Skin (7 page)

As Carmine looked out his window, he said, “Come here and look, Francesca.”

She stood and walked toward him, stopping past his shoulder. The city lights twinkled under the autumn moon. “You own this town,
cara.
By your name alone there is no one who would do you harm for fear of your father’s wrath and now mine. Go out there and take your pictures. Anthony will come to heel. I have ways to make him see things from my perspective. Vezzio has another thing coming if he thinks I will allow him to have a say in what your father and I have worked so hard for.”

He turned and took her face into his big, warm hands. She felt secure in the shadow of the dark, all-knowing eyes. “Thank you, Unk.” She reached up to hug him. The sharp ping of shattering glass and a hot sting across her arm startled her.

“Down,” Carmine yelled before she realized what the sound was.
Pfft-pfft.
Two more followed in rapid succession; more glass shattered overhead. They’d been shot at! She touched the heat on her arm, feeling the warm wetness there. She’d been hit! Her uncle’s heavy body lay protectively across hers. “My God, Francesca, are you okay?”

She nodded, too stunned to form words. Someone shot her! He rolled off her and, surprisingly for a man so large, he scurried across the room on all fours like a crab running from a gull. He reached up and hit the lights.

Adrenaline pumped through her veins, and under the blanket of darkness her anger rose. Who the hell wanted her dead? She popped up and peered over the sill just enough to see the empty street below. Son of a bitch!

Ducking, she hurried toward her uncle, whose large frame was illuminated in the soft glow of the streetlights. His cell phone was open. “Are you hit, Unk?” A quick shake of his head set her mind to rest, then he spoke into the phone.

“Jimmy, get up here.”

“I
’m waiting outside of La Trattoria right now, she wants me to sign the contract tonight,” Reese said into his cell phone.

“I don’t know how you got her to turn around so quick, buddy, but props to you,” Jase said.

Reese smiled and looked up to a lighted third-floor window. He knew it was Carmine Donatello’s. He’d been quietly watching the comings and goings of the building for nearly an hour. If someone questioned him, he would simply tell the truth. He was waiting to meet Francesca for dinner.

He sat up straighter in his truck when he saw two shadows in the window. As they came closer, he saw Frankie’s silhouette. His cock stirred.

“Like most women, she came to her senses.”

The sharp sound of glass shattering had him out of his truck and on the street in less than two seconds. “Shots fired at 700 Columbus Street,” Reese said into his phone. The screeching of tires followed by high beams flashing in his eyes had Reese jumping back and out of the way of the speeding car.

He hopped back into his truck.

“What the hell is going on, Reese?” Jase shouted.

“In pursuit of a black sedan, looks like a late-model Caprice.”

Reese gunned his truck and went after the car. When he turned onto Mason he cursed. The street was empty. The car didn’t have that much of a lead on him. He headed down the street, looking down each side street, and because of the traffic he couldn’t see the sedan.

“Son of a bitch!”

He picked up his phone. “I lost them. It’s like they evaporated.”

“Any side-street garages?”

“Maybe, get some units down here to start looking. I’m going back to the restaurant.”

And with that thought, the realization his main suspect might be wounded or, worse, dead sent the hair on his arms shooting straight up. He did a fast U-turn in the street.

“Unk, I’m fine, it’s just a scratch,” Francesca argued.

“You need to see a doctor,” he argued right back.

Her initial shock quickly wore off. If they were gunning for her uncle, they missed; if they were gunning for her, they came too damn close. Frankie shook her head. Instead of fear, anger blossomed in her chest. “Son of a bitch, Unk!” She dabbed at the wound on her arm with a sodden tissue. The damn thing wouldn’t stop bleeding. “Who wants me dead?”

Her uncle’s dark brown eyes snapped in unleashed anger. “Not you,
cara,
me.”

Her stomach rolled. Of course.

He pulled a fresh tissue from the box her cousin Jimmy “Peanuts” Tambouri proffered. Pressing it to her arm, he walked her down the hall to La Trattoria. Jimmy, and Unk’s longtime bodyguard Leo Stazzi followed, watching every shadow, with guns drawn in the long hallway.

As they turned to enter the restaurant from the inside of the building, Frankie stopped short. “Leo, can you run back upstairs and get my purse?”

He looked at Unk, who nodded, and they entered the quiet restaurant. It closed at eight. All non-family diners had long since left.

“Del,” Unk called, “get Sanzo on the phone.”

Della came running into the dinning room, wiping her hands on her apron. Her gray brows crinkled in question. “Don’t look at me like that, woman!” Unk commanded. “Francesca has been shot!”

Della gasped and made the sign of the cross, then hustled over to the maître d’ stand and picked up the phone. A commotion from the kitchen caught all of their attention. Della stood with the phone half raised to her ear; Jimmy cursed, drew his gun, and ran toward the kitchen as Unk pulled Frankie to the alcove behind the coat closet.

A second after Jimmy ran through the bat-wing doors to the kitchen he burst out, back first, along with another cousin, Johnny, and his little brother Mikey. The three of them looked like bowling pins crashing in the alley under the wrath of —

Frankie gasped. “Reese!”

He exploded into the room like a bull on a rampage. Every set of eyes in the place looked expectantly from Reese’s furious stance to her surprised face.

“You know this chump?” Johnny asked, rolling his meatball of a brother off him. Jimmy hurried to his feet, his semi trained on Reese.

“He’s my model.”

The old man scowled, giving Reese the hostile look he reserved for those on their way out. She swallowed hard. “What’s going on here?” Unk demanded.

Frankie looked at Reese’s angry face. “I — ah, Reese was supposed to meet me here at nine.”

“I found him snooping around out back,” Johnny said.

Mikey added the obvious. “Yeah, he coulda been the shooter.”

The news didn’t seem to affect Reese.

“The front doors to the restaurant were locked. I heard shots so I came around back,” Reese said.

Unk looked at Frankie again for confirmation. “We have contracts to sign,” she said.

Leo entered the room, gun drawn, Frankie’s purse hanging off his arm. Frankie couldn’t resist a smile at the absurdity of the situation.

“Let’s just all calm down,” she started. But the sirens echoing in the distance wrenched the tension right back up.

She grabbed her purse from Leo. “Unk, I’m not dicking around with the cops.” She looked at Reese. “You drive, let’s get out of here.”

“One minute before you go,
cara,”
Carmine softly insisted.

She didn’t dare argue. Reese stood rigid and silent beside her. Her heart thumped hard against her chest and her skin flushed warm. She felt on the verge of an anxiety attack.

“Si, Zio?”

His dark eyes trained on Reese. “What did you see outside before you came in here?”

Most men would have shown signs of discomfort, but not her dumb model. Nope, he stared back at her uncle, refusing to back down.

“Nothing, just heard three shots.”

Carmine nodded. “If you happen to remember anything you haven’t told me here, be sure to come to me with that information before you share it anywhere else.”

Please, please don’t let him argue.

Reese nodded. “Of course.”

Oh, good model.

As she moved past her uncle, he called to her, “Go to Sanzo’s, he’ll be expecting you.”

Not waiting for any more conversation or, worse, arguments from her uncle or cousins, Frankie grabbed Reese’s hand and pulled him behind her toward the kitchen and out the back door of the restaurant.

“Don’t ask,” she said as they came around to the front of the building. Sirens wailed closer. She sprinted to her car, quickly unlocked the trunk, and pulled out her camera bag.

“Where are you parked?” she asked breathlessly, looking up and down the street.

This time Reese grabbed her by the hand and pulled her back across the street. “Black Tahoe directly ahead.”

Just as the cops arrived, Reese pulled away from the curb, going the opposite direction.

Looking over her shoulder, Frankie said, “Faster.”

Reese hit the pedal. “What’s the rush?”

“I don’t do cops.”

Reese nodded and focused on the road ahead of him.

After several minutes he turned to look at Frankie, who looked at him through narrowed eyes.

“What?”

“How did you manage to manhandle all three of my cousins?”

“Didn’t you read my bio?”

“Some of it.”

“Did you miss the marine part?”

“Oh, I guess I didn’t get that far. How long?”

“Four years.”

“Why did you leave?”

He shrugged and glanced in the rearview mirror, and she turned to look out the back window. No flashing lights. Her shoulders relaxed a notch.

“I don’t do authority. If I had reenlisted, I’d be in a brig somewhere.”

“That doesn’t surprise me. You’re the most insolent employee I’ve ever hired.”

Reese flashed her a grin. “You ain’t seen nothing yet, baby.”

Frankie rolled her eyes. That’s exactly what she was afraid of.

Without looking at her, Reese said, “You’re bleeding.”

Her adrenaline rush continued to infuse her with energy. Glancing over her shoulder again, Frankie let out a long breath. “It’s no big deal.”

“What the hell happened in there?”

“Someone tried to kill my uncle.”

“Why?”

“I guess someone doesn’t like him.”

“Will he talk to the cops?”

“My family takes care of their own business. They don’t do cops.”

“Do you?”

“Hell no, I don’t do cops!” She touched the wound on her arm and winced, then said, more quietly. “Cops don’t mix well with my family.”

“From what I’ve seen of your family so far, they don’t seem the type to mix well with many people.” Reese popped open the console lid, pulled out a small pack of tissues, and handed it to her. Grateful, Frankie ripped off the plastic and pressed the entire mound to her arm.

“I don’t trust cops. If I called them right now, they’d end up hauling my uncle in for some bogus charge, and me for not reporting a gunshot wound. Who the hell needs that?”

“Is your uncle a criminal?”

“He’s a businessman.”

“Then why not call the cops?”

Frankie snorted, the contempt of her action palpable. “Like I said, it’s none of their business.”

Reese mimicked her snort, and she shot him a glare. “You should hear yourself —”

“Butt out, Reese.”

“Are you sure it was your uncle they were after?”

Frankie gasped and looked at him. A niggle of doubt tugged at her gut. “I’m sure. Now stop with the questions.”

“I think I have a right to some information. We’ll be working closely together, and if someone is taking potshots at you, I don’t want to be around.”

“If it’s too scary for you, you can leave as soon as you drop me off.”

“I need this job.”

“I’ll take that as a yes you’re hanging around.” Looking straight ahead, she asked, “Are you familiar with Pacific Heights?”

“Over off Jackson?” He glanced at her. “Do you live there?”

“No, my uncle Sanzo does.”

“And we’re going there why?”

“He’s a doctor.”

“Smartest thing you’ve said since you hired me.”

Frankie didn’t dignify his comment with a response. A long, heavy silence followed.

Reese glanced at the soaked glob of tissue she pressed to her arm. “You should go to the ER.”

“And what do you propose I tell them when they ask who shot me?”

“The same thing you’ll tell the cops.”

“I’m not having this conversation with you.” She winced when she crossed her arms over her chest, and thankfully he didn’t push her.

Reese excused himself as Uncle Sanzo clucked over his niece. He walked outside to the sprawling backyard. The tranquil gurgle of a nearby fountain was the only sound disturbing the sultry night air.

He shook his head at Frankie’s stubbornness. If he had thought her wound was even close to life-threatening, he would have had her in an emergency room faster than her Unk could order a hit. While Frankie might be connected to every Italian gene pool in town, Reese had a few connections of his own.

He dialed a number on his cell phone and waited patiently for an answer.

“Yo, Guido’s.”

Reese smiled. Jamerson’s goombah impersonation wasn’t too bad. If he’d had a landline, they could speak openly. “Wiseguy one here, Guido.”

“Yo, wiseguy, wassa matta you?”

“Wassa matta is we need peeps on the little piece of shit we chatted about. I’ll lay odds he just tried to reduce his family by two.”

“We’re on it.”

“We’ll compare notes when I have a secure line.”

Reese hung up and walked back into the doctor’s opulent house. Looked like crime did pay, and well.

“He said I need stitches.”

Reese stopped in his tracks. Frankie sat quietly in the shadows of the large living room. He scanned the area for the good doc.

“I don’t want stitches. I don’t have time for stitches. Stitches hurt.”

Reese felt a jolt of compassion. She sounded like a scared little girl. But he knew better. Francesca Donatello had the mentality of a barracuda, and besides that, little girls didn’t have curves that made his hands itch. He watched her finger the ruby ring on her right hand. “You’re going to rub those rocks right off.”

She stopped and clasped her hands. Reese felt an urge to kneel down beside her, take her hand into his, and comfort her. He shook his head and stepped away. No fucking way.