With Good Behavior (38 page)

Studying Grant intently, Carlo slid into a chair next to the sofa and watched him extract some photographs from the box. Grant’s face fell as he flipped through pictures from his nephew’s childhood. “Poor Ben,” he lamented.

Carlo’s jaw clenched. Everyone was feeling so sorry for Logan’s son, but Carlo knew Ben 
needed
 to experience this loss of his father to make him tougher, to breed the proper loyalty to the family so he could become a capo one day. Logan had been growing soft and might have led his son astray if not for Carlo.

Tapping his foot with restless energy, Carlo looked around at the bland apartment. “Man, I could really use a drink.”

“Glasses are in the cupboard,” Grant mumbled distractedly, still absorbed by the photographs.

Miffed that he had to retrieve his own glass, Carlo rose from the chair and headed into the small kitchen. He could not locate any shot glasses but did find two tumblers in the cupboard.

“Don’t suppose you got a lime?” he shouted. Preparing to open the fridge, he noticed a written note stuck to the door with a magnet. His eyes narrowed with curiosity, then he inhaled sharply.

He glanced behind him at Grant, who thankfully was still riveted by the pictures cradled in his hands. Who the hell was Bonnie? He thought her name was Sophie. Setting his jaw with resolve, Carlo determined to look into this. He lifted the magnet and removed the paper, quietly folding it and sneaking it into the pocket of his black pants.

Confidently striding back to the seating area, Carlo set the glasses on the coffee table and opened the bottle, pouring a sizeable amount of tequila into each tumbler.

“
Salute!
” he announced, holding the glass aloft and inviting Grant to do the same.

Grant put down the photographs and grasped his own tumbler, halfheartedly raising the glass and meeting Carlo’s intense black eyes. “
Salute
,” he listlessly replied.

“To our brother who was taken from us much too young.” Carlo shook his head, feigning heartfelt grief. “May he find peace in heaven. 
Cent’anni!
”

May you live one hundred years
. Grant frowned. Why would anyone want to live one hundred years of this miserable existence? Perhaps if he still had Sophie in his life … He brought the glass to his lips and sipped, feeling fire slide down his throat.

Carlo had knocked back the entire glass. With disdain, he eyed the substantial amount of liquor still present in his cousin’s glass and decided to get down to business. He couldn’t stand to be around this vanilla angel any longer than he had to—Grant might rub off on him or something.

Noticing the fading bruise on Grant’s cheekbone, Carlo inquired, “How’d you get that shiner?”

Grant gazed at the glass in his hand. “The man we just toasted. He and I got in a fight before he died.”

Carlo whistled through his teeth. “That must not have looked too good when the cops showed up to question you.”

“Yeah. Fortunately I’d been to my PO’s that morning, so I had an alibi.”

“Lucky,” Carlo responded, his smile of relief not quite genuine. “I was at my dad’s club,” he quickly added. “So I have an alibi too.”

Grant glanced at him curiously. Why was Carlo volunteering that information?

“Speaking of my parole officer …” Grant suddenly sat up, coming to his senses. “You should go. I can’t associate with known criminals or I’ll be in violation of my parole.”

“Oh, I’m not leaving yet. We got some business to discuss.”

“What kind of business?”

“I’m here to make you an offer you can’t refuse.” Carlo’s black eyes glistened with delight.

“What the hell does that mean?”

“We need you, Grant. The family needs you in the business. Whatever rift you had with your brother will no longer prevent you from taking your rightful place. Logan lost us a lot of money, and it’s your turn to help us get it back.”

“I can’t believe you’re asking this on the day I buried my brother.”

Sneering, Carlo pulled back the lapel of his suit-jacket to reveal a gun in a holster. “This ain’t a request, 
cugino
.”

Grant’s eyes widened, never leaving Carlo’s. “I—I—I’m on parole … for a crime 
you
 made me commit.” His voice became stronger. “There’s no way in hell I’m pulling another job for you.” He looked down and scoffed, “Threaten me with whatever you want.”

Carlo gave him a saccharine grin. “Who’s Sophie, Grant?” Suddenly he had his cousin’s attention. “Sophie Taylor?” Carlo tilted his head to the side with feigned naïveté. “The girl who hugged you this afternoon?”

Grant’s heart was pounding so loudly he couldn’t hear himself think. His Bonnie! Carlo knew about his Bonnie! “She’s—she’s nobody. Just a friend of Joe’s—”

“Save your lies for someone less intelligent,” Carlo interrupted. “I know who she is. She’s that shrink who got the cops chasing after Lo. She’s the whore who seduced both brothers. How sweet. So, Lo was banging her too, huh?”

Grant’s eyes flared, and before he knew what he was doing, he’d lunged for his cousin. Carlo was ready for him. Despite his smaller stature, Carlo swiftly dominated, whipping out his weapon and somehow spinning and twisting Grant’s arm around his back. In less than two seconds, he held the weapon flush against the taller man’s temple. A dead quiet spread through the apartment—the only sound their panting.

Grant felt his cousin’s hot breath on his neck. “That bitch turned over a lot of money to the fucking cops,” Carlo hissed. “Our money. And we want it back.”

Grant closed his eyes, feeling the cool metal on his skin.

“But I promise I won’t go after her, 
if
 you work for us. You choose, Grant. You choose if she lives or dies.”

It wasn’t a choice at all. Grant had no choice.

“What will it be, 
cugino
?” Carlo prompted, twisting Grant’s arm tighter.

Grant wondered if he was going to throw up. “I’ll do it,” he said. “I’ll do whatever you and Angelo want. Just please don’t hurt Sophie.”

A satisfied smile spread across Carlo’s face. “That’s what I want to hear. It would be a pity to kill such a beautiful chick.” He released his hold on Grant, and the younger man immediately broke away. But he could not escape the cloyingly sweet scent of Carlo’s aftershave. It was as if his cousin had infiltrated his every pore, seeping into his system, infecting him, owning him, and Grant had the strong urge to take a shower.

Carlo carefully replaced his gun. “You be at the compound by nine o’clock tomorrow morning, Grant. We’ll discuss your career opportunities then.”

Grant nodded. If he had to show up at Angelo’s, at least the feds might catch him violating parole again, landing him back in prison and far away from Carlo. But then, gripped by despair, Grant remembered his father awaited him back in Gurnee. And if he was in prison, he couldn’t protect Sophie. Wherever he went, he was trapped by his destructive family. Hopelessness washed over him.

Sliding his hands into his pockets, Carlo’s fingertips brushed the folded paper with the address for Bonnie, surely a nickname for this Taylor girl.

“I gotta go,” Carlo announced, not sure if Grant was listening. “I got people to talk to, to um, consult with.”

When Grant finally glanced up, Carlo added, “See you tomorrow, cuz. Don’t be late.”

With that last instruction, Carlo disappeared, letting himself out.

Grant crumpled on the sofa, holding his head. Sophie! Should he warn her? She would be safe with her father’s protection. But what if she returned to live with Kirsten?

He closed his eyes, remembering her soft lips brushing over his eyelids. His Sophie. She was gone to him forever. He would never put her in that kind of danger again. She was much too precious.

Drawing an anguished breath, he glanced around the empty apartment, which grew dimmer by the moment. Joe would be back soon. What in the world would Grant tell him? Eyeing the bottle and glasses, he swiftly gathered them up. Joe had never approved of liquor in the house.

Dumping the tequila from his glass into the sink, Grant turned to the refrigerator to hide the bottle in the cabinet above it. Once he stood on his tiptoes and placed the tequila bottle in the far recesses of the cabinet, he glanced at the fridge. Something seemed a little off.

Suddenly Grant gasped. Sophie’s note! It was missing. His stomach flipped with fear as he realized only one person could have taken it. Grabbing his jacket, Grant rushed out of the apartment.

W
ow, I love what you’ve done with this!” Sophie exclaimed. She looked from Kirsten’s computer screen to her roommate, who bit her lip nervously as she sat on her bed. Sophie had just finished reading the last ten pages of Kirsten’s dissertation.

“You do?” Kirsten asked.

“You pulled it all together wonderfully in the discussion section,” Sophie said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “This study definitely makes a contribution to the counseling literature. You could totally publish this!”

“No shit?”

Sophie began giggling immediately, remembering their conversation about the occupation of Kirsten’s last date. Kirsten snorted with laughter once again.

“Yeah, you just have to edit out about fifty pages before you submit the manuscript to a journal,” Sophie advised.

“Arghhh!” Kirsten collapsed on her bed. “I’m so sick of this damn dissertation! I can’t look at it anymore!”

“Oh, I know the feeling. I wanted to burn the stupid thing when I was done with mine.”

Kirsten abruptly lifted her head, resting on her elbow. She listened intently to something, then quietly asked, “Did you lock the door after you came in?”

“Um …” Sophie tilted her head, trying to remember. “I don’t know. I, uh, had a lot of bags.”

Alarm crossed Kirsten’s face, causing the hairs on the back of Sophie’s neck to bristle. “I just heard something,” she whispered. “I think someone is in the apartment.”

Sophie’s eyes widened. “I—I—I’ll go look,” she offered, feeling responsible.

“No—I’ll join you,” Kirsten insisted, grabbing hold of Sophie’s elbow as they inched toward the living room.

When they were almost to the door, Sophie realized how preposterous this was. It was probably nothing. “We’re being ridiculous,” she whispered, giggling.

They emerged to the empty living room, and after looking around, Kirsten breathed a sigh of relief.

Sophie scoffed, “You see? Ridiculous.”

She gave her roommate a reassuring smile, but from the corner of her eye, she caught movement. Sophie’s smile froze as she watched a black-haired man spring from behind the futon, uncoiling his body and aiming a gun at both women.

Kirsten screamed.

“Shut up!” Carlo snarled. He squeezed the weapon tighter. “You scream again, and I’m putting a bullet in you.”

Gesturing with his gun, Carlo ordered, “Both of you, take a seat, 
now
.”

They slowly sidestepped over to the sofa, neither taking her eyes off the gleaming weapon. Sophie was mesmerized by the circular black muzzle of the handgun. Her shaky legs folded under her as she and Kirsten crumpled onto the sofa. 
Deescalate,
 she thought. How could she calm this menacing stranger?

“W-w-what do you want from us?” Sophie asked, trying to steady her rapid heartbeat. “You can have whatever you want—my purse is over there on the table.”

Carlo smirked. “Unless your purse has one hundred grand in it, Sophie, I’m not interested.”

Her eyes widened. This creep knew her name? And the amount of money he specified—that was what Logan had left in her office. She felt sick to realize her past was still haunting her. “You’re Logan’s friend?” she asked.

His coal-black eyes smoldered. “Logan is no friend of mine. Or should I say, he 
was
 no friend of mine.” Relaxing his hold on the weapon slightly, he grinned triumphantly. “But I’m glad you know why I’m here. You 
must
 have known there’d be consequences for letting the cops steal our cash, didn’t you?”

I know all about consequences, 
Sophie thought. 
Going to prison, losing my career, my dignity, my mother
… Apparently there were even more consequences coming her way. “You want the money back,” she said numbly. She would never stop paying for her mistake.

“Very perceptive,” Carlo grinned, lowering his gun an inch yet again. Two pretty women, trembling, giving him their complete attention, riveted on his every word, seeming to appreciate his handsomeness—he was enjoying this immensely. “I know who your father is, Sophie.”

The syrupy sweet way he said her name made her shudder. His snake-like intonation was worlds away from Grant’s tender pronunciation—caressing the “s” softly with his smooth, velvety voice.

“Therefore, I know you can get that money,” Carlo continued.

“I—I—I didn’t know it was your money,” Sophie explained. “Please, please leave my father out of this. He’s paid enough for my mistakes.”

Carlo paused, and he stared at her curiously.

Hearing her roommate’s pleading tone, Kirsten’s fear morphed into anger. Who the hell was this stranger to come into 
her
 home and intimidate them?

“Listen, whoever you are,” Kirsten began, her voice growing stronger with each word. “We don’t have your money. I suggest you get out of my apartment right now before I call the cops.”

Carlo looked amused. This bitch thought she could threaten him? He took a step closer, shifting the weapon from Sophie to Kirsten. “You think you can get a call off to the cops before you bleed out?” he inquired. “Let’s give it a test. I’d probably only hit my target, say, three or four times before you reached a phone.”

Sophie was horrified. Kirsten clearly didn’t know who they were dealing with. “She didn’t mean it!” Sophie yelled frantically. “We won’t involve the police, okay?”

“Oh, I know you won’t,” Carlo said, pointing the gun back at Sophie. “Because if you breathe one word to the cops about my friendly visit today, then Grant is dead.”

Sophie gasped. He knew Grant too? Of course he did—they were all part of the family, weren’t they? She studied the stranger more closely and recognized him from Logan’s funeral. How were they all related?

“How do you know Logan and Grant?” she asked.

“That’s none of your concern, bitch,” Carlo growled. “All you need to worry about is getting one hundred Gs to me ASAP. I’ll return in two days, and you better have that money for me, if you want to live.”

“You promised!” The livid voice made all three of them jump, and Carlo spun around to find Grant in the hallway of the apartment. Sophie had never seen her McSailor so furious. “You promised you’d leave Sophie alone if I agreed to your plan!”

Sophie stared at Grant. What had he agreed to?

Carlo’s eyes narrowed as he trained the gun on his cousin. “Grant Pants has joined us, I see.” He waved the gun toward the sofa though his eyes never left Grant’s incensed crystal glare. “Get over on the sofa with your bitches.”

“No,” Grant said, ignoring the gun. He stole a glance at Sophie, whose abject fear ripped into him. He was putting her in danger, like he promised he’d never do. “Let’s take this outside,” Grant offered in a placating tone. “This has nothing to do with them. This is between 
us
.”

Quickly checking his female prey, Carlo returned his gaze to Grant. He did not feel so smug anymore. Three hostiles outnumbered him, even though he was the one with the gun. “Do you want to die, 
cugino
? Get your fucking ass on that sofa!”

Carlo gave the gun a definitive shake, aiming it straight at Grant’s chest.

“No!” cried Sophie.

Frantically training the gun on the women and then back to Grant, Carlo screamed, “Get over there now!”

“We’ll resolve this outside,” Grant said again, refusing to budge from his position. He had to keep Sophie safe. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“No, Grant!” Sophie cried again, clutching Kirsten’s arm in terror.

“I’ll give you five seconds to get over there, Madsen, snuggled right up next to your whore. Five seconds before I shoot you dead.”

Grant’s heart thumped, and he frantically searched for a way out of the situation.

The sound of blood pumping in her ears nearly deafened Sophie, and she desperately tried to clear her head. She was missing something important. Watching the menacing stranger threaten Grant without hesitation, seeming to enjoy the impending kill, a realization suddenly dawned on Sophie.

Over Carlo’s menacing count—”Five … four … three …”—Sophie shouted, “It was you!”

Carlo and Grant couldn’t help but turn their heads from their tense standoff. “What?” they asked in unison.

“It was him!” Sophie announced, meeting Grant’s blue eyes while emphatically pointing at Carlo. “
He
 killed Logan!”

Carlo’s eyes widened with stunned guilt before he quickly composed himself. “What the fuck are you talking about?” he screamed at Sophie. Wheeling around to face Grant, he insisted, “I didn’t 
touch
 Logan!”

But the performance didn’t fool Grant. He’d seen Carlo’s initial reaction to Sophie’s accusation and knew she was right. “It 
was
 you!” he echoed. Taking a step toward Carlo, Grant growled, “You killed my brother. Of course it was you.”

Carlo shook his head vehemently. “
Cugino
, I would never be so stupid as to cap Enzo’s son!”

They were not buying his denials. With the infuriated stares of three people on him, Carlo felt caged in. Grant took another step forward and Carlo thrust the gun in his face. “Stay back!” he cried.

“How dare you,” Grant snapped, his fury blinding him to the gun. “How dare you kill Lo!”

“Swear to God, Grant. You get any closer, you’ll be sorry.”

Grant felt a boiling rage, and all he wanted to do was lunge for Carlo’s throat, the gun be damned. He took another step closer, unknowingly crossing the invisible line Carlo had drawn.

Swiftly, decisively, Carlo rotated toward Sophie and lowered the gun an inch before firing a deafening shot.

Grant gasped and Kirsten screamed.

Sophie felt the astonishing impact of the bullet ripping into her, sending her reeling back into the sofa cushions. Her left arm was on fire. She gasped for air, unable to move, totally overwhelmed by shock and a searing pain above her elbow. Kirsten reached across her friend, frantically scanning her body. She felt warm stickiness when her hand encountered Sophie’s left elbow, and Kirsten pulled back in fear.

Carlo instantly trained the weapon back on Grant, who gaped at Sophie and moved to go to her when he felt the hot muzzle of the gun on his temple.

“On your knees,” Carlo ordered. “Or the next shot goes straight through her heart.”

Grant complied immediately. Kneeling on the carpet, he lifted his arms to the side in a gesture of surrender and begged, “Please don’t kill her. I’ll do whatever you want, just please.”

Carlo smiled, delighted to hear his cousin’s pleas.

“We need to call an ambulance!” Kirsten shrilly demanded.

“Shut up,” Carlo snarled. “No cops.”

Sophie groaned as a spasm of pain raced up her arm. Grant flinched at the horrific sound and closed his eyes. His fear for Sophie was so overwhelming he barely registered the gun pressing into the side of his head.

If Carlo had killed Logan, surely he and Sophie had no chance at surviving this. And Kirsten was likely going to die too. She was completely innocent—her only fault was befriending Sophie. And Sophie’s only fault had been falling in love with him. He waited for the blinding flash of a gunshot to pierce his brain, praying his own death might somehow save them.

Carlo’s mind raced as he considered what to do. He longed to pull the trigger and end the family competition forever. But his father’s incensed black eyes haunted him. How would Angelo react if Carlo killed 
both
 brothers? He glanced at the girls on the sofa. Sophie’s face was drawn in anguish, and Kirsten applied pressure to her wound, which oozed blood. Her eyes begged him for help.

“Please, Carlo,” Grant implored. “Please let us call for help. I won’t tell anyone it was you. All I care about is saving Sophie. We’ll keep it a secret, okay?”

Wrenching his eyes from the blood on Sophie’s arm, Carlo stared down at the unmoving crown of his cousin’s head. Could he just walk away? Bouncing his eyes back and forth from Grant to Sophie, Carlo clenched his jaw. Of course they would go to the cops. His little extortion game was now out in the open, as Grant and Sophie knew he was pitting one against the other, so nothing would stop them from reporting him to the police. And there was no way he’d submit to being on the run the rest of his life like Logan. He was going to have to kill all three of them. There was no way around it.

The jarring ring of a cell phone filled the air, freezing all four in place. The phone’s cheery ring kept going for three, four, five seconds, interfering with Carlo’s concentration and making him tense. “Whose fucking phone is that?”

Finally, the phone stopped ringing, only to resume the incongruous happy melody seconds later. “Goddamn it!” Carlo fumed. “Whose phone is that?”

“It’s mine,” Sophie gasped, swallowing pain. “It’s my father. He’s … he’s going to hunt you down if you hurt any of us.”

“Then I’ll kill him too,” Carlo retorted.

“Please let me get the phone,” Kirsten said. “I’ll turn it off.”