Bounty Hunters: 03 Stay Hungry (11 page)

"You will most definitely show me," she drawled. "Come on. Let's go outside." She enjoyed his moment of confusion and took advantage of it, working to calm down inside as she did. "Come on," she repeated, heading toward the stairs. "Where's your sense of adventure?"

Mario laughed, grabbing the back of her neck as he led her down the hallway.

"We were next to a bed and my lady wishes to go outside. You are original,
mi amore,
" he said, continuing to laugh as he pulled out his phone and ordered more drinks for them out on the patio.

His bedroom was now bugged, and he had a computer in there. If only she could figure out how to put a tracking device on his computer, one that would track every keystroke. At the moment she wasn't sure how she'd pull that off, but damn, if she could, she didn't doubt she'd hit the gold mine. She had one more bug on her and needed to place it strategically outside his home. It wasn't obvious in what part of the house he would conduct business, though.

They moved across the living room, this time entering a part of his home he hadn't included in his tour. Angela glanced at an expensive-looking grandfather clock along the far wall. It was not quite nine and Jake had informed her he would give her until ten. Angela knew his words hadn't been an idle threat.

Mario opened sliding glass doors that led out to a large wooden patio. Large torches burned around the edges, which made it hard to see farther into the yard. But the thick smell of roses and honeysuckle made for a sweet aroma that Angela breathed deep into her lungs. Mario's home was magnificent, beautiful, and elegant. If it weren't for the evil lingering so heavily from room to room, this place would be close to paradise. Angela only had a moment to enjoy the richly perfumed air and inky black sky.

"Mario." An older man, also wearing a black suit, appeared at the sliding glass behind the two of them. "This is important." His English was crisper than the younger servant's had been. "Mario," he repeated, deep lines in his face growing as he scowled at Angela.

"I already said it could wait." There was a fierceness in Mario's tone that even made the crickets too scared to continue singing.

Marco was already on the patio with a tray of fresh drinks. He glanced from the older man to Mario and continued holding the tray over the table. It was as if Marco had frozen, fear or extreme concern causing him to forget to place the drinks down.

"I don't think this can wait." The older man didn't look authoritative. He lowered his head as he spoke, as if offering reverence and respecting the man who wrote his paycheck and owned all the wonderful things around them. "You must hear me out now." At the same time, there wasn't fear in the older man's face, as there definitely was on Marco's face.

A cool breeze blew the tension around in the air. Nervous anticipation prickled over Angela's skin when she swore Mario growled at the older man. Marco shifted his weight, his uneasiness apparent and confirming Angela's suspicions that something wasn't right. The small, square ice cubes rattled in the glasses until finally Marco put the tray on the table. He then shifted his weight from one leg to the other, glancing at the door more than once, as if pondering whether he could escape before the deadly eruption occurred.

Hoping to hear something that would give her a clue what the men were talking about, she placed her hand on Mario's chest. "I don't mind waiting for you for a few minutes," she offered. "Your staff appears nervous about something."

"There isn't anything for them to be nervous about," Mario said, but didn't look at her. Instead he stared over her head at the older man behind her. "I do the thinking, and the plotting, around here.
Sei fuori linea, vecchio
."

"
Stai pensando con la testa sbagliata
." The older man sounded as harsh as Mario did.

Angela repeated what the two men said to each other, wishing she knew Italian and praying she could remember their words so she could try to translate them later.

"You are dismissed, both of you!" Mario bellowed.

Angela jumped in spite of her efforts to remain calm. Instinctively she took her hand off Mario's chest. She took a step away from him and turned to look at the older man. There wasn't any way to figure out what they had been saying. The older man shifted his angry expression to her when she met his gaze.

"
Le troie si seguono intutti le classe e colori
," the older man snarled, his pewter-colored hair greased back similarly to Marco's. He spoke with enough enthusiasm that a thick strand fell over his forehead when his expression turned hostile.

Marco froze, his jaw dropping. Angela didn't need to see Mario's face to know the older man's comment had outraged him. And she didn't need to know Italian to know she'd just been seriously insulted.

"What did you just say?" she asked the old man, unable to stop herself. The fury hanging in the air made it hard to breathe.

"That is enough!" Mario grabbed Angela, almost tossing her to the side as he lunged at the older man.

Angela couldn't have stopped Mario if she'd tried. She had a small handgun in her purse, but pulling it out would make matters even worse. Marco was already in the house and jumped to the side, apparently more concerned with protecting his own ass than the old man's.

"Mario!" Angela yelled, scared he would seriously hurt the old man. She didn't follow Mario inside but remained on the patio, staring into the house but knowing she had an escape route if needed. With all their backs to her, she reached in her purse, feeling the cool, hard metal of her gun. Her fingers were damp and shaky and in moments this explosion would be over. She wrapped her hand around a pen, instead, and pulled it out, clicking it open as she did.

"There is too much at stake," the older man said, not backing down when Mario lunged at him.

Mario took him by the arm, hauling him across the room. "That's my problem, now, isn't it? This is my money, my business, my fucking world!" His voice grew louder with each word, but then he continued, his tone dropping to a cruel, harsh, quiet baritone. "You'd be smart never to forget that. Or you'll be walking back to Italy. You aren't part of the game!" he added in a deadly whisper.

Angela almost didn't hear his last comment, but for whatever reason it hit the old man harder than anything else Mario said.

"You would never send me back to Italy," he insisted, making it sound more like an order than a plea. "And you know damn good and well I'm as much a part of this as you are. You wouldn't be here if it weren't for me."

"Twice in five minutes you misjudge a person's nature." Mario seemed to grow in size. His hands were fisted at his sides, and muscles bulged against his shirt. His presence was so commanding the room seemed to grow smaller, the walls closing in around them. "First you insult my
fidanzata
and now you underestimate me."

Marco was closer to Angela than Mario and the older man.
Fidanzata
meant "girlfriend." She wasn't fluent in Italian, but there were words she had picked up here and there. Marco shot her a speculative look, as if Mario's claim on her surprised him. She tried seeing the old man's face but couldn't. Mario was blocking her view.

Clutching her purse under her arm, she held the pen in a way so no one would notice it. It would record what was said for up to an hour. It was the best she could do to capture every aspect of this explosive conversation. She wanted desperately to see the old man's face but wouldn't move, for fear of disrupting them. The pewter-haired man was on the verge of losing his cool over something, and even if it meant enduring more insults she would record and translate later, she wanted to know what it was.

"If I ever underestimated you, then you wouldn't be here right now." There was a cold edge to the older man's voice. For a moment Angela thought it was Mario speaking, but as she stared at his back the man shifted his weight, giving her a partial view of the old man. The hateful fury lining his already-wrinkled face was intense. He raised his hand and poked Mario in the chest. "I encouraged you and bandaged your knees when you were a bambino."

"Take all the credit you want," Mario said, interrupting. "That doesn't change a thing today."

"It is proof I wouldn't make accusations if I didn't care," he hissed. "What are you doing?"

"I was trying to have a nice, relaxing evening!" Mario yelled. "You send Marco with questions because you can't figure out what to do, then dare imply I'm not thinking straight. There isn't one goddamn minute of the day when I'm not thoroughly thinking every matter at hand through. Not once have I entered into a business proposal without analyzing every angle. And see where it has gotten us?" He stretched out his arms, gesturing at their surroundings. "Are any of you worried about your next meal? Your clothes are quality and your lifestyle is plush. That is because of me!" Mario pounded his chest with his fist. "Now I suggest you both leave us before I suddenly decide to become less generous."

Marco and the old man hurried across the room and Angela thought the discussion was over. In spite of relief washing over her that it hadn't turned violent, nerves still ransacked her system and she was frustrated. None of them had said anything damning.

Her skin prickled when Mario turned his back on them and walked to her. His mask wasn't as in place as it usually was, and the raw, uncensored emotions surging through him twisted his expression into something terrifying and demonic. It would be the perfect time to make her exit, insisting the outburst had ruined their moment. But Angela wasn't sure whether suggesting she leave would set him off further or not. Besides, she wanted to know what the argument was about.

"Only God is perfect," the old man said, apparently deciding he would have the last word as he moved into the doorway leading to the patio from inside. "Win your game, Mario. But history is quite clear as to what happens to any man who suddenly believes himself omnipotent. You don't need zombies to win and you are making a mistake about her."

"I said shut up!" Mario moved across the room with enough speed Angela barely had time to react to what happened next.

He flew through the doorway, crashing into the old man, and the bloodcurdling scream that followed was a sound Angela would never forget.

Chapter Six

Mario stood in his observation room, one room he hadn't shown Angela, and faced the monitors on the wall. His breathing had slowed, and some of his anger had ebbed. At least enough so that the blind rage was gone. It wasn't his fault he'd slipped over the edge. If anyone knew what buttons to push, it was his family.

The goddamned bums!

He shook his head, heaving a sigh and running fingers through his tousled hair. Of all people, family were supposed to always have one another's backs. They were the ones who could be trusted, who would always be there, who would support one another through thick and thin. That was the code the Mandelas had once lived by.

If his father were still alive ...

"He'd have done the same thing I did," Mario grumbled under his breath.

"What did you say?" Marco appeared in the doorway.

Mario waved a hand dismissively without looking over his shoulder. "Did you find her?"

"No." Marco didn't elaborate, nor did he move.

Mario studied the monitors. Images were hard to see at night where there was little light. A few of the cameras, those near the house, offered better views of the outside because of nearby floodlights. It would be smart to install more lighting. He had one hell of a security system, but cameras weren't worth shit when all they recorded was darkness. It was impossible to tell if anyone had moved through the yard and, if they had, which direction they headed once they were away from the glow of the floodlights by the house.

He wasn't sure what Angela saw or, better yet, what she thought she saw. There were more pending matters to address, but ensuring Angela didn't run scared for help was also a situation he'd have to take care of. As soon as he knew things were cleaned up here, he would put on a performance that would have Angela back in his arms and ready to spread her sexy legs for him.

"Did you take care of Uncle Petrie?" Mario turned to face Marco. There wasn't any reason to keep staring at the monitors. Angela wasn't going to walk back to Mario's house after running away from it.

"Yes." His younger cousin quit leaning against the door frame when Mario faced him.

"And how did you do that?" Mario ignored his cousin's puzzled expression and stood silently waiting for him to answer the question. It didn't matter that Mario had given specific instructions on what to do with Uncle Petrie's body; Mario knew his cousin was as smart as a brick. Not only did Mario have to spell out how Marco should handle matters, but he also needed to know the numbskull had followed his directions. Now wasn't the time for sloppiness or idiotic family members' risking everything Mario had worked so hard to accomplish.

"Just how you told me to," Marco said, suddenly defensive.

"Tell me exactly what you did." Mario shouldn't have to lower his voice, give his younger cousin a deadly look. His harsh stare brought the necessary results, though. It was a damn shame he had to be a bully to his own flesh and blood just to get an appropriate response. He imagined his padre had often felt the same way.

Marco tugged on the collar of his white button-down shirt. He wasn't wearing his suit jacket anymore and his sleeves were rolled up. Dressing for success helped make a man feel good about himself. It raised his self-esteem. Mario insisted everyone who worked for him be dressed to the hilt. He waited for Marco to explain how he had disposed of his own
padre
before deciding if he would reprimand him for coming to Mario looking like a slob.

"We put him in the bathtub, poured bleach until he was soaking in it, left him in it for ten minutes, and took him to the lake." Marco's gaze shifted as he stared at everything in the small observation room just to avoid looking at Mario.

"You didn't dry and dress him?" Mario asked.

"Yes. We did. You told us to dress him."

Mario nodded once. "Good. You wouldn't want your
padre
buried naked."

"He wasn't buried." The first sign of resentment appeared in Marco's eyes.

Mario held his younger cousin's gaze, shifting his weight to hold on to it when Marco tried looking away. "Lake Michigan is very much like the ocean, yes?"

Marco blinked. "Yeah, it is."

"Uncle Petrie loved the ocean, didn't he?"

Marco nodded.

Mario sighed. Marco was young, barely over twenty, but Mario was patient and he honored family. Massimo Mandela's brothers and sisters never had amounted to much, and their children were following in their footsteps. But Mario had learned well from his own
padre
, the one Mandela who actually had worked hard and broke his back doing everything he could to give his wife and children the best life possible. Family mattered more than anything, to Massimo, even when some of them were a complete waste of flesh.

Mario moved closer to Marco and slapped him on the shoulder. He didn't smile when Marco flinched before straightening to attention. Mario hoped Marco had learned something from tonight's events. Quite possibly he wasn't any better than his father, but Mario knew blood was thicker than water. He would be patient with Marco as long as Marco followed Mario's orders impeccably.

"You gave your
padre
the kind of burial he would want." Mario left the observation room, knowing Marco would follow him, like a trained dog, without Mario telling him to do so. "Now, Marco, you are the oldest son, right?"

"Yes." Marco was half a pace behind Mario, but it wasn't hard to miss the bitterness in his tone.

As much as Mario would like to think Marco resented being the oldest of a man who couldn't perform the simplest of tasks, Mario didn't get where he had in life by making false assumptions. Marco wasn't smart enough to see when he should feel humiliated and when he should be kissing ass.

"It is now your responsibility to take on your
padre
's tasks. Is this something I can trust you with?" They climbed the stairs and arrived at Mario's room. Mario turned to face Marco, who remained in the doorway. "If you aren't ready for the additional responsibility, you may tell me. I won't ever punish you for honesty."

"You punished Father for his honesty."

Mario studied Marco. He straightened, bringing himself to his full six feet. Even as he puffed out his chest, there wasn't enough man facing Mario to make Marco a compatible opponent, mentally or physically.

Mario sighed, making a show of his patience being pushed. "Marco," he said, and tapped his finger against his lips. He began pacing, focusing on the carpet. With the simpler minds, visual effects were often more effective than words. He would keep it straight and easy for his cousin's sake. "Come in here and sit down."

Mario continued pacing as Marco crossed the room and sat in the chair facing Mario's desk. Mario remained standing, forcing Marco to shift in his chair so he could see Mario.

"It's important you share your thoughts with me. But I have a hard time believing you think your
padre
was punished for honesty."

"He told you what he thought," Marco blurted out, suddenly sounding like a whining child. "He cared for you as if you were his oldest son or he wouldn't have bothered trying to make you see how things were."

"And how were things?"

"If I tell you what my father told me, you will kill me, too," Marco said and set his jaw stubbornly, pressing his lips together as if he would say no more.

"I won't kill you," Mario promised, sighing. He was getting bored with Marco's tantrums and ignorance. There were only so many ways to spell something out for someone. "Why do you think I killed Uncle Petrie?"

Marco took his time looking at Mario. When he finally shot Mario a wary look, the anger no longer flared in his eyes. He seemed lost, confused.

"Tell me," Mario encouraged.

"Because of the
signorina
you had here," Marco shot Mario a furtive glance but then decided to give his attention to the carpet.

"I should tolerate any of you calling my dates sluts to their faces?" Mario had every intention of turning Angela into a very nice slut. It would take some time. Angela preferred teasing him and thinking she could get away with it. He'd considered giving her some of the slave juice, just to release the wild creature he knew existed under her properly bred composure. Mario didn't doubt for a moment, though, that he would reap his reward for patience if he held out a bit longer. Angela would be worth every minute of it. "I warned Uncle Petrie," Mario added coolly. "But not only did he insult my guest, he also insulted me."

Marco mumbled something under his breath.

"What was that?" Mario demanded.

"My
padre
sent me to you." Marco shifted in his seat. "I came here to warn you."

Mario spotted the lipstick lid near his keyboard and picked it up, spinning it in his fingers. The lip gloss she'd applied had been a glossy pink color, and as attractive as it had looked, he would much rather have seen her in a flashy red. He would suggest that next time he saw her. Stuffing the lid in his pocket, he returned his attention to Marco. "You told me you were concerned my guest wasn't who she appeared to be. I was very clear that we would discuss it later. While a guest is in my home isn't the time to go over their history."

"My
padre
was concerned for you, for your safety." Marco twisted his hands in his lap and stared at them. "We're pretty sure she's the daughter of a detective."

"What did you say?" Mario snapped, something deadly twisting inside him.

"The
signorina
," Marco explained. "We found a picture online. It's old. But that is what I came to tell you, to ask you," he corrected himself. "If you would take time to look at the picture."

"Show me." Mario would do more to her cute little ass than just fuck it if she was trying to take him down.

* * *

Angela put her hands on her hips and stared at the black box on the table in her room. "Why the hell did you quit?" she asked the inanimate object.

It didn't answer.

She paced around the table, staring at her surveillance equipment. Someone must have picked up her lipstick lid. Did they discover the bug in it?

"What did he come to warn you about?" She wanted to know. The conversation had stopped right after Marco told Mario why he and Petrie had interrupted his and Angela's evening. She was dying to know. Translating the Italian wasn't as easy as she'd thought it would be. When she typed the sentences into translating programs online, they didn't pull up anything that made sense. Angela tried various spellings of each word, which resulted in very bizarre sentences. Possibly Jake knew a little Italian. She expected him to show up soon, banging on her door and demanding to know what happened.

Angela hadn't tried looking for Jake when she'd raced across Mario's lawn, which had been quite the trek. She was sure she would go into cardiac arrest by the time she'd reached the street. Even as her heart had pounded painfully in her chest, Andrea had kept her cool and walked with purpose out of that neighborhood of mansions. She'd never looked over her shoulder, but the prickling down her neck might have been from Jake watching her.

Angela understood why he wouldn't have picked her up and given her a ride. It would have blown her cover if anyone else kept an eye on her as she ran like hell when Mario killed his uncle. Angela had walked ten blocks before grabbing a taxi back to the Drake.

It would be awkward seeing Mario again, although she anticipated that meeting happening soon. Mario had killed a man in front of her. He wouldn't let her walk out of his life now. She was surprised he hadn't tried making contact with her yet. More than likely, Jake and Mario would demand her attention at the same time.

In the meantime, she would listen to her bugs, learn what she could about Mario, and somehow validate his connection to the game. She needed something solid to instigate an arrest. It would be smart to call her dad soon, as well. There were no messages from him all evening. Not that he would tell her on voice mail if he'd substantiated any solid leads. Even if he had finally viewed the security camera footage, he might not have more than a picture, which wouldn't do them any good until they could match it with a name. She definitely had information to share with him, though.

The small black box began beeping. Angela jumped. "Shit," she hissed. Her nerves were frazzled. Maybe a drink would calm her, or even hot tea. It would be smart to stock up on a few supplies and keep them in her refrigerator. She had a microwave and a sink. Calling room service every time she wanted something would break her bank.

Settling for cold water, Angela propped herself on a chair in front of the box on the table. There were knobs and lights facing her, and she tilted the box, reading the label by each light and referring to her owner's manual.

"'There will be one solid beep to indicate frequency change. This will happen only when more than one transmitter is activated. After the beep, switch the listening channel.'" She quit reading and turned the small knob until it clicked. Popping sounded through the speaker. "God, I love these devices."

"Bobby!" someone yelled through the crackling.

Angela pulled her knee to her chin and wrapped her hands around her leg, resting her head and staring at the box.

"You need to feed the goons."

"What's the point?" a man asked, more than likely Bobby. "All they do is sit there like zombies. They aren't even pacing or talking anymore."

"Just because they're drugged doesn't mean they don't need to eat." Whoever was giving the order wasn't Mario.

"And isn't it your job to feed them?" Bobby complained.

"Not anymore. I've been promoted. You're feeding the goons now."

The goons were probably the people Mario had abducted for the game. A wave of excitement rushed through Angela. She almost jumped out of her chair. The people he'd kidnapped were there at his house somewhere.

"Look at you, Marco. Not an hour after tossing your
padre
into the lake, you assume his command with no remorse. Do you see what is happening?" Bobby sounded disgusted.