decided to visit Museo del Carretto Siciliano, or Museum of the Sicilian Cart. It did not matter where we went. It felt good to spend time with him, to be free for the day.

  “Carretto da Gara,” I pointed at an exceptionally beautiful one. It showcased how the cart and horse were dressed up for a special occasion. “Those are used for parties or weddings. The others. Carretto da Lavoro. Those are used for work.”

  “My grandparents were married in Sicily,” Corrado said. “They had a cart and horse after they were married.”

  I nodded. “They are traditional. Tell me more about your people.”

  He did, but it wasn’t much. It was as if he was reciting stats from a page instead of speaking of his famiglia. He spoke nothing of his mamma or his papà. He spoke of his nonno and nonna, but it was brief, and it felt…not as warm as a famiglia should be.

  “Tell me something, scorpione,” I said after we left the museum and he bought me gelato. “Your marriage is to be arranged. Why is Uncle Tito doing it?”

  “Silvio and I were both groomed to take over the family if something happened to my grandfather. I did a thing that put me in a tough spot before I left. My grandfather and my uncle wanted to teach me boundaries. Or whatever the fuck the lesson is.” He looked around for a second, thinking or checking our surroundings. There were a lot of people out. “The family is mine, under one condition.”

  “Ah,” I said, licking my lips. “Marriage.”

  “My grandfather gave the responsibility to Tito after I got here.”

  “You did not want to choose for yourself?”

  “Not particularly.”

  I thought about this on the ride back to my sister and her husband’s place. I demanded to live for such a choice, but he gave his away for nothing.

  “Did your grandfather take your choice away?” I said as I stepped off the bike. His arms came around my waist and I looked up at him. The lowering sun hit his amber eyes like candlelight. In this light, they were a much lighter shade than his skin.

  “That bother you?”

  “Sì.” I nodded. “To have such a choice…” I shrugged and sighed at the same time. “It seems like such a sin to waste.”

  “Some people might appreciate not having to make such a big decision when love isn’t involved.”

  “That is cowardliness,” I said. “Pure and simple.”

  “You think love should be involved in all decisions,” he said.

  “Not in all.” I shook my head. “But in that decision love should play a part. Even the potential to feel it.” I hesitated but kept talking as we walked the groves. “That feeling of having your breath stolen when you see—” I looked at him and then turned forward “—someone. The madness that happens to your stomach. You cannot eat, but suddenly you taste everything. And—” I inhaled, smelling him in the air “—the smell that lingers, the one that belongs to the one you love. It is unforgettable. It is home.”

  “You’re fucking wild,” he said.

  I threw my head back and laughed. “Sì! This is what my famiglia tells me! This is why—” I gave him a pointed look “—I am in so much trouble. I have a wild spirit, mamma says, one that some men would love to tame, and eyes that belong to a cat, which lure them in.”

  “You blink,” he said.

  “Not for everyone. Or so Anna says.”

  We became quiet for a while, evening settling around us. Then a breath left my mouth when he took me by the arm and pulled me against his body. It was like crashing into solid rock, the soft parts of me forming to fit.

  “You blink for me,” he said.

  “Sì,” I whispered. “I do.”

  His mouth was close to mine. I had to stop myself from biting his lip, and then sucking it afterward.

  “Tell me, Corrado,” I said, breathing out his name, “why did they send you to find me?” I ran my hands up his chest, over his shoulders, until my fingers found the tattoo on his neck, right over his collarbone.

  “Because I always find the ones who hide.”

  “After you do?”

  “I never fucking let them go,” he said, and then his mouth claimed mine.

  I was lost to anything but him, like a moth to the volcanic heat of Mount Etna.

  It was not until I lay in bed that night, thinking over the day, that I realized why today was so hard after he had walked me to my casa.

  Today would never be enough. It was forever with him or nothing. My heart only would accept one, and if it was not to be, it might just stop beating.

  I pressed my hands over my heart, over the hurt that welled up at even the thought, and whispered, “Il cielo mi aiuti.”

  Heaven help me.

  12

  Corrado

  That fucking mad energy was running through my veins again, and I blamed it on the full moon. It was so bright it looked like someone was shining a light in the window when I’d been trying to sleep.

  I couldn’t sleep.

  I couldn’t relax.

  I couldn’t keep still.

  It was hot as fuck outside. Sweat constantly beaded and fell from my temples.

  “This is not a game that can last forever, cugino,” Nicodemo said to me. “Make a move.”

  Nicodemo and I sat across from each other, playing chess at a table placed outside of the building we were staying in. Some of the men who worked the groves were doing the same thing we were, trying to catch the breeze, because there was no air conditioning. It felt better outside than it did inside.

  Nunzio sat against the building, staring up at the sky, smoking. “A man who has no patience should not play a game that requires it,” he said.

  “A man who likes his tongue keeps his mouth shut,” Nicodemo said.

  I looked between the two men, but I didn’t give a fuck why one hated the other. It was a sign of respect in our business to be hated, and by many.

  Adriano had a wet towel around his neck, looking through a metal bucket filled with ice and drinks. “This heat has me fucking starving,” he said. “Like after you go swimming. I’d give my left nut for some cold watermelon.”

  I made my move, keeping my eyes on the board. “Tell me why you’re here, Nico,” I said.

  Whenever I called him Nico, it was the equivalent of him calling me cugino. I wanted honesty, but on a different level. The terms brought us back to when we were kids, when he would spend summers with my family in Sicily.

  He studied the board for a minute. “Giuseppe hid me when—” he made a move, a look coming over his face that made him seem more like the killer he was “—after my parents were killed.”

  Nicodemo was just a kid—maybe five—when both of his parents were murdered. He was an orphan, and Tito Sala had intervened and found him a family. By the time I could remember going to Sicily every summer, Tito would bring Nicodemo
and we would spend them together. I had no brothers or sisters, he was alone, so we kept each other busy.

  “Ah,” I said, trumping his move. “Obligation.”

  He made a move that beat mine. “You know me better. I am obligated to no man.” He looked me in the eye. “I like the family. Good people.”

  “How did it get this far—with her?”

  He took my meaning clear enough. Why didn’t he intervene before, or have Tito involve the Fausti famiglia. They were known to revere women. It spoke to their romantic side—the other side was ruthless. They didn’t believe in breaking something smaller than them. I tended to agree.

  I also didn’t say her name, because some hunters blended in with the scenery.

  “I was in Israel for the last two years. You are getting slow in your old age.” He grinned when he made another move that took my piece. “They did not know how to get in touch with me, and Tito has been more active than usual. Luca has a son only a few members of the family were aware of. It has been a busy time—after Marzio was killed, the Faustis have been at war from within.”

  He studied the board for another minute and then studied my face, trying to read my next move. “Lothario is acting as the head, as you must know, and it is harder to reach him. He does not make himself as available as Marzio did. He is more selective about who he will help. There have been complaints. He is not his father.”

  “No,” I said. “None of us are.”

  “Infatti,” he said, “but if we appoint ourselves to such a high position, we must either meet the men we respect, or exceed their power. We must become them or better.”

  Yeah, that was the fucking truth all right.

  Tito came toward us, his oversized hat in his hands. He stopped next to the table, staring at it for a minute, and then gave me a narrow look. “Time waits for no man, not even you,” he said, and then he knocked my winning piece over with a flick of his bony finger.