CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
And the walls came a-tumbling… hard.
Chase
Nixon kept checking his text messages like a damn teen. Finally, probably because I didn't hold back my scowl, he put his phone away.
"She's freaked."
"Can you blame her?" I grunted. "She has no idea what she's walking into, not one clue."
"Hell," Tex piped up. "That's what she's walking into."
"Helpful." I smacked Tex and kept on driving. I'd never been on the Alfero estate — that was all Nixon. His creepy childhood had included many visits here. He said I'd been, but for the life of me, I couldn't remember.
The large iron gates opened, revealing a massive brick and white mansion with a circular driveway.
I pulled the car in, my heart hammering in my chest.
"No going back now," Tex whispered under his breath.
The minute I put the SUV into park, at least ten men shuffled out of the front door, guns already trained on us. Fantastic. Luckily, we had at least five cars following us with men of our own. It wouldn't be an easy battle, but it would be a hell of a bloody war.
Nixon cursed and got out of the car. "Call them off. We're not here to fight."
The guy in charge stepped forward. "Frank doesn't want any trouble."
"And he thinks we do?" Nixon countered. "Where is he?"
The man nodded to the men who slowly lowered their weapons. "He's bringing the girl. They should be here in a few minutes."
"Tracey." I gave him a cold stare. "She has a name."
The man narrowed his eyes.
I knew it was hard for the older guys, the ones who had been in the business so long they'd almost forgotten what the real world looked like. They saw Nixon and I with our tatted-up arms and what they no doubt assumed was a bad attitude and assumed we had nothing but disrespect for the old ways, when really we were the ones fighting to keep things calm within the families.
"Follow me." The man nodded as we all walked up the stairs into the mansion. White marble flooring greeted us. A chandelier hung in the middle of the entryway, and a nice man with a patch on his eye started patting us down, Tex first.
Which naturally earned him a punch to the jaw. He staggered back, swearing in Italian. Tex grunted and lifted his shoulders to Nixon. "What? He was getting too friendly."
Nixon rolled his eyes and addressed the guy in charge. "Look we have guns, our men have guns, you have guns — let's not pretend any different."
"Fine." He gritted his teeth. "We'll be meeting in the family room."
He motioned for us to follow him, but Nixon stayed put, his boots planted against the marble like it would take an act of God to move him.
"You coming?" I called back.
"Nah," He wiped his face with his hands. "It's probably best I wait right here for Trace."
Actually, that was the worst idea I'd ever heard in my entire life. One look at him, and she was going to get the shock of her life, all before he was able to even defend himself.
Well shit. With a curse I went to stand by him. I may want Trace more than anything, but I wasn't going to let him take the fall on his own.
The front door opened, my breath hitched, and in walked my father. He looked every inch the made man from his black Italian suit, shiny leather shoes, and his dark sunglasses. The man screamed Mafia while Nixon and I just screamed hellions.
"Nixon." Anthony nodded in his direction then turned his cool gaze to me. "Son."
I bristled. Couldn't help it. I had no reason to hate my father. He'd sheltered me my whole life, fed me, kept me warm, but there was no love between us, only competition. Maybe that was it. When he looked at Nixon, he saw more of a son than when he looked at me. It was a reminder that I was, again, second best, not as good — never have been, never will be.
Anthony moved to stand beside us just as the front door opened a second time.
I heard Frank's voice.
And then Trace appeared, her eyes wide with fear her, mouth open in amazement.
Her gaze was at the ceiling and then it flickered to Nixon, Anthony, and finally, myself.
My stomach clenched into a tight ball as her face went from fear to absolute betrayal. I'd done that. I'd stolen that smile, that innocence, but just standing there, I had taken away a part of her I would never be able to give back.
"Ready?" Nixon asked, his voice gruff as he eyed Frank up and down like he was Satan.
"Yes," Frank snapped, ushering Tracey into the living room, just out of our reach. There really was no going back. At all.
Nixon and I sat on the couch opposite Trace. Her face was pale, her lips drawn back into a tight expression. Her normally sunny disposition was replaced with something so heartbreaking it hurt to look directly at her.
Our men circled around us, guns trained on Frank's men, while they kept their guns firmly pointed at us. It really was like a horrible Mafia movie and not realistic at all, but there was so much bad blood between us that the trust that should exist? The healthy respect between bosses? Was long gone, severed, and destroyed by needless death and sacrifice.
"You broke the rules," Frank said, leaning back against the black leather couch.
Nixon smirked. "What? You think I actually knew right away?"
"You grew up with her!" Frank yelled.
Wow. Three seconds in, and he was already needing anger management.
"She was six!" Nixon all but shouted.
"You may as well have pulled that trigger. Your father…"
"Is dead." Nixon smirked. "Cold and lifeless, lying right next to my mother."
"What?" Trace shrieked. Ah hell, really, Nixon? Great timing, no really, epic. "You said that—"
"Monroe doesn't know, Trace." Nixon's eyes softened for a brief second. "He'd been sick a while. It's…"
"None of her damn business." My father spat, glaring at Trace like she was already tainted beyond redemption. I'd never seen such hatred in my father's eyes, and then as soon as it appeared, it disappeared, covered with a mask of indifference.
"Gentleman." I cleared my throat. "Back to the reason for meeting."
Frank bristled. "As I was saying…" He wrapped his arm around Trace and squeezed. "The poor girl lost her parents at six. That's still old enough to recognize people. You should have known Nixon."
"I told you the minute I did," Nixon defended himself. "And it wasn't like I could have done anything!"
"You took her outside school property."
Oh, for the love of God, of course he did! What was he supposed to do?
"Before I knew." Nixon sighed heavily. "I didn't even guess until I saw the damn necklace with Alfero on it."
"Then you should have stayed away."
It was like playing ping pong. Nixon would say something then Frank, then Nixon, both of them right in their own ways, yet still wrong in the way that mattered most, which was Trace's safety.
"Careful," My father spoke up. "You may be within your rights to call him out, but he's still the boss. Has been for some time. So tread carefully, old man."
Frank cleared his throat. "Excuse me, Mr. Abandonato." He spat out the words like they were venom. "But the minute her cover was blown — the very second — you should have locked her in her damn room."
Nixon tensed next to me, his fingers flexing against his thigh. "She's just a teenager, Frank. What did you want me to do? Blow everyone's cover? Ruin everything? And for what? Precaution? We've been in this for four damn years." His eyes fell to my father. "Some of us longer. How was I supposed to know you'd drop her directly into the fight? Your own granddaughter? We were doing just fine until you did this to us!"
"And you still have no proof!" Frank shouted.
"We're close!" Nixon fired back. "We just need more time."
"Time doesn't give Trace her parents back," Frank said softly. "Time doesn't heal a broken heart, and time will not fix the fact that you have successfully helped expose my innocent granddaughter to our world. I only mean
t to appease my dying wife, while at the same time allowing Trace to be used as bait, only if necessary, and what do you do? You claim her for your own! An Abandonato!"
And there it was. The elephant in the room. Nixon had taken something that wasn't his to take — her alliance, her allegiance, her love. Something only Frank could be familiar with, considering his son and daughter–in-law's story.
"All I can say is I'm sorry. I didn't know. But would you rather have me leave her helpless? Admit it. She would have known something was up if I'd locked her in her room, and honestly, we weren't even sure she was exposed until last night when we almost…" Nixon swallowed. "…got killed."
"Until it was almost too late!" Frank nodded his head. "So what are you going to do now? How do you hope to make amends?"
"Easy. We'll let things die down, and we have to work faster to infiltrate the De Lange family."
Fran nodded his head, clearly liking that answer. "She must be protected."
"We've been protecting her," I said through clenched teeth, glaring at Frank.
"And she almost died," Frank repeated. "Last night. Isn't that right? Or wait, were you too busy sticking your tongue down my granddaughter's throat."
In an instant Nixon had his gun out and pointed at Frank. Well shit, and things had been going so well.
"Disrespect your granddaughter in front of my men and yours one more time, and I will end you."
I smirked, couldn't help it. Served him right for saying anything negative about the girl we'd all die to protect — his own blood!
Frank scowled. "I would never do such a thing. I love her. I put her into hiding. Fifteen years of work gone just because of you!"
Nixon put his gun down and cursed. "She wasn't supposed to get in to the school."
A tenderness crossed Frank's features. "Her grandma was the culprit. She told me on her deathbed it was time for Trace to know the truth. I thought I could give my wife her dying wish, and at the same time appease my granddaughter. Allow her to experience the luxury she should have grown up with. The life that had been stolen from her. Like I said, I did not think she would be recognized and figured even if she were, we could use her to pull out the De Lange family."
Nixon looked between Frank and Trace. "Using your own granddaughter? I think we're done here."
"I think so." Frank rose from his seat. Nixon and Frank embraced one another and kissed each cheek before saying "Blood in — No out" in Italian.
I stole a glance at Trace. Damn she looked horrible. Tears pooled in her eyes. I wanted to hold her and never let go, but most of all, I just wanted to tell her how sorry I was that she was caught between hell and hell, two rough spots she'd never be free from.
I wanted to tell her I'd tried not to love her.
I'd tried to protect her.
Tried to push her away.
But in the end, you can't stop destiny, you can only put it on pause for a while.
I mouthed "Sorry" to her and kept my head bowed as we shuffled out of the room.
"One more thing," Frank called from behind us.
In a flash, he pulled out his gun and shot at Nixon's feet.
Nixon didn't move. He just stared at the ground then back up at Frank with cool indifference. "Noted." Nixon nodded like the old bastard hadn't just fired a round dangerously close to his big toe. We followed him outside.
My father whispered something to Nixon before getting in his car and leaving. I walked to the Range Rover and started it.
Tex was silent.
Nixon was silent.
I was silent.
Yeah, it was a bad day. We all felt like shit, because we were all responsible for ruining someone's life.
Being born into the Mafia, you know what your destiny is. You know what's expected of you. You live, you kill, you eventually die with honor. But being thrust into it like Trace? There's no chance in hell for you to get used to the idea that every day could be your last.
Every moment, every breath, every experience — taken from you because of some beef with another family.
"Shit." Nixon hit the dash with his hand while I put on my seatbelt.
We drove away from of the estate, eighties music playing in the background.
"So," Tex cleared his throat. "she's stuck now."
"She's in deep." Nixon whispered. "She's going to hate us, all of us."
"Not true," I argued. "We can still fix it. We just have to give her time to digest the information."
"And how long do you think that's gonna take? Hmm?" Nixon spat. "Oh by the way, Trace, your parents were murdered by some psycho from the De Lange family who made it look like it was my father, the lover scorned in the little triangle that was pissed off at their happiness. Or how about this? Your parents died because of greed? Because of money? They died for no reason, and it's my fault. My father's fault, my family's fault, because if we can't pin it on the De Langes, if we have no evidence by the time the year's up, Alfero's going to stick to his promise."
I swallowed the dryness in my throat and croaked, "Wipe out the entire Abandonato line."
Nixon cursed again. "It's his right. You know it is."
"You can't just kill a boss," Tex pointed out. "Even if you have the right to."
"Frank can." I sighed.
"Frank will," Nixon agreed.
"Well, look on the bright side!" Tex clapped his hands twice. "At least I'll live. I'm Campisi."
"Tex," We groaned in unison.
"I'll take my chances with Frank over your father any day," I whispered under my breath.
"You and me both," Tex muttered.
"So what now?" I asked, hoping Nixon would have some sort of game plan that included us stealing Trace away and putting her into hiding.
"Drive back to campus… I'll take the SUV. I need to think." Nixon tapped his fingers against the console and sighed. "I need to figure out what happens next."
"In the Mafia?" Tex chuckled from the back seat. "Blood, you can always count on lots of blood."