Double Blind (Vittorio Crime Family #2) Page 10

  “Is this what you want, Adriana?”

  No, I want Vince. I don’t say a word. Let him draw his own conclusions.

  A low growl rumbles in the back of his throat as his hand sweeps up my neck, his thumb gently massaging my jumping vein. My hands are frozen, but I force myself to touch him. I can look through his clothes at the same time. They flatten against his muscular chest and move over his lapels, down his neck and inside his jacket. His body isn’t as lean as Vincent’s, but it feels smooth. Powerful. He lets out a chuckle that I feel in the tips of my fingers. His face follows me, seeking my lips.

  “Ah, all you had to do was ask, sweetheart.” His lips move along my jaw.

  “I tried,” I breathe.

  He pulls back and looks at me seriously. “Yes, you did. My apologies for not believing you.” He strokes the side of my face, tucking away strands of hair. He sucks in breath when his lips reach my ear. “I always liked you, Adriana. From the first moment I saw you. I thought you were beautiful.”

  Beautiful. He thinks I’m beautiful.

  I’m not. I’m a monster to use a man like this, to manipulate his emotions to get what I want—which inevitably will lead to his death. I don’t want him to give me compliments, or hear about his problems with his mother, or anything else that humanizes him. I don’t want to feel anything for him.

  Already teary eyed, I turn my head into his and his lips fall against mine. He takes my head in his hands as his soft lips kiss mine. I don’t feel anything as he kisses me, except a burning betrayal of Vince. It’s wrong. I love him. Carmine’s a nice man. He’s an attractive, sweet guy, but I just don’t have feelings for him.

  But that’s not the point.

  Pretend he’s Vince.

  Without seeing his face, it’s easy. My hands travel up and down his body, up his hard, lean muscles, around his flat chest, searching for a bump somewhere. A wireless microphone.

  God, I miss Vince. I give up on the search and bury my fingers in his short hair, deepening our kiss as he plays with the shoulder straps of my dress. I break away from him and kiss his bristly jawline, imaging Vince’s face, his lips parted in bliss. I plant kisses under his jaw, right under his ear. Low laughter shakes through his chest.

  “You’re a vixen.”

  Carmine’s voice snaps me out of it and I pull back, his arms still around me. He regards me like an art connoisseur analyzing a sculpture. His actions are perfectly measured and controlled, unlike Vince. His blue eyes burn brighter and his finger moves along my bottom lip, teasing as he leans in closer.

  A loud, banging sound at the front door makes me spring away from him.

  “Open the fucking door!”

  Both of us recognize that voice.

  “Oh, no.” I give Carmine a terrified look. “Vince.”

  Carmine gently moves me from his lap and stands up, looking unworried but determined. His hair is a little disheveled as he makes a beeline for the door.

  Oh, fuck. This is going to get ugly.

  He unlocks the door and opens it, moving his body in front of the crack. “What?”

  “I know she’s here. Open the fucking door.”

  Vincent’s deep voice fills the living room. My heart soars at the sound of his voice, reminding me how much I can’t stand to be away from him.

  “I don’t take orders from you, Cesare.”

  He takes a deep breath. I can hear him reining in his anger. “I heard what happened. I just want to see if she’s all right.”

  “She’s fine.” The smirk appears in his voice. “More than fine.”

  The door creaks as he opens it wider, so that the sliver of Vince can see me sitting on Carmine’s couch. Vincent’s dark eyes zero in on me, and then he bursts inside, shoving aside Carmine like a bear swatting a cub. I have to fight the joy I feel when I see him, because it’s bad for him to be here.

  Vince stands on the other side of the coffee table. His face is lined with fatigue, and his hair grew a little longer. He looks me over and takes in my appearance, my frazzled hair and the strap of my dress pushed down my shoulder. Then he looks at Carmine, who shrugs with a shit-eating grin.

  “What the fuck is this?” he bellows to Carmine, who looks supremely unconcerned. He gazes back at me, his eyes full of poison.

  “It’s really none of your fucking business.” Carmine says in an icy voice as he walks in between me and Vincent.

  The betrayal on Vince’s face is like a knife through my heart. “You’re with this piece of shit now?”

  “Careful, asshole.” Carmine finally shoves Vince’s chest.

  He looks so wounded that he doesn’t even try to fight back. His eyes never leave my face as desperate hope keeps him from lashing out.

  I swallow hard under his tortured stare. “Vince, we broke up. It’s none of your—”

  Pain momentarily fills his face. I’ve hurt him. Again. I hate myself.

  “You fucking bitch!” He takes a step towards me, but Carmine grabs the back of his jacket and yanks him back.

  “Easy.”

  “Vince!” I can’t believe he’d call me that, but of course he would. He thinks that Carmine and I are—

  “You lied to me,” he says in a deadly voice as Carmine holds him back. “I let you go so you could have a normal life with a normal guy. The second you’re free, you run into the arms of another guy who’s connected? What the fuck, Adriana!”

  “Vince—” My eyes well with tears.

  It’s not true! I love you, I love you!

  “It just happened. I didn’t plan—”

  “Fuck you!” His red face crumples with pain and rage. “You ripped my fucking heart out!”

  Carmine shoves Vince’s chest hard as he backs out of the room. “All right, that’s enough.”

  The disgust contorting his face makes me think that he’ll unleash his wrath on Carmine, and I’m right. He whirls around faster than Carmine can react, and he plows his fist into Carmine’s jaw. I stand up, screaming.

  Carmine explodes upward, recovering so quickly that it catches Vince by surprise. He hammers him in his stomach. Once. Twice. Vince lets out guttural groans and brings down his elbow, stabbing Carmine’s back viciously.

  “STOP! Both of you!”

  Carmine drops to the floor and I rush over to him before Vince can kick him. He stares at me for a moment with so much venomous hatred that I’m sure he’ll hit me, but he lowers his fists. I wrap my arms around Carmine’s head and Vince turns away from us, disgusted. He walks right out of the door, and I get one last look of his face twisted in pain.

  I did this to him.

  The door slams shut and I turn my attention back to Carmine, even though I want nothing more than to chase after Vince. “Are you okay?”

  I stroke his brown hair. His face is red, but at least he’s not bleeding. He grabs my arm and kisses it, giving me a painful grimace. “I’ll be fine.”

  He stands up effortlessly, as if he gets into fights all the time. He locks the door, breathing a sigh. “See you later, asshole,” he mutters.

  When the sound of Vince’s car peels away, Carmine joins me and places a tentative hand on my back.

  “You okay?”

  I shake my head. “It’s been a long day.”

  “Is that true?” he asks. “What he said about why you broke up?”

  My shoulders shake. “Carmine, I had to tell him something to get him off my back. I tried telling him the truth, but he wouldn’t leave me alone. Now I’ve made things worse.”

  I feel sick when he leans in and plants a kiss on my head.

  “Don’t feel bad about it. He’s just a puffed-up, angry jerk because he lost a great girl. His feelings are not your problem anymore.”

  I’m trying to do the right thing and spare Vincent. So why does the right thing make me feel like shit? I would be just as hurt if I was in his position.

  So make it worthwhile. Remember why you’re here.

  Even if it makes you feel dead inside.


  CARMINE

  The waves roll over the golden sand, the foam hissing as it pools around my feet. I curl my toes into the muddy-like sand with a boyish glee that has stayed with me for years. I walk alone, my footprints marking the sand as waves dart forward like white fingers on the shore. It’s a great day to be on the beach. There are families and kids milling about everywhere.

  A boy splashes through the surf as he chases his sister, running into my legs.

  “Sorry, mister!”

  I ruffle his golden curls and continue on my way, beaming to everyone who passes me.

  I feel light.

  But when I look at the roller coasters on the boardwalk and hear the joyful screams of children, I feel that ache inside me pounding. When I was a kid, I always wanted to go to Coney Island. My neighbor’s parents would invite me all the time, but mother was a spiteful woman. She would never let me go anywhere.

  My finger absentmindedly rubs the perfectly round scars on my chest. Cigarettes. Whenever I see one, I want to vomit. They’re everywhere in the city. Even here on this beach, some assholes decide to litter the sand with their cancer sticks.

  “Stop crying!” she would scream. “Stop crying or I’ll give you something real to cry about!”

  The glowing, red end of a cigarette. Such unimaginable pain like you would never believe.

  I stop on the beach, seething.

  She ruins everything. Even now, she haunts me.

  Maybe because she’s still alive.

  I try thinking about the girl who does make me happy, who chose me. Finally. My heart is already bursting with affection for her, but I know—I’ve learned the hard way to take it slow with girls. The last one said I was too intense. I slapped her hard when she said that. What the fuck does that mean, anyway? I’m too loving? I care too much?

  It hurt my feelings. I know I shouldn’t have hit her, but she was a bitch, wasn’t she? Then she called the police, and I had to get Tony involved. Jesus Christ, it was a mess.

  But I’ve had my eye on Adriana for a long fucking time. None of them know how long. Not even that piece of shit, Cesare.

  I glance at my watch. Nearly noon. There’s a lot of shit to get done today, so I drop my sandals and slide my feet in them. Time to work. Heading towards the nearest pay phone, I call Officer Cramar, the cop I’ve been feeding info to.

  “This is Patriot,” I say when he picks up the phone. “Meet me now under the bridge. I’ve got something for you.”

  * * *

  There’s not much under Brooklyn Bridge. A small strip of sand where the dirty water laps. Trash strewn all over. Broken glass. Junk.

  I drive my car as close as I can to where we’re meeting, and then I wait behind the brush with my hand buried in my jacket. Officer Cramar has been useful to me, but he’s outrun his usefulness. She’s mine now. There’s no need to keep feeding him shit about Vince.

  But I can’t just cut him loose, after all. The officer’s continued existence poses a threat to me. He knows what I look like. One word from his fucking mouth to someone in my crew, and I’m dead. Of course, if that cheese-eating fuck Tony had half a brain, he would suspect me already. There’s no fucking way he has anything on me. I’ve covered my tracks. It’s still dangerous to be a rat. They still won’t do anything to me without proof because of their precious omertà.

  It makes me chuckle out loud. Where is Tony’s code when he’s in the strip club, cheating on his wife? Where was his code when that piece of shit Cesare killed Ritchie? I’ve tried and tried again and again to get rid of Vincent. First, by egging on Ritchie to avenge his brother. Then by ratting on Vince. Now he’s gone because his girl got sick of him. Ironic, isn’t it?

  Officer Cramar walks in front of my vision. He’s not a small guy, but he was easy to manipulate all the same. My arm flies out of my jacket with the pistol and I aim for a split second. The officer slips on some sand and then he sees me, aiming a gun at him. His eyes widen and he holds his hands up.

  “Put your fucking hands down.”

  He obeys. “Carmine, what are you doing?”

  “Just so you know, this isn’t personal.”

  I pull the hair trigger and two neat bullets sink into his skull with hardly a sound, taking half of his brain out as his eyes roll up in the back of his head. His body lands with a surprisingly loud thud on the sand, dead. Then I work quickly.

  Gripping his hands, I drag him up the slope and pop open my trunk. He’s a heavy bastard, but I manage to roll his body into my lined trunk. I take the latex gloves and bag from the trunk and then close it. I walk back down to the beach, whistling to myself as I gather all of the blood and bits of brain into the bag, wiping every trace of him on that beach.

  There’s still the matter of his car.

  I pop open the trunk and shove the bag inside, along with my gloves. Officer Cramar’s tongue sticks out as he quietly spills of all life. I’m glad I lined it well, because there’s yet another stop I have to make. Flipping open my cell, I call the tow-truck guy who never asks me any questions. I pay him extremely well to keep quiet, but I know that someday I’ll have to get rid of him, too. The more people who know, the more risk I assume. I’ve been doing this way too long and I’ve never been caught because I am very careful.

  Killing a cop is not something I’ve ever done before. In broad daylight, no less. They’ll look for his car. Doing this could get me killed. Tony could easily use this as an excuse to bump me off.

  The tow-truck comes rolls down and the bit of anxiety eases out of my chest. He rolls down the window to talk to me. Reaching inside my jacket pocket, I pull out an envelope full of cash.

  “It needs to be unrecognizable, do you understand?”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  “Thanks a lot, Charlie.”

  He’ll bring the cop’s car to the dump and their machines will crush his car into a soda can. Gone without a trace.

  I climb into my car, giving myself a once over before I drive out of there. Next is a bit of business for Tony. A hit. Most captains let their soldiers do their dirty work, but I don’t. Killing doesn’t bother me, and neither does the messy disposal of their bodies. I take pride in how well I do my job. They don’t suffer if I don’t want them to. Really, I’m not that much different than a butcher.

  But this guy won’t need to be cut up. I can just leave him there. I don’t have the trunk space, anyway.

  Benito de la Serva.

  I’m not sure what he did, but whatever it was, Tony wants him dead. So here I am. I park a couple blocks from his apartment, giving my trunk a small pat.

  I’ll take care of you soon, buddy.

  Then I march up the concrete stairs to his apartment. He’s really the perfect hit. Lives alone. No job. No one who will come looking for him.

  It’s pretty boring, actually.

  I laugh when I grasp the doorknob and it turns easily, allowing me inside. He might as well have an invitation.

  It’s dark inside and I grip my pistol. My heart thrums with anticipation for the fight, the moment he’ll see me and scream. There’s a slightly bad smell and I see boxes and boxes of pizza stacked almost to the ceiling. A depressing couch sits in front of a TV playing cartoon reruns, and he sits there, nodding off. He looks like a middle-aged man. Thin as a rail, despite all the pizza boxes. I could just shoot him now in the chest, and he wouldn’t be the wiser.

  But that’s so boring.

  So I walk up until I can see his brown hair fluttering slightly with his breath, and I kick his legs hard.

  He wakes up with a shuddering gasp and sees me with a gun pointed to his chest. I expect screaming. I expect a fight.

  Instead, his eyes slowly fill with tears. “Please, God, no.”

  “God doesn’t exist.”

  Sometimes it’s fun to play with them a little, but I’ll admit that I don’t like crying. It’s so noisy.

  He backs away on the couch. “Tell Tony I have the money! I have it!”

&nbs
p; “You do?” I grin. “Where is it?”

  Ben points towards the mantelpiece, where there’s a small envelope. I look inside and thumb through the cash. Laughter bursts from my throat. “A few grand does not equal fifty thousand. You’ve kept Tony waiting for way too long. Sorry, man.”

  “No, please! Don’t! I have kids, man!”

  “They’ll survive without a father. I did.”

  His face purples as he kneels in front of me, clasping his hands together in prayer. Deep, shuddering moans leave his mouth as he shakes on the floor, begging me for a reprieve. “Please Jesus, God. Save me. Help me, God!”

  Something twists inside me when I see him praying. Suddenly, I want to cause him pain. Fuck this asshole.

  A cruel grin spreads across my face. “I’ll tell you what, Ben. I’ll give you half an hour for your God to save you. If he doesn’t, you’ll die. Understand? Pray as much as you like, but don’t make a fuckin’ sound or I’ll kill you before your time is up.”

  I sink into a rocking chair, smiling as he collapses on the floor, sobbing. I glance at my watch. “You better pray hard, Ben. Twenty-nine minutes left,” I say with a lilt in my voice.

  Watching him blubber and cry on the floor, quietly whispering prayers into the carpet amuses me for a while, but then it becomes boring. I glance at my watch.

  “Fifteen minutes left.”

  He lets out a small shriek and a fresh wave of tears cascades down his cheeks. “Please, God! Hail Mary full of grace—”

  I’m about ready to shoot the fucker. Hearing him recite the prayers over and over makes me feel sick to my stomach. My mother used to make me kneel in salt and recite them over and over again, because she said I was a wicked child. Hours into it, my knees would be bleeding. If I cried? I’d get the cane on my back. Or the belt. She’d flog me until I passed out. Then I’d wake up in her arms and she’d stroke my face and cry.

  Five minutes left.