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15
MICELI
“Might be easier if you brought the FBI to your house,” Soren said as we talked on the phone. “I could have my friend meet you there. Then, if you were comfortable with him, you could reintroduce Stephanie to society.”
I snorted. The idea of people finding out Stephanie and Kyle Hollis survived the brutal attack knotted my gut. They weren’t pawns in our game. They were frightened. Their parents had died. However, if we wanted access totheirhome, as of now, we had to give the FBI something.
A nibble to hook them.
“You’re asking an awful lot of me, dear friend,” I replied, making peace with offering even my wife’s case. “I’ll have to go into hiding after this or worse, kill everyone at the table.”
“Well, if you want to win this, you’re going to have to be like Hercules and stab the hydra in the heart, or else the heads will continue to regrow.” I liked a good Greek mythological reference now and then.
Soren was right.
“Call your friend. We’ll meet here. You’ll come too,” I stated. “I shouldn’t have to remind you; this needs to be done under the strictest of confidence.”
“You’re right, you don’t, but I understand why you’re saying so now,” Soren answered. “I’ll let you know when everything is ready.”
“Thank you.” Ending the call, I stood. Stephanie and Kyle had gone back to the cottage to rest and I... Well, I needed to delve back into my previous life. I had to pull all the evidence I had collected over the years pertaining to my wife’s death. None of it was pretty. Nor did I particularly want to relive the pain of losing her all over again.
Exiting my office, I went down to the archives I had in the basement. A small room no one could enter but me. The dark, cavernous space beckoned me like a black widow's kiss, dragging me back into my past and a life I once had. So many memories were down here. So many jobs and lives I’d taken. Then there was her. Rosalina. My life. My soul. The mother of my daughter. The one woman who’d been my light in the depraved world where I’d honed my skills.
“Hello, darling,” I murmured. “Shall we solve your case today?”
As much as my heart ached for what once was, I couldn’t deny my future was entwined with the woman in the cottage. Stephanie was my second chance, one I wouldn’t squander like I had with Rosalina. Perhaps, had I eliminated my enemies back then, neither Stephanie nor I would be in this predicament. I strode over to the cabinet where I’d kept all the evidence and files on Rosalina’s death, along with the evidence I’d collected over the years on those whose who were involved, once I’d pulled myself from the depraved depths of my grief and depression.
Everything we needed was in these files.
“I think you and Stephanie would have been friends,” I said absently, staring at a picture of my late wife. “She’s smart, funny, young, like we were at one time. She is so damn innocent in our world...” I blew out a breath. “It’s terrifying. Why would you send me someone like her?”
I knew Rosalina sent Stephanie to me. Maybe it sounded like some cosmic woo-woo or what have you, but of all the families or people Stephanie could have gone to, she chose me. That faith couldn’t be misplaced or abused. I wouldn’t take advantage of her belief I could protect her, either.
After grabbing everything I needed, I kissed the tips of my fingers before pressing it to Rosalina’s picture. “Goodbye, my darling.” Once I handed everything over to the FBI, I had no reason to return to this cabinet. My late wife would finally find her peace and have the justice long overdue her.
When I was back in my office, I placed the files into the locked drawer of my desk, then went to the cellarette to pour myself a rather large drink. Even if Soren could work his magic, I knew uncovering the truth or prosecuting those responsible, because I couldn’t kill them now, wouldn’t happen overnight. While I’d been caught up in Stephanie and her troubles, I’d let my guard down when it came to Rocca. Stephanie wasn’t the only one with a shadow following her. I wondered if, perhaps; we were all wrong when it came to Torino’s men. Could it be they only wanted Stephanie because of some Valentino vendetta?
The carefully placed webs of my life were snagging on each other, binding them together, in a mash of conjecture and assumptions. Like Soren said, the only way to truly be free of those who might cause us harm was to stab the hydra in the heart. However small, the threats to my daughter would never stop coming. I only hoped once this job was finished, they would become less frequent, and she could go back to her life.
“Boss, Soren has arrived, and he’s not alone,” Benny said, drawing me from my thoughts.
“Let them in.” Guess I was the one who took their bait instead of Stephanie. How apropos.
“Yes, sir,” Benny replied before closing the door to my office.
I suppose I should have called Stephanie or had one of the men go and get her, however, I wanted her to rest. Her part in all this could wait until I was absolutely sure we could trust the FBI agent. If we couldn’t... He’d never make it off the property alive. See, the problem I was having had been a simple one. I became comfortable. I let everything roll off my back because I’d received my place at the table. My futile attempt at having a normal, proper life with my daughter and wife was a pipe dream from the beginning. It appeared, on the surface, if this didn’t work as it was supposed to, I’d have to take up the mantle of my former life, if I wanted to get anything done.
When Soren stepped into my office with the agent in tow, who I knew from the Family, my mind spun. Rocco Di Angelo. Yes, the last son of the Di Angelo family. The man who’d become the bodyguard for Kira Tumino’s father. The man who’d also claimed his status, like mine, as an elite assassin within our ranks. What was the man who’d once been a Royal Anarchist, doing as the right-hand man for the Southside 9—besides double crossing all of us? Including maybe the FBI?
The dangerous game he played while in my home showed, to me, how dire this situation had become or how stupid the agency thought we truly were. Either way, I could see the shit show on the horizon. It didn’t bode well for anyone involved on either side of the chessboard. I pointed to the liquor cabinet. “Pour yourselves one. We’re going to be here a while.”
Soren and Rocco declined, instead sitting across from me. The ex-bodyguard and assassin had a stern expression on his face. His topaz eyes tracked me as he sat. Yes, we knew each other. I wonder if Soren found out about Rocco’s sordid past—like knocking up an eighteen-year-old Kira, before disappearing into the shadows after she lost everything, including the baby. He didn’t seem afraid or put off by being in my home. Then again, I had been slipping.
However, assassins like us didn’t fear.
Narrowing my eyes, I glanced between the two, then at the empty spot on Rocco’s hand. I snorted. Makeup. If he’d been so worried about anyone seeing his branding, he should have put it somewhere less conspicuous than where he’d placed it. “This is who I am expected to trust with my family’s life and with my guests' lives?” I cocked a brow, not caring how I sounded.
“I’m Agent—G,”
