Relentless: A Bad Boy Romance (Bertoli Crime Family #1) (17 page)

O
ur plan was simple
, but still dangerous for a couple of reasons. First, we had to take Daniel's BMW. While the ghost gray car was known to both Vincent Drake and Uncle Carlo, since the rise in school shootings, campus security had been very strict on traffic control onto and off campus. We'd already had Daniel's BMW checked in, and he had a campus ID sticker in his front windshield. Carmen's Ford didn't, and if we tried to use that, we'd have to spend another ten to thirty minutes at the campus police station, time that we just didn't want to spend on campus.

So Daniel's car it was. Still, we dressed as inconspicuously as possible, with my red hair pulled back into a ponytail and tucked into a ball cap while Daniel looked as much like a bum as I'd ever seen him, in paint splattered jeans, an oversized long-sleeved rugby shirt, and his Jordans, which we'd scuffed and abraded to make them look used. Between the two of us, we looked like totally different people.

Pulling up in the parking lot closest to the front of the registrar's office, Daniel put the car in park and shut off the engine. “You ready?”

“Yeah,” I nodded, grabbing my backpack. It was the same backpack I'd picked up in my initial run from home, although with Carmen's help, I'd bought some clothes that fit a little bit better. There was being inconspicuous, and being
too
inconspicuous. “Come on, this shouldn't take too long.”

Part of going on sabbatical involved talking to a guidance counselor, so Daniel and I sat around in the office, waiting for one of them to become available. Finally, just as I was about to lose my mind at the intolerable waiting, one of the counselors came out of their office. “Miss Bertoli? Hi, I'm Tim Drucker. If you can step into my office, please.”

Daniel and I got up, and Drucker looked uncomfortable. “Miss Bertoli, it's normal procedure that these meetings are—”

“Are done one on one,” I completed for him. “Mr. Drucker, Daniel has been with me on campus for weeks, and is part of the reason that I came in today. He stays by my side.”

Drucker nodded, still unconvinced, but the three of us went into his office. The counselors' offices on campus were tiny, practically cubicles with slightly thicker walls. I understood though. The number of students had skyrocketed over the past few years, meaning the administration had to hire more staff. More staff meant more offices, but buildings don't expand at the same rate as enrollment. Still, I did feel a bit cramped as Drucker and I took seats while Daniel remained standing. There wasn't a chair for him. “Would you like to grab a chair from outside, Mr. . . .?”

“Neiman. Daniel Neiman,” Daniel answered, his voice flat and robbed of all inflection. It was his Terminator voice, and I had to swallow a smile as Drucker went slightly pale. “And no, I would prefer to stand.”

“Oh . . . okay then,” Drucker stammered, then turned his attention to me. “Well, Miss Bertoli, I understand from your paperwork that you want to take a one semester to one year sabbatical, is that correct?”

“Yes,” I said, putting on my most charming smile. Daniel's intimidating presence urged some things along, but it was the time to gather flies with honey and not vinegar. “After the past couple of weeks, it's just not the right time for me to continue with my studies.”

“I see,” Drucker said, clearly not understanding. “Miss Bertoli, it's highly irregular for an upperclassman like yourself to take such a long sabbatical. In all honesty, most who do never come back and lose their place in our arts program.”

“I understand that, but I feel it's necessary,” I said. “No offense, Mr. Drucker, but when this college can't even stop a psycho killer like Vincent Drake from harassing me through the official email channels, I'm having trouble putting my focus where I should have it. Drake violated my safe space, and the college has not done a lot to help restore that. Until he's caught, I'd prefer to not put myself under that sort of unwanted pressure. It triggers me too much.”

I couldn't believe the sort of bullshit streaming out of my mouth, and even Daniel's lips twitched in a fraction of a smile before he reassumed his stoic demeanor. I mean, I'm the daughter of a Mafia family, and here I was talking about triggers and safe spaces? What next, a little diatribe about micro aggressions? Still, it was the language that these type of people spoke, and it got through to him with the minimum of explanation.

“I see,” Drucker repeated. He sighed and turned to his computer. “Well, it says here that your tuition is fully self-funded—no significant scholarships or grants that require you to do extra paperwork—so this shouldn't take too long. Let me print out the proper forms for your signature, and we should have you on your way. Just a minute.”

Drucker tapped at his keyboard, then got up. He had to squeeze past Daniel, who scooted over to let him by, closing the door behind him. As soon as we were alone, Daniel broke down, chuckling under his breath. “Safe spaces? Triggers?”

I smiled back. “Hey, not everyone can pull off the intimidating badass look and get things done like you can. I try it, and I just come off as a bitch that people don't want to work with. No thanks.”

Drucker came back a few seconds later with a small stack of papers in his hands, which he quickly stapled together. I couldn't help but reflect humorously on the fact that he had a red Swingline stapler on his desk. It's the sort of little thing that makes me laugh. “Okay, Miss Bertoli, I'm going to need you to sign in three places,” Drucker said, taking a pen out of his desk and starting to point at the front page of the documents. “This one says that . . .”

“Mr. Drucker, can we speed this up?” I said, pretending to be scared. It wasn't that hard, once I tried. “The more time I'm on campus, the less safe I feel.”

He chewed his lip for a second, then nodded. He flipped to the third page. “Okay. This one says you understand you are taking time off, and that you will get no credit for the classes you are dropping this semester.”

I signed, and he flipped more. “This one says that you understand that when you come back, you will have retained your credits, but nothing more. You will have to start right back where you were at the beginning of this semester. Miss Bertoli, again, are you sure? Picking up again when your courses are going this fast and furious is very difficult.”

“I'm sure,” I said, signing the next page. “What's next?”

He flipped to the last page, and pointed. “This one says that you would lose any scholarships or time dependent grants under this decision, but since you're self-paying anyway, it's just boilerplate.”

I signed, and Drucker took the documents and put them in a manila folder. “Okay, Miss Bertoli. I do hope that you feel safe enough to rejoin us soon. The deadline for telling us about winter semester is Thanksgiving. You can do that via email if you wish.”

“Thank you, Mr. Drucker,” I said, standing. I slipped my backpack on and offered my hand. “I'll be in touch.”

Heading downstairs from his office, I glanced over at Daniel. Reaching over, I took his hand, which I had to admit gave me a thrill. It was the first time in public that I'd taken his hand as his girlfriend. “See? Don't worry, we're doing just fine.”

“Still have a hundred meters to go,” Daniel said. He paused just inside the doors to the outside and pulled me tight for an embrace. “But I do feel better.”

We left the building, the bright sunshine dazzling us for a moment, and started across the small grassy area that led to the parking lot. Suddenly, Daniel grabbed my hand, pulling me to a stop. “Damn.”

“What?” I asked before I saw it too. Coming toward us, looking as out of place as I would at a Black Panther rally, were two of my uncle's men. Both of them were trying to be quiet about it, but they knew they'd been spotted. “What do we do?”

“Run!” Daniel said, pulling me off to the right. We took off down the sidewalk and away from the two men, one of whom yelled as they took off after us. We rounded the corner, heading deeper into campus, where I hoped that our greater knowledge of the layout would help us lose them.

Unfortunately, our appearance had been anticipated, and I saw another man closing in from the far side of the quad, dressed like a college jock. As he got closer, I saw that it was Roberto. “Fuck!”

“Yeah,” Daniel grunted, pain in his voice. He'd just started to get over his beating, and his body wasn't ready for this sort of stress. “Cut left!”

We tore across the grassy area into a tunnel that, if we continued on, would lead to the campus athletic grounds. “Here,” Daniel said, reaching down to his pants and pulling out his keys. “When we reach the end, Roberto will most likely be there. You cut left, I go right. Circle around, get to the car, and get back to Carmen's place. If they're still on your tail when you leave campus, get on the Interstate and head north. When you're safe, call me. I'll come to you.”

“Dan . . .” I gasped, the air hot in my lungs. “But—”

“They want to kick my ass more than they want you,” Daniel said, slowing. He came to a stop and turned to me. “Ade, these idiots still don't understand how strong you are. They think that if they get me, you'll just come back home with your tail between your legs and be the pretty little princess all those idiots think you are. I know, because even I underestimated you. So go, I'll be okay. Come on, three guys? I've dealt with worse than that.”

Daniel leaned in quickly and gave me a kiss and a smile. “Now go!”

I could see in his face that he wasn't sure about this plan, but I obeyed anyway. At the end of the tunnel, I sprinted left as hard as I could, heading toward the wooded area that ringed that part of campus. I heard Daniel yell out behind me, and Roberto replied, but that was it as I went hell-bent for leather to the trees.

I didn't slow down until I was within the shadows, surrounded by the pines and bushes. Panting, I leaned against the trunk of one of the bigger pines and looked back, wishing I could see Daniel. Unfortunately, the entire scene in front of me was more or less peaceful. There were students heading to class, a few still looking around, wondering what the hell had just happened, but no sign of any Bertoli men.

I walked quickly through the trees, keeping to the edge of campus as I brought my breathing and heart back under control. Still, I was sweating profusely as I came around to the far side of the parking lot, where I saw Daniel's car. The BMW looked ignored, so I got ready for one last dash. Fifty yards, no more, and then I would be able to get out of there.

I was so focused on the BMW that I didn't hear the footsteps behind me until a fraction of a second before wiry arms, pipe cleaner scrawny but with the strength of the insane, dropped around my waist. “Hello, baby,” a reedy, whiny voice that I had dreaded ever hearing again whispered in my ear. “Good to see you again.”

I fought against Vincent's grip as hard as I could, but before I could even scream, something was jammed over my mouth and nose. The pungent, almost alcoholic scent hit my brain for a moment, then everything started to go dark. I tried to fight, kicking my legs back, but they were only talking to my brain long-distance, and the force wasn't enough to hurt a fly.

“That's it, mama,” Drake said again from the end of the tunnel that was my hearing. “Just sleep. We'll talk after you have a nap.”

Darkness followed me next, inky and endless. In it, I could hear laughter, screaming, and in the background . . . Genesis.

I
hadn't lied
when I told Adriana that I could handle three men. Even a week after catching a hellacious beating, I was confident about that. Especially since I didn't need to actually fight them, just evade them. Roberto was the fittest of the three, and I knew that I could outrun him, even as worn out as I was.

What I hadn't anticipated was a fourth. I had literally just stepped onto the sidewalk that bordered the campus when something that felt like a truck blindsided me. Considering that I played football in high school—all conference linebacker, in fact—I knew what happened, but knowledge didn't make the pain of being tackled to the sidewalk any easier. The wind was driven out of me, and I felt my ribs, which had just started to let me breathe without pain again, groan warningly while my nose thudded sickly at the jarring, even if it didn't get hit at all. I wasn't sure if something was broken anew or not, but I certainly wasn't wanting to find out.

“Sorry, Daniel,” Julius grunted as he flipped me over. Taking my stunned arm, he yanked my wrist back, and I felt something being slipped over my hand before the zipping sound of the quick-tie told me what was happening. Another yank and another zip, and I was handcuffed just as effectively as if I'd been wearing metal.

A van pulled up, the door opened, and Julius got me to my feet and threw me inside headfirst. I ducked my chin in enough time to take most of the impact on my shoulder and back, but my neck caught some of it, and I was woozy for the next few minutes.

When I could focus, I saw that Roberto had joined us in the back of the van. “Where are you taking me?”

“You fucked up, Daniel, you know that?” Roberto said, giving me an incredulous look. “Bringing her back to campus? Seriously, what the fuck were you thinking?”

“About the value of higher education,” I replied, leaning my head back against the bare metal of the van. “Not that you'd understand.”

“Not trying to. Now lie there and shut the fuck up. I don't want to have to knock you out,” Roberto replied. He didn't say anything the rest of the trip, which through the little I could see in the window, led not toward the Bertoli mansion, but toward the docks. That worried me.

The Port of Seattle isn't the largest port on the West Coast—far from it. Los Angeles, San Francisco, and Portland all have serious ports too, and problems back with the labor movement back in the thirties had shunted a lot of the surface tonnage away from Seattle. Still, it was quite a port and handled a lot of stuff that came into the Pacific Northwest. And of course, ports need longshoremen, and since time immemorial, longshoremen meant Mafia involvement. Carlo Bertoli controlled the longshoremen of Seattle and even owned a couple of warehouses out on the edges of the port, places where he could do some of the more unsavory parts of his business. I'd only had to come here a few times, and each of them hadn't ended well for the person in the position I was now in.