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TWO WEEKS LATER
**
ALBERTO CLIMBED FROM the front passenger seat of Emilio’s Rolls-Royce Silver Ghost as the first rays of sunlight edged above the horizon. The chauffeur slipped out and opened Emilio’s door. Not that the man could walk on his own. He’d drunk enough to put most men out cold.
Alberto rested his hand on his .45. The Rolls sat on a circular drive in front of the four-story brick monstrosity the Belardis had the nerve to call a house.
Another Rolls pulled up behind Emilio’s motorcar, and three other men stepped out and headed for their quarters behind the mansion. One of them glanced over his shoulder. “Donati, make sure he gets inside.”
Alberto gripped Emilio’s arm. Emilio staggered, mumbling and cursing under his breath.
As if his new boss had to be another spoiled brat.
Alberto guided him to the front entrance and rapped on the door. The door swung open, and the butler raised one eyebrow.
No wonder. Emilio reeked of booze and smoke.
“Long night.” Alberto shoved Emilio inside. The day would be even longer given he’d spent too many nights going from speakeasy to speakeasy with Emilio and the three other men. Guthrie would get his list of locations, no doubt about it.
The butler dipped his head and closed the door. “Yes, sir. And I’ll send for Carson.”
Carson. The male equivalent of a lady’s maid for Emilio.
As if the man couldn’t undress himself.
“I’ll take him upstairs.” He adjusted his grip on Emilio’s arm and forced him up the sweeping staircase.
Weight stretched across his shoulders and tugged at his eyelids. He blinked hard. If he didn’t get some sleep, he’d punch that spoiled brat in the face.
He shoved Emilio toward the waiting Carson, then leaned against the hallway wall.
Carson escorted the still-mumbling Emilio into his room and shut the door.
Alberto tugged his hat from his aching head and combed his fingers through his hair.
A door swung open across from him, and an older man stepped into the hallway and met Alberto’s eyes.
Anthony Belardi. The head of the Belardi family. Despite his white hair, he carried himself well, shoulders straight, chin lifted. “Come into my study, Donati. I need to speak with you.”
He motioned to the open door, and Alberto strode inside. Bookshelves lined the walls, yet only one held leather-bound volumes. Weapons, ranging from sets of old dueling pistols to .45s, commanded the shelves.
Alberto tipped his head toward the guns. “You’ve got a good variety.”
A thin smile stretched over Belardi’s lips, and he lowered himself to one end of a leather sofa.
Alberto sank into a wingback chair to the right of the sofa, and pain knifed through his chest and down his right arm. The cold did nothing for the myriad injuries he’d accumulated.
“I didn’t ask you to sit.” Belardi’s face hardened.
“No.” Alberto rested his hat on his knee. “You didn’t.”
Belardi lifted both eyebrows. “You’ve had experience elsewhere. Care to elaborate, Donati?”
Too much emphasis rested on his assumed name. Maybe the man knew it was false. Maybe he didn’t. “Don’t like to speak of past jobs.”
“Or past lives?” Belardi folded his arms over his chest. “I asked around and found nothing on a Michael Donati who fits your description.”
If he didn’t calculate his every move, he wouldn’t make it back to Lillian and the kid. “You won’t.”
“I’ve never been one to care much about a man’s name.” Belardi slipped his hand into his coat. “Or his past.” He drew a revolver and leveled it on Alberto’s chest. “But I require his loyalty in the present. Do I make myself clear?”
Alberto let a smile twist his lips. “Clear enough.”
“Good.” Belardi slipped the revolver into his coat. “I need you to do something for me.”
“You don’t trust me?”
Belardi cursed. “I trust no one. My own son betrayed me to the government.”
“And he and his wife ended up in the river.”
Belardi smiled. “Good. You know the consequences if you cross me. If I get the feeling your loyalties are waning, I’ll put a bullet in you myself. Remember that, and there will be no problems between us.”
Unlike Vincenzo, this man had the spine to back up his threats.
Belardi’s gaze roved the room before settling on Alberto. “I’m taking a trip to Atlanta to check on some of my properties and suppliers there. You and ten others will come with me. We’ll leave in the morning. I plan to be there for a couple of weeks.”
Enough time for him to slip away to see Lillian if everything worked out. He’d missed Christmas with her, but maybe this would make it up.
Belardi narrowed his eyes. “While you were keeping track of Emilio, did you see any sign of Prohibition agents? They’ve been getting too close to some of the clubs.”
Tension shot through his muscles. If Belardi suspected him, he’d gun him down without delay. Unless he had ulterior motives. “I haven’t.”
“Good.” Belardi rested his hands on his knees. “Well, if the agents get closer, I’ll take care of it. That Guthrie’s been known to accept a little, let’s say, monetary incentive to look the other way.”
His gut twisted. Guthrie wouldn’t be the first to take bribes, nor would he be the last. Yet was this some ploy of Belardi’s or the truth?
He forced a chuckle. “Government doesn’t pay their men well enough?”
Belardi laughed. “Doesn’t seem that way. I pay a good amount to control my men on the police force.”
Just as the Rossis had. “Need anything before morning?”
Belardi shook his head. “Get some sleep. I don’t need you out of it on the drive down.”
Alberto stood and strode to the door.
“Donati.”
He eased around and rested one hand on the doorframe. What did the man want now?
Belardi pushed to his feet. “Those scars on your face. How did it happen?”
Yet another test.
Alberto set his hat on his head. “A fight. Went through a window.”
Belardi laughed. “That’ll be all.”
**
IF SHE SAT STILL ENOUGH, the pain in her chest restrained itself to an occasional stab.
If only the same were true for grief. If only the tiniest things didn’t enliven her memories. The scent of Mr. Ashton’s pipe smoke. The clink of Mrs. Ashton’s knitting needles.
She used her left hand to turn a page in her Bible and breathed through the discomfort.
Frank sat a couple of feet from the bed as had become his habit over the last two weeks. He too held a copy of the Scriptures on his lap, yet he hadn’t flipped a page in more than thirty minutes.
She eased the Bible closed. “Would it be possible for me to go outside? Mrs. Ashton says the temperature’s in the seventies, and I’d like some air.”
He glanced up. “I don’t see why not. It might be good for you to walk around a little more than your trips up and down the hallway.”
Torturous affairs that slicked her face with sweat and forced her to lean the majority of her weight on Mrs. Ashton.
“You want me to call Ma?”
She eased away from the security of the pillows, and the familiar knife sliced into her chest. “I’d rather not bother her. She’s done so much for me.” More than she could ever repay despite the money in her luggage. Luggage the sheriff had retrieved from the Packard before he’d come to ask his questions.
Even though he’d seemed trustworthy, nothing would come of his investigation.
Her family wouldn’t allow their deceit and murder to be discovered.
No, they weren’t her family. She had no living family.
She slid the Bible from her lap and pushed herself a little higher. Her pulse spiked, but she fought her legs over the side of the bed and rested her stocking-covered feet on the floor.
“She’s glad to do it for you. Don’t feel like you’re a burden to her.”
As he felt. The sad acceptance in his eyes as Mrs. Ashton fussed over him said it all.
“I thought you might go with me. I could hold on to the back of your chair for balance.”
He lowered his head. “I’d better call for Ma. I don’t go outside ... much.”
“Why not?” The muscles in her back and legs shook from the effort of sitting up after lying around for so many days, and sweat beaded above her upper lip. “I shouldn’t have asked that. Forgive me.”
He lifted his head, his brow furrowed. “It’s a fair question.” He laughed, a bitter sound that mocked true joy. “Pa would say it’s because I’m a coward.”
“No ...”
“Maybe he’s right. Or maybe I don’t like being reminded of everything I can’t have.” Red touched his neck and spread across his cheeks. “Maybe I don’t like people gawking at me.”
Oh. “You—you don’t mind me or your family seeing you. And ...” No. She wouldn’t say no one would see him outside. He knew his home better than she ever would.
He set his Bible on the nightstand. “Can’t do anything about my family, and you’re in a position similar to my own.” His shoulders rose and fell. “How about I escort you outside? Ma’s got a couple of nice rocking chairs set up. You can sit out there as long as you want and call me when you’re ready to come in.”
Outside. Outside of the protection offered by four walls. Outside where a bullet could rip through her. Her lungs stalled, and darkness framed the room.
“Carla?” He rolled forward, his hand stretched toward her. Before his hand touched her, he lowered it to his lap.
“I-I’m all right.” A lie if she’d ever told one. Tears sprang to her eyes to compete with the encroaching darkness. Forgive me.
“No one’s going to hurt you out there. They’ve got to think you’re dead. You’re safe. You’re free from them.”
Free to start a new life. Yet what kind of life could she have without Mamma and Papà’s guidance, without their love?
She sagged against the pillows and drew her legs onto the bed. Agony clawed through her chest and down her arm. She fumbled with the quilt until it once again covered her.
Help me.
Moments crawled by, each slower than the last. “I think I’ll save the trip outside for another day. I wouldn’t be able to enjoy it.”
“Don’t be like me.” His voice held a strained lightness. “Don’t let it beat you.”
She pressed her left hand to the bandages winding around her chest.
“Do you need something for the pain? You’ll heal better if you’re able to rest.”
A change of subject. He’d been brave enough to forgo such a thing, yet she wasn’t. “If I’m still for a few minutes, it’ll ease.”
“I always tell myself I should be thankful I couldn’t feel anything even though I’d been shot clear through.”
She gasped.
“Sorry.” He winced. “I didn’t think about that before I said it. Didn’t mean to remind you of your ...” He tapped his chest.
“It’s not that. I don’t like thinking of you being hurt.”
Something in his eyes softened, but a second later, that softness fled. “I don’t need another person pitying me.”
Her cheeks heated. “I assure you it’s not pity.” Her words shouldn’t come so sharp, but he shouldn’t accuse her of such things. “I dislike the idea of others suffering and nearly dying.”
“I shouldn’t have said that.” He gripped the wheels of his chair. “If you’re around me for any length of time, you’ll find out I too often say what I shouldn’t.”
“I believe that condition is common to all of us.” She managed a small smile. “I do need to work on my patience.”
“Ma says it gets easier with age.”
She smoothed the quilt over her lap. “Twenty-two years hasn’t done anything for it.”
“Neither has twenty-six.” He stilled his chair. “Well, I suppose I have all the time in the world.”
He couldn’t know that. She let her eyes fall shut. Neither of them could know that.
**
DAWN CLOAKED LAWRENCE City, casting Main Street with a tinge of orange. The dirt road lay still, yet light shone from the windows of several small houses. Including his own.
He took the front steps in a single stride and rapped his knuckles against the door. No need to startle Lillian by walking in.
Footsteps clicked across wood, and his pulse spiked. In seconds, he’d hold her. He’d hear her voice. He’d see how much the kid had grown. No doubt about it, she’d turned him into a sentimental fool.
The door swung open, and she stood before him in a simple blue dress, her eyes wide.
He stepped inside, shut the door behind him, and wrapped his arms around her.
She slid her arms around his waist and pressed her head to his chest. “Alberto.”
She lifted her head, eyes closed in invitation, and he kissed her. No need to dwell on Belardi, Guthrie, or the mess he’d gotten himself into. Not when he was with her.
All too soon, she eased back and smiled up at him. With a simple grace, she threaded her fingers through his and tugged him to the kitchen. “I was just starting breakfast. You must be hungry.”
He sank into a chair and nodded to the one beside it. “I’d rather talk.”
She lowered herself beside him, her fingers still laced with his. “I’ve missed you.”
He squeezed her hand and grinned. “I hope so.” He shouldn’t have taken a job that forced him to be away from her for weeks at a time.
He pulled his hat from his head and rested it on the table. “I’ve only got until tonight. Then I have to get back to Atlanta.”
Her eyes shadowed, yet she held on to her smile. “We have today.”
She lifted their linked hands and propped them on her knee. “I’ve been worried about you, so worried. Your calls—you always sound as if you’re in danger.”
She deserved the truth. She had to live with its consequences the same as he did. “Guthrie has me working on a case involving a family.” She’d understand what he meant. “His contact in the family was killed, and he had me take the man’s place. That’s why I’m here. The boss traveled to Atlanta, and I was able to get a day off. I made sure no one followed me.”
Her face paled. “You know I do my best to trust God with your safety, but please, please be careful. You’re working for this man? The same kind of work you did for ... for Vin?”
“Similar.”
She frowned.
As if she didn’t have good reason.
“I’m not drinking. The urge isn’t so strong the last few weeks. And I haven’t hurt anyone.” He took a slow breath. Not that he wouldn’t be called on to beat or kill one of Belardi’s enemies. “I haven’t done anything against God.” Yet hadn’t he? Hadn’t he lied about his name?
Forgive me. I’m trying to do what’s right. Trying and failing at every turn.
She leaned her head against his shoulder. “I trust you, and I know you’re trying to honor God.”
“I don’t want to be away from you and the kid. I don’t want to be in those speakeasies. I don’t want to be under the command of a man too much like Mr. Rossi.”
He eased his hand from hers and rested both his hands on the table. Her head didn’t budge from his shoulder. “Guthrie better approve that transfer here, or I’m done after this.” Yet was Guthrie even trustworthy?
She lifted her head, met his eyes, and smiled. “Then I’ll pray he transfers you here.”
He ran his hand through his hair. “Is the kid still asleep?”
She lifted her hand to cover her yawn. “He should be waking up right about now.” She skimmed her fingers over his face. “You look exhausted, and your face is thinner. You haven’t been sick or hurt, have you?”
He managed a smile. “Working too much.”
She leaned in for a quick kiss. “I’ll fix you breakfast. Don’t worry. I can talk and cook at the same time. You’re not going to waste away on me.” A smile lit her face. “But first, someone else has been missing you.”
She hurried from the kitchen, her steps sharp against the floor. When she returned, she handed him the kid.
He adjusted the kid in his arms. “He’s gotten big.” The kid blinked up at him and tugged at Alberto’s suit coat. A grin revealed four white teeth.
“He wears out my arms.” She placed a pan on the stove and forked in slices of bacon.
“What about things with your family? You haven’t said much about them in your letters or calls.”
She cracked one egg after another into a bowl, her movements easy. Yet her shoulders slumped. “I go see Ma a couple of times a week. Pa and Frank don’t talk to me much. And Mae’s over here all the time.” She straightened her shoulders and sprinkled salt into the eggs. “It’s more than I deserve after how I treated them.”
He shifted the kid to one arm, rose from the chair, and slipped his free arm around her. She leaned against him, her back to his chest.
“Takes time. You know that.” Yet if he could, he’d speed up that time for her. That or knock her brother and father in line.
She turned within his embrace, stood on her toes, and kissed him. Then she planted her hand in the middle of his chest and gave him a shove. “You’re too distracting. You’re going to make me burn our breakfast.”
He laughed and sank into the chair. The kid stared up at him, and Alberto ruffled his hair.
Lillian flipped the bacon, then turned. “Something else happened.”
Was that hesitation in her voice? “What?”
“Pa found a girl who’d been shot. He took her home, and she’s been staying with them while she recovers. She told them her family tried to kill her—apparently they’re involved in—”
Just what the Ashtons needed. “They still looking for her, or do they think she’s dead?”
“From what Ma’s told me, Frank believes they think they succeeded. Otherwise, her family would’ve tried again.”
“What’s her name?”
“Carla. Carla Belardi.”
A curse leapt to his tongue, but he clenched his teeth. Of all the times, of all the names ...
“How old is she?”
Lillian cocked her head. “She’s in her early twenties.”
She had to be Anthony’s granddaughter. Not only had he killed her parents, he’d tried to kill her.
She brushed her hands down the front of her dress. “You look surprised.”
“Belardi is the man I’m working for.”
She stared at him. “Promise me you’ll be careful.”
As careful as he could be. “I’ll have to talk to her. See if I can find out more about her family. Is she well enough for that?”
“From what Ma says, she’s doing better. She had no idea her family was involved in anything until a little after her parents were killed. I don’t know if she could help you. And—and what if she tells them about you?”
“Given that they shot her, I doubt she has any loyalty to them, and I’ll bet she knows more than she thinks she does.” He eased the kid’s fist from his coat. “We’ll go over there after breakfast. You can visit with your mother, and I’ll talk to the girl.”
“You know Pa’s not fond of you.”
He laughed. “I’m only interested in the Belardis. I’m not going to arrest my moonshiner father-in-law.”