The Good Daughter: A Mafia Story Page 4

  The Italian banged his fist against her now closed window startling a scream out of her. When he reached under his suit jacket and she saw a big gun, every nerve ending ignited with danger signals.

  Escape!

  Adrenaline flared through her and she stomped the accelerator, jerking the steering wheel hard to the right. The luxury Mercedes 230 shot forward, smashing small green hedges and brightly-colored ornamental flowers under unforgiving tires. The seatbelt clamped tightly across her chest as she bounced off the curb.

  Shots rang out behind her. She looked in her rearview mirror. The Italian had dashed back into the SUV, shooting at Dave who had ducked behind his car door. Oh, God, Dave would be killed.

  Then a new fear. With a burst of power, the Lincoln Navigator sped after her. In her rearview mirror, she saw Dave hop in his car and follow, firing shots after them. The big Italian was shooting back at Dave, out the passenger door window.

  The black SUV pressed steadily closer to her own car. Were they after her? Or running from Dave? She pressed the gas pedal harder, and at the last minute, made a sharp right turn onto a side street, her tires squealing.

  The Navigator made the turn soon after. God. They were chasing her! Her hands started shaking so much, she squeezed the steering wheel to keep a grip.

  Glancing between the road and her rearview mirror, her fear grew when Dave didn’t make the turn. She heard the pops as the big Italian shot out the tires on Dave’s car. It careened and bounced off a red Corvette parked on the side of the road, before spinning around in a crazy circle. Immediately, Dave jumped out and fired off a few futile shots.

  “No! Dave!” she gasped before her breath stuck in her throat.

  Now it was the Italians. And her. A streetlight in front of her changed to red.

  “Not stopping, watch out!” she warned drivers who couldn’t hear her, hoping no one would get hurt.

  She kept the accelerator floored, her heart rate as high as the speed of the car. Squinting her eyes to slits so she wouldn’t see any oncoming traffic and hesitate, she barreled through the intersection. She heard honking horns and screeching tires but no one hit her.

  A glance in her rearview mirror. SUV still there. Although she thought she was pulling ahead. The heavy Navigator was no match for the Mercedes’ performance engine.

  Then she felt it. A thud. Heard it. Then another. A crash of glass. She didn’t need to look in her mirror again to know her back window had shattered. They were shooting at her now!

  Forcing back the panic rising from her chest, she kept her head low as she weaved through the growing traffic, trying to make her car a harder target. She hoped someone else wasn’t hit by mistake, but couldn’t let that thought worry her.

  She jumped as a loud explosion sent the back end of her car wildly careening. They’d shot out a tire. She let off the gas, fought the steering wheel. She struggled to steady the almost out-of-control car. Stopping would be the wrong choice. A ruined tire rim was nothing compared to being caught by those madmen.

  “Help me, help me, help me,” she prayed, her brain not able to form a more substantial thought. “Help! Me!”

  Sweat beaded on her forehead as she wrestled with the car. In spite of her efforts, the car lost speed. She yanked the wheel, forcing another sharp turn, whipping in front of an oncoming car. The black SUV turned behind her, passed the other car, and soon loomed on her tail, closer than before.

  The tire rim scraping on the pavement sounded worse than a metal file grinding against an axe. She clenched her teeth against the sound and frantically searched for a safe place.

  A silver Lexus sped into the next intersection and squealed to a stop, blocking her way.

  She slammed on the brakes. The car bounced and jolted on the bad rim. At the last second, she wheeled her car hard to the left to avoid crashing into the Lexus.

  Trapped! Her heart sank. She would have to make a run for it. She snapped her seatbelt free and jumped out to dash away. She was the fastest player on her soccer team. She prayed her speed wouldn’t fail her. There was a shopping strip ahead. People. Phones. Help.

  Wait. Her cell phone.

  No time to go back. She sprinted.

  They came at her from everywhere. Five men with guns. One woman. Bad odds.

  Two of the men cut her off and grabbed her arms. Gasping to catch her breath, she tried to twist away.

  “Where you think you’re going, bitch?” This one was a native New Yorker, his Italian descent still obvious despite the accent.

  “Careful, he don’t want her hurt.” The big Italian again. He was huffing and puffing from the chase. “He only wants to question her.”

  Who wanted to question her? “I told you I don’t know anything. Leave me alone.”

  Gathering the fear pounding through her body into energy, she thrust a sidekick to her right. Connected with a knee. One captor fell in agony. Her legs were powerful. She jerked an arm free, but immediately, it was trapped again.

  They dragged her toward the black SUV. No one rushed forward to help her. No one was even in sight. The people had disappeared like cockroaches in sudden light. She couldn’t blame them. Five men with guns were bad odds for anyone.

  Frantic not to get in the car with them, she dug her heels into the concrete.

  “No fight, please,” the big Italian said, not unkindly. “Carlo just wants to talk to you.”

  Carlo. Carlo Peruzzo. She was right. The realization made the fight momentarily desert her. If the well-known crime boss wanted her husband, then Sandro had to be in trouble.

  What sort of trouble could he be in that involved men with guns?

  She tried bravado. “Who are you?” Nia demanded. “What does Carlo want with me?”

  No one answered.

  “Leave her car here,” the big Italian directed. “He’ll find out faster that way.”

  Who would find out? Sandro? Was this a ploy to make him show himself? Or was fear making her illogical?

  She knew she should never go to the second location. It was better to make a stand here than disappear into a car where no one could track her. She screamed. A hand clamped across her mouth. She bit until she tasted blood, and her attacker screamed as loudly as she did. Then the backhand came. She saw stars, and they pushed her into the SUV.

  The New Yorker, the one who called her a bitch, slid in beside her. The big Italian and his driver climbed into the front seat. The other two drove off in the Lexus she’d nearly crashed into, and her cream-colored Mercedes was left sitting in the middle of the street. Punctured with bullet holes. Deserted.

  What happened to Dave? Would he be able to find her? Was he okay?

  The New Yorker aimed his big black gun at her. “So’s you don’t get no ideas about jumping out,” he said when he caught her eyeing the gun.

  What ideas? Death by gunshot or death by throwing herself from the car? No choice there. She could tell from his tone, his body language, he’d love it if she tried something. She wasn’t stupid.

  She sat tight. A way to escape would present itself. And when it did, she would be ready.

  Chapter 8

  Dave slid out of the disabled car before it stopped rolling. He squeezed off his last three rounds at the speeding black Navigator. One hit the rear door, one hit the left taillight, and the last one went wide.

  “Damn it!” He slammed his hand on the hood of his car. “Son of a bitch!” He barely restrained himself from kicking the bullet-punctured tire.

  “Come on, Nia. Get away from them,” he muttered, though he knew it was useless. Pain gripped his heart knowing she had no chance, and his back-up wouldn’t arrive in time.

  What had gone wrong?

  Once discovering Carlo was after Sandro, Dave had taken Steve and Tony with him to the soccer field, but Sandro wasn’t there. Had never shown up, in fact. When the soccer team administrator mentioned they were the second group of men looking for Sandro, Dave felt hope. At least Carlo’s men didn’t have Sandro,
even though he’d disappeared.

  Dave left Steve and Tony behind to further question the administrator because at that point it was obvious the star player had indeed disappeared. Dave himself had headed for Sandro’s house to brainstorm with Nia where her husband might have gone.

  But they were too late. Now the mob had her. And Sandro was missing.

  There was still Nia and Sandro’s small son. The child Dave wished he had been able to have with Nia.

  The boy hadn’t been in the car with his mother. Dave had to find him, get him to safety.

  * * *

  Promising to return soon, Marisa checked Sandro into a hotel amidst his protests. Leaving him to puzzle over a new throw-away phone, she ditched the stolen Beemer, made a quick dash to the computer software store, and still arrived at work by ten-thirty, only half an hour past her normal arrival time. Not so unusual it would be noticeable.

  This morning the office was in an uproar as sleazy looking men pretending to have fashion sense crowded the reception area. Loud voices could be heard from more than one office.

  Of course, Luigi wasn’t here. After calling in the order to get Sandro, with a little unasked for help from her sleeping drops, Luigi was sleeping off his winning streak from last night. She didn’t see Angie either, which was unusual. Perhaps he was one of the men trying to find Sandro. Poppa would trust Angie.

  As a boss, it was hard to find men to trust. Luigi and Angie, two of the most loyal Peruzzo Mafioso, had come over with them from Italy. She’d known Angie since she was nine. He’d tried to protect her, keep the cruelest things out of sight. Of course, there had been some things even Angie couldn’t protect her from.

  Her father. Her brother Massimo, who, in his way, was worse than her father. Massimo, cruel, lazy, indolent--of course he wasn’t at the offices yet. He rarely made an appearance before late afternoon. Massimo had always gone out of his way to torture her.

  Even after she’d put a stop to his side business where she was the commodity, he and his friends still seemed to delight in exposing her to the most perverse cruelties. Always alert, she’d noticed Massimo had begun to collect some of poppa’s soldiers for his own. Carmine, Joey and most especially the little sleaze Mikey. Weasels, rats, carnivores, willing to eat their own. It wouldn’t be long before Luigi and Angie didn’t have the strength to keep Massimo’s men at bay. Then a bloody war would start and innocent people would get caught in the crossfire again. She’d seen the ambition and greed in Massimo’s eyes. She’d even tried to warn her father and Luigi, but they’d just responded “boys will be boys”.

  Which was fine. They could go on living in their make-believe world. For now. But soon, she would bring it all to an end.

  Ignoring the melee, she dropped off her purse and coat in her office, as per her normal routine, and went to the coffee bar in the snack room to make an espresso. She usually chose coffee, but today, she needed the extra caffeine after a night of little sleep. She heard yelling from her father’s office, then a door slam. She entered the main area in time to see two of her father’s soldiers rush out the front door.

  Marisa smiled grimly. She was one step ahead. Barely. It was a dicey and dangerous game, one her father wasn’t even aware she was playing, but one in which she’d defeat him before he knew he had been challenged. Subtlety was always best; she learned that lesson after the stiletto incident.

  She detoured by the accountant Roberto Torino’s office. Roberto wasn’t a made member, was truly a CPA, and one of her father’s most trusted people. He kept his head down, nose clean and did his job. For that, he was paid a lot of money.

  “What’s going on?” she asked with a nod of her head in the direction of her father’s office.

  “Not really sure, seems like someone Mr. Peruzzo is looking for has disappeared.”

  Roberto wasn’t as naïve as he appeared; he simply managed to keep a low profile. She almost hated what they had planned for him as he worked so hard to stay good.

  She gave a deliberate shrug and smiled to disarm him. “Business as usual, I suppose.”

  He barely cracked a smile at her joke.

  She took a sip of her espresso and changed the subject. “I stopped by to let you know I’m updating software on the computers. Why don’t you leave yours behind at lunch?”

  This time, he actually cringed. Roberto did hate to be parted from his computer.

  “Unless you have something else you could be working on and I’ll just take care of it right now,” she added, hoping he’d say no since she didn’t have the software ready yet she wanted to put on his computer.

  “No, lunch will be fine.”

  “Okay, I’ll be back then. Ciao.”

  Once in her office, she pulled out the new disk-imaging software. To access her father’s money and move it into new accounts, she needed the account passwords. Luckily, as her father’s IT person, she had the ability to get to those passwords.

  She powered up her notebook and opened the software packaging and the flash drive to practice making a mirror image of her hard drive. The faster she could make a copy of Roberto’s hard drive, the better.

  It wasn’t luck or an accident that she was the IT person. Marisa liked to build things, and she’d always had an interest in computers, had built her own desktop when she was thirteen; but it was at Paolo’s suggestion that she made herself invaluable to her father.

  Her heart ached with nostalgia. Paolo had been dead over five years now, but she still missed him. For him, she would see this through, no matter what.

  Roberto didn’t go to lunch until one; until then she busied herself with other computers, making imaginary updates on the other computers so he wouldn’t get suspicious.

  He found her before he left. “I’m going now.”

  “Great, I’ll go to your computer next. I plan to wrap up early; I have some errands to run this afternoon.”

  If he thought her being gone from the office most of the day unusual, he didn’t say. Roberto generally kept his nose in the books and didn’t make trouble for anyone. Which is why she hoped to convince Sandro to let Dave help again. They needed helping getting Roberto out of the way. If he noticed the money transfer in progress, he would stop it and ruin their plans.

  She hoped Dave could help by having Roberto picked up and held in custody for a short time. If not, the options for her and Sandro to remove Roberto out of the picture were limited to murder, use poison to make him sick and send him to the hospital, or kidnapping. None of those options were appealing, or even practical.

  Their best hope was Dave; he could have Roberto picked up and held without charges for at least three days. Would Dave agree? He seemed so honorable. How far would he bend rules to get to her father? She didn’t think he’d bend them far enough if he knew her ultimate plans, but there was no need for him to know.

  He just needed enough information to be useful. If, and she realized it was a big ‘if’, she could convince Sandro once again that Dave could still be of use to them.

  For now, she needed to make herself useful and get that information from Roberto’s computer. And then, they’d need to move as quickly as possible afterwards to be certain he didn’t change the passwords as part of his routine security.

  She grabbed the software CD and the flashdrive and headed for Roberto’s office.

  Chapter 9

  The air in the downtown office of the Federal Bureau of Investigation reeked of bureaucracy. Electronic key card, security badges, checkpoint after checkpoint. Dave wound his way up one elevator, down two halls to his office.

  The employees in this building had worked hard to get here, and they hadn’t left their egos behind. They might wear similar ties and look alike, but behind each tailored wool suit was a strong personality waiting for a chance to shine.

  Dave walked into his office after meeting with his Task Force when his phone rang. He fished it out of his jacket pocket. “Armstrong here.”

  “Are you in your office?”


  An Italian accent. Sandro. Dave’s mental sigh of relief was chased by a stomach lurch at the thought of telling Sandro about Nia. Dave lowered his voice. “Where are you?”

  “Are you in your office?” Sandro repeated, more forcefully.

  “Yes, I am. What difference does it make?”

  “Go outside, someplace private. I will call again. Five minutes.”

  “Why?”

  “I will tell you later. Go outside.” Sandro disconnected before Dave could ask more questions.

  As he retraced his steps back out of his office and rode the elevator down to the ground floor, he puzzled over the strange request.

  He found an isolated corner in a near alley by the time Sandro called back. “Where are you?” Dave demanded as soon as he punched the connect button.

  “You are alone?”

  “I’m no amateur,” Dave snapped. All this mystery was wearing thin. “Of course I’m alone. What’s going on? If Carlo has the ability to monitor phone calls, my being out here won’t do any good.”

  “It is not your phone which is dangerous. Your office is bugged.”

  Dave went still. “What? No way!”

  “You have checked for this?”

  “We have top security. We do sweeps for bugs. Besides, nobody from the outside could get in to plant one.” He was trying to remember when they last did a sweep when he realized that if no one could get in to plant a bug, then--

  “Nobody from the outside did get in,” Sandro said.

  Yes, that was it. Someone from the inside would have had to do it. Dave’s head started to pound. “Christ! Would you stop being so elusive? Are you saying one of my men-- No, that’s ridiculous.” Yet for the second time that day Dave had reason to wonder about his team. “Where the hell are you?” he snapped.

  “Definitely the bug was planted by someone with top security clearance. This we will discuss later. If you are being watched, it will be suspicious for you to stay on the phone.”