Chapter Thirteen
Etta yelled for Deacon to enter when he tapped on the screen door. She was in the kitchen and pulled a pitcher of iced tea from the refrigerator and fixed them both a glass. “Have a seat,” she said over her shoulder.
The pages from his report were on the table. She carried the tea and offered a glass to Deacon, then took a seat. He looked at the pages, but didn’t touch them.
“Why did you do that?”
He looked at it and then her. “Does it matter?”
“Do you have any idea what a mess you’ve made? Someone had been asking questions and alerted the Marshals, which had prompted them to contact Ranger Childress and have him visit Mica.”
“What?”
“You shouldn’t have done that.”
“Why?”
“Because—because you shouldn’t. Shit.” She rose and paced beside the table, muttering, “Shit, shit, shit.” She had to figure this out.
“What the hell are you going on about?”
Etta picked up the pages and flipped through them. She’d already read every page and knew what she was looking for. When she hit page four, she found it.
She looked at Deacon. “It says the building she lived in and the place she worked are both owned by the Julliani family, reported to be part of the Mafia.”
“And that no one can ever remember seeing her at the cleaners where she supposedly worked or that shit-hole apartment,” he pointed out.
Etta nodded. “I think you should get on the computer and run a search on the Julliani family.”
“Why?”
“Just do it.”
“Where’s your laptop or tablet?”
Etta went over to the counter by the door, unplugged her iPad from the charger, and handed it to Deacon. He accepted and started typing, two-finger style.
“They are definitely Mafia, if these news stories are true,” he said. “The old man is at war with a rival family after the death of his son Tony and Tony’s wife, some Romanian woman.”
“Are there photos?”
Deacon cut her a look, then poked on the tablet some more. She saw his expression change and felt his surprise.
“This is her.” He turned the tablet to face her. “Mica. It’s her or her twin.” He continued to scroll, scanning the images Etta had seen earlier. “This is definitely her.”
“But it can’t be her, can it? The woman in those photos was killed.”
Deacon suddenly stood. “I have to go.”
“Where?” Etta asked and followed as he headed for the door.
He didn’t bother to answer, but she knew. He was going to Mica’s. The shit was about to hit the fan and she didn’t know who was more at fault, her or Deacon, but one thing was for sure, Mica was going to feel betrayed by people who supposedly cared about her.
And Etta didn’t blame her one bit.
*****
Mica was emotionally wrung out after telling Etta about her life, but still tense and wound up, like she was waiting for something horrible to happen. She needed something to get rid of energy.
She knew of one way to wear herself out and quickly changed into old jeans that slunk low on her hips, a sports bra, and old work boots. She pulled her hair back into a ponytail and headed for the blacksmith shop.
Mathias had left a text for her that he was going over to the Weathers’ ranch and wouldn’t be back until later. She started the forge and found her steel. After putting her earbuds in, Mica started her playlist on her phone and put the phone on the workbench where it would be safe from flying sparks.
She then put on the heavy apron and gloves and watched the metal heat. Before long it was ready and she went to work. The hammer was heavy and each blow sent sparks splintering off the metal, separating as they flew so that one spark became two.
Mica hammered and heated and hammered more. She was one of about twenty non-Japanese people in the world capable of creating a sword in the ancient Japanese tradition, but it was a painstaking and slow process. Swordsmithing was not something many people were interested in, and she didn’t do it as much as she once did, but today she was grateful to be able to be standing there drawing out the sword.
At first, her thoughts were on what had happened at Etta’s, the truths she revealed to Etta, Deacon showing up, and the anger between them. Then came thoughts of Deacon driving off when he saw Ranger Childress came to mind.
It was all a big mess and she needed to clear her mind of all of it. Before long, she did; the exertion and heat and focus wiped her mind clean. There was only the fire, the metal and her own strength, pounding the white-hot steel.
*****
Deacon saw her the moment he walked up. Both of the big metal doors were open and even with airflow, the heat from the forge was intense. Mica’s back was bare aside from a racerback sports bra and jeans that rode low on her hips. Sweat poured in rivulets down her back, darkening the top of her jeans. Her arms were slick and her hair clung to her skin.
Even through his anger, he acknowledged her magnificence. Her back and arms were elegant in their definition and evident strength. She wielded the obviously heavy hammer with skill. He watched until she set the hammer aside and put the long piece of metal into the forge.
“Mica.”
She didn’t turn, and he realized she must have earphones in because she was swaying to a beat he couldn’t hear.
“Mica!” His shout had her jerking around. She pulled earbuds from her ears and crammed them in her back pockets.
“You lied to me.” His long stride ate up the distance between them.
*****
Mica’s first reaction was to be intimidated. He was scowling and towering over her almost menacingly. It was enough to scare anyone. But that reaction was quickly replaced by another. Anger.
“I most certainly have not.”
“Oh? Then what’s your husband’s name?”
Her heart sank a bit, but she refused to back down. “I don’t have a husband.”
“Don’t lie.”
He reached for her, but she slapped his hand away. “Don’t you dare touch me.”
It was clear from his reaction that he not only heard the change in her voice but sensed something as well. “You’re married,” he said in an accusing tone.
“No, I’m not.”
“I saw you. Pictures of you with your husband, Anthony.”
“You mean my dead husband?”
A flash of surprise crossed his face, but was overcome by anger. “So you admit it. You’re really this Cipriana person.”
“No, I’m really Mica Gray Horse. I just pretended to be Cipriana.”
“Why?”
“To protect Matty.”
That seemed to take some of the steam out of his engine. “What?”
Mica turned and pulled the metal from the forge. “This is hot.” She placed it on the anvil and picked up the hammer. “Who told you?” She swung the hammer and after its impact sent sparks showering, she added, “Etta?”
“No.”
“Then how did you find out?”
“I had someone look into your background.”
Suddenly it made sense. She hadn’t been able to figure out why the Marshals Service would have been alerted or why someone would be snooping into her past. Now she got it and it made her mad.
Regardless that she’d lose the progress she’d made with the metal, she put down the hammer and pulled off her gloves.
“And just what gave you that right?” She put her gloves on the anvil and removed the apron.
“I have the right—”
“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” Mica was getting angrier by the moment. “Damn you!” She turned and marched out of the back door, slammed her hands on her hips, and tried to calm down.
It was all ruined. Damn it all, it was ruined. She wanted to cry. She thought she’d finally found the one thing she’d wanted her entire life. A place to call home and a man she was crazy in love with. But no. Deacon’s inquiry had screwed that all to hell.
“Mica.”
At the sound of his voice, she started running. She didn’t know where she was going, but she had to get away from him. At that moment all she could think was she wished she had one place on the earth where she felt safe and loved.
Ten minutes later, she found herself on Nellie Mae’s front porch, crying and panting from the run. She pounded on the door and a few seconds later Nellie Mae opened the door.
“Oh, dear lord, child what’s happened?” Nellie Mae took Mica’s hand. “Come in, come in.”
“It’s all ruined.” Mica sobbed and collapsed onto the rug in the living room. She drew her knees up to her chest, wrapped her arms around them, put her forehead on her knees and sobbed.
“Oh, you poor thing.” Nellie Mae dragged her little ottoman over to sit on and took Mica’s arm. “Come on, honey, you just put your head in my lap and have a good cry.”
That bit of kindness unhinged Mica. She cried a river, sitting there on the floor with her head in Nellie Mae’s lap, with Nellie Mae stroking her hair and crooning words of comfort.
It was the closest she’d ever come to having the feel of a mother’s love, of someone who cared for her feelings, and she cried for never having had that, for a childhood that was stolen by her parents’ inability to care for her and Mathias, and for a life where everything good she’d ever experienced had been tainted with hate and blood.
Mica didn’t know how much time had passed, but suddenly she was jerking awake. The room was dark. She sat up and took Nellie Mae’s hand. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“Shh, you hush now, honey. We all need a safe haven now and again where we can let it out. You want to tell me what has your heart so hurt?”
“I do, I really do, but I can’t. If I do, it will put you in danger and I can’t do that.”
“Okay, sugar. That’s fine. How about I fix us a bite to eat?”
“I can’t let you do that. I’m all nasty from working in the forge and—”
“Then you go on into the bathroom and take a nice long shower. I’ll throw your things in the wash and I think I have a robe Jo left here way back that you can wear until your clothes are ready.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely. Now scoot. I’ll get some supper started and come get those clothes in a minute. The bathroom is the last door on the right down the hall.”
Mica got up, took Nellie Mae’s hand and pulled her to her feet, then gave the old lady a kiss on the cheek and headed down the hallway. There was a small table in the hall with a mirror mounted over it. Mica scowled at her reflection, before noticing the framed photos on the polished surface of the table.
Wow. It had to be Nellie Mae in the photos. Some of the photos showed her with a stocky, tall man with light hair and a big smile. She was a woman with a million-dollar smile, big boobs and hips and blonde hair that starlets of her day would have killed for.
There were photos of her with the blonde man and two little children, of her and the kids at different ages, at graduations and weddings and then photos of her and a dark-haired man with somber eyes.
Mica stood there for a moment. This was Nellie Mae’s life, people whom she’d loved. Where were they now and why was this little sweet old lady all alone?
She went on to the bathroom, stripped, and climbed into the shower. She was just rinsing her hair when she heard the door open and pulled back the curtain to see Nellie Mae putting a thick towel on the little stand beside the tub, along with a robe.
“Thank you, Nellie Mae. I’m almost done.”
“You take your time, sugar.”
Maybe she just needed to escape thoughts of her mess of a life, but Mica’s mind turned to thinking about Nellie Mae. The photos on the table and how kind she’d been to Mica. Why was she alone? Were those people in the photos all gone?
She finished her shower, dried off and put on the robe. It was short but covered her to mid-thigh and the belt kept it closed. Mica ran her fingers through her hair and carried the wet towel with her as she padded down the hall.
Nellie Mae was in the kitchen, humming as she poured two glasses of whiskey.
“Where can I put this towel?” Mica asked.
“Just toss it in the basket in the laundry room over there.” Nellie Mae pointed to the door.
Mica did as instructed and returned to the kitchen where Nellie Mae was sitting at the table and the two glasses of whiskey waited. Nellie Mae lifted hers in a toast, and Mica picked up her glass and touched its rim to Nellie Mae’s.
“To my friend,” she said.
“And to mine.” Nellie Mae smiled and moved her glass to her lips.
The whiskey packed a punch, particularly on an empty stomach. Since she wasn’t ready to talk about what had her showing up on Nellie Mae’s doorstep, Mica asked questions about the people of Cotton Creek and about Nellie Mae’s life.
“, who is the blond hunk in the picture with you? Mica asked as Nellie Mae poured them a second drink, this one filling the juice glasses almost to the brim.
“Oh honey, that was my Carl. He was such a looker, wasn’t he? And always smiling.”
“How did you and Carl meet?”
Nellie Mae took another sip of her drink. “Girl, back in those days I was an independent little thing. My big sister who was three years older, Goldie Jean, got a job at the newspaper in Rockridge and after I graduated high school, I talked my mama and daddy into letting me go live with Goldie Jean and attend the little business school in Rockridge.”
She took another drink and Mica kept pace. “There was a little bar there and on the weekends sometimes a little quartet would play. Well, one night Goldie Jean and I went and this man in his cups knocked my drink over. It didn’t get me wet, but I couldn’t afford another one.
“Suddenly there was this handsome man standing there with a smile that just lit up the room. ‘Let me buy you a drink, beautiful,’ he said. Well, you know I was a good girl, but lord above, that man’s smile could have wooed the devil himself, so I let him buy me that drink. And later, I let him hold my hand and walk me home.”
“And did you let him kiss you?”
“Not that night,” Nellie Mae said and winked. “But three dates later, I put a lip-lock on him that he swore turned his knees to jelly.”
“Oh, Mrs. Nellie Mae, you wicked woman.”
“No wicked to it, hon. I just knew he was the one for me. We were married the next year and had nearly thirty years of bliss.”
“And children?”
“Oh my yes, my two beautiful babies, Sherry Lynn and Carlson Junior. Sherry’s married and living in Baton Rouge with her husband Ronnie Beaumont. They have three children who are grown and married with children of their own.
“Carlson and his life partner live in Dallas and he’s in banking.”
“Life partner? As in he’s gay?”
“Well, I do like that word better than homosexual, but yes. Sweetest man ever, that partner of his. Dawson. I love him to bits. The entire clan comes every year for Christmas and then again in the summer and every now and then I take a notion and go spend some time with them.”
“And Carl?”
“Bless him, keeled over with a heart attack a week after our thirtieth anniversary. He never let on there was a thing wrong with him. Lord, I nearly died when he went. The light went right out of my life.”
“But didn’t you marry again?”
“I did. Curtis Baker. Now that man knew how to satisfy a woman.”
“Oh? Is he still alive?”
“No, honey, he died in the saddle”
Mica reached for the bottle and filled their empty glasses. She had passed “on her way to being drunk” two drinks ago. “Come on, let’s go blob on the couch. Bring your glass.”
They both wobbled a bit, but managed to make it to the living room and onto the couch. Mica refilled their glasses and put a pillow on the couch between them. “Put your feet up, Miss Nellie Mae and I’ll give you a foot rub. I give epic foot massages.”
“Oh lord,” Nellie Mae was moaning in pleasure inside of two minutes. “You’re right. That feels better than sex.”
Mica laughed and reached for her glass, downed what was left and shook her head to try to clear her vision, which was becoming a bit distorted. “Hell, it’s been so long since I’ve had sex, I don’t even remember what it feels like.”
“Tell me about it. Last time for me was November 21, 2009.”
“You remember the exact date?”
“I’ll never forget it, child. Me and Curtis, that was my second husband, Curtis Baker. We’d been married for almost twenty years. Curtis wasn’t the happy Joe that Carl was, but he sure was a good dancer and talk about being good in the sack. Oh Lord.
“Anyway, he’d been away on business for two weeks and when he got home he said he wanted to celebrate. He’d made a huge sell. He sold stuff to airplane manufacturers. Anyway, he was a hotshot salesman. Bought and paid for this house and the one in Corpus Christi. We used to love to go there for the summers.
“But anyhow, that day he came home and we went out to Greene’s for a big steak dinner, then came home and popped a bottle of bubbly. Things got a little heated and he said he was gonna rock my world right here on the couch.”
“Woo, I like the sound of that. Did he?”
“Not exactly. I mean, it was going along good and I was starting to get into the swing of it when he started saying “I’m going, Nellie. Girl, I’m going, I’m going. I love you, Nellie. I’m going.
“I thought he meant, you know, he was gonna go and I said ‘go baby, go’ and suddenly his body went all stiff—and I do mean his whole body if you know what I’m saying—and then nothing. He didn’t move a muscle.
“He was gone. And I mean gone.”
“Oh my God. He died in the saddle!” Mica didn’t mean to, but she couldn’t help it. She burst out laughing. “In the saddle. Oh God.”
Nellie Mae started giggling and before long they were both howling. It took them a bit of time to settle down. Mica reached for the bottle, but it was empty.
“You know, I never meant to be a bad person.” Mica confessed. “I might not have been in love with him, but I was always faithful to the man I married. He saved me, Nellie Mae. Growing up on the reservation wasn’t great. Girls like me ended up being raped and used and grew old too fast.
“There wasn’t any hope. Tony saved me and I know his family was bad and I became bad, but I never hurt anyone. Well, I hurt them if they paid me but I didn’t cause lasting hurt. But I didn’t know anything about being in love. I didn’t know how it felt.
“Now I think I might be falling in love for the first time and I’m scared, Nellie Mae. Deacon is—he’s like my perfect hero come to life, strong and handsome and solid and a good man. But he’s not who I thought. I thought he was someone who would understand that people make mistakes and we learn from them and try and grow and be better.
“But he called me awful things and I think he hates me and he had people snooping on me so now Matty and I have to run away again because I can’t let anything happen to him, you know. He’s my little brother.”
She barked a laugh. “Little. That’s funny, huh? Everyone’s scared of Matty. They think he’s this big mean Indian, or a big killing machine of a SEAL, but he’s not. I mean he is a SEAL but he’s such a good man and has such a big heart and I can’t let anything happen to him because he’s all I have.
“And Deacon ruined it all. He called me a whore. A whore!” She looked at Nellie Mae and saw two of the little woman, both of whom had sympathetic looks on their faces. “I was never a whore. Never. I never ever slept with any of them and I had as many women clients as I did men. But I never had sex with any of them.
“I’m not a whore.”
“Of course you’re not sugar. You’re a… what exactly are you?”
“Screwed.” Mica said. “A stupid, stupid woman who let herself fall for a man who won’t let himself love me back. I’m screwed, Nellie Mae. Screwed.”
“Oh, sugar, it will all work out. Trust me, things will look better tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow.” Mica tried to focus, but her eyes just wouldn’t stay open. She’d close them just for a minute, then she’d go see if her clothes were ready and head on home. She’d just rest her eyes for a few minutes.
Mica jerked awake. Nellie Mae was asleep on the couch, snoring softly. Mica pulled the soft throw from the back of the sofa, covered Nellie Mae and then got up and went to the laundry room. She noticed the clock on the stove as she passed through the kitchen. It was half past midnight.
Her clothes were still in the washer and her work boots were sitting on the floor beside the door. With a sigh, she bent over to pick up her boots and almost moaned at the pain in her head.
Mica softly tiptoed back through the house, turning off the lights as she went. After making sure Nellie Mae was covered, she let herself out the front door, making sure it was set to lock.
Mica sat on the front step to pull on her work boots, then stood, hitched the belt on the robe tighter around her waist and started walking. The streets were empty, which was a relief. She felt horrible and regretted drinking so much whiskey. The term “shit warmed over” didn’t even begin to touch how bad she felt.
As she drew near the blacksmith shop, she noticed the lights. Mica tapped on the door and after a moment, it opened. “Are you still working?”
Mathias nodded. “I wanted to work on that light for the dining room. I’ll sleep on the cot here, so go on back home. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Okay. I love you.”
“I love you.”
Mica headed on to the house, grateful that Mathias had not asked any questions. She didn’t think she was ready to take on the conversation she knew they had to have. As she started across the yard to the house, she jumped. Was that someone on her porch?
Two more steps and recognition flared. Deacon stood and waited for her. That’s when she made up her mind. She wasn’t going to put it off, she wasn’t going to cry or make a fuss or anything. She was just going to pack her shit and in the morning, she’d tell Matty and they would leave.
She walked right past him and into the house, headed straight for her bedroom. She jerked open the closet and hauled out a suitcase which she dumped on the bed.
“Where have you been dressed like that?” he asked from the doorway.
“What difference does it make?”
“What are you doing?” Deacon walked into the room.
“Packing?”
“Why?”
“Because we can’t stay here. Thanks to you.”
“Hold on.” Deacon grabbed her arm and she tried to pull free, but he hung on. “Just calm down and talk to me.”
“Get your hand off me.” She felt herself go cold and hated it. She’d spent the last decade or more of her life cold. Emotionless and cold.
“Mica, talk to me.”
“Don’t you mean Cipriana?” She looked down at his hand on her arm and then back at him. When she did, he released her.
Mica backed away from him. “I was married to Tony. For twenty years.”
“You were married to a mobster?”
“I was.”
“And living under an assumed name.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“A lot of reasons.”
“I’m listening.”
“Are you?” She tried to push the cold away. Mica didn’t want to be that woman anymore. Since she’d been here, she’d been free for the first time in her life. Happy and free. She was enraged and terrified at the thought that she’d lose all that and would never have it again.
“I am.” Deacon sat down on the edge of the bed. “Talk to me. I want to understand.”
She stared at him, trying to decide and had almost decided that it just wasn’t worth it when he spoke again. “Please.”
That word and the way it was spoken undid her. The coldness slid away like a snake shedding its skin. Mica walked over and sat down on the rug beside the bed, crossing her legs and clasping her hands in front of her.
“I was sixteen when Tony showed up on the reservation, driving a big black Caddy, with pockets full of money. His family wanted an ‘in’ with the Tribal Council. The Tribe was going to build a casino on the reservation. Other tribes had done it, and were making bank. Tony’s family wanted to supply us with liquor, help us to get up and running.
“I knew who was on the Council and their secrets. My father was a drunk and he ran his mouth far more than he should about the people. But it came in handy, that knowledge. So, I offered to help. I was young and cute and Tony wanted me, so I gave him my virginity and information and when he left he took me with him.”
“You ran away.”
“I did. I tried to talk Matty into leaving with me but he wouldn’t. So, Tony gave me three thousand dollars and I gave it to the blacksmith and told him if he would let Matty stay with him, he could have that money to help feed and clothe Matty and I would send him more as soon as I got a job. I knew he would do it. He cared about us. Then I left.”
“And?”
“And Tony took care of me. He helped me to get a new identity and made sure that Mica was on record as living and working in LA while I became Cipriana, a Romanian immigrant who had died shortly after entering the country.
“He fed me and made sure I finished high school and even paid for me to go to college. He loved me and protected me and when I turned eighteen I married him.”
“You loved him?”
“In a fashion. He did everything for me and made sure that Matty was provided for. I owed him.”
“Did you get a college degree?”
“I did. Metallurgy and psychology. Great combo.”
“So, you started making knives?”
“Not to earn a living, but yes. As a hobby.”
“Then you didn’t work. You were just a mob wife.”
There it was, the question she’d most dreaded. Mica looked up at him for the first time since she’d started talking. “No. I had a career.”
“Doing what?”
She opened her mouth, closed it and then pointed to her iPad on the night stand. “Would you pass that to me?”
He did and she accessed the browser and entered an Internet address. Once the web page displayed, she handed the iPad to Deacon. He looked at it and then at her. “I was right, you are a whore.”
“I may slap the shit out of you if you call me that again. I’m not, nor was I ever, a whore. I am a Dominatrix.”
“A Dominatrix? It’s the same thing.”
“You know it isn’t.”
“But you dressed up in black, smacked men’s asses, and fucked them for a few thousand dollars a night.”
“No. I did dress in black and delivered whatever punishment or pain my clients—men or women—wanted, but I never fucked one of them. And it was ten thousand dollars a night.”
“That’s a lot of money to be spanked.”
“My clients were not ordinary men and women.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning they were people who had to be sure their…tastes…remained private.”
“I see. So, you never had sex with one of them?”
“No. They wanted to be fucked, not to fuck me. Tony is the only man I ever had sex with and that ended when I was in my twenties. He had health issues and couldn’t get an erection.”
“So you haven’t had sex—”
“In over a decade.”
“But you were a—”
“Yes, I was.”
Deacon regarded her for a long moment. “You don’t seem like a Domme to me.”
“I’m not by nature.”
“Then why do it?”
“Because I’m good at it. I can figure out people’s secret desires and I’d give it to them. And I didn’t have to be emotionally involved. I was never emotionally involved. But I made a lot of money and helped Tony and his family amass a lot of power and political capital. When Tony died, I had over fourteen million dollars.”
“That’s a lot of money. The news articles said you were killed. What really happened?”
That night was something Mica tried hard not to think about. She and Tony had been arguing all day. She thought his health was deteriorating and wanted him to go see a specialist. He refused and said he was fine. His father was nearly eighty and still going strong. Tony wasn’t even sixty yet, so he had a lot of good years left.
Normally, when they had a difference of opinion, she’d back down and let him have it his way. Not this time. She’d seen him stumble too many times, and three times now he’d been very disoriented. She was worried and told him as much as they left the restaurant and took the elevator to the penthouse.
“Give it a rest, babe.” He sighed and looked over his shoulder at the four men accompanying them, his cousins, the twins, Marco and Angelo and his two bodyguards, Silvano and Vito. “The little lady’s always worrying about me, boys.”
Murmurs from the men followed, which Mica ignored. They would agree with whatever Tony said. That was their job. But more than that, they loved Tony. She understood. Despite being part of a mob family, Tony wasn’t a bad guy. He didn’t have people killed or their legs broken. He was an intelligent and savvy businessman who knew how to best people without resorting to violence.
That was one of the things she admired about him. The elevator stopped and opened. Vito and Silvano exited and took a cursory look around. Mica knew it was more for show than actual security. With all of the cameras and surveillance in the place, there was little chance someone would breach security and make it to the penthouse.
While she went into the bedroom to change, the men settled in the salon for brandy and cigars. She could hear them talking and laughing. Just as she stepped out of her heels, someone grabbed her by the hair on the back of her head and wrenched her around.
A split second later, she heard the sound of angry voices. “Let go of me!” She dug at the hand gripping her hair and was rewarded with a punch to the kidney that made her legs go weak. Whoever had hold of her shoved her along, into the salon and then pushed her hard enough to send her stumbling.
As she tumbled to the floor, the babble of voices grew in volume, men shouting and cursing. She started to push herself up when the first shots rang out. Mica screamed as Vito fell right in front of her with a hole the size of her fist in the back of his head. Brain, bone, and blood matted his hair and stained his back.
She heaved at the sight, flinching as the gunfire continued. Tony was shouting at the attackers to let his men live and take him. He was the one worth something. Just let everyone else go.
Laughter erupted, along with more shooting and one by one, all his men fell. Then there was silence. Mica crawled over to where Tony sat and cowered at his feet as another man entered the room. Jimmy Vinsanti. She knew him all too well, along with his dirty little secret.
He was a nasty piece of work, and epitomized the type of man that had given the Mafia their fearful reputation. “So, here we are, Tony boy. The day of reckoning is finally at hand.”
Tony’s face was set in an expression of such rage that she barely recognized him. Flushed so brightly, he looked ready to have a stroke; spittle flew from his lips. “You fucking dog. How dare you come into my home and—”
He never finished his sentence. Jimmy pulled a gun and shot Tony twice in the head. Mica screamed, and without thinking jumped to her feet and rushed Jimmy. That’s when she felt a searing pain in the side of her head.
She didn’t remember anything much after that, except flashes of people around her, the sound of sirens, of lights in her face and doctors. It wasn’t until she regained consciousness that she remembered. Tony was dead and Jimmy had killed him.
“The police came to see me, but I wouldn’t talk to them. I didn’t know who I could trust. I called one of my clients and the next day someone from the Justice Department came to see me. He offered me a deal. Testify to what happened and in return, he’d make sure everyone thought I’d died, and I could move away and start over.
“I testified in closed court before a judge and Jimmy Vinsanti went to prison because of it. His family has been trying to find out who was responsible and if they find out, they’ll stop at nothing to locate me and kill me.”
“So you’re in WITSEC?”
“In a manner of speaking. I reverted back to my real name, ended the lease in LA, and convinced Matty to move here.”
“With money you made as a Dominatrix.”
“Yes, at least, what I could get my hands on. Remember, Cipriana was killed so I couldn’t touch her accounts or property. I had the jewelry I was wearing the night of the shooting and that was worth half a million dollars so I sold it. And I’d sent money to the blacksmith on the reservation to keep and he gave it to me.”
“How much?”
“Two million.”
“You trusted a blacksmith with two million dollars?”
“Of course. I told you, he cared for me and Matty. He was more a father to us than our own dad. I took half of it. He has the other half. He’s old and needs help, so I helped him get set up in a nice assisted living facility where he’s happy and safe and can live out his life in comfort.”
“You’re one strange bird, Mica.”
“Yeah, one strange bird who needs to pack.”
“Why?”
“Because you had someone dig into my past, Deacon and now the Vinsantis will be watching everything tied to the Julliani family. If they find out someone is looking for an Indian from the reservation where the Jullinni family made money, then who knows? They might find me and I’m not ready to die. Particularly not the way they’d make me go.”
Mica stood and walked over to the closet to take down an armload of clothes. “I hate to do this to Matty, but they’d kill him or use him to get to me and I can’t risk that. So, I have to tell him all this and God knows it’s the last thing I wanted to do. You know Matty. He’s the decent one. This will hurt him.”
She plopped the clothes on the bed. “But I have no choice. Now, you have the truth and I have to go.”
“No.” Deacon stood.
“Yes.”
“No.” He took hold of her arms. “You’re not going anywhere.”
“I told you, I have to. Or do you want to see me dead?”
“No one is going to hurt you, Mica. Not on my watch.”
“You don’t know the Vinsantis.”
“You don’t know the Navy SEALs.”
Dear God. Here she was, facing what could be certain death from a family she knew to be as cruel as human beings could possibly be and his words opened a gate inside her, releasing such longing it was almost a physical ache.
“Deacon.” She couldn’t even find the words.
“You’re not leaving, Mica. We’re not done.”
“Don’t.” She pushed back from him. “I can’t put anyone in danger. Not Matty, not you. Don’t you get it?”
“Don’t you?”
“No, I don’t.” She didn’t have a clue at this point.
“You’re mine and no one takes what’s mine.”
There it was. That indefinable something that stripped her of the ability to protest. “Deacon.”
That’s all she had time to say before he reeled her in. His kiss was fuel to a fire that was ready to explode into an inferno. Deacon kicked her door closed and walked her backward to the bed.
“Mine,” he said as he ripped the belt open and pulled the robe down off her shoulders. “I’m going to take you, Mica.”
“I know.” She breathed, and her next breath hitched as his hands moved to her breasts.
“I can give you pain. If it’s what you want. Or pleasure.”
“Give me both.”
“Are you sure?”
“I think so.” She wanted it, but also feared it. Sex with Tony had always been quite vanilla, and while she’d watched her clients writhe in ecstasy over the pain she inflicted, she’d never experienced it herself. “I don’t know. I just know that I want you and I’ve never wanted a man before you, so in every way that matters, you’re my first.”
His expression changed and for a moment, she wondered if she’d finally managed to scare him away. Then his lips claimed hers and nothing else mattered.