when he saw two shadows in the window. As they came closer, he saw Frankie’s silhouette. His cock stirred.
“Like most women, she came to her senses.”
The sharp sound of glass shattering had him out of his truck and on the street in less than two seconds. “Shots fired at 700 Columbus Street,” Reese said into his phone. The screeching of tires followed by high beams flashing in his eyes had Reese jumping back and out of the way of the speeding car.
He hopped back into his truck.
“What the hell is going on, Reese?” Jase shouted.
“In pursuit of a black sedan, looks like a late-model Caprice.”
Reese gunned his truck and went after the car. When he turned onto Mason he cursed. The street was empty. The car didn’t have that much of a lead on him. He headed down the street, looking down each side street, and because of the traffic he couldn’t see the sedan.
“Son of a bitch!”
He picked up his phone. “I lost them. It’s like they evaporated.”
“Any side-street garages?”
“Maybe, get some units down here to start looking. I’m going back to the restaurant.”
And with that thought, the realization his main suspect might be wounded or, worse, dead sent the hair on his arms shooting straight up. He did a fast U-turn in the street.
“Unk, I’m fine, it’s just a scratch,” Francesca argued.
“You need to see a doctor,” he argued right back.
Her initial shock quickly wore off. If they were gunning for her uncle, they missed; if they were gunning for her, they came too damn close. Frankie shook her head. Instead of fear, anger blossomed in her chest. “Son of a bitch, Unk!” She dabbed at the wound on her arm with a sodden tissue. The damn thing wouldn’t stop bleeding. “Who wants me dead?”
Her uncle’s dark brown eyes snapped in unleashed anger. “Not you,
cara,
me.”
Her stomach rolled. Of course.
He pulled a fresh tissue from the box her cousin Jimmy “Peanuts” Tambouri proffered. Pressing it to her arm, he walked her down the hall to La Trattoria. Jimmy, and Unk’s longtime bodyguard Leo Stazzi followed, watching every shadow, with guns drawn in the long hallway.
As they turned to enter the restaurant from the inside of the building, Frankie stopped short. “Leo, can you run back upstairs and get my purse?”
He looked at Unk, who nodded, and they entered the quiet restaurant. It closed at eight. All non-family diners had long since left.
“Del,” Unk called, “get Sanzo on the phone.”
Della came running into the dinning room, wiping her hands on her apron. Her gray brows crinkled in question. “Don’t look at me like that, woman!” Unk commanded. “Francesca has been shot!”
Della gasped and made the sign of the cross, then hustled over to the maître d’ stand and picked up the phone. A commotion from the kitchen caught all of their attention. Della stood with the phone half raised to her ear; Jimmy cursed, drew his gun, and ran toward the kitchen as Unk pulled Frankie to the alcove behind the coat closet.
A second after Jimmy ran through the bat-wing doors to the kitchen he burst out, back first, along with another cousin, Johnny, and his little brother Mikey. The three of them looked like bowling pins crashing in the alley under the wrath of —
Frankie gasped. “Reese!”
He exploded into the room like a bull on a rampage. Every set of eyes in the place looked expectantly from Reese’s furious stance to her surprised face.
“You know this chump?” Johnny asked, rolling his meatball of a brother off him. Jimmy hurried to his feet, his semi trained on Reese.
“He’s my model.”
The old man scowled, giving Reese the hostile look he reserved for those on their way out. She swallowed hard. “What’s going on here?” Unk demanded.
Frankie looked at Reese’s angry face. “I — ah, Reese was supposed to meet me here at nine.”
“I found him snooping around out back,” Johnny said.
Mikey added the obvious. “Yeah, he coulda
“Like most women, she came to her senses.”
The sharp sound of glass shattering had him out of his truck and on the street in less than two seconds. “Shots fired at 700 Columbus Street,” Reese said into his phone. The screeching of tires followed by high beams flashing in his eyes had Reese jumping back and out of the way of the speeding car.
He hopped back into his truck.
“What the hell is going on, Reese?” Jase shouted.
“In pursuit of a black sedan, looks like a late-model Caprice.”
Reese gunned his truck and went after the car. When he turned onto Mason he cursed. The street was empty. The car didn’t have that much of a lead on him. He headed down the street, looking down each side street, and because of the traffic he couldn’t see the sedan.
“Son of a bitch!”
He picked up his phone. “I lost them. It’s like they evaporated.”
“Any side-street garages?”
“Maybe, get some units down here to start looking. I’m going back to the restaurant.”
And with that thought, the realization his main suspect might be wounded or, worse, dead sent the hair on his arms shooting straight up. He did a fast U-turn in the street.
“Unk, I’m fine, it’s just a scratch,” Francesca argued.
“You need to see a doctor,” he argued right back.
Her initial shock quickly wore off. If they were gunning for her uncle, they missed; if they were gunning for her, they came too damn close. Frankie shook her head. Instead of fear, anger blossomed in her chest. “Son of a bitch, Unk!” She dabbed at the wound on her arm with a sodden tissue. The damn thing wouldn’t stop bleeding. “Who wants me dead?”
Her uncle’s dark brown eyes snapped in unleashed anger. “Not you,
cara,
me.”
Her stomach rolled. Of course.
He pulled a fresh tissue from the box her cousin Jimmy “Peanuts” Tambouri proffered. Pressing it to her arm, he walked her down the hall to La Trattoria. Jimmy, and Unk’s longtime bodyguard Leo Stazzi followed, watching every shadow, with guns drawn in the long hallway.
As they turned to enter the restaurant from the inside of the building, Frankie stopped short. “Leo, can you run back upstairs and get my purse?”
He looked at Unk, who nodded, and they entered the quiet restaurant. It closed at eight. All non-family diners had long since left.
“Del,” Unk called, “get Sanzo on the phone.”
Della came running into the dinning room, wiping her hands on her apron. Her gray brows crinkled in question. “Don’t look at me like that, woman!” Unk commanded. “Francesca has been shot!”
Della gasped and made the sign of the cross, then hustled over to the maître d’ stand and picked up the phone. A commotion from the kitchen caught all of their attention. Della stood with the phone half raised to her ear; Jimmy cursed, drew his gun, and ran toward the kitchen as Unk pulled Frankie to the alcove behind the coat closet.
A second after Jimmy ran through the bat-wing doors to the kitchen he burst out, back first, along with another cousin, Johnny, and his little brother Mikey. The three of them looked like bowling pins crashing in the alley under the wrath of —
Frankie gasped. “Reese!”
He exploded into the room like a bull on a rampage. Every set of eyes in the place looked expectantly from Reese’s furious stance to her surprised face.
“You know this chump?” Johnny asked, rolling his meatball of a brother off him. Jimmy hurried to his feet, his semi trained on Reese.
“He’s my model.”
The old man scowled, giving Reese the hostile look he reserved for those on their way out. She swallowed hard. “What’s going on here?” Unk demanded.
Frankie looked at Reese’s angry face. “I — ah, Reese was supposed to meet me here at nine.”
“I found him snooping around out back,” Johnny said.
Mikey added the obvious. “Yeah, he coulda
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