Relatively Risky Page 10

  “Pavel was the heir apparent for Afoniki,” Zach added.

  “Balance was restored. Each family lost an heir, though—” Ben stopped, earning a questioning look from Nell. “Pavel was a nephew, not—”

  “Bone of his bone?” Nell finished for him.

  Zach half shrugged. “Criminal accounting is always on the fuzzy side.”

  Vague memories of hearing the story niggled at the edge of his tired brain. An heir for an heir. If that had been a flash point, then the families had gone to their corners and stayed there for over thirty years. Oh, the minor thug, here and there, had tried to dent the edges of their empires and fatally failed. Honor of a sort among thieves—until now? But if Nell was the pebble in the pond that Curly seemed to think, why did it take two years for any ripples to be felt?

  There was more. Alex felt it. He saw it in Zach’s gaze. And in the way Curly avoided Zach’s gaze. Could a cold case ever really be cold in New Orleans? But even if something was trying to bubble up out of the ooze, what could it have to do with Nell? Unless she was the best actress ever, she hadn’t known about her parents—if this was about her parents? He didn’t blame her for not being convinced. People did sometimes have twins.

  Nell leaned forward, cutting into the thick atmosphere to assert, “Whatever you think, you’re wrong. That’s not my mother. She worked at Wal-Mart. My dad fixed cars in a garage. They were high school sweethearts. None of this has anything to do with them. Or me.”

  Curly leaned back. Half shrugged. “Might be a coincidence. Stranger things happen. Doesn’t matter. It’s what they think, it’s who they think you are that matters.”

  Curly had a point. It didn’t matter what was, only what all the players thought it was, who they thought she might be. She might not know anything, but if she was the granddaughter, the lost heir to two very wealthy, very criminally minded families—all the sudden it didn’t seem so crazy to think someone might be trying to kill her.

  In a hazy way, Nell knew that Alex and the others were discussing options. Arguing. Barking and puffing at each other. She wanted out, wanted to be alone more than anything. Except for getting that kiss. Kind of shallow to be thinking about kisses right now. Chances of it happening were beyond slim but it still seemed more likely she’d get kissed than turn out to be some kind of lost mafia kid.

  It was too incredible, too improbable, too interesting to be true. She put a finger on the corner of the photo, as if touching it would make the unthinkable real, and pulled it to where she could see it again. Something about the shot bothered her, though she was too tired to figure out what. Was it remotely possible that her mother had given up the mansion for a cabin in Wyoming? For a job at the Wal-Mart? She looked up, caught hairless Curly staring at her.

  Even if it were true—which it couldn’t be—why did it freak him out so? Why would it matter now, so many years later? He didn’t look worried. He looked scared to his toe nails. Why had he kept that photo? Had this…Toni mattered to him? That made it even harder for her to believe this was about her mom.

  She could accept that a child could never truly know a parent, but there was nothing in memory that could connect the mafia with her mom and dad. This Toni looked so young, so hopeful, and happy. The photo blurred, not unlike the past, Nell’s aching head an almost dead weight on her neck.

  “I need to go to bed.” She pushed her chair back and realized everyone was now staring at her. “Sorry.”

  “I’ll walk you to your room.” Alex rose, holding out a hand.

  She took it. She needed it. She hoped he wouldn’t regret the offer. It was a long way up. They took the first flight without speaking. He looked around.

  “Where’s your room?”

  She pointed up. His brows arched. “Three more flights.”

  He might have sighed. Her vision was a bit wavy. “You really do like up.”

  “Not so much tonight.” It was lovely when his arm slid around her waist. She leaned without shame. That she liked it didn’t mean she didn’t need the help. Her head drooped against his chest. She might have slept through a flight or two. She blinked when they stopped moving, a bit startled to find herself outside her door.

  “Mind if I take a look around?”

  Odd question, but she nodded. It had been a day filled with odd. Might as well end with it. He propped her against the wall, opened the door and reached in, flipping on the light. Stepped in, out of her sight. She gave in to the insistence of heavy lids, but jerked them up when he spoke.

  “Nice. I can see why you like it up here.”

  She blinked. He looked, she considered him a bit distantly, cop-ish again. Pity. Cop was even less likely to kiss her good night. He was rather dreamy as a cop, though. A real mafia princess would know how to get a cop to kiss her. A real mafia princess wouldn’t mind the danger, might even like it.

  She studied him through half-mast lashes. He’d worn jeans this morning, too, but also a jacket and shirt. Kind of remembered a tie. Now a tee-shirt hugged his chest. Alex’s hands settled on the wall by her head, his dreamy self angled in a way that put his face closer to hers and everything melted away but him...

  “Are you all right?” he asked, this cute frown between his brows.

  “Would you kiss it better if I wasn’t?” She jerked out of dreamy as the words kind of echoed in the hall. “I am so sorry. Did not mean to say that out loud—”

  “Yes,” he said, cutting her off. His mouth curved up, but his lids did this sexy droop. “To both questions.”

  It took Nell a minute to sort that out. She might have blushed a bit, as she considered a couple of responses. Thankfully did not share them with the hall or him. Instead, she smiled, hoped it was inviting. If he didn’t make his move, she was liable to drift off to sleep again.

  She felt the shift of his gaze from her eyes to her lips. They parted, but not to talk. She was unable to take her eyes off his face as she one hand settle on her waist, warm and firm. Then the other. Working together, they drew her away from the hall wall, toward the chest wall. Tiny bump as chest met chest. Nice bump. Her head tilted to the side, following an instinct as old as time.

  His head, his mouth appeared to approach. Slow though. She hoped he wouldn’t take too long. A of wave of tired was incoming like a tsunami—he got it. Or he got tired of slow, too. His mouth landed, fast and with just the right amount of hard. It didn’t feel like a pity kiss—

  Thinking sputtered. Or maybe it crashed and burned. Didn’t need it anyway. Overrated. His arms tightened. Her arms snaked up around his neck. Might have done a bit of tugging. Hard to know details as she spun off into a lovely swirl of sensation. Sort of like the Fourth of July. Had some rockets red glare in there for sure.

  He eased back. She was too tired to whimper. He smoothed her hair back, grinned a bit ruefully.

  “You’re done, aren’t you?”

  “I was done hours ago.”

  He opened some space between them but kept his hands on her waist. Good decision. Her knees had turned to overcooked noodles.

  “Are you going to be okay?”

  “You kissed it better. I have to be.”

  He chuckled, the sound of it both warm and husky. She had questions but was too tired to put the words into their proper order. “I guess I’ll see you—”

  “Yes,” he said. He kissed her forehead, turned her door ward, gave her a gentle shove into the room, and then pulled the door closed. She didn’t move until she heard him leave. It felt kind of like a romantic movie moment, and she didn’t want to spoil it just because she needed the bathroom down the hall.

  Before he’d made it down one set of stairs, Alex knew one thing. He wasn’t leaving. He’d kind of known it when he did a quick search, not just of Nell’s room, but the whole floor. He knew it for sure when he searched the floor below and then the one below that.

  He didn’t know what the various crime families might do about Nell. He was pretty sure he knew what the various law enforcement
agencies would do. Not much. Not without more information. A twitch in his gut would not be sufficient cause to deploy resources.

  Alex had vacation time and he’d only recently been advised to use some, with forceful emphasis in fact. He wasn’t worried about that. He was worried about being able to stay awake. He’d started stake outs with a bigger sleep deficit, but he’d been younger. He sighed. He’d sure been looking forward to a good night’s sleep.

  When he reached the kitchen, he was surprised to find Ben there, was even more surprised to find him alone. He arched a brow.

  “Dad talked Curly into going home.”

  Alex nodded. It meant he’d have to call his dad and explain. Well, that would keep him awake for a while. He studied his brother, considering his approach.

  “Been thinking,” Ben said, shooting him a wary look, “I might hang around for the night. Just in case you need some back up.”

  Alex was too tired to summon up more than mild relief. Wasn’t so stupid tired he didn’t know it had more to do with Sarah than him, but he was too stupid tired to feel offended. Or maybe he was stupid tired smart? And a little bit grateful for the backup?

  “Does Sarah know we’re staying?” He blinked a couple of times. “And dad?”

  “I told Sarah—she’s sorting out some pillows and blankets—and I’ll call dad when he’s had time to off load Curly.”

  Alex sank into an askew chair and rubbed his face. “Curly.” Still having trouble wrapping his brain around Curly.

  “Yeah.” Short silence. “Do think he—” He stopped. “I looked it up. Antonia Calvino was seventeen when she died.”

  Alex frowned, not quite up to doing math. “Maybe he had a thing for Antonia’s mom? She would have been about the right age, wouldn’t she?”

  Ben frowned. “Wasn’t her photograph he’s been carrying around for years—” he stopped. “Unless…”

  Alex was a bit surprised to find he’d followed his brother’s thoughts without too much trouble. If he was Antonia’s real father….wow. Risky move. “Hard to imagine, but suppose it’s possible.” Was Curly shocked that Nell was in New Orleans or that he’d just found out Antonia Calvino didn’t die thirty plus years ago? Nell didn’t believe Antonia Calvino was her mother, he reminded himself. But if she wasn’t Nell’s mom, that was one big coincidence.

  Ben was quiet for a minute, then he shrugged. “Not sure it matters…”

  Alex didn’t want to think about that. It opened up too much more to think about. Like, who had died in the car if the two wise kids hadn’t? Who had lived? Both kids or just Toni? How much had Curly known? No question he was involved in some way. No way to find out tonight how this might affect Nell. Her world had been rocked pretty hard today. Had he only known her one day? It didn’t seem possible. Felt longer. Felt—crap, he was thinking about feelings. Tired, punch drunk was all.

  Sarah returned to the kitchen, worry knitting a line between her brows. “Are you sure you don’t want to use a bedroom? There are plenty.”

  “Couch is fine,” Alex said, pushing upright like the old man he was.

  “Well, I piled some stuff on the couch in the small living room, the one you turned into phone central.” She hesitated, then said, “Thank you.” Both of them shifted. “If you need anything, I’m first floor, second bedroom on the right.” Another pause. “I’ll see you in the morning and I promise you an awesome breakfast.”

  She left with a backward look at Ben.

  “I’ll take first watch,” Ben said, then added in case Alex was inclined to argue, “I’ve not been on nights.”

  “I nosed through all the floors but this one on my way down. We should do a walk around. Been a lot of people in and out of this house today.” Practically a parade. All that was missing was the brass band—he gave a mental twitch. If he wasn’t careful, that might be the next air band. Brass instruments were, in his opinion, a lot harder to air play.

  Aleksi sat at the back of the cold, gray room, his body curled in the wing backed chair like a spider in its web. Dimitri always had to fight a sense that he was young again, small and back in his uncle’s power, even after so many years, and so many of these visits. Outside this room, he felt powerful. Outside he could forget he was the replacement heir. But once inside…at ninety the old man still had presence, Dimitri could concede as he strolled forward and settled in a chair without waiting for the gesture that had been permission in the past.

  A gleam in the almost dead eyes had him leaning back, his legs crossed with seeming casualness, though he’d never be at ease, not now, not when his uncle was dead. If the years of waiting, the years of watching his uncle watch his back, had taught him nothing else, it had taught him that there would always be someone watching for weakness. Waiting for a relaxing of the guard. Someone like him. The old man annoyed, but by damn, he had to respect him for surviving for so long.

  He met the old man’s gaze now, playing their little power game, determined not to be the first to give in. He had a feeling he’d win this one. For once, he had something his uncle wanted more than he wanted to win. In the silence, the old grandfather clock counted off the seconds, since not even traffic penetrated to this inner room. When he’d first come here, he’d hated that clock. Now he appreciated the power of that steady sound in a waiting silence.

  “You are late.”

  “I had business. You will have seen the news.” And if he hadn’t, his sources would have fed him the news of St. Cyr’s death. Like a deep, dark well, the muck at the bottom had been stirred by St. Cyr’s fall. It had erased the illusion of balance, the pretense that there was peace between the three empires. Whatever had held the three old men in check for so long was gone. A turf war would not be good for business in the short term, but for the chance of picking a few plums off the St. Cyr organization, Dimitri might risk it. The locals and the Feds had made a point of letting him know they wouldn’t like a turf war, of course. As a professional courtesy. It was all so civilized, except when it wasn’t.

  For the long term, they’d all need to flex their muscles. How far Dimitri got to flex his was, regrettably, still up to his uncle. Dimitri brought the tips of his fingers together and considered the old man. It was possible he was involved in the hit, though he couldn’t see a reason for him to disturb the balance of power now. There was no reason, no change—except for the woman. She was an…oddity but a catalyst? Based on her file, that seemed improbable, though he wouldn’t rule out anything where his uncle was concerned.

  “Executed like a senile old man on the Moon Walk. I expected better of Phin,” Aleksi said, his voice so low that the comment might be meant for himself.

  It was a surprise St. Cyr had gone first. He was not the youngest, but also not the oldest. In their line of business it was not common to die peacefully in bed, but it was an odd move on St. Cyr’s part, getting caught out in the open like that. Dimitri had never heard his uncle call him Phin before. Almost he asked. But when had his uncle ever answered a question, particularly a personal one?

  “We all worked for Zafiro, you know.”

  It seemed the old man was in a reflective mood. It was not a mood Dimitri particularly enjoyed, but this time it might prove useful. In the past there might be clues to the present situation. He nodded, but still did not risk speech.

  “He groomed us to take over.” The old man’s lips twisted in what might have been smile. “We were supposed to fight for it. He wanted blood, liked the battles. We all wanted it but…we also wanted to live. So we played for it. Poker. Played to a standstill. Then, it dawned on us that we didn’t have to play it the way Zafiro wanted. If we worked together, we all got something. A gentleman’s agreement.” He gave a short, nasty bark of laughter. “Of course, Zafiro had to go.”

  It took all Dimitri’s self control not to react. And that didn’t stop the rheumy old eyes from fixing on him. “You wondered, didn’t you, how it worked? Only twice before did it almost come apart.”

  Twice? Dimitr
i knew about the turf war that had cost all three their heirs. He could guess what had created the uneasy bond that kept the peace now. From what he’d heard about Zafiro, though, he’d have wanted blood. The more spilled, the happier he’d have been. Only he hadn’t planned on the spilled blood being his. Had they all been in on the kill? It was the only way to hold them all in check, he decided. And there’d be a trigger of some kind, an information release when one of them died. They all needed incentive to keep each other alive. But surely, as they aged—they’d grow more paranoid, he decided, somewhat grimly.

  There was no statue of limitations on murder. Their age wouldn’t protect them.

  “They thought I was behind it.”

  Dimitri blinked. What—? Zafiro? That didn’t seem right. Then he got it. He’d moved on to Toni and Phil. “Who was behind it?” The question flattered, he hoped.

  Aleksi smiled grimly. “No way to know for sure, of course, but Phin bit off more than he could handle when he married Helenne.”

  “Her own son?” Dimitri found the story unexpectedly intriguing, though he knew many parts were missing. And that those were probably the most important parts.

  “She wouldn’t have liked her son sniffing around Ellie Calvino’s kid.” The hooded gaze shifted his direction. “Never let business get personal. And never let a woman into your business.”

  “Business is business.” Dimitri said what was expected.

  “Exactly.” Dimitri endured a long scrutiny, was rewarded with a twisted smile. “You’re a cold bastard. Like me.”

  Something was wrong, off. He’d said the words before, but now he mouthed them, like a mantra, or to keep from saying the wrong thing? He wanted Dimitri to bring the woman up, so he wouldn’t have to. Was this the key? Or a key? The maze of his uncle’s life was deep and dark, no more so than right now, despite this rare burst of confiding. And, for the first time, he sensed that the real power had finally shifted his direction. So he waited, suddenly comfortable with the silence, as he’d never been before.