Ruthless: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance (16 page)

"And yet, you handle it so well," I noted. "You are like two different women. A great mother, and a good friend to Carmen, and I assume Adriana and others too. But on the other hand I've seen and felt the sting of when you go into badass mode.”

"Sucking up to your boss gets you no pay raises," Luisa joked, but I could still see her smile at the compliment. "In all honesty, I think it is that I subscribe to Carlo Bertoli's philosophy about the duality of man. On one side is the Luisa you mentioned, the mother who likes making cookies with my daughter, or enjoys tender moments with my husband. On the other hand is the killer, who enjoys the rush of a fight. The best we can do is keep those parts of us separated, and also fulfilled. Too many people try to deny part of their nature, so they end up miserable and usually snapping at some point or another."

"Another time we’ll finish this,” I said, locking and loading the first clip into the rifle. "It's go time."

We pulled over, outside the airport which truly was one of those places that was used by crop dusters, amateur enthusiasts, and criminals almost exclusively. A short runway had a line of Cesnas and even a few ultralights parked at one end near the single hangar, which was integrated with the tower. There were no lights on in the tower, and I wondered what sort of pilot was gutsy enough or stupid enough to try and make a landing at night on a runway that wasn't lit at all. "How the fuck are they supposed to see when they come in?"

"Like that," Luisa whispered, pointing. I squinted and saw a dark figure get out of a car that I thought had just been parked near the hangar and go inside, and a few seconds later the red runway lights went on. "The plane is coming, there's no way they would light up without the plane being on final approach."

It was then that I heard the engine, and Luisa pointed. "Out. Go to Tom's car."

We left the vehicle and crept up to Tom's car, a used old station wagon that was about as far from a Bertoli car as you could get and still be running. Tom had gotten out, staying low to the ground even though we were parked across the street from the airport at a closed bar. "What's the plan?"

Tomasso waited for Nick and Gene to arrive, then gave his final directions. "Okay. Nick, Gene, I want you guys to cut right, around the other side of the line here, and get their attention. Go full auto if you have to, but give us some room to come in from the other side. Luisa, Dante and I are the assault team. Got it?"

Nick grumbled, and I knew he wanted to be on the assault team, but his discipline with his shooting would be important for our survival. He nodded, slapped Gene on the shoulder, and the two of them took off, disappearing around the corner of the airport. I watched, and noted the lack of perimeter security. "The
Gatos
aren't very experienced in this sort of deal, are they?”

"A fact we use to our advantage," Tomasso said. "Probably wondering why I chose you for the assault team?"

“Kind of," I whispered back as the three of us sprinted across the road, speed our friend. "I doubt it's my good looks."

"I want someone I fully trust on my back."

We reached the edge of the airport, which unlike the big airports had only a simple chain-link fence. "Someone's gotta be stealing planes on a monthly basis out of this place."

"I doubt it, too hard to fly out," Tomasso commented. He cut a hole in the fence, and the three of us wiggled through, staying low to the ground and out of sight. "You two ready?"

I looked down and double-checked, taking my rifle off safety. "Ready."

"Then let's go."

Tomasso started the assault with a rifle shot to the plane just as it touched down, not expecting to hit anything but to put a scare into the pilot. It was the signal for Nick and Gene, who opened up on the hangar, and the car that had been parked next to it. We charged, not in bursts like you see in Army movies, there was no constant leapfrogging, bouncing up and down on the grass and pavement. There was nowhere for us to take cover, and speed was our biggest ally.

I fired as I jogged, not sprinting to avoid spraying bullets wildly, but still moving. Luisa, Tomasso and I weaved side to side as we did, obliterating the car as we closed the distance. We were nearly all the way across the runway when Tomasso called out. "Cease fire!"

The small airplane, which Tomasso had fired at first, hadn't taken off again like I expected, but instead taxied toward us, and I quickly saw why. Black smoke belched from the engine in the right wing, and the pilot was having trouble even keeping the plane stable on the ground. There was no way it could take off again.

Nick and Gene came sprinting, their weapons smoking in the night, and Nick paused to check that there was nobody moving in the car we'd shot up. "Three down."

Gene kicked in the door to the hangar and fired one more burst. "Four down."

"Let's get to the plane," Tomasso ordered, knowing the cops would be here soon. "Come on."

We made our way to the plane, which was about a hundred yards in front of us. We closed half the distance and stopped, Tomasso bringing his rifle to his shoulder and opening fire, full automatic. The rest of us followed suit, and the pilot stood no chance. In ten seconds we filled the plane with five hundred bullets, emptying our hundred-round C-mags and replacing them once each.

The silence when the last rifle fired was strange, and I glanced at Tomasso, who nodded. "Let's get the fuck outta here. Move!"

We took off on a full sprint back to the exit of the airport, knowing with each second wasted the local cops would be getting closer. So it was by pure luck only that I saw the
Gato
staggering in the doorway, his MAC-10 up and aimed at Tomasso, who was to my right. I didn't think, and just reacted. "Down!"

I shoved Tomasso, and watched as he stumbled, rolling to the pavement. I dove after him even as I heard the guy
open up, and suddenly, there was a searing pain in my right hand, and I hit the ground, trying to aim my rifle at the gangster. For some reason, though, I couldn't get a good grip with my right hand on the rear stock. It kept slipping. Luisa had no problems, though, and with a quick burst, she nearly cut the dude
in half. "Get up!"

I staggered to my feet, my hand scraping on the ground, and I screamed as fresh pain flared through my hand. I dropped back to my knee, looking at my hand, which was spurting blood onto the dirt. "I'm hit!"

Tomasso was next to me, pulling me up by the armpits even as Luisa grabbed the other arm. "No time, let's go!"

We abandoned the car that Tomasso had driven to the airport, Nick hitting a button on the inside wired to the hazard lights that would activate a timer attached to three sticks of dynamite taped to the gas tank. All of it had been done by someone wearing rubber gloves, and there was no way the cops would ever know what the hell happened. Besides, it created more chaos to let us get away.

I felt the world swim as Tomasso shoved me into the back of the car I'd come in, piling in after me. Luisa was all business, getting behind the wheel and firing up the engine, driving off to the east while Nick and Gene headed the opposite direction. We were about a half mile away when Tomasso's car went up in a ball of fire, and we were making our way over country roads back toward Seattle.

"Give me your hand," Tomasso said, reaching down and grabbing the first aid kit our car had. "You saved my life."

"My . . . pleasure," I said, shock and blood loss starting to make me sleepy. "How bad is it?"

"Don't worry, we'll get you taken care of," he said. My head swam, and I leaned back against the seat, closing my eyes. My last thought, before the darkness took over, was that for the first time ever, I'd heard real worry in Tomasso Bertoli's voice.

"
W
hat happened
?" I asked, as Luisa escorted me into the clinic. "What the hell happened? Where's Dante?"

When I'd been woken up at four in the morning by someone pounding on the back door of the studio, I ignored it at first, figuring it to be either a drunk or maybe the overly frisky dogs who had decided the area behind my studio was the local hookup spot. The deadbolt was reinforced, and would take a SWAT battering ram to break through. "Fuck off!"

"It's Luisa!" I heard in a muffled reply, and I rolled out of bed immediately, running to the door and unlocking it. I threw the door open, and saw my friend standing in the alley, wearing black military type pants and a t-shirt. "Come with me."

"What is it?" I asked for the first time, fear in my heart put there by the look in her eyes.

"It's Dante. Come with me. Quick!”

I obeyed, even though I was in only an old pair of ratty dance pants and a t-shirt, pulling on shoes with no socks and getting in Luisa's car. She said nothing as she drove me toward the clinic, which was hidden in an old warehouse in the industrial district. There were three men on guard at the entrance, each of them armed with pistols, but they parted like the Red Sea upon Luisa's approach.

"Where's Dante?" I asked again, and Luisa brought me to a back room, where I saw him lying on a table, unconscious. Two doctors were working on him, and he was surrounded by a clear sheet, like what you might see in a shower, but the space was much larger, at least ten feet in diameter. "What happened?"

"There was a fire fight," I heard Tomasso say to my left, and I looked over, my concern ratcheting up a notch when I saw that his hands were covered in blood. "We thought we'd gotten everyone. But one guy, he wasn't . . . he tried to return fire. Dante saw it out of the corner of his eye and shoved me out of the way. He took a bullet for me.”

"How bad?" I asked, my heart clenching in my chest. "How bad?"

"Just his hand," Tomasso said, his voice catching, and I let loose a sigh of relief. "The docs are doing what they can to save it.”

I gulped and nodded. "I see. Is there any hope?"

Tomasso sighed and wiped at his face. "I don't know, Carmen. I sent Luisa to get you because, well, I thought you should know."

"There is little else to do than wait," Luisa said, pulling a chair over. "But we felt it would be good for Dante if you were here when he wakes up. He passed out in the car, and the doctors have kept him under since then."

We sat, trapped between worry and boredom as the doctors kept working for another hour, my body fighting the mix of adrenaline, fatigue, and heart-wrenching worry that coursed through my blood. Eventually fatigue won out, and I dozed off, leaning against Tomasso who put an arm around me and kept me warm in the cold room.

I was woken up when the plastic sheet that surrounded the operating table rustled, and the doctors came out. Tomasso sat up, waking me at the same time. "How is he?"

"He lost all of his index finger, and a small chunk of the palm itself," the lead doctor said. "Mr. Bertoli, even if we'd had the facilities of the University hospital, I couldn't have saved the finger. I'm sorry, sir."

Tomasso shook his head. "You did your best, doctor. What about Dante?"

"He's still sleeping it off," the other doctor said. "He's got a strong pulse, and he's in tremendous shape. He should be coming around in a half hour or so, I'll stay and monitor him until then. In my opinion you should get changed, get some coffee. No offense, but you look like hell."

"After I know that he’s okay," Tomasso said. "Can we go inside?"

"Give us two minutes, we'll have that screen down," the third doctor said. "Then you can go in all you want."

They went back to work, quickly pulling the clear sheet down, and I saw Dante for the first time. He was a little pale, but except for the mass of gauze wrapped around his right hand, he looked like he was sleeping. I went closer, up to him in the flat bed, where he was lying so helplessly. "Tomasso?"

"Yes, Carmen?" he asked, coming up next to me.

"Tell me you didn't get him hurt foolishly. Tell me that, and I'll believe you. You've never lied to me before."

"I thought we did our best," Tomasso said quietly. "In terms of from a military standpoint, we were successful. A plane down, a big chunk of a gang wiped out, and only one wounded. But personally, I've been sick about this the whole time. I've never gotten someone else hurt before."

I looked at Tomasso, then to the sky, taking a deep breath. "I believe you. That doesn't mean I don't want to slap you right now."

"I know you and Dante are seeing each other, and it’s scary, but he'll recover," Luisa said, and I turned, shaking my head.

"Luisa, you don't understand! Yes, that scared me when you came banging on my back door at four in the morning, and yes, it scared me sitting here watching the doctors work. But Dante's
hand
is injured, maybe permanently. Think about how that’s going to impact him with his promotion that means everything to him. Not to mention, how in the hell are we supposed to get ready for the Nationals when my partner can't use his right hand?"

Luisa thought, then nodded in understanding. “I’m sorry, that hadn’t even crossed my mind. What will you do?"

“I don’t know. We’ll figure it out,” I said with a sigh, “Maybe call, let them know that Dante's injured, and that the next in line gets our slot. It wouldn't be fair to whoever that is to not let them prepare."

"Fuck being fair," a weak voice came from behind us, and we all turned, a smile breaking out on my face as Dante opened his eyes. "I'm sick and tired of being fucking fair in life. It certainly hasn't been fair to me."

I rushed over to the table, careful to take his left hand, looking down at him. "Dante, your hand is injured. They say . . . they say . . ."

“My right index finger got blown off, and from the feel of this lump at the end of my wrist, I'd say I had some other damage as well. I felt it in the car. But it doesn't matter, we're going to New York, and we're going to compete."

I swallowed, looking at his face, which was set with such composed resoluteness that I felt like what he was saying was possible. "We're going to have to rework our showcase," I said, squeezing his good hand. “But I guess we’ll figure that out.”

"Then we rework them," Dante said. "Hey Tomasso. Good to see you. Did you wait the whole time?"

He nodded, coming closer. "Luisa ducked out to pick up Carmen, but I was watching your ass the whole time."

"Not my ass I'm worried about," Dante said with a chuckle. "The rest of the crew?"

"Nick and Gene checked in about an hour and a half ago, they got back to their drop off points. I'm tempted to go over there and have a little heart to heart with Gene, since he was the one who swept the building that guy came out of."

"Don't," Dante said, his voice gaining strength. Still, I could tell he was drained, whether it was from blood loss or from the trauma I wasn't sure. "The guy who came out, I caught a glimpse. He was already dying . . . he was hit. What is the news saying?"

"We'll check that later," Tomasso said. He looked over at Luisa, and gestured with his head. Luisa nodded, and Tomasso turned back. “Actually, that might be a good idea to check on now. Think we can leave you in Carmen's care for the next hour or two?"

"I think I can tolerate that," Dante said with a small smirk. "Go on, go be the boss man. When you come back though, could you bring me a Coke? Preferably cherry, and with a straw?"

Tomasso smiled and patted Dante on the shoulder. "For my brother? Anything. I'll see you later."

He and Luisa left, and I looked back down at Dante, who had a shocked expression on his face. "For he who sheds his blood with me today shall be my brother," he whispered in amazement, before his eyes found mine.

"Well, you wanted acceptance," I said, patting his arm. "Even if you're out of your mind."

"And how am I out of my mind?" Dante asked, giving me a semi-cocky grin. "I mean, in what
new
ways am I out of my mind?"

"We're seven and a half weeks out from the Nationals," I replied, stroking his hair absently. "You just had a finger blown off, and who knows what other damage to your hand. I haven't even seen it, and you're talking about still trying to make it. After we placed third at the Regionals. You do realize we're going to be facing the best of the best at this thing, right?"

Dante nodded. "And I know one other thing. I can’t think of anyone more worth it."

A shook my head, amazed. "I still should make the call."

"You should, but you won't," Dante said, pulling me in closely. Our lips met, and we kissed slowly, with tenderness and affection. He was gentle, not weak at all despite being drained, and when his hand pulled me in deeper, I moaned lightly, passion filling me. I knew what I wanted, even though he'd just been through surgery. I wanted to climb on top of that operating table and have sex. Long, slow sex that would last for hours.

Instead, with a chuckle and a small whine from me, he released our kiss, giving me a little smile as I stood up, slightly out of breath. "That's why you won't make the call. Because you're just as crazy as I am, and because you know that come hell or high water, I'm going to step onto that dance floor, and we're going to make magic together."

* * *

"
Y
ou're
both out of your damn minds."

For the second time in my life, I was sitting in Carlo Bertoli's study that evening, sitting across from the Don while both of his sons were flanking me. Angelo had a bemused expression on his face, while Tomasso still bore the haunted but intense expression I'd seen at the clinic.

"Be that as it may, it’s our decision," I replied. I was dressed in my best business clothes, which were admittedly not very good. When you're a dance instructor, suits are not a priority. Besides, I had a lot to do in the short time I had between going home and driving up to the Bertoli mansion. "And I truly believe in my heart of hearts that Dante is right.”

Don Bertoli turned his attention to Tomasso. "What is the fallout from the airport?"

"Our sources are telling us that the cops have no leads on us," Tomasso said. I was surprised and slightly flattered that the they were including me so much in open discussion of what had happened. "I was careful, every round was from a pre-loaded canister, we wore gloves and masks the entire time. The only evidence that might be traceable is Dante's blood at the scene, if the cops discover it, but from what I know, Dante has never been DNA sampled. In any case, Nick told me that he rubbed his foot into the blood, grinding it into the dirt before taking off after us. As for the Malone family, Luisa and I will deal with them directly this evening. It wasn't a Malone in that plane, but most likely one of their men, and that needs to be dealt with."

The Don nodded, then turned his attention back to me. "Miss Esperanza, of course I have concerns about this. Some are things we can control, some we can’t. This blood sample is worrisome, but Dante continuing with his dance training with you is neither here nor there. What I’m more concerned with is his ability to return to work. Men with no trigger fingers find their work options limited within my organization. Before I make a decision, are you sure that is worth your time and effort?"

I nodded strongly. "More than ever. You say Dante might be limited. Let's make it the worst-case scenario, that he can never return to anything within your organization ever again. Let's say that eight weeks from now, the two of us get back from New York, and some detective is waiting for us at SeaTac with a set of handcuffs for him because somehow, in some weird situation that nobody remembers, his DNA is actually on file somewhere. If that's true, if that's the case, then let him, let this man who has spent six years giving his heart and soul to your family, let him fulfill this last mission."

"And if I can add, it still is best for your investment," Tomasso said. "You are still Carmen's business partner, Father."

Carlo leaned back and laid his hands over his stomach, pondering. "All right then. When Dante leaves the clinic tomorrow, he will be reassigned in his duties. Until the end of the trip to New York, his primary duty will be to train for this competition. In fact, I'm going to place a call right now."

He sat forward and picked up a phone, dialing a number from memory. "Hello, Frankie? Yeah, it's Carlo. Yeah, how you doin'?"

I looked at Tomasso, raising an eyebrow.
How you doin'?
I mouthed. Tomasso tried, but couldn't totally hide his smile in reply, and I turned my attention back to the Don, who was talking with his friend. "Yeah, that's right, the dance competition in six weeks, the AADP Nationals. You got odds on it yet? No? Well, that doesn’t really matter to me. Listen, I got a business associate of mine who's competing. No, I don't want you to put a fix in with the judges. What I want to do is back myself. Put me down for ten large on the team of Esperanza and Degrassi."

The Don hung up the phone and gave me a small smile. "I always back my own horse. So when you win, we all win."