Code of Silence (13 page)

She dug her fingers underneath everything in the bag and pulled it out and set it in the middle of the countertop. She placed the microtapes and the player to the side. Inside a manila envelope, photographs stamped with dates were arranged by size, seemingly taken through a window of men congregating. Gabriella didn't understand the significance, but surely someone else would. She set a ledger and a stack of financial documents to the side.

Luke picked up a black ledger. “May I?”

She nodded her assent and continued her task. Her legs twitched as adrenaline coursed through her veins. Every heartbeat reminded her of the clock ticking. Her mind wasn't processing as fast as she'd like.

The next stack was... Gabriella gasped at the stack of duplicate passports and birth certificates. She flipped open the first. Her mother, pictured in her early forties, stared back at her. Gabriella would likely look exactly like that in the future. When her mother had taken to calling her mini-me, Gabriella would quip back, “No, you're my big-me.” Her mother's boisterous laugh would always follow.

The next one took her breath away. She opened the navy leather passport complete with a photograph of Gabriella in her teen years. Her mom must've prepared these in case they needed to go on the run. Otherwise, why wouldn't she have showed her?

As a teen, Gabriella would've loved knowing she had a passport and likely would've showed it off to her friends. Ah, maybe she'd just answered her own question.

Underneath the passport were two birth certificates, one listed as Radcliffe but the other as...

“Gabriella Mirabella?” She dropped it and turned to Luke. “My real name is Gabriella Mirabella?” Her voice rose, but she couldn't control it. “Why couldn't she have at least used my father's name? Whatever that may have been. Surely it'd have been better than Gabriella Mirabella.”

“Some people would like a rhyming name...if they wanted to have their name in a rap, or a greeting card?”

“Really?” She put her hands on her hips. “Who? Who would want that, Luke? It's not just a rhyming name, it's a crime family name.” She threw up her hands. “I don't even know who I am anymore,” she whispered.

He set down the ledger and turned to her. “You know who you are. You are the girl who loves the Lord and loves others.”

Luke placed his hands on either side of her shoulders but looked at the ceiling. “When Jesus washed the disciples' feet, when he told them to love one another, he had just done something that the disciples would've never done for each other.”

His gaze shifted to meet hers. “That's how I think of you. You serve others in a way that very few would ever do. Because when you serve, you keep your eyes on Jesus.” He stepped closer. “If you can't remember who you are, go to Him to remind you. He's the only one that matters.”

Her vision blurred. The words he'd said reached her to the core. Luke knew who she was. He knew her heart, and he knew exactly how to set her straight. She blinked rapidly so the tears wouldn't escape. “You understand.” Her words came out hushed.

He sighed. “I've been fighting with my own path lately. And even in the worst circumstances, spending time with you again reminded me that I was looking in all the wrong places. I should be thanking you, Gabriella.”

The way he said her name... His gentle hands on her shoulders sent a spark down her arms. She shivered and took another step into the small space separating them. She lifted her arms and intertwined her fingers around the back of his neck. His eyes widened, but he said nothing. His blue eyes stared right into hers, questioning. She stared boldly back and lifted her chin.

Her lips tingled as he pressed his mouth onto hers. His hands dropped to her waist and pulled her closer. Never before had she been kissed with such restrained passion. Her heart stopped for half a second. When he released her she gasped.

He moved his grasp back to her shoulders, as if making sure she would remain steady. Luke looked to the ground. “I guess that's what you meant.”

“Wh-what?”

“When you said I'd know if you kissed me.”

She spun around to prevent him from seeing her embarrassment. Why'd she ever let herself say such a thing? She knew he was trying to lighten the tension, but she couldn't think of a single witty comeback. “No one should ever be quoted when they're running for their lives.”

“Gabriella, I regret trying to rush our relationship in college. You have no idea how much. I've missed our friendship. I've missed you.” He exhaled. “And if it makes any difference,” he continued, “your mom knew who you really were, too.”

His words both soothed and stung. “If I hadn't left her diary in that safe room, maybe I'd have understood
her
more.”

“I don't think you would have. The letter did the best job of that.”

She looked over her shoulder. “What makes you say that?”

He glanced in every direction but hers. “Because I read the journal while you slept.”

Her stomach turned to lava. “You did what?”

Luke's eyes widened. “I was trying to help. You couldn't read it without—you know—you couldn't even read the letter.”

She clenched her fists. He'd read what was meant for her. Who knew what private, personal, secret things he knew about her from reading her mom's diary? A letter was so different than a diary. What had her mother said?

Luke reached for her, but she stepped back. “I'm sorry,” he said. “If you're worried about anything embarrassing, there wasn't. She spent a fair amount of time talking about her business, believe it or not. She did mention how proud she was of you. Over and over again. She also said something about what she'd done to the barn. I wasn't positive until now, but I'm sure now she was preparing to tell you all about this.”

Gabriella turned back to the papers. Her head spun with so many emotions she didn't know what to do. She needed to pick and choose what to offer the mafia in exchange for her aunt, but how could she? Because as bold as she made herself sound, Gabriella knew she wouldn't be able to give it all back to them. The risk and sacrifices her mother took to ensure her safety wasn't lost on her.

In her peripheral vision, Luke picked up the ledger and likewise went back to work. He turned a page and paused midturn. “She said you lived up to your name.”

Gabriella stiffened. What did that mean? That she lived up to the Mirabella name or the Radcliffe name?

“You know Gabriella means heroine of God, right? That's what the journal said.”

Her heart pounded so hard against her ribs it had to be audible to Luke. Heroine of God? Her mom had named her that? And thought she'd lived up to it? Her eyes burned with withheld emotion. She scoffed and shrugged. “Seems like I couldn't be...”

A creak above stilled them both, shocking the emotion to the farthest recesses of her heart. “Someone's upstairs?”

“You know how to shoot?” he whispered.

She nodded. Her mother had made sure she knew how to operate a gun. But Gabriella's targets had never been anything as fancy as the shooting range. Instead, as a teenager she'd shot tin cans in the pasture, after the fields of alfalfa had been harvested.

“Good.” He picked up the box of ammo. “I might have a plan.”

FOURTEEN

G
abriella grabbed the letter from her mom and shoved it in her pocket as Luke lined up the guns on the countertop. Her lightning fingers loaded the guns, thanks to her mom's training.

“I still think you should be the one in hiding.”

Another creak upstairs prompted her muscles to tense. “I'm not changing my mind. You're of no use to him. He'd shoot first,” she hissed.

He narrowed his eyes. Another creak. His eyes darted to the basement door. Rodrigo must be coming down to investigate. “Fine.” He grabbed a weapon and disappeared to his hiding place.

She slipped the cold metal under her back waistband and flipped the back of the shirt over it as the door flung open. A surge of nausea washed over her. Could she follow through with the hasty plan? Did she have enough guts to pull it off?

She closed her eyes.
Help me.
Gabriella flung her hands in the air and flashed her eyes open. “Don't shoot! I surrender.”

Rodrigo stepped into the room. If he'd found the bathroom upstairs, he hadn't stopped to wash his face. His face looked brown from the caked-on dust. The bushy eyebrows held the majority of the dirt, though, and must have served to protect his vision. The dust-plastered face didn't hide a raised red ring the size of a cantaloupe in the center of his forehead. She recoiled. Had the fire extinguisher done that?

Her right hand twitched, almost begging to reach for the gun. Without any weapons in her hand, she felt exposed, vulnerable.

Rodrigo's eyes darted around the room. “Where is he?”

“You shot him.” It wasn't a lie.

He leveled his aim at her. “I should kill you now. Slowly. Starting with—”

“I found the evidence you wanted,” she blurted. Avoidance and distraction were her only allies. The last thing Gabriella wanted to hear was the manner of death Rodrigo imagined for her. She jutted her chin in the direction of the gun cabinet.

Rodrigo shifted. He lowered the gun slightly. “You found it? Good.” He stepped forward and without touching, perused the stacks laid out on the countertop.

Gabriella held her breath. She needed him to let his guard down, to pick up the papers. “It's all there,” she said.

“Is there a map?”

She frowned, taken off guard. “Uh...a what?”

“I know about the coins.” He shoved his index finger on top of the tallest stack. “And I don't see the coins. Where are they?” Rodrigo stiffened and leveled the gun until the aim fell back on her forehead.

Gabriella shook her head. The plan had failed. “You never said anything about coins. Benito never said—”

“I've told you before I don't care what Benito said,” Rodrigo roared. “He doesn't know about the score. Your uncle passed that on to me.
Only
to me. He wanted me in charge, not that weasel. I need both to get back my rightful place, and you're going to get it for me.”

Rodrigo moved closer, a menacing grin spreading across his face. “I think you know where it is.” He raised an eyebrow. “Something in that stack gave you a clue, didn't it, honey?”

The dangerous gleam in his eyes accompanied by the term of endearment sent an involuntary shiver down her spine. She took a step backward, and her back bumped against the gun safe. The metal in her back waistband pushed into her flesh enough to make her cry out. Rodrigo tilted his chin, confused at her exclamation of pain. “I don't know. I haven't had much time to look at the papers.”

Luke sprang from his hiding place, a gun leveled on Rodrigo's back. Oh no. It wasn't time yet.

“Drop it,” Luke yelled.

Rodrigo spun so fast Luke had no time to react.
Crack!

The bullet pierced Luke's left shoulder. He slammed against the back wall. His features crumpled, but he still gripped the gun in his right hand.

Rodrigo's fingertips grabbed the back of her neck and shoved her half in front of him as he aimed his own weapon at Gabriella's temple. His left hand moved around her back and gripped her shoulder. “Make another move and she dies.”

Her teeth chattered. Her bones trembled. They'd lost.

Luke's eyes widened, full of rage and indecision. Whatever he did, he couldn't lower his weapon. She could accept dying, but Luke needed to get out alive. This was her fault, all her fault. Her misguided stubborn agenda hadn't saved her aunt. She couldn't bear it if it killed another innocent person.

Gabriella balled her hands up in fists and tensed every muscle in her body until she regained control of her emotions. Her mother had forced her to take self-defense classes every summer from high school through college. Maybe for such a time as this.

“Was this the kind of life my mom grew up with? The life you grew up with?” Gabriella challenged. Her voice shook, but she needed time. Time to clear her head.

Rodrigo laughed. “I chose this life, darling. And as soon as I get what I want, it's going to be pretty good. Now, whether you're alive or not is up to your little boyfriend here.” He jutted his chin toward Luke as he took a slight sidestep. Only the left side of his body remained behind her. “Lower your weapon or she dies,” he said. “Then you're next.”

“What about my mom?” Gabriella pressed. “Did she choose it?”

Rodrigo's arms stiffened against her back. “Seems she did all right for herself, now doesn't it? Not everyone gets raised like a princess, like you.” His voice shook with rage. It was a wonder he didn't spit. He shoved the tip of the gun harder into her temple. She pulled her head away from the stinging, but Rodrigo only pressed deeper. She cried out.

“Enough,” Luke yelled. His face paled.

No. She couldn't let Luke surrender. The moment he dropped the gun, Rodrigo would shoot him dead.
Please, God, no.

Luke dropped the gun. It clanged against the ground. Rodrigo loosened his hold and shifted his own gun away from Gabriella's temple, moving it toward his new aim. Luke held his arms out, renounced.

The mafia wouldn't take another person she loved!

She twisted her hips, shoving her right foot behind Rodrigo's left. Her kneecap connected with the back of his lower thigh while her hip vaulted his center of gravity forward. At the same time, Gabriella shoved her right elbow into Rodrigo's torso.

He cried out, but the momentum of her move threw his torso backward, over her knee, to the ground. The gun flew out of his hand, and a bullet shot into the ceiling.

Luke's eyes widened and he dropped, presumably to grab his own weapon. At least she hoped it was to do that and not due to the bullet in his shoulder.

Gabriella hopped backward before Rodrigo could grab her legs. Her right hand grabbed the gun from the back of her pants and aimed it at Rodrigo's outstretched hand. “Don't even go for your weapon, or I won't hesitate to shoot you.”

Rodrigo composed his slack jaw and narrowed his eyes. “I'm supposed to believe that?”

Why wouldn't he believe it, as they were standing in her mother's shooting range? Ridiculous. Maybe Rodrigo's attitude explained why her mother was so hard on Gabriella about doing her best, pushing herself and always exceeding expectations. Her mom had likely lived most of her life with the men in her family belittling her abilities. Gabriella reached with her left hand to the other gun stuck in the front of her waistband.

She kept her eyes locked on Rodrigo. “Please stay down a second, Luke.” In her peripheral vision she could see the paper target to the left. She twisted her left arm and shot three rounds, then moved the second gun to aim at Rodrigo's chest.

His eyes widened and his arm pulled back from its current trajectory.

“You said my mom was a wily one,” Gabriella said. “Well, she raised her daughter to be the same way. With the added bonus of making sure I was always overprepared and extra cautious.”

Rodrigo glared at her but remained silent.

“Luke?” she called out.

His shadow crossed in front of her. Good. He could stand. “Get his weapon?” she asked. Luke kicked it to the far corner of the room instead of picking it up. Did that mean he was scared to use his left hand?

“Are you okay?”

He moved his fist—gun still in hand—to provide pressure to his left shoulder. “I've been better, but I think I'll live.”

Gabriella peeked. Three bullet holes had hit the center target. Muscle memory had worked to her advantage.

“I noticed some rope upstairs,” she said.

Luke nodded. “Good idea.”

Gabriella nodded at Rodrigo. “We need to finish our little chat. Upstairs. Now.”

The moment Rodrigo stood and headed for the door, Gabriella's blood pressure spiked. They were about to enter the darkness, and Rodrigo was twice her size. What was the likelihood he would cooperate?

“Stop,” she ordered. Rodrigo turned around. “Luke, can you hold him here while I get the rope?”

His face paled slightly, but he nodded. She sprinted upstairs and grabbed the rope hanging on one of the beams. She flipped on the bathroom light and looked under the sink cabinet. An old plastic box still held a first-aid kit. For all she knew everything in it had probably passed its usefulness. She sighed. Beggars couldn't be choosers.

At the sound of a holler she held her gun out and jogged back downstairs. Rodrigo sat on the floor once again, holding his head. Two feet away sat a fizzing but unopened can of soda.

Luke had a gun pointed at Rodrigo. “He tried to make a move when I bent down for another drink.”

Gabriella's gaze drifted to the knife sticking in the wall, a foot above the mini refrigerator. She blinked. So Luke had used the can of pop as a self-defense move. “Resourceful,” she muttered. “You're blessed he didn't shoot you,” she told Rodrigo.

Luke half smiled in response. “If he came one step closer, that would've been next.” The red circle on the edge of his shoulder increased in circumference by the minute. It proved hard to look away. He grabbed his drink. “I can't seem to drink enough.”

She dropped the first-aid kit at her feet. Rodrigo needed to be neutralized before she could think straight enough to help Luke. The excessive thirst wasn't a good sign. He had lost too much blood.

Rodrigo caught sight of the rope in her hands. “Let's not be hasty. We can work out a deal.”

“Why should I even talk to you?”

“Because we both know there's no way the Mirabella family is going to let you and your aunt walk away from this.”

* * *

Luke blew out a long exhale. The adrenaline must have kept the pain at bay until now. The hard floor looked nice. If only he could lie down and give the dull ache in his shoulder and the sting in his leg a rest. His eyelids drooped, but Gabriella needed him alert.

Her brown eyes stared at him and heat filled his chest. She'd called him resourceful. He wasn't about to let her down now. If she tried to tie Rodrigo up while he stood or even while he was down on the ground, like cop style, that would give Rodrigo too many opportunities to get the upper hand. “He needs to sit in that chair before we secure him.”

He kept his left hand lax at his side. Any time he moved those fingers, the throbbing and bleeding increased. But it looked as if he'd need to risk that to tie Rodrigo up.

Gabriella's gaze drifted to his side. “Just talk me through it. Keep the gun pointed at Rodrigo. If he gives me any trouble, shoot him.” She pointed at Rodrigo. “After I know you aren't going to try anything else, I'll hear you out.”

Rodrigo flashed a smug grin at Gabriella. Luke gritted his teeth and tightened his fingers around the gun.

Gabriella ordered Rodrigo to stand up. She dragged the chair across the room so it sat in the center of the shooting lane and instructed Rodrigo to take a seat. Luke took a stand in front of Rodrigo, the weapon aimed at his chest. Gabriella stepped behind the chair and held up the rope. Her eyes met Luke's briefly. He'd have to remember to thank his brothers for playing so many cops and robbers games, complete with tying each other up.

“Make sure his palms are facing each other as you cinch them together.”

She nodded and bent down to get to work. Rodrigo squirmed but said nothing as she tied his hands. A moment later, she stood. “Let's get you patched up,” she whispered to Luke.

So that was why she'd moved the chair so far away. She wanted to talk. Gabriella insisted Luke take the leather recliner. The soft padding almost put him to sleep the moment he sat. His leg finally found relief.

“I'm afraid I need you to take the flannel shirt off.” She helped yank the sleeve off so he could keep his left arm as straight as possible. The navy shirt underneath was more moist than he realized. He closed his eyes, fighting sleep, but he knew he wouldn't make it if he saw the blood.

The crackle of plastic and paper meant she'd found something to help stop the blood flow. She tugged on the shirt's collar, and he felt her fingers work. “I'm trying to clean you up a little first,” she said. “Do you think he's right?”

Luke cracked open one eye. She meant Rodrigo and his prediction that Benito wouldn't let them live anyway. He wanted to soothe the worried lines between her brows but couldn't lie to her. “It's crossed my mind.”

She pressed her lips together. “I'm going to apply pressure.”

The sudden agony brought colors to his vision. Without the warning, he would've screamed. The pain dropped to an ache. His skin pulled against something sticky. She'd bandaged him tight. “Sorry,” she whispered. “I wanted to make sure the bleeding slowed.”

He nodded but couldn't speak yet.

“I knew it was a risk but thought... I mean, Aunt Freddie has Alzheimer's, I thought they'd leave her alone.” Her voice remained hushed. Rodrigo likely heard her voice but probably couldn't make out her words. “And I don't even know what to make of this whole coin issue.”