Criminal Pleasures (11 page)

Marc took a sip of beer and set it down. He finally looked at Brendan. “Patrick Quinn went underground after that, no one could find him. Until about six months ago when an undercover informant in Providence heard a rumor that he was operating there on the down low, illegal gambling and money laundering. And that every so often he would step out of hiding and pay a visit to one of his gambling partners: Vincent DiPietro. Otherwise known as Poppy.”

Brendan raised his eyebrows, but said nothing. He swallowed a huge gulp of beer and waited for Marc to continue.

“This man, Patrick Quinn, ordered the deaths of a judge and a cop, everyone in Boston wanted to get their hands on him. It was determined that the only chance of finding him was through Bibeta’s Garden, Poppy DiPietro’s establishment, and rumored base for his illegal gambling activities.”

He paused, watching Brendan.

“Okay,” Brendan said. “So they’re fixing more than meatballs at Bibeta’s. Go on.”

 “Poppy DiPietro has four brothers. One of them, Bernard, is still living in Italy. Bernard’s hated his brother Poppy for years, and is convinced he had a good friend killed when they were in their twenties, and made it look like an accident. He’s never outright accused Poppy, but he’s been stewing on a grudge for decades, so agreed to cooperate with the authorities. He and Poppy lost touch over the years. Bernard married, and has eleven grandchildren. But Poppy’s never met them, or Bernard’s wife and children. They haven’t spoken since Poppy moved to America decades back. But Bernard agreed to contact Poppy, and say that one of his grandsons was heading to America to marry a young woman. And that he might be stopping by to say hello to the family.” Marc shrugged. “And that’s how Marcello DiPietro was created.”

“And that’s where you come in,” Brendan said.

He nodded. “I spent time in Italy years back, I speak fluent Italian. I’m close enough to the right age and I have the right look.”

“And Danielle? Your fiancée?”

“She’s a cop. We needed a reason for Marcello to be in the United States, so it looked legitimate, and not like he was there to simply worm his way into the DiPietro family. So Danielle posed as my American fiancée. The immigration papers were filed, birth certificate, and backstory. And with the call from Bernard, there was no reason for Poppy to doubt that I was his legitimate grandnephew. He’d always wanted a son, there are no boys in his family. He was thrilled to meet me.”

Brendan looked down, shaking his head.

“You all right?” Marc asked.

Brendan laughed. “No.”

“Brendan, I—”

“Just...finish your story.”

Marc was silent a moment. He took another long sip of his beer. “The first time I made contact I was with Danielle. We stopped by the restaurant on the pretense that I only wanted to meet and greet my American relatives. But with Danielle’s help, we made it known that I couldn’t work until the fiancé visa was cleared. And that it was a strain on us financially. Poppy offered to let me work at the restaurant, under the table. I was family, after all.”

Brendan let out a long breath. “Wow.”

He nodded. “I’d been there for almost three months when I met you that night. Outside the restaurant. In all that time I was there, I’d seen no sign of Patrick Quinn. I bused tables, I bartended, I got to know the family. But it seemed futile. I was frustrated. I was sick to death of being Marcello DiPietro. I had no idea when I was gonna get pulled out of there, or if I’d have to go through with a fake marriage and stay on for who knows how long. Months. Years.” He looked down, shaking his head, then took a sip of beer. “I’m not perfect. It was getting to me.”

“I guess that explains why you were such a bitch to me that night,” Brendan said. “Or is that just you?”

Marc tightened his lips and looked at Brendan. “I was a bitch to you because I was undercover and couldn’t risk getting involved with anyone in a real life capacity. So I tried to deter you. But...” He looked away, sighing.

“But what?” Brendan asked.

Marc wrung his hands, not meeting Brendan’s eyes. “You were like this breath of fresh air, come out of nowhere when I was having a very low moment. And I just thought...why not? Why can’t I have something for me, just for one damn night?”

Brendan stared at him icily. “So I was your escape. Like your little rainforest room, except with a cock.”

Marc’s brown eyes flicked up. “Yes.”

“Well that’s great. I hope I was an efficient coping mechanism for you.”

“You
weren’t
. I felt guilty as hell, Brendan. Especially when I saw you again the following week. But I was so drawn to you, and as soon as I saw you I wanted you again. But that night I went to your loft, I realized this wasn’t just some fling I could have as a little rest and relaxation from my day job as Marcello DiPietro. I liked you way too much. And you were so open and honest. That’s why I left your loft that night. I couldn’t do that to you a second time, deceive you like that. I thought the less I said about myself the less I’d have to lie to you. But it only made you more suspicious. And I knew sleeping with you again would be just another lie.”

Brendan nodded. “Well at least it makes sense now. I thought you were insane. Now I kind of wish that was the case. I’d feel like less of a chump.”

“I’m sorry.”

“And the raid on Bibeta’s Garden? I assume that had something to do with you.”

Marc looked at Brendan for a long time, saying nothing.

Brendan narrowed his eyes, then slapped his hand on the table, making Marc flinch. “Oh, come on, Marc! You’re gonna clam up now? Threaten me, muzzle me, whatever you have to do to guarantee I won’t talk, but just tell me all of it. I deserve it. At least for taking your
shit
. Oh excuse me, for taking Marcello’s shit.
”

Marc cast his eyes down. “All right.” He looked at Brendan. “Did you see the old woman that came in to see Poppy? On that Tuesday night at the bar, the last time I saw you?”

“Yes,” Brendan said. “Poppy took her into a back room or something.”

“That was Patrick Quinn.”

Brendan’s jaw dropped. “The old woman?”

He nodded. “He was hiding in plain sight. Just under a wig and a dress. Danielle and I spotted him at the same time. When Danielle came over to the bar to confirm it with me, I told her to go make the call. We had to move fast, before Patrick Quinn left the restaurant again. But my next thought after that was that I had to get
you
out of the building. Before it went down.”

“And that’s why you threatened to punch me in the face.”

He nodded. “How did you find me, Brendan?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

“You understand this is a cause for concern. I really do need to know how you found me.”

“The DiPietros said you’d been deported.”

Marc nodded. “Do they still believe that?”

“As far as I know.”

“How did you know I was a cop?”

“I didn’t,” Brendan said. He held Marc’s eyes for a moment, then looked down. “I was frantic when I heard you were being deported. Desperate to find out if you were safe.”

Marc reached over and grasped his hand.

Brendan tugged his hand away. “Don’t do that. It wasn’t you I was worried about. It was a guy called Marcello, who doesn’t exist.”

Marc’s eyes closed. “I know.” He opened them again. “So you were trying to find Marcello. And somehow you found me. How?”

“I have a friend who’s a judge. Don’t ask me his name. I won’t give it to you. But you don’t have to worry about him. I asked him to try and find out if you’d been deported yet. He stumbled across your identity. The only thing he told me was that a guy called Detective Daggett could tell me everything I wanted to know about Marcello DiPietro.”

Marc’s eyes closed again, like he could shut Brendan’s words out.

“I guess he felt I deserved to know exactly who I was pining for and worrying about.” 

“I’m so sorry,” Marc said, his eyes opening. “So incredibly, incredibly fucking sorry.”

Brendan nodded. “Me, too.”

Marc stared into his eyes so intently it made Brendan flush. “Brendan. It wasn’t all fake. You do know that, right? Brendan, I—”

“Don’t patronize me.” Brendan shook his head. “You’ve made enough of a fool of me.”

“That was never my intention.”

“Well it doesn’t really matter now, does it?”

Marc took a sip of beer. “I have to ask you to stay away from the DiPietros.”

“I have no desire to ever hear that name again, don’t worry.”

“Even the girls, Brendan. They look sweet, but they know exactly who their father is, and they’re loyal to him.”

“I won’t go near the DiPietros. You have my word. Is that it?”

Marc looked into his eyes for a long moment. “This will all come out eventually, but I don’t have to tell you, keep it to yourself. What we’ve said here today.”

“You want me to sign something?” Brendan said, not bothering to mask the hostility he felt.

“I’m hoping I can simply trust you,” Marc said.

“I was gullible with you. But I’m not stupid, Marc. Of course I won’t say anything.”

“I never thought you were stupid. I take full responsibility for deceiving you. It was my weakness, not yours.”

Brendan stood. “Are we done?”

Marc stared up at him, his brow furrowed. He gave a little nod.

Brendan made his way out of the restaurant, not bothering to look back.

When he got outside the sky was dark, a wisp of pink clouds in the distance where the sun had dropped. He trudged wearily through the parking lot. When he spotted Marc’s sedan, he stopped dead. The space next to it was empty, except for a smattering of broken glass on the pavement.

Brendan ran to the spot and stared down at the broken glass. He twisted around, panic gripping him. He was vaguely aware of Marc stepping up beside him as he scanned the lot. “Where...” He turned in a circle. “Where the
fuck
is my car?”

Marc stepped over and examined the broken glass, kicking it with his shoe. “Aw, shit.”

“Where the fuck is my car?” Brendan repeated.

Marc looked at him. “Looks like someone stole your pimp-mobile.”

“No,” Brendan said. “No, no, this can’t be happening.”

“There have been a lot of car thefts in this area lately. Mostly expensive cars like yours. Does it have a tracking system?”

Brendan circled the empty parking space. “It’s brand new. I hadn’t gotten around to it yet.”

“It hasn’t been gone long, I’ll call it in,” Marc said, heading to his car.

“I have to call the police,” Brendan said, his heart thudding.

Marc paused. “Brendan. I am the police. I’ll call it in.”

“Fuck!” Brendan kicked the broken glass. “I don’t fucking need this right now!”

“Come sit in the car with me. Don’t worry. We’ll get it back.”

Brendan finally focused on Marc. Marc, who he wanted to get away from, yet still somehow wanted to touch. He didn’t want to sit in the car with him, didn’t want to do anything to weaken his resolve. He’d been so close to a dignified and hasty exit.

But he didn’t know what to do. He’d never had a vehicle stolen before. And he was stranded.

“Brendan. Come on. Get in the car. I’m trying to help you.”

Reluctantly, Brendan complied.

Marc started the engine and turned on the heat. Brendan sat in the passenger seat and only half listened as Marc made the call. He answered Marc’s questions about the license and registration number, make and model, but he felt numb, like he wasn’t really there in his own body. He’d suffered one huge shock tonight when he’d seen Marc in the police station, and discovered his true identity. He hadn’t been prepared for another crisis tonight.

Marc finally got off the phone and turned to Brendan, who stared out the front windshield.

“You okay?” he asked.

“I really liked that car,” Brendan said.

“They’re on it. Don’t worry, they’ll find it. In the meantime, you might as well come back to my place.”

This shook Brendan out of his daze, and he looked at Marc. “I don’t want to go to your place.”

“If they find your car tonight, you’ll want to be nearby. But if you insist, I can give you a ride back to Providence.”

“I don’t want you to give me a ride. I can get my own ride.”

“I think you should stay in the area tonight.”

“Then I’ll find a hotel. Or I’ll get a rental car. Something. I don’t know.”

Marc sighed. “I can’t just leave you after all this, I want to help. Just come back to my place. I’ve got my phone, they’ll call me as soon as they know anything about your car.”

“I have to work tomorrow. I have court.”

“I can drive you home tomorrow if they don’t find your car. You can stay with me tonight, I have the space.”

Brendan looked at Marc. His face was shadowed, yet the angles were so familiar. His lips. Brendan could still remember the taste of them. He didn’t trust himself with this man. It was too confusing. This man was a stranger who’d betrayed him. Yet he was also the man who’d blown his mind in bed and made his head spin with longing for more.

“Just take me to a hotel,” Brendan said. “You can call me if you hear anything tonight.”

Marc put the car in gear and pulled out of the parking space. “No. You’re coming to my place,” he said.

Brendan stared at him as he pulled out of the parking lot, onto the road. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

He opened his mouth, stunned. “Marc, I said I—”

“No.”

“Take me to a hotel.”

“I said no.”

“You can’t just kidnap me, Marc.”

“So call the cops,” Marc said. “But I’m not taking you to a hotel.”

Brendan faced front, and said nothing further. He didn’t trust his voice. Because suddenly, his throat was dry, a churning low in his belly.

Maybe this wasn’t the same man he’d gone home with after his dinner out weeks ago. But somehow, once again, he felt himself being lured into his web. 

Chapter Twelve

Brendan wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but Marc’s quaint, cottage style house wasn’t it. The house was set back off the main road, down a dirt path. A stretch of yard in the back led to a small lake with a dock. In the driveway was a Jeep with enormous tires, next to a detached garage, where a kayak rested against the wall.