Son of a Mobster (Criminal Desires) Read online

  With a small jump into the air, I swerved my hips and extended my leg in a circular motion, attacking the defenseless object.

  There was no one to blame, they had told me. My father was preoccupied. He ran a stop sign, but I could never hold him responsible because it was a criminal by the name of Adrian Gianetti that had consumed every moment of his life.

  Kick! Knee!

  Punch!

  My wedding stolen!

  Kick!

  A year without seeing my fiancé!

  Jab! Elbow! Punch!

  So much sadness with no hope of happiness, that mobster had teased, dangling peace just in reach, only to jerk it away with brutal indifference.

  Punch! Punch! Jab!

  I slung a wild arm at the bag. My fist slipped causing me to stumble and fall on my bottom with a hard thud. I dropped my back to the floor. My chest heaved in and out, my shoulders rose and fell while I sniffed back tears and ran a wet glove across my brow. Personal thoughts were my worst enemy, drowning me in confusion, anger, and pain.

  I snarled through clenched teeth and struck the gym’s mat-lined floor with both fists, then stood watching the sand filled bag swing to and fro, mocking me. I resumed my stance, bounced on my back heel and quickly lifted my knee to strike the leather repeatedly.

  “Hey,” A deep voice and a hand on my shoulder startled. I spun with a right jab, intending to injure the intruder, but he was quicker.

  He caught my wrist, reversed my position and placed a large forearm across my throat. “Don’t swat at the messenger, Sweetheart.”

  “You’re a long way from home, Jackson,” I spat and twisted my body.

  He released his hold, propelling me to the mat.

  The leather clad Jackson Callaway watched me rise with a smirk, without lending a gentlemanly hand. I shot him an angry glare and dusted off my jogging pants. I had been thankful for the solitude, happy that no other guest occupied the facility at Diamond Cove, but like a thief, Jackson had stolen it.

  “I was sent to collect you.” I had never heard him speak in a tone that wasn’t a growl. I hated his intrusion and the way he thought he knew me. “Better move, Cupcake. Time is not your friend at the moment.”

  Instantly annoyance faded. Without question, I took only enough time to collect my backpack from my bungalow before jumping on the back of his motorcycle. That man wouldn’t be there to give me good news, so I had to assume the worst.

  It’s been said that daughters tend to fall for men like their fathers, and I was no exception. Josh Tucker was obsessed with the Gianetti family. He postponed our wedding to spend a year undercover. I was not privileged to the exact details of his covert mission, but I knew Gianetti couldn’t be his target.

  My fiancé was well known by the crime boss. So, I could only assume that his target was someone close to the man and I guess he’d successfully gained their trust. He’d been gone for a year and a half.

  I watched the small island as the distance between it and the boat widened. Beau Reve was so beautiful. The sky was almost always that perfect shade of blue there and the scent of its many wildflowers sweetly perfumed the air. It was known as an island within an island. A remote place where people came to escape, but I guess that’s just for people with little to worry about. My troubles had tagged along like an unwanted stowaway.

  I glanced at my shipmate. True to his character, Jackson kept his distance during the trip from the shore He leaned against the rails with his feet kicked out, ankles and arms crossed and his head bowed for a nap. I turned my nose up in disgust. He made no attempt to update, leaving me with the worst questions to mull over.

  Had Josh been discovered? Had he been caught? Had he already met the same fate as my father? And how would I feel when our relationship was not the ideal fairy tale I had assumed it would be?

  The engine slowed and I settled on the plush bench for a long trip across the water and the thick, pinkish fog that plagued its path. It was the only way in and out of Beau Reve. Only a gentle strip of water slightly bigger than the ferry itself served as the highway to this opening. If we deviated in either direction we would capsize and become another list of lost souls in the record books, but that knowledge had never scared me. The place intrigued me. It was mysterious and I had always been addicted to the dangerous unknown.

  “You should go inside,” Jackson’s maunder caused me to jump. How had he found his way through the thick mess when I could not see my hand at arm’s length?

  “I’m not scared to get a little wet,” I responded. On past trips, I had ridden out the fog inside the glass cabin or waited in a car below and found it uncomfortable. At least on deck, I would see the fog thin and know when I was close to Coeur de ‘Lile.

  “This crap is toxic,” Jackson continued to grumble. I gazed toward his voice, but could not register his exact location. “Smarten up, Cupcake. This water’s the key ingredient in Miasma. What do you think the will vapors do to ya? There’s a reason all those people hide inside.”

  “I thought it was for the two dollar beer and hot dogs,” I wearily retorted. “I don’t see you running for shelter.”

  “I’m immune.”

  I chose to ignore him and kept my eye on the fog. I wondered why they sent Jackson. I barely knew him. He wasn’t friends with my fiancé, in fact, they loathed each other. They weren’t even employed by the same department.

  Nothing about Jackson’s appearance implied that he was a cop. He was a few inches over six feet and wore a goatee that was usually accompanied by a three-day scruff. His wavy black hair reached the middle of his back, the front held back by a rolled up bandana and I had never seen him dressed in anything nicer than jeans. He cared for no one and had nearly lost his job on numerous occasions, the most recent because of a hard left hook to his superior’s jaw, or so I’d heard.

  Humming in quick disgust, I focused on the boat’s path once again. The fog clouded my view of everything, whether it was near or far, leaving me with nothing but pictures I could concoct in my mind. I felt lighter suddenly and my shoulders relaxed as the gloom lifted.

  Out of the green outline, I saw Josh walking towards me. I smiled. He could still turn my head with his movie star smile and broad, muscular shoulders. Light from an unknown source bounced off his flaxen blond hair as he walked toward me with a cocky stroll only he could pull off and those brown eyes. Oh, how they hypnotized me.

  ~ ♥ ~

  “Did you have a nice nap?”

  I didn’t feel like I had been asleep and I didn’t remember dozing off. I saw everything with wide eyes and a clear mind, but I didn’t recall getting off the boat. Yet, there I was opening my eyes on a bench on the Coeur de ‘Lile dock.

  “I told you that stuff screws with you,” Jackson made fun, flicked a shell from a peanut to the ground and pried open another from the cup in his hand.

  I scowled and reached for my purse. My head was throbbing and his smirk made me want to kick the bike he laid upon in hopes that he and the object would topple.

  However, Jackson was right about the effects of Miasma. It was a common drug in Jenithiyah, made with ocean water. The liquid itself had a hypnotizing effect. Only a few drops could render the drinker in a hazy state of euphoria, but combined with man-made chemicals it was far more dangerous.

  Rather the mixture enhanced violent behavior or caused extreme relaxation, the user’s mind was blank and impressionable. A television character could persuade a man to kill just as easily as the best friend standing beside him. A woman would enter the throes of passion with a man she despised and a father would sign away his home with very little influence, leading some to believe that ancient psychics had seen Miasma addicts in their zombie apocalypse visions.

  “You look cured enough.” Jackson tossed his empty snack cup into the machine’s satchel and took the reins of his bike. “Let’s roll.” And before I was settled behind him he whisked us towards Long Road, the main road that stretched from Coeur de ‘Lile to Demora.
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  I let tried to forget the purpose of my journey and enjoyed the wind that blew on me. I took in the scent of my world and gazed at the scenery as it rushed past. Oh, Jenithiyah was a beautiful place. The wild flowers grew abundantly, bringing color to the thick green grass that lined the sidewalks. The sun glistened off the mountains that contained the island and its surrounding ocean. The trees stood tall and full to divide one-way streets and a grand, circular three tier fountain stood at the threshold of Coeur De L’ile, the largest city.

  Buildings that mimicked the early twentieth century of the outside world lined the main street and appeared brand new even though some had stood for decades. The sidewalks were always clean, but as I traveled deeper, signs of modern times surfaced reminding me that Jenithiyah was rapidly decaying. Abandoned buildings stood here and there, vagrants hid in the alleys.

  The decision I had made the year before weighed heavily on my mind as we parked outside the hospital in Demora and then I felt guilty debating rather or not my relationship was worth as much as I had given up.

  Jackson led me to a unit where the rooms were divided by glass and left me staring at the shell of my lover. A heavy cast left arm laid across him, both eyes were swollen, bruised and stitches lined the side of his face from temple to cheekbone.

  I swallowed hard lumps, refusing to give up my strength in front of the nurse inside.

  “Are you his wife?” The woman in white asked as she recorded vital signs on a notepad.

  “Fiancé,” I corrected.

  “Jessie?” Josh awoke at the sound of my voice and gingerly reached out with his healthy arm.

  I stepped forward and took his hand.

  “What are you doing here? Someone might find out.”

  “Everyone already knows, Josh.” Slightly I laughed at his confusion while at the same time I prayed his forgetful state was temporary.

  “Oh, concussion,” he excused before drifting into a light snore.

  The nurse pulled a syringe out of the I.V. and gave me a slightly apologetic smile before exiting.

  “I did my job,” Jackson growled. “Catch ya later, Cupcake.”

  I held Josh’s hand and stared out the window. Extreme malice had resided on my shoulders since the day he had left my side. I felt cheated. Fate had cheated me. Hadn’t I lost enough when my parents died? Hadn’t I given a big enough chunk of my existence? Seven years had escaped in a blink, rehabilitation ripped me from all I knew for another decade, and just when I had found a smile, the man I loved was torn away as well. The cruelty of the world left me bitter and antagonized.

  THREE

  (Sean)

  BURNING LEATHER ALWAYS LEFT AN undesirable stench in the air, but another pair of gloves unavoidably fell victim to the infuriated flames of my fireplace. I wrung my hands still feeling the sticky blood that had never actually touched bare skin.

  I stripped off my shirt, tossed it and watched as the evidence of another man’s life fluids were obliterated, then did the same with expensive black dress pants and rubbed my chilled, tattooed arms while I watched them burn. Soon, ashes would be all that remained of that day’s brutal altercation. Of course, I had no regrets – except that the man still drew breath.

  “What did you do?” I didn’t know how long my little sister had been sitting on the bottom of the staircase, but she was there and I knew she knew who I had attacked.

  “The man lied. He deceived you about his entire life – and you are worried about what me – your brother has done to him?”

  Oh, little Mickie. The sister I had protected since I learned of her existence. Grown yet, she still remained under my watchful eye rather she thought she needed it or not. She stood toe to toe with me that night screaming and vowing to hate me for the rest of her life.

  It was the same argument every night since her so-called boyfriend had foolishly blown his cover. Josh Tucker, a devious punk turned cop, had concocted an artful scheme – and he had almost succeeded.

  The audacity of the JBI. Sending an agent into my little sister’s college to befriend and gain her trust. I was used to the schemes that organization concocted, but this – it was personal. I knew Josh Tucker. We went to high school together. The man hated me and I know his interest in Mickie had nothing to do with his job.

  Oh, I could hear how happy the new man in her life had made her. She’d had bad luck with boyfriends since she was old enough to notice the opposite sex. It made me sick to my stomach to think about the way the man had used her. That had been his first mistake. The second – persuading her into his bed. Information I wished I had not happened upon. The memory of her sobs as she confided to her best friend had become forged in steel in my mind. Her words replayed when I came face to face with him in the alley.

  “I am the one who was involved with him. Me! It was my business to confront him. You had no right!” Mickie stood, flung a curl of strawberry blond off her shoulder then stomped away to her room.

  “Well, excuse me for giving a damn about you, Mickie! My mistake!” I bellowed after her. I wanted her to keep arguing with me like she always did until we would both say something so ridiculously sarcastic the squabble would end in laughter, but not this time. This time she was really ticked.

  I placed my hands on the mantle. Squeezed it and cursed my deceased father, the man from whom I had inherited everything – and nothing – nothing but heartache.

  I gazed around the lavish dwelling, built by blood and manipulation and again toyed with the idea of burning it to the ground. I had never wanted it or the bank account, but both had latched on to me as well as the legacy that haunted the Gianetti name.

  What was I doing? Why won’t this let me go!

  The guy deserved a good beating after what he’d done, but my actions were lethal. It’s like I’d forgotten how to be a decent human being. Like I had forgotten the difference between wrong and right. All I knew was I was a Gianetti if someone became a problem – eliminate them.

  I brushed a hand over my tied back, shoulder- length hair and stared at my reflection in the mantle’s mirror, exposing resemblances to the mad man who had contributed to my birth. Somewhere inside was the young man who had planned to leave it all behind. Somewhere behind those same steel blue eyes was a good guy.

  Yeah right!

  That guy was a foolish boy who should have known better. I was my father’s son and there was nothing I could do about it.

  I climbed the stairs to my own bedroom and entered the adjoining bath, hoping a shower would cleanse away any remaining evidence, as well as the blemish on my soul. When I exited I found the house quiet, even the normal echo of bass from Mickie’s radio was absent which meant she was either pouring out her sorrows on her cell phone or gone. So, I readied myself for a night in – alone.

  “Come to bed, Sean.”

  I heard that familiar voice in my head. The same sweet tone I always heard when I was alone. It beckoned. Lured me toward a large four-poster bed where I could climb beneath the plush comforter and get lost in a fantasy world.

  “Where have you been?”

  I snuggled in and closed my eyes.

  “I’m here,” I said to the voice only I could hear. “I really missed you, Baby.”

  But the voice didn’t answer back. I was losing her. The memory of her voice grew fainter by the day. “Please … don’t go … I really need you tonight.”

  For a moment I dared to close my eyes, then flung them open quicker than I had closed them. I feared my nightmares more than any other adversary. I fought my slumber, ignoring the sting of exhaustion, like I did every night, until the lids slammed as if made of lead, inevitably forced me into a rerun of despair once again.

  “Sean …” The voice called out in a sing-song tone, then giggled.

  I saw my wife, waiting for me where Jenithiyah’s fingers tickled its seas. Her bare feet gliding over the white sand beach as if she were floating. She giggled, then dove into the water before I could catch up.

 
I eyed Jenithiyah’s largest wonder, the perfect statue sitting Indian style, one hand on his knee and the other draped against the mountain as if he were sitting on a large stone sofa. A waterfall cascaded from his crown, down his shoulder, and onto his lap. Beneath his knee, a secret small cave hidden by an ocean curtain.

  I glanced behind, then dove into the water, swam a few feet deeper and found the entrance. I surfaced on the other side, pulled myself up, positioned myself on the edge of a flat rock and dipped my bare feet into the warmth of the pool below.

  “It took you long enough.” Sara teased, inching closer to me on that rock.

  I reached out for her hand.

  She smiled.

  BOOM!

  Out of breath and soaked with sweat I bolted upright with the sound of the bullet in my dream simultaneously drawing my pistol from beneath my pillow.

  “Drop the weapon!” Blurred by tears, I only saw shadows of the men who stormed into the room. “Drop it, now!”

  For a moment I thought about pulling the hammer back. For a moment I thought about provoking them.

  “Drop it, Gianetti!”

  I let it fall.

  “You have the right to remain silent …”

  I was no stranger to the words they spoke. I was accustomed to the violent manner in which they removed me from my current location. As routine as the sun rising and falling, I went through the process. I posed for the picture. I laid a hand on the glass so flickering rays could memorize my prints and I smoked, blowing puffs into the faces of the interrogators until they gave up and threw me into a solitary cell.

  They thought the tiny enclosure would have an effect, and it did, but not the way they envisioned. There was something comforting about three brick walls, a steel door, and a cot.

  “You look too comfortable, Sean.”

  I opened my eyes to the opening of the heavy door. Rick Cornell entered.

  I sat up, making room for the only agent I ever showed respect to sit beside me. “Why the hell do you keep showing up in my jail?”

  The man had befriended me when I was just five, talking to me while I walked to school and giving me little gifts like candy or small trinkets. Usually, the agent approached after my father had left me with bruised skin and a battered self-image.