Ties That Bind (5 page)

“Of course,” he chuckled. “Nothing like a challenge to keep things lively.”

“Cat and mouse,” he murmured. “It's a game to everyone.”

Sonny pushed a beer across the table to him. “Coppell wasn't a game, Mitch. I would never let my men-”

“I didn't accuse you.”

“But I need to say it,” he interrupted. “I wouldn't do that to you. To put you through this?  I know the guilt you carry around. You've done it since we were kids. Hell, for the last year you've been walking around like you're just waiting for someone to shoot you and end it all. You're tired, I know it. Coppell's murder was detestable. Unforgivable. But, for you, maybe it’s the turning point you need to stop acting like a hired hand for everyone else.”

“Vinetti's not a turning point. It puts on opposite sides of an impending war.”

“A paper war,” Sonny shrugged. “We don't solve things with the violence that took Coppell. Honor is the one thing we still manage to hang on to.”

Mitch nodded. This was what he'd missed about the east coast- family. Even if it was a feuding one. Of course, it was also the reason he'd spend so many years in Canada- to try and drown the depths of the familial ties he'd been unintentionally building.

“We both know Jeffrey was a raging asshole 90% of the time but I'm sorry for your loss, Mitchell.”

He nodded, sitting up to clink bottles with him.

Sonny grinned. “But I'm glad his death brought you home.”

CHAPTER SIX

Mitch knew better than to believe in coincidences. In his world, they just didn’t happen. Most coincidences, he himself planned or orchestrated – that was part of both his government job and his undercover one. A rare aberration was usually the result of something he’d put into play months earlier and had just somehow forgotten. And then there were moments like this one…ones that defied logic or intuition or any other human rationale he could possibly think of.

Sprinting across the narrow passageway between two wooden crates marked “esplosivi” in bright neon orange letters, he gritted his teeth wishing Ashli would kick off her spiked heels and run before one of the gunmen aiming for them realized he could kill them instantly with one shot to the pallets of gunpowder he was trying to maze his way through. Either they didn’t read Italian (although he assumed anyone could figure out the meaning of the big mushroom cloud pictured on the nearby barrels) or they weren’t really trying to kill them. Or…something more bewildering tugged at the recesses of his mind, a thread of intangible desperation that he couldn’t seem to process while being shot at.

He frowned again, liking none of the options jumbling through his brain, and crouched down to check his pistol clip to see how many bullets he had remaining. Grabbing Ashli’s arm, he yanked her the rest of the way through the hazardous maze and pulled her into the one defensible corner he’d been able to locate. He pressed back further into the cover of darkness, wincing as razor sharp nails bit through his dress shirt and buried in his flesh.

“We get out of this and you’ve got to be declawed,” he grumbled.

“Oh, sorry!” Ashli whispered, extracting her nails from his back and sliding her hands down to rest at his waist.

“Under other circumstances-”

“Oh, shut up, will you?” she hissed. “We’re going to die here. They’ll likely just drop our bodies off the wharf across the street. We’ll float up in the spring, our bodies chewed down to nubs by whatever lives in the river.”

He chuckled, readjusting his position to get a better look at their adversaries who had concealed themselves among the crates 100 feet away. “You underestimate my abilities. I have no intention of dying here.” He squeezed her hand, more to try and get her to loosen her grip than to comfort her. “Or being eaten by fish. Relax.”

“I hate you,” she mumbled.

“Is that why you invited me out to dinner tonight?” he asked, raising his gun and firing off a shot. He listened closely to hear if it made its target and when the sound of a gun clattering to the floor met his ears, he smiled with satisfaction. Only four more to go. Unless they called for backup.

“No, I liked you then. Now that I’m being shot at?  Not so much.”

“Hey, they’re aiming for you, sugar. I’m just getting stuck in the crossfire. You want me to leave?”  He wasn’t certain what derogatory term she was now throwing at him under her breath and didn’t really care but talking seemed to be keeping her from falling into hysterics. “Nice way to compliment the guy saving your ass,” he answered frostily as he fired another perfect shot through the darkness. “You got a cell phone on you?”

“The police?” she queried, dropping to her knees to dig through her purse. She tossed half of the contents on the ground…a snake-skin wallet, cranberry red lipstick, a glittery gold compact, a tiny vial of what he assumed was cocaine, a handful of condoms in violet purple packaging, a fistful of tampons.

Mitch had to look away. This was what happened to the average American when they were looking for their car keys in a mini-mall parking lot. Watching a woman he barely knew digging through her purse, her personal life strewn before him like a photograph, hiding in a pitch black warehouse while a couple of unknown goons tried to whack the shopping queen- these were not the things that happened to him.

“I don’t think the Atlantic City police will be coming to
my
assistance any time soon, Ashli,” he reminded.

“Oh, right.” She hopped up and he had to forcibly push her back down so her head didn’t get shot off. “Here.”

“Stay down,” he grumbled and dialed a number quickly, dropping his voice to a mere murmur. “Salvatore, it’s Mitch. Do you still have a place down on the east end of the wharf?  Can you get your guys down to warehouse seventeen, it’s a few blocks away and I’m needing a way out. Fast.”

He waited only a second, laughed so loudly that it caused the men to stop shooting and then sent a crooked smile Ashli’s direction. “Yeah, she is turning out to be a handful already, isn’t she?  Thanks, Sonny.”

He turned on his knees to face her and, under the dim safety lights he couldn’t be sure but thought he could see a blush rising on her cheeks. She was tossing items back in her purse without bothering to look at them, the silvery sequins edging her purse trembling with either her haste or her fear. Reaching out, he picked some of the things up and crammed them into her purse as a peace offering. “It’ll just be a few minutes. We just need to stay out of the crossfire.”

It didn’t seem to shake her mood and he sank his back against the wall to sit beside her. “Jimmie really does keep you out of this type of thing doesn’t he?”

She glanced his way, trying to see if he was making fun of her again but his eyes were the piercing blue she remembered from their meeting in her office the week before. She dropped back toward him with a huff, clutching her purse to her chest. “I haven’t been shot at since I was,” she hesitated and a crinkle formed over her brow as she tried to recall the last time, “since I was nineteen.”

“And how old are you now?”

“Twenty-eight,” she gave him a half smile, “or thereabouts. But, I’m sure you already know that. You seem to know everything about me already. Why is that?”

He flashed her a wide grin. “Security?”

“Likely story,” she said but offered him a tiny smile. “Jimmie’s really good about it. I wish he took his safety as seriously as he does mine but you men are pretty gregarious that way, aren’t you?”  She offered a genuine smile this time. “Don’t answer that.”

“I didn’t intend to.”

She jerked closer to him as the screech of tires sounded somewhere outside. He lifted his arm, letting her drop into his chest and tucked her head into his chest. His voice was low, not quite a whisper, but soft in her ear. “That’s the cavalry, just keep your head low, okay?”

She didn’t bother to nod, her face buried deep in his chest as the sounds began to crowd around them. Her ear pressed deep into his sternum, the sound of his even heartbeat and steady breathing making her feel safer than his touch. He wasn’t frightened. No. He wasn’t even the least bit alarmed. It was as if he was doing nothing out of the ordinary – like he was sitting in front of the television watching one of those dis-interesting documentaries that never even caused a person to blink fast. What kind of person wasn’t terrified to be sitting inches away from a gun battle so loud it was deafening?  Chancing a look up, her eyes met his clouded, worried ones. The look matched ones she had seen in Jimmie for decades. He was worrying about her. Perfect.

His hand reached to touch her head, tilting her chin upwards to survey her more directly. “Are you all right?  Are you hurt?”

Ashli shook her head and this caused him to look even more worried. In his arms, she could feel his heart speed up a beat.

“Are you certain?”

“Yes.”

He frowned. “Then why are you smiling like that?”

“Mitch!” a voice bellowed somewhere nearby, “stop hiding for God’s sake and get up. We’ve cleaned up your mess.”

Mitch helped Ashli to standing and waved, keeping one hand looped around her waist. “Over here. Ashli, do you know Sonny Markesi?”

Ashli nodded but failed to extend a hand in greeting. Instead, Sonny stepped forward and kissed her cheek and then Mitch’s.

“Look,” he turned in a circle extending the edges of his tuxedo jacket for them to appraise, “I even dressed for the occasion. Vinetti would be so proud.”

“You look phenomenal,” Mitch groused. “I need a fucking drink. Get us outta here.”

Ashli hesitated as he led them to the car waiting just beyond the blinking exit sign, placing her arm on Sonny’s. “Sonny, you didn’t-”

“No,” he laughed. “I didn’t call your brother. I’m not about to be the one to tell him Mitch was letting you get shot by some dock hoods in my town.”

“Your town,” Mitch interrupted as they sank into the car, “isn’t safe for anybody these days.”

“Hey, I asked you to come here and clean things up but no,” he glanced in the rear view mirror at Ashli, “you wanted to spend time with the Gucci princess.”

“Screw you, Sonny,” Ashli slugged his shoulder as she began to relax. “Wait until Jimmie finds out it was your territory where I got ambushed. Better start making your excuses now.”

Mitch glanced from one to the other, looking for any signs of tension between the two but could decipher nothing. They both wore smiles on their faces, their words seeming more like childhood ribbing than anything deeper. He tilted his head Sonny’s direction and, in response, Sonny laughed.

“She didn’t tell you?” he managed through continued chuckles. “Jimmie and I don’t get along too well. Stems from a few years back when Ashli and I disappeared at a party together one night. Too many drinks, romantic music-”

“Romantic, my ass,” she grumbled. “He was groping me on the balcony at the Fontana Club when Jimmie appeared, scared shitless that I had been kidnapped. Which,” she shrugged, “I kind of had been.”

“I didn’t hear you complaining at the time,” Sonny winked and she smiled in return.

“Yes, well, there’s no accounting for taste when you're three sheets to the wind. Can we stop at your hotel so I can get cleaned up, Sonny?”

“Anything, princess.”

Mitch fell into silence for the remainder of the ride, following them into Sonny’s suite with a distracted frown upon his face. He had decided days ago not to go after Vinetti. More than the worry over Jimmie’s business deals, it had been a much more personal decision for him. He and Sonny Markesi had been friends since childhood. They, along with perhaps two others, had been the only ones to make it out of the neighborhood still in one piece and that had kept their friendship strong. As teenagers, they had fought over girls, popularity, and status in the local gang but as they’d grown up and everyone else disappeared everything had been forgotten and Sonny had become one of Mitch’s closest friends. After Coppell’s death, it had been here, in Sonny’s suite, where Mitch had chosen to take refuge.

When he’d heard that Sonny and Vinetti were at odds, Mitch just couldn’t do it. There was no badge, no government commitment that could convince him to pit himself against Sonny. Believing that a war between the two was inevitable, it had been easy for him to walk away from the Vinetti case. It was one of the reasons he had agreed to this ridiculous dinner in the first place- so he could tell Ashli he wasn’t interested.

But if that’s all it was – rumors gone amok just because of Jimmie’s crazy over protection of Ashli, Mitch had no other excuse handy. He could think of no legitimate reason that his superiors would believe to get himself out of this assignment.

“Need another bottle?” a quiet voice grabbed Mitch’s attention and he looked down to see that he had managed to drink the half bottle of whiskey that Sonny had put in front of him.

Dark black eyes focused on him, not exactly a look of worry but more one of increasing unease. Mitch knew he was confused- perhaps one of only two people on the planet that actually cared about Mitch’s happiness. He knew Mitch’s thoughts were elsewhere, knew that a gunfight wasn’t going to cause him to drink so heavily, knew that, under normal circumstances, he would never have been out alone with someone like Ashli Vinetti as company. But Sonny also knew Mitch’s thoughts were his own – until he was ready to talk there was no point in even asking what was traveling through his mind.