“Did you kill my dad?”
Grace clenched the prison phone in her hand as she stared at Rocco through the glass barrier. She didn’t expect him to answer—the phone lines were monitored and any admissions could possibly be used against him in court—but she needed to see his face, the shift in the color of his eyes. Even after so many years, she could read his expressions. She could see the truth even if she didn’t hear the words.
No.
Her tension eased the tiniest bit. Maybe she didn’t need to ask the next question. A nurse at the hospital claimed he had been tampering with her father’s IV line, and he’d pulled his gun on her when she tried to stop him. He’d subsequently been arrested for weapons-related offenses, and on suspicion of murder pending results of the autopsy.
Not just a nurse, but Mike’s girlfriend, Tiffany.
It was too much. Tom claimed Rocco had a contract to kill her father. Papa was dead. Rocco had been in the room. And now Rocco was in jail.
“Tom mentioned a contract,” she said, trying to keep her words vague, but pointed enough so he would understand.
When he lifted an eyebrow, she nodded. “Yes, I saw him. He was at the gym the other day. He said … things. About you. He’s been hiding out with Tony. He says Tony is protecting him.”
Rocco stared at her, just as he’d done since she’d arrived. Was it guilt that had silenced him or disappointment that she would even suspect he was involved? But they’d been apart for a very long time. How well did she really know him? Where did his loyalty lie?
“Did you … have … a…?”
A contract. She asked the question silently, knowing he would understand. Did you have a contract to kill my father?
Bile rose in her throat when she saw his expression tighten, the answer in the darkening of his eyes.
Yes.
* * *
“You okay, honey?” Olivia opened the car door and gestured Grace inside. She had insisted on waiting outside the jail while Grace talked to Rocco, and Grace was profoundly grateful to have her there.
Unable to hide her grief, Grace had broken down and told Olivia a version of the truth—Rocco had been found with a gun in her father’s room and was now in jail, suspected of killing him as the result of a business deal that went bad. It had been a relief to share even that much of the story, and Olivia had gone out of her way to help—from driving her out to see Rocco, to making funeral arrangements for when the autopsy was done.
Grace shook her head, unable to lie. Her worst fears had been realized. She’d gotten involved with the mob and lost yet another person she loved.
Two people.
Three, if Tom went ahead with his plan to take over her father’s position because Tom didn’t have what it took to survive in this world, even with the backing and support of his new best friend, Tony Toscani.
She’d been betrayed, yet again. Hurt, yet again. Had her heart broken, yet again. Why could she not learn the fucking lesson that there was nothing good about the mob—it destroyed everything.
“Did he…?” Olivia raised an eyebrow in query.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Of course, you don’t. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. I’ll take you home.”
Grace instantly regretted her abrupt tone. Olivia had been nothing but kind over the last few days. Grace didn’t know what kind of arrangement Olivia had made with Father Seamus to cover her shifts at Sunnyvale, but she was grateful to have her there, reminding her that there was a world without guns or mobsters or death. A good world. And friends who cared.
By the time they reached the house, Grace just wanted to take a long bath and crawl into bed. She’d never visited a prison before, and even now she could feel the despair and hopelessness still clinging to her skin.
“We have visitors.” Olivia pointed to the house as they pulled up at the curb.
Grace looked up, hoping it was Tom. She’d only seen him twice since their father died—once at the hospital, and then again at the police station, and both times he had been with Tony Toscani. Her heart sank when she saw Gabrielle and Mia sitting on the front step. The last thing she wanted was to talk with anyone involved in the mob.
“Keep driving.”
“You want to go to the rehearsal space?” Olivia glanced over at Mia and Gabrielle but mercifully put her foot on the accelerator and drove past the house. “Ethan and Miguel are rehearsing with the band.”
“Sure.” She wasn’t in the mood for music, but at least it would distract her from her grief.
“Miguel wrote a song and they’re trying it out. Apparently, he’s been secretly writing lyrics for years and Ethan only found out when he went into his room to borrow a charger and saw the music on his desk. I guess he’s not just a pretty bass.”
Grace forced a smile at Olivia’s attempt to cheer her up. “Funny.”
“Did you know those women?” Olivia asked a few minutes later.
“Yeah. I just don’t want to talk to anyone involved in my dad’s business right now. Actually, ever.”
“Maybe you’ll feel better after the rehearsal. You can sing something upbeat,” she suggested.
“I’m not singing. I’m leaving Vegas after the funeral, and it’s not fair for me to lead them on. Ethan needs to start auditioning for a lead singer again.”
Ever the professional, Olivia didn’t immediately try to talk her out of her plan. “Where are you planning to go?”
“Maybe a small town in the Midwest…” Anywhere without a Mafia presence.
Olivia twisted her lips to the side. “You’re not really a small-town kind of girl.”
“I could be.”
“What about your singing? I thought you picked Vegas to do your degree so you could pursue a singing career on the side. And now you’ve finally done it. Ethan and Miguel have already planned all the recording contracts the band is going to get, what kind of tour bus they’re going to buy, how they’re going to split up all the fangirls who swarm them back stage after the gigs…”
“It was a stupid dream.” She flipped the lock switch on the door. Off. On. Off. On. Kind of like her relationship with Rocco since he’d come back into her life. “Look at me. I can’t be on stage without a mask and Rocco standing ready to shut things down if it all goes wrong. And there won’t be much call for jingle singers in a small town that likely has only one radio station and one television station.”
“So what are you going to do?” Olivia pursed her lips, the only indication that she didn’t agree with Grace’s decision.
“I’ll do what I trained to do. I’m sure there’s a small town in need of a trauma counselor. Small towns suffer traumatic events all the time.”
“So do counselors,” Olivia said gently. “And they should know that this isn’t the time to make rash decisions. You need to go through the process, find out what happened and why, bury your father and go through all the stages of grief. When you come out on the other end, and the world isn’t so dark, that’s the time to think about change.”
“I need to get away.”
“Then we’ll get away. But we won’t run away.”
Grace bit her lip to stop the tears. “We?”
“You aren’t alone.” Olivia reached out and squeezed Grace’s hand. “You don’t just have me. You have Ethan and Miguel and the rest of the band. You’ve got Matthew and Father Seamus and all the friends you’ve made in Vegas. You’ve got all the people in the city who you’ve touched with the beauty of your voice. And you’ve got Tom.” Her lips pressed tightly together for a moment. Olivia’s family were always there for one another in a crisis, and she didn’t think much of Tom’s insistence on staying with “a friend” when Grace needed him most.
Grace felt Rocco’s absence from Olivia’s list like a black hole in her chest. Just like before, she had fallen for him hard and fast. She had trusted him. Opened herself up to him. Loved him, and lost him in the worst possible way.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Olivia said as she slowed for a stop sign. “Broken heart is written all over your face.”
“Last time, Rocco did something terrible because he thought we couldn’t have a future. He wanted me to be free so he pushed me away.”
Olivia pulled into the parking lot behind the rehearsal studio and parked the car. “You wouldn’t have left New York if you didn’t want to go.”
They exited the vehicle and made their way through the blazing sun to the shaded awning over the door. “You’re right,” Grace said, as she pulled open the door. “At the time, I didn’t see any other option. But after a few years I began to wonder if I made a mistake. I was eighteen and scared out of my mind. I didn’t talk to him about what happened. I didn’t think about the person I knew. I ran away, just like I ran away when my mom died, and when I found some things out about my dad that I couldn’t handle.”
“Like you’re planning to do now?” Olivia opened the door. “Of course, I guess this is different. I mean, Rocco’s in jail because he was caught red handed—”
“They caught him pointing a gun at a nurse,” Grace interrupted.
“I thought the nurse walked in on him when he was doing something suspicious to your father’s IV line, and he pulled a gun on her when she tried to stop him.” Olivia stopped outside the rehearsal studio. “That’s what I read online.”
Grace groaned. “It was in the news?”
“Honey…” Olivia swallowed hard. “Organized crime is always big news.”
Grace’s head jerked up so fast her neck cracked. “I’m not…”
“You don’t have to tell me anything, but The Sun reported your dad had ties to a Mafia crime family in New York, and some of the TV stations picked it up. They’re calling it a Mafia hit. And Rocco…” She squeezed Grace’s arm. “They said he was suspected of having Mafia ties, too. They found the ICU’s head nurse tied up in the closet.”
“I’m going to be sick.” Grace slumped against the wall and then slid to sit on the floor. She could hear the steady thud of Miguel’s bass from inside the studio, and the soft, swinging sounds of the band as they went through Sammy Davis Jr’s “What Kind of Fool Am I.”
“You didn’t know?” Olivia settled beside her. “Maybe it’s all fake news.”
“I didn’t know it would be all over the news.” Grace dropped her head into the cradle of her arms.
“I don’t usually say this kind of thing,” Olivia said. “But if it’s true, I think you could do better than a mobster, ten years older than you, who broke your heart once already, possibly killed your dad, and tried to kill a nurse at the hospital. Or maybe it’s just me…” She shrugged, and Grace caught the hint of a smile showing her Olivia was trying to lighten the mood.
“I think you’re probably right. I should have learned my lesson the first time.”
And yet, part of her still couldn’t believe Rocco had intended to kill her father. If he did have a contract to whack her dad and possibly Tom, someone had given it to him. So who wanted her father dead? The only people who would benefit from his death were in New York, and the most likely suspects were the Gamboli family capos. She didn’t know them all, or how ambitious they were, or how powerful, but Tom did. Tom who was now under Tony’s wing.
But it still didn’t make sense. Rocco had had many opportunities to whack her father, especially when he was in the ICU, because he knew all the guards. He could have walked in, done what he needed to do and walked out without any of them batting an eye. And the whole thing about tampering with the IV line, possibly administering some drug … That wasn’t the Rocco she knew. Yes, he was violent, but it was Mafia violence. The Mafia didn’t use poison or deal in subtle or underhanded forms of death. There was a perverse honor in bloodshed. Physical violence was a statement, a calling card. Anything else was seen as cowardly. And Rocco was no coward.
The gun was more consistent with his personality. Getting caught wasn’t. And threatening a woman with a gun violated his personal code. He was a professional. He would have known when the nurses were on shift, when the guards changed, who would be on the door … and what had happened to the guards anyway? Obviously, they had made themselves scarce when the police arrived. Wiseguys never talked to the police. Omerta meant that if they had a story to tell, no one would ever hear it.
“Do you want to see the article?” Olivia held up her phone. “They didn’t publish any details about the nurse because she might be in danger. It says they’ll probably put her in protective custody.”
Grace looked at the screen and then over at the studio door. What was she doing? As if this wasn’t difficult enough. Did she really want to start second guessing the police? Getting her hopes up all over again? Tom said Rocco had a contract. Rocco had confirmed it, albeit without words. Why was she searching for a reason not to believe the facts that were staring her in the face?
She was a psychologist, dammit. She knew, just as Olivia had so gently pointed out, that people didn’t think straight in times of trauma. They didn’t make rational decisions. But she also knew people were consistent. They followed their moral codes.
I would never hurt a civilian or a woman.
What if that person was a threat? What if they meant to hurt someone you cared about, directly or indirectly? Would you hurt them then?
Yes.
Gah. After the police investigation had wrapped up and she had buried her Papa and grieved his loss, she would think about Rocco. And she could grieve him, too.
“No, thanks. Ethan’s destroying a big band version of ‘Tainted Love’ inside.” She pushed herself up against the wall, feeling the vibration of the music through the painted brick. “I’ll go put him out of his misery one last time.”