Sweet Sin, page 3
Vannah has inched forward. She’s almost to the screen door that surrounds the pool.
Sydney’s still in the corner of the yard with her pup. If I could hear over the hot tub, I’m sure I could hear a low growl coming from her.
Stay. Good dog. Stay.
Now my job is to keep Carlo occupied. Keep him talking. Don’t let him turn around for anything.
My guess is they’re supposed to bring Savannah in alive, but I can’t take that chance. And I sure as hell don’t want her going off with the two of them anyway.
“You tell me what you want with her.”
“It’s none of your goddamned business.”
“I’ve got two million in cash in the house. It’s yours. But you have to leave quietly.”
Savannah’s managed to get out the screen door now, closing it lightly behind her.
Damn… The dogs.
So far they’re still sitting quietly. Sydney’s a rescue. She’s probably had to hide and cower in corners to stay safe. She has good instinct. At least I hope she does.
Savannah’s taking silent steps toward Carlo.
“It’s a lot of fucking money, right Abel?” I say.
Abel says nothing. Just nods his head slightly.
“Don’t move again,” I warn. “Next time you do, you’ll meet your maker.”
He goes rigid, and his legs start to give out. But I hold fast to his neck. He’s probably pissing himself, leaking on me.
I’ve had worse on me.
Savannah’s walking toward Carlo, and now I can see. She’s got something in her hand. Something shiny.
I don’t know what the hell it is, but—
“Fuck,” I grit out, as Sydney runs toward her, barking.
4
SAVANNAH
The blond man is about five feet away from me when Sydney barks and races toward me.
He turns, and I have no choice.
I lunge at him, and I plunge the sharp piece of glass into his chest.
He cries out as he falls to the ground with me on top of him.
The gun. Where’s the gun?
Did it fall to the ground? I didn’t hear a sound, but all I can think about is the glass embedded in his chest.
I pull it out and plunge it back in a different spot.
The squish and rip of his tissue, the quick give under the sharp edge of the glass. While humans can overcome so much, our bodies are oddly fragile… I can do significant damage with a piece of broken glass, and wrath nudges my neck.
Wrath…
My absent brother.
My dead brother.
For every other person I’ve lost to people like these two.
This man will pay the price.
I pull the glass out of his chest and drive it into the exposed flesh of his neck.
Blood squirts out—red and viscous—and I inhale the metallic scent of death.
“Vannah, stop!”
But I pull out the glass again, ready to plunge it back into this man’s flesh.
A sliver of recognition flows through me.
I know this man. Blond hair, blue eyes…tall…
I’ve seen him before…
Strong hands grip my shoulders, pull me off.
“Vannah, stop it.”
“No! No! He deserves what he gets!”
“Vannah, please…”
The voice—deep and soothing—resonates with me. Calms me.
Except I don’t want to be calm. I want to take this fucker out. If I take him out, maybe…just maybe…
“Vannah!”
My name is like nails spewing from his mouth. From Falcon’s mouth.
He’s harsh…but he gets through this time.
I swallow as I regard the havoc I’ve wrought. The blood…
“Where’s the other one?” I demand, my voice shaking.
“Unconscious. I clocked him in the head with the pistol. This one’s going to need an ambulance.”
I look down at my right hand. The terrycloth is soaked with blood. Fragments of glass are stuck on the towel, on my fingers, my robe. “What have I done?”
“What you had to do.” He turns me gently to face him. “Why did they want you, Savannah? What the hell have you done?”
I panic then. My breath gets caught in my throat, my skin goes cold. My chest hurts. So tight, my neck is tight too. My throat constricts. I try to swallow, but I can’t.
“Can’t… Can’t…”
“What, Savannah? Tell me.”
“Can’t… Breathe…”
Sydney stands over the blond man… She licks at his wounds, growling.
“He needs a fucking ambulance. You got his carotid. Here, take off your robe. Hold it on his neck. He’s going to die otherwise.”
I don’t care. I want this man to die. He came for me. He came to take me back to my family.
That only means one thing.
They need me for dirty work.
So naïve to think I could make an escape.
I got my mom and dad to agree. I didn’t think I needed anyone else.
Now?
I’m going to end up like Michael.
Forced into a life I don’t want, and killed when I don’t do what they say.
“Jesus Fuck, Vannah, you’re bleeding.”
Am I?
I can’t feel anything except the tightness in my chest and my throat.
Falcon takes my robe, pushes it against the blond guy’s neck.
“He’ll die. You have to go inside and call 911, Vannah. Can you do that? Then you need to take care of your hand. It’s bleeding.”
I fall to the ground. Crumple. Naked and ashamed.
The terrycloth wrapped around my hand is so wet, so red.
The man’s blood…
It’s wet. Wet and red with the man’s blood.
Except it’s not all the man’s blood.
It’s my blood. The piece of glass that I still hold has ripped through the terrycloth and into my flesh.
“Please, Savannah. We can’t let him die. Do you want that on your conscience?”
His words snap into me. And I’m back in reality.
Searing pain in my palm. The blood… God, so much blood. And I’m naked. My clothes are back at the pool.
911. Where’s my phone? In the pocket of my pants, by the pool.
Or in my purse back in the house.
I don’t know.
I don’t know.
I don’t know.
“Savannah, please!”
Yes. 911. Must call 911.
I race into the house. Where would the phone be? Does he even have a landline?
He must, or he wouldn’t have sent me back in.
The kitchen. There’s always a phone in the kitchen.
There it is, sitting on the counter. I pull it off its base. My hands shake as I tap in the numbers.
Nine. One. One.
“911. What is your emergency?”
I freeze.
“Hello? Please state your emergency.”
I force my voice to work. “Two men came to the house. Guns. One of them is unconscious. The other has been stabbed.”
“Is it your house, ma’am? Are you all right?”
“Not my house. I’m bleeding.”
“Whose house is it? What’s the address?”
“I… It’s Falcon Bellamy’s house. Somewhere on the Bellamy property. I don’t know the address.”
“That’s all right, ma’am. I can see you’re calling from a landline. We will trace the call and find you with GPS. I’ll dispatch this immediately. Leave this line open.”
“All right.” The phone receiver—slimy with blood—drops from my hand.
Now what?
Now what do I do?
I fall to the floor. But tears don’t come.
This must be what shock feels like.
Part of me is numb. Except I’m cold. So cold.
And blood. So much blood.
I don’t know what to do.
I don’t know what to—
I’m naked.
I need to at least put some clothes on.
I force myself to get up, and I unwrap my right hand.
I wash my hands. There are several punctures, but they don’t look too deep, thank goodness. I force myself to walk, to open doors until I find Falcon’s bedroom.
A wrinkled T-shirt lies on the floor. I pull it over my head. Thankfully it covers my privates. But I still need something else.
I open the top drawer of his chest of drawers and find a pair of boxer briefs. I slide them on over my ass.
Then I find some socks. I ball one up in my fist and hold onto it tightly to try to stop my bleeding.
Now what?
I want to crawl into a fetal position, forget about all of this. Because this is all so familiar to me.
I’ve seen it before.
And I don’t want to go through it again.
5
FALCON
Damn it, Savannah. Where are you?
“Savannah!” I yell.
This man is bleeding like a mother fucker. “Come on, you degenerate. Clot, won’t you?”
He has two puncture wounds in his chest, which seem to be clotting up well. I have no idea if there’s any damage done. The piece of glass Vannah used wasn’t that big. It couldn’t have gone in too far.
The more important thing right now is the carotid. It’s not like I can put a tourniquet around his neck.
His pulse is faint.
I’d just as soon let the motherfucker die, but I can’t. It’s bad enough I had to cop to a murder I didn’t commit.
I can’t let this happen to Vannah.
Savannah Gallo is a sweet and wonderful woman. If she’s indeed related to the Bianchi family, she’s one of the good guys. I know it in my soul.
And I’ve learned to trust my gut.
Carlo’s eyes open but only slightly.
“You stay with me, motherfucker,” I demand.
I check the wound on his neck.
“Thank God,” I say on a sigh.
Finally, he’s starting to clot.
“If you die on me, I’ll kill you.”
The ridiculousness of my words isn’t lost on me. But damn it, I will not have this happen to Savannah.
Not my sweet Savannah.
My sweet sin.
“Savannah!”
This time she emerges, dressed in one of my old white T-shirts and what appears to be my underwear.
And I hate to say it, but she looks hot.
Her right hand is balled in a fist, and she’s holding something. A rag maybe. Clearly trying to stop her bleeding.
“Did you call?”
She nods. “They’re coming,” she squeaks out.
“I think he’s going to make it, but he’s on borrowed time. I hope they get here quick.”
“I know him,” she says.
“Who the hell is he?”
“I mean, I don’t know him. But he’s a waiter. A waiter at Mario and Luigi’s.”
“He is?”
“Yeah. He waited on me and the girls the other night. That night you came in to get takeout. He said he knew me. Thought we had met before.”
“Had you seen him before that?”
“No. I swear. I didn’t think he knew what he was talking about.”
“Well, he sure as hell knows who you are, Savannah. You’re a member of the Bianchi family?”
She nods, shaking. “My mother is a Bianchi. My father is Vincent Gallo. He’s…”
“Doesn’t matter. None of it matters to me, Savannah. But why did they want you?” I grab her hand. It’s still bleeding, but I don’t let go.
“There’s only one reason they could want me, Falcon. They need me to do some dirty work in one way or another.”
“So that’s what you did for them in Austin?”
“Only when they made me. I swear. I begged my mom and dad to let me out. They agreed, so I came here.” Her face twists into a grimace. “I should have left the fucking country.”
“Savannah—”
“You’ve been through way too much, Falcon. First prison, and now you have to deal with these guys? I’m so sorry.”
I cup both her cheeks, my knuckle tats apparent.
Family.
Family is everything.
And I’m still fucking Savage.
“You could’ve leveled with me, you know.”
She swallows, gulping audibly. “I didn’t think I had to. I thought I was out.”
“Oh, Vannah.” I draw my gaze to my knuckle tats again, and the truth hits me like a fucking truck. “You’re never fucking out.”
Her face is white as fallen snow.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“How could you even think I’m okay?”
“I mean your bleeding.”
“The cut seems to be shallow.” She unfists her hand, and one of my socks falls out. “Looks like it’s clotting.”
“Thank God,” I say.
“You think that guy will stay out?”
“I don’t know. If he comes to, I’ll clock him again.”
“I think we should go, Falcon.”
“Honestly, I had that same thought. But if this guy starts bleeding again, he won’t make it.”
“Yeah… Besides, this is your house. They already know that. I told them your name.”
I can’t be angry with her. I’m the one who told her to call 911, and once they got here they’d know whose house this is.
This isn’t going to look good. Me. Out on parole for a week, and my parole officer here.
With me.
At my house.
Wearing my underwear.
“Savannah, I want you to go to the pool and put on your clothes.”
She nods.
“Throw those things you’re wearing in the changing room.”
“Shouldn’t we burn them or something?”
“You didn’t do anything wrong, Savannah. Burning them will just make it look like you think you did. And bring me my phone. Or yours. It doesn’t matter.”
She nods again, and she walks, a little unsteady on her feet, but she makes it back into the pool’s screened area.
Only one guy can help me, and it’s someone I swore I’d never talk to again.
But I need him.
My best pal for my whole life until I went to prison.
Leif Ramsey, an ex-Navy SEAL who’s been to a real war.
I need him on my side.
6
SAVANNAH
Several months earlier…
“You know what to do,” my father’s associate, Gunnar, says as he shoves the folder at me.
I simply nod.
I know better than to reject this proposal. I’ve been here before. And others have paid the price.
They won’t hurt me.
They wouldn’t dare hurt the granddaughter of the boss.
I open the file folder.
“Sasha Munoz,” I say, more to myself than to Gunnar.
“Yeah. She gets out on parole next week. You go to the prison to meet with her today.”
I scan her file. “Moving a controlled substance. Possession of a controlled substance.”
“Yup. We need her back at work. So you’ll be signing off on her documents, no matter what.”
I draw a breath and nod. “Whatever you say.”
“Good.”
“This is only the second woman I’ve seen working for you in the organization.”
“She’s good. She keeps her emotions at bay. Most women can’t do that.”
I can.
But I don’t say the words.
If I let my emotions rule me, I’d be throwing a tantrum right now. Letting my anger out and telling Gunnar what he can do with Sasha Munoz and her file.
I close the file folder. “Consider it done.”
Miles nods, but he says nothing. Not even a quick thank you. He leaves my cubicle.
Another day in the life of Savannah Gallo, parole officer.
Most days I go about my job, helping new parolees get back on their feet, see that they become productive members of society.
Until Gunnar, or someone else from my father’s organization, walks in with a file.
Then I bend the rules.
I turn a blind eye, look the other way.
I’ll meet Sasha Munoz today at the prison, and then I’ll never see her again. Someone else will come to the appointments. Someone else will sit in my office for the hour-long conversation. Someone else will go to her therapy appointments.
Until she gets sent away again and then gets out on parole.
Which probably won’t happen. My father allows one fuck up, but never two.
If she ends up behind bars again, she won’t see the light of day ever again.
And I’m not talking about being in solitary.
Someone on the inside will take care of her.
I’ve seen it happen.
And no matter how much I put on an act, pretend it doesn’t matter.
I can’t shake the thought that what I’m doing is wrong.
And I hate it.
A week later…
A little girl is buried. She was four years old, blond with vibrant green eyes. Her mother’s heart, her father’s pride. Her big sister’s baby.
Caught in the crossfire.
The gunman?
Sasha Munoz.
“I’m out,” I say out loud when I hear the news. “I’m so fucking out.”
To my surprise, my mother and father allowed me to leave. I don’t know whatever happened to Sasha. I never looked into it because I don’t care. She may not have meant to kill a small child, but she did.
She fucking did.
If I’d done my job—if I hadn’t looked the other way—Sasha wouldn’t have had access to a firearm. Wouldn’t have been back at work.
And that sweet little girl would be alive today.
In the long run, though, does it matter? The organization found someone to fill my shoes. To let criminals slide through the system.
Before Sasha, I hadn’t received a visit from Gunnar or anyone else for nearly a year. I complained to my parents on more than one occasion, asking them to let me out of it. When so much time went by, I thought maybe they’d finally relented.
