Ties That Bind (7 page)

Stripping off the clothes he’d now been wearing for two days, he stepped into the glass shower in the room Jimmie had offered him. Hot water washed down his back and he dropped his head against the mosaic tile, wishing that a shower would sober him since he was nowhere near being able to relax enough to sleep. He considered another drink but, as he glanced at himself in the mirror as he dried himself, his haggard appearance told him it was time to lay off some of the alcohol. His black hair was shining and he inspected it closely as he usually did, every day expecting gray hairs to start popping up on his head. They hadn’t yet but somehow he guessed Jimmie or Ashli would be able to put some there for him. He was reaching for his razor, planning on getting rid of the stubble he’d failed to take care of over the last few days when he heard the soft click behind him.

“Mitch?” Ashli’s voice was soft behind him, and he eyed her suspiciously from the mirror.

“Are you all right?”

“Your brother didn’t kill me if that’s what you mean,” he said moving to the area behind the door so he could remove the towel around his waist and pull on some pants.

“I warned you he takes my safety very seriously,” she murmured, sinking onto the bed as she waited for him to come out of the bathroom. “I try to get him to stop but it’s been that way since we were kids. Since Teresa-”

“Teresa?” he queried, taking a seat across from her.

“Our sister. A few years older than me, younger than Jimmie,” she shrugged. “It’s complicated and not at all the reason I came here tonight.”

“Why did you come here tonight?”

“To thank you. To not be alone. To have someone to talk to,” she shrugged with each statement. “Take your choice.”

He chuckled, still intoxicated enough not to be able to contain it. “I doubt you are ever alone unless you chose to be, Ashli.”

“Are you drunk?” she asked, her eyes narrowing as she stood up to walk around him. He gave a slow nod and she laughed. “You and Jimmie were drinking together?  Is he drunk too?”

“I’d imagine he has already passed out,” he answered.

She sent him an appraising glance. “You lie. He gets drunk with no one.”

“He made an exception.”

She dropped down to sit in front of him, her hands resting lightly on his knees. “You have joined his family.”

Even drunk, her words caught him off guard. They were spoken not with fear or respect but something that it took him a moment to place… relief. She was relieved that he had joined Jimmie’s family. Not
their
family but Jimmie’s family.

He stood up, skirting around her to pour himself a glass of icy water. The crystal clinked in his hands as he tried to isolate the muddled anecdotes floating through his brain. How she bailed him, a complete stranger, out of jail for no apparent reason. How she threw he and Jimmie together at every opportunity. How she hadn’t been in danger her entire adult life until the one night she happened to be out with him. And now, the relief she was exhibiting as if she had succeeded at something no one else was aware of. He tried to shake off the nagging theory but the investigator side of him wouldn’t let it go.

He lifted his eyes to the gilt edged mirror, watching her intently. She was loosening the belt on her red silk robe, fanning herself as if the temperature in the room had suddenly jumped a hundred degrees. Her negligee was a matching color but entirely lace, the fabric leaving little to his imagination. He could easily be taken in, watching her hands trace lightly against the firm roundness of her breasts. Were he anyone else he might have been fooled that her moves were truly innocent, not meant to draw him to her side. But he was not anyone else and as captivating as the idea of having her body sliding against his was, he would not allow himself to be taken before knowing the truth.

“We were lucky last night,” he managed, his voice husky as she moved closer to his side, her fingers trailing along his arm as she reached to take his glass and have a sip for herself.

“Oh, they wouldn’t have hurt me,” she murmured in his ear.

It was a matter of fact. A statement. Not a guess, not a conclusion or summary. She said it with the assuredness of someone saying the sun would rise again tomorrow.

“How would you know that?” he questioned, allowing himself to be pulled into her arms, allowing her hands to caress him with seductive moves he’d rarely been privy to.   He wanted her to tell him something believable. Something that would allow him the freedom to ravage her in his bed without reservations as to her intent.

But she hesitated. Not long...but long enough for him to know that it was she, not Jimmie, that was the devil within the Vinetti family.

When she finally did reply, her answer was already rehearsed, her voice a low purr. “No one could ever get passed you.”  Her clothes were removed before he took a breath, her body pressed into his, locking him between her and the tapestry someone had hung at a crooked angle on the wall.

He studied the vines and Valencia oranges in his periphery, everything seeming to hit him at once. The alcohol, her tempting caresses, her betrayal of either he or Jimmie (he wasn’t quite sure which) and the disengaging numbness that always set in when his decisions were finally made.

“You could take the breath right out of any man,” he whispered. She took it as an invitation, he supposed, because she dropped to her knees, her lips searing a path down his chest as she moved to unzip his pants. Before she could get her mouth around him, he grasped her face in his hands, forcing her to lift her eyes to meet his. “But as flattered as I am, I make it a point not to fuck people who try and have me killed.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

“He’s a cool customer, I’ll give him that,” Jimmie murmured, pushing the coffee pot across to Ashli. “He didn’t even flinch when he told me about your evening.”

“Not everyone is as terrified of you as you seem to think,” she answered, pouring herself a cup of coffee before getting up and returning it to the counter.

“You look like shit. What’s the matter with you?”

She popped the toast up, even though it wasn’t nearly done, and tossed it on to a plate. She tried to come up with a snappy retort for him but her mind was too mollified by the previous evening’s events to be able to vocalize a creative response. Instead, she sank back down across from him and slid the plate his direction. “Brent Calhart’s office in Washington ran a check on him for us.”

“What came up?” he tilted the heavy wooden chair back on its legs, ignoring the toast. “Not that I count on our lawyers to know much of interest.”

“He’s done time.”

“Can we clear it?”

“No.”

“No?”  His chair screeched across the floor as he moved back from the table causing Ashli to wince. His eyes met hers, challenging her to complain about noise in light of her self-inflicted hangover. But she remained silent, her nose deep in her mug as if the steam from the drink was somehow going to unfog her brain. “Since when can’t we clear a record?”

“Since it’s a federal charge.”

“Federal?  What kind of guy have you hooked up with here?”

“He’s done his time and hasn’t gotten even a speeding ticket since.” She turned away from him, grabbing a dish towel and wiping off the slate counter nearest her, concentrating on the specially designed cracks that had been laid by an Italian craftsman she’d flown over when they bought the place. She had known this would be a sticking point with him – he wanted people with executive office access to have clear records. It was moronic, considering Jimmie’s long and distinguished criminal career but he had made rare few exceptions over the years.

“Even under Coppell?”

“Even under Coppell,” a deep voice acknowledged. “Ashli-”

She whirled, the presence of their west coast security advisor catching her off guard. It was unlike Jimmie to bring him in for routine business and she felt the knot beginning to rise in her stomach. Trying to keep her nervousness in check, she moved to him quickly, pulling him into a welcoming embrace. Although he was several inches shorter than her, even without shoes on, he had to turn sideways to even get through the kitchen door. “Bernie!  What brings you to New York?”

“A summons apparently,” he tilted a comical look toward Jimmie, made even more comical by the scowl Jimmie sent him in return.

“Summons?” she raised an eyebrow and turned to Jimmie. “Jimmie-”

But, as usual, Jimmie was already dismissing her with a wave of his hand. “Not your new friend, don’t worry. We’ll meet you in an hour or so, all right?  Go roundup Mitch so the two can meet, would you?”  As soon as she was gone, Jimmie’s voice lowered several notches. “Tell me.”

He sank across from Jimmie, folding his hands in his lap, knowing the news he had wasn’t going to appease his boss. “Not much of anything. He did time, as you know, worked for Linski.”

“In Canada?”

“Quebec,” he confirmed. “Some small organizations in L.A., Dallas and here on the coast. He’s got strong ties in Atlantic City. He joined Coppell a couple of years ago.”

“As security chief?”

“Wrong. As his right.”

Jimmie’s eyes narrowed. This was definitely news. He had done several deals with Coppell and knew of Mitch but had never had the opportunity to meet him. Why would Mitch lie about a low level job like security if he was so high in Coppell’s organization?  And why would he have not been present at a single meeting that Jimmie had with Coppell?  

Jimmie’s frown deepened, trying to piece together the missing parts of Mitch’s history that no one seemed to know about. There were a dozen different explanations – he and Coppell could be childhood friends, Coppell could have owed a favor to Mitch’s family, Mitch could just be the killer shot people claim him to be and everyone knew Coppell needed a damn good shot close by. This was why he hated international business. In his own backyard, he knew when people breathed. Expand across the globe and he didn’t know who was sitting in the seat right next to him. “What about now?”

“Now he’s yours. Or so the street says. A lot of guys are beginning to get nervous. Seems this Mitch guy pulls a lot of his own weight around the boroughs and Atlantic City.”

“His own business?” he asked his brows now furrowed to the point they nearly met in the middle.

“Not certain but definitely enough connections to put your organization at a standstill.”

“Then we want him on our side, I’d imagine.”

“You gotta be careful, Jimmie. A lot of people are looking at this like a marriage. You’re marrying into Atlantic, Bronx and Brooklyn. Business wise it may be profitable…”

“It will be profitable,” he corrected.

“Okay, but your organization may suffer here in New York.”

Jimmie didn’t really have to consider this although he knew Bernie meant well. Mitch’s weapons knowledge made him employable, his own business made him desirable, and his connections made him imperative. Expanding business was the only way to keep the Vinetti empire moving forward and Jimmie was determined that if Gino Palmese, the current head of
la familia
, decided to retire as rumor had it, the vacated captain’s seat would be bequeathed to him. Anything less would be failure.

“They won’t turn on family,” he countered. “I want him.”

“He’s first generation,” Bernie voice was grave, causing Jimmie to laugh.

“No one is first generation anymore, Bernie.”

“Born in Sicily. I’ve got a copy of his passport if you don’t believe me.”

“So, what are you telling me?  He’s got the old world customs down?  Come on, Bernie. All those mafia movies are going to your head. He seems American enough to me.”

“Just thought you should know.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Jimmie managed through broken laughter, “I’ll make sure to check my sheets before I go to bed each night. Don’t want any fish or horse heads to sneak in there by mistake, you know?”  

“Terenari.”

Jimmie leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping distractedly on the table. Nicolai Terenari had become a thorn in the sides of many families on the east coast. Having his own west coast contingent, Jimmie had never had the need or inclination to do business dealings with him. That he couldn’t seem to get along with the east was troubling but it still didn’t make Jimmie overly wary – some of Vinetti Industries best deals had been made when other east coast families were too cowardly to step up to the table. But Terenari had offered him money and a lot of it, only to “talk”. He was asking for nothing, making no deals, outsourcing none of his business. He only wanted information. On what, Jimmie hadn’t a clue. “He contacted me yesterday. Wants to set up a meeting with Mitch present. Why would he want that?”

Bernie stood up, moving to lean against the counter Ashli had vacated. He was puzzled, Jimmie could read it across his face. He poured himself coffee, and Jimmie’s eyes narrowed.

“I am not a patient man, Bernie.”

“Terenari has gained a lot of power out west. He’s been killing people left and right. There is rumor, but it’s only rumor, mind you. I wouldn’t want-”

“Out with it.”

“Word is he killed Coppell.”