Reckless (Bertoli Crime Family #2) (3 page)

T
he next day
was the sort of day that I had least looked forward to about Seattle—the sort of dreary, overcast day where the sky looked like it constantly wanted to rain but didn't. In Brazil, it’s different. When the clouds boil over dark and heavy, you know to get yourself indoors. When they were done raining, the clouds knew enough to go away, and the sky was beautiful.

Seattle clouds, on the other hand, seem to enjoy just mingling with each other, turning the entire sky into a sort of slate gray that sucks the life and pleasure out of the entire day. Everything gets washed out into a monotone yech that can only be abated by sleep. No wonder the city was full of hipsters who have to constantly drink coffee to stay awake.

The convention center was a lot of the same, with most of the men wearing dull, drab suits that looked like they were all made in the same factory and handed out to American businessmen along with one of three options in ties. Still, as things started, I quickly got into the zone and started to enjoy my work.

The key to my task at the Seattle convention was not to set up a booth. My family didn’t have the presence nor the available manpower to send such an entourage. Instead, my father trusted me to do what I did best, which was use all of my six-foot-two inches (in heels) and thirty-eight inches each of chest and hip to get the attention of the people at the convention, and then use my brains to complete the work and make the connections. We weren't planning on making any immediate sales, but instead to make the sort of introductions and inroads that could lead to future sales. That didn't mean I didn't have sales forms with me, but they were kept in my small folder case.

My immediate target, of course, were the
churrascaria
chains, the Brazilian barbecue places that could use the fact that my family offered authentic Brazilian beef for export as a selling point to their customers. So my immediate target list of people to talk to included Fogo de Chao, Rum Jungle, and Texas de Brazil. But, if the opportunity arose, I'd be happy to talk to any of the chains or even the few supermarkets that were at the convention.

In the morning, I was able to talk to the lead representative from Texas de Brazil, who sounded interested in what my family had to offer. After exchanging information, he talked with me for nearly twenty minutes, and for the most part, he kept his eyes where they were supposed to be. I was certain that he would actually give our offices in Brazil a call soon in order to get some of our winter cattle, although he stopped short on actually filling out an order form.

Skipping lunch, I used the opportunity to make some of the smaller connections I'd sought for after seeing the big players leave their booths for lunch. However, the little places, the single restaurants or small chains that were looking for anything they could as every penny was precious to them, stayed at their booths or kept circulating, hustling to make deals and connections. It was capitalism and business in its truest form, which to me was both intoxicating and dangerous. If you let yourself become too desperate or too content, you’d fail. On the outside, you have to look confident and unconcerned, but on the inside, you’re ready to jump at almost any opportunity that comes your way.

By one thirty, I was pleasantly tired, and the rumble in my stomach reminded me that I was supposed to have coffee with Tomasso Bertoli. As I finished my last conversation and went to a quieter area of the convention center to check my phone for messages, I thought about him. He was handsome—that was undeniable. He had wide shoulders and a powerfully built body that rippled with muscle even under the suit I'd seen him in. His dark brown hair reminded me of freshly ground coffee in color, and his eyes were a deep hazel amber that certainly let him charm his way into many a woman's bed, I was sure.

Despite being the daughter of a crime lord, I had a bad habit of losing myself when it came to men, including an incident in college where I
thought
I'd fallen in love with a professor. He'd used me as a 'side piece,' as I came to know the term later, while all the time, he stayed with his society wife. I'd been so ashamed that I hadn't even told my father, and since then, I hadn't seriously considered a man for anything more than to fill a need.

However, Tomasso Bertoli wasn’t a man that I could just play with. He wasn’t a man that I could just use to fill that particular need. Sure, he was sexy, but I needed to maintain at least a polite relationship with him in order to increase the chances of our families working together.

I saw that there was a message on my phone when I pulled it out, and that it was from him. He sent me a message at noon, saying he'd be by the convention center whenever I was ready. I hit the
dial
button and waited.

"Hello?" Tomasso said when he picked up, and I couldn't help but smile at the sound of his voice, even as I tried to fight it. "Luisa?"

"Yes, Tomasso, it’s me. I got your message. Are you in the area?"

"Yes, I was just doing a little shopping at a store nearby. Are you on break?" he said, sounding less cocky than he had the night before. "If so, I can meet you in about ten minutes."

"That sounds fine. I'll be in the north side of the building. Can you meet me there?"

"That would be great. I'll see you in less than ten."

He hung up, and I had to admit that his tone of anticipation bled over onto me. I was looking forward to seeing him. I started heading toward the north exit slowly, pausing to check out a few booths and drop off my business card.

I waited by the north entrance and was surprised when he walked up. Instead of the slicked back, buttoned down wise guy I'd expected from the day before, he'd gone more casual, with a pair of jeans and a shirt. "Hello."

He stopped, looking at me. "Wow. You look beautiful. I mean, not that you didn’t last night.”

His honest compliment stirred me, and I couldn't help it. I smiled. "You look much more relaxed than last night. Shall we?"

He nodded, and we started back toward the parking lot. "If you don't mind, there's a little cafe just around the corner," Tomasso said. "I've never been there, but they've got a big picture of apple pie out front, and to be honest, I could use some."

I thought about it and nodded. “Sounds great. I didn’t have much for lunch other than some samples from the convention."

We walked, my feet only slightly aching as I'd been on my feet all morning in high heels. "This is a part of Seattle I haven't missed the past four years,” Tomasso said, looking up at the sky.

I chuckled and agreed. “It’s definitely not something to inspire great works of art. On the other hand, I assume that means you value the good weather days all that much more."

"I suppose," Tomasso said. "To be honest, I don't get as much of a chance to look up at the sky. I've been on the night shift this past week."

"You're out now," I noted. "Is this your day off or something?"

He shook his head, chuckling. "Hardly. Monday's one of my busiest. I stop by a lot of the businesses that I’m supposed to pick up from on Mondays. It does tend to end early, so I used the early start, and knowing I was going to be down here, I took the chance to get out and do some shopping."

I nodded in understanding. We made our way to the cafe, where I ordered an espresso along with a small slice of chocolate cake. "So I gather that you are just getting back into the family business," I said, taking a bite. It wasn't too bad. "How’s that working out?”

He sipped at his cappuccino and sighed. "It's been harder than I thought it would be. Not so much the job itself. So far, I'm not doing anything a reasonably trained beagle couldn't do. It's the mental stress."

"Heavy is the head that wears the crown," I noted, causing him to nod. "You're not the only one who’s in such a position."

"What's it like for you?" he asked, open and honest. His face softened, and I could see the cute guy under there, not the cocky jerk vibe I’d gotten from him the night before. "I mean, you said your father wants you out of the dirty side of things."

“That’s true, but my family has a lot of things that aren’t dirty, but aren’t exactly on the up and up either. Like you, I have a lot of expectations to live up to and a lot of pressure. Being the oldest daughter, and the one that's supposed to be the leader of all of them—it's a lot to deal with when I haven't even had my twenty-second birthday yet."

Tomasso looked surprised. "You're twenty-one? I thought you were older than me. Not that you look it, just you're mature. You act . . . ah hell, I'm screwing this up—you know what I mean. I'm twenty-two. Birthday's next month."

"Me too," I said, chuckling as he tripped over his words. "What day?"

"August seventh," Tomasso said. "And you?"

I laughed hard. "Me too. It seems we are exactly one year apart in age." I sat back, sipping my coffee and enjoying my cake. He also relaxed, enjoying his drink, a sort of companionable silence growing between us. It lasted until I finished my cake and most of my coffee.

"So, a brown belt, huh?" He commented as he took his last sip, breaking the silence. "What about the rest of your family?"

I nodded. “My older brother’s also a brown, and one of my younger brothers is a purple. It’s kind of a family thing for my brothers, but I got into it because of a friend. Look, I’m glad we did this, but the afternoon session is starting, and I’d like to make another connection before the day is finished. Thank you, Tomasso."

We started back to the convention center, friendlier than I'd expected after the night before, and more than once, we laughed as we approached the center. “Do you have some spare time?" I asked as we neared the door. "Your family has business interests in restaurants, food, shipping—things like that, right?”

"Some, but mostly in the pizza industry. My friend, Jake, would be better suited for something like this. I’m not really involved with that stuff, regardless of my education,” Tomasso said before shaking his head. "But I can at least get some business cards for him, I suppose. Besides, I'd have to be an idiot to turn down an offer from a beautiful woman to spend some more time with her. And I’m no idiot."

"I don't know about that," I teased back, not even realizing I was flirting with him until the words were out of my mouth. I shook my head in disbelief and opened the door to the center, when suddenly, a man in a hooded sweatshirt collided with us, sending me sprawling to the sidewalk. "Hey!
Que porra?
"

The man went tumbling down with me, and I yelped as his knee caught me in the thigh. I got a good look at him, and he had the most remarkable face, with a scar that ran from his hairline to the middle of his left cheek, nearly bisecting his eye. His left eye was brown, while his right eye was blue. Scrambling to his feet, he took off running. "
Puta
!
Get back here! You can at least apologize!"

Tomasso, who'd also been knocked down, got to his feet and chased the man for a few feet before seeing that I was still on the ground. Coming over, he knelt next to me. "Are you okay?"

I nodded, looking down at my suit, which had a tear in the skirt that pissed me off. "My suit took more damage than I did. He caught me in the thigh with a good knee though."

"Ouch," Tomasso said, offering me his hand. I took it, surprised at how effortlessly he helped me to my feet. Those muscles weren't just beach muscles. I could tell. I took a step and winced as a high heel that I hadn't realized I'd broken gave way and my ankle twisted, causing me to stumble again. This time, though, Tomasso caught me, even if he did have to swing me around to stop my momentum. "I think you need some new shoes."

I realized that we were just inches apart, his hands on my waist and back, his expressive, sensuous lips close to mine, and I felt my breath catch for a moment. "Thank y—”

My words were cut off as an explosion ripped behind me, the blast throwing both of us to the ground. I felt a sharp pain in the back of my head, and then the world went black.

I
was confused
at first as Luisa and I went tumbling to the ground, the roar of the explosion making my ears ring. I felt something ding off my forehead, but it was a sharp sting more than anything else, and it was over before I even felt it. I was hurt more when Luisa landed on top of me, driving the breath out of my lungs. Rolling to the side, I eased her off me, blinking.

Black smoke roiled out of the door we'd just been trying to go through, and I felt my head ringing. I couldn't hear much of anything, and so I looked at her, trying to figure out what was going on. "Luisa? Luisa?"

She didn't move, and I noticed that she was bleeding from somewhere on her head. Adrenaline flooded my system as I got to my knees and checked her. She was breathing, but I couldn't hear anything when I put my ear to her chest, until I remembered that whatever the blast had been, it had certainly fucked with my hearing. Remembering the little bit I'd learned in a first-aid class, I checked her pulse on her neck and found it strong and sure. The blood was still pooling under her head, but she turned her head and groaned, which at least told me she didn't have a broken neck. "Luisa?"

She mumbled something incoherently in Portuguese, and even though I know Spanish and Italian, which are cousin languages to Portuguese, I couldn't make out the words. Looking around, I knew that whatever caused the explosion, it wasn't the place that a Bertoli or a woman who was part of a Brazilian crime family should be found when the police arrived.

Picking Luisa up in my arms, I carried her to my car and carefully placed her in the passenger seat. I ran around and got into the driver's seat, cranking my engine and hauling ass. I tried not to speed once we were more than a few blocks away, and I intentionally slowed down to avoid notice from the cops. It was bad enough that I was certain that I was on security cameras and that I was driving a black Alfa-Romeo 4c. Those things don't exactly blend in like a Ford Fiesta or a Toyota Prius.

My hearing slowly returned as I drove home, and I realized about halfway there that my phone was ringing. I pulled over into a gas station and pulled out my phone, seeing that the call was from Pietro. "Pietro?"

"There was an explosion at the civic center. Your father wanted to know if you’re okay.” As typical for Pietro, he was all business, though there was still a touch of concern in his voice.

I wiped at the cut on my head and saw that while there was some blood, I'd more or less gotten off scott-free. "I'm fine, but Luisa was knocked out. We were near the door when the blast occurred. We’re on our way home now.”

There was a muffled conversation on the other end of the line, and I heard the phone being passed over to someone. "Tomasso?"

"Dad," I replied, smiling at the worry in my father's voice. "I'm fine. But I'm bringing Luisa back to the house. She took a hit to the head. She's going to need stitches, most likely."

“I’ll have a doctor ready when you get here. Are you sure you’re okay, Tomasso?”

“We can have the doctor take a look at my ear, but it’s nothing serious. It’s ringing some, but I'm okay, Dad. I'll be home in fifteen minutes."

The whole time, Luisa groaned and muttered under her breath, and I reached over, taking her hand. "You'll be okay,” I promised, then repeated myself in Spanish. "I'll take care of you."

Dad was true to his word. Our doctor met me in the driveway of the house as soon as I pulled up, along with Pietro and Roberto, one of Dad's other younger enforcers. "Take her to the gym,” the doctor said to Pietro. "Lay her on the massage table. I can treat her there."

Pietro and Roberto carried Luisa between them while the doctor looked me over. “Not even back in town a month and already getting yourself hurt. Let me take a look."

I bent my head, and he dabbed at the cut on my forehead with an alcohol wipe. “It looks like you might have a little more character to that baby face of yours," the doctor, who had always been irascible with me in a sort of grumpy geezer sort of way, said. “Whatever hit you, it went all the way to the bone. It’s deep, but just a bandage will do."

"I got lucky," I said, wincing when the doctor applied a liquid onto the cut. It smelled bad, and not in the alcohol sense either—it was something else. "What the hell is that?”

"Surgical adhesive. Stings like hell, but it'll keep the wound closed. I think you can put your own Band-Aid on the cut. Now let me see how the young lady is doing.”

I watched the doctor hurry inside, and I saw Dad come out. His face was written with concern, and I shook my head. "I'm fine."

He nodded and clapped me on the shoulder. "And the ear?"

"Doc can check that out later. Come on, let’s see what he says about Luisa."

He shook his head and pointed to his office. "Right now, we’re going to try to find out who’s responsible with for this. Miss Mendosa is being looked after—there’s nothing we can do but get in the way.”

I swallowed my reply, knowing he was right. "Okay."

The first thing I did when we got to Dad's office was start telling him the story of walking back to the convention center from the coffee shop, stopping and repeating myself carefully when I started to ramble around the time of the explosion itself. "So this man—you didn’t get a good look at him?" He asked.

"I didn't, but Luisa probably did," I replied. "They were practically nose to nose there for a few moments. I tumbled when he hit me, so by the time I was back up, he was already running away. I didn't chase him because she was still down. Then the bomb went off, and things got a little crazy.”

He nodded knowingly, then went over to his liquor cabinet and poured me a finger of scotch whiskey into a crystal tumbler. "Here. Sip slowly. I know the doctor won’t approve, but sometimes, men of science and men of reality have different points of view."

I took it thankfully, sipping slowly. As the scotch burned its way down my throat, I focused on not coughing, letting my nerves settle down. "When I could think again, I checked on Luisa and decided I had to get us both out of there. Bertolis and explosions aren’t the sort of thing that we need to have in the same sentence."

Dad nodded and poured his own, taking a seat behind his desk. "I agree. You did well. It was the smart thing to do."

"I should have done more," I said disapprovingly. "I'm not just one of your men. I'm also your son."

"You’re not Superman, despite trying to look the part by spending so much time in the gym,” Dad said with a chuckle.

He turned on the small television he kept in his office, turning it to the local CBS affiliate. A special news report was already showing, with fire trucks and police gathered outside the convention center. We watched as the reporter, a guy who'd been with the station since I was in high school, described the scene. "The reports are preliminary, but from what I can gather, the bomb was placed in a trash can near the north entrance of the building, where attendees were coming back after a lunch break. Interior security cameras show this man placing a package in the garbage can closest to the entry hallway before running out. Unfortunately, the only camera footage released so far shows no details about his identity, although a group has come forward to claim responsibility for the attack."

The camera shot cut back to a prepackaged video, supposedly uploaded to the station soon after the attack. The screen showed a hooded figure wearing a black mask, with a giant Earth emblazoned on a backdrop behind him.
"The Gaea Defense Force takes full responsibility for this defense of our planet and mother. Those who were injured today were nothing more than viruses, bacteria who are polluting and raping our mother. Like any good child, we defend our mother. Stop the slaughter of cattle, stop the pollution of our Earth. This is the GDF. We will not back down. We will not let up."

The video continued, but the reporter's voice took over. Dad and I watched it for a few more minutes, but there was nothing more that came out. He reached up and shut off the television. “I’ve had dealings with those types before at the restaurant," Dad said, sighing as he leaned back. "They're relatively new in town—an offshoot of the environmental movement."

I sighed, finishing my scotch. “Why are they so violent?"

"They've gotten some new people involved, it seems," Dad said. “They’re probably just trying to get noticed. I think they know enough to not screw with our family, though. As for Miss Mendosa, I can’t say for certain."

"We were still lucky," I said, looking out the window. I laughed bitterly and set my tumbler down. "A few seconds later, and I would for sure not need that damn Creatine I bought today."

He finished his glass and nodded. “I’m glad that you’re mostly unhurt. Come, let’s see how Miss Mendosa is doing and then call the lawyer just in case you two were spotted on any cameras."

As always, my father had a point. "All right. Thanks for the drink."

We left his office to go down to the gym, where we found the doctor still with Luisa, who'd woken up in the time she was on the table. He was checking her eyes with his penlight and looking carefully. "Well, I don't think you have a concussion, Miss Mendosa, but I'd still be careful for a while. That laceration on the back of your scalp was pretty nasty. I had to put in thirty stitches."

She nodded slowly, laying still. "How long will they be in?"

"I'd say you can have them taken out in a week. If you're still in town, I'd be happy to do it," he said, putting his light away. He turned to see Dad and me walk into the room, and he smiled. “Other than a ruined suit and a nasty little scalp laceration, I'd say she’s okay.” He turned to me. “How's the ear, Tomasso?"

"I can hear now," I said, turning to the side while the man got his little device out of his bag and checked me out. "Guess that one just took more of a blast than the other."

"That, and you need to clean your ears out better," the doctor grumped, and Luisa chuckled on the massage table. The doctor smirked and gave me a wink. "No, seriously, you're okay. I'm sure you're a busy man, so I’m going to get out of your way.”

He left, leaving Dad, Luisa and myself in the room. I looked down at Luisa, whose suit was pretty trashed. “Thanks for having me seen to, Don Bertoli."

He shook his head and came over, putting his hand on Luisa's shoulder when she struggled to get up. "It was nothing, Miss Mendosa. After you recover some, we should contact your father. The man who ran you over is a member of a radical eco-terrorist organization, and while I doubt you were specifically targeted, we should get you protected just in case. What do you remember about him?"

"His eyes and the scar on his face," Luisa said, before describing what she’d seen. "I'm sure that makes him stand out quite a bit."

"For sure, but first, we should talk to our lawyer. No offense, but for families in our line of work, a talk with the police isn’t always the smartest thing. Or at least, an unchaperoned talk."

Luisa smiled and slowly sat up, revealing the large mass of stained hair from where the blood had soaked in. "I understand. This isn’t Brazil, where the Porto Alegre chief of police is a cousin of mine, bought and paid for. Your Seattle police are probably a bit more honest than mine."

"They aren't family," Dad acknowledged. “That’s all that matters. But come. First, let’s get you a shower—you look like hell. My niece still has some clothes here. Maybe you can wear some of her things while I send someone to your hotel to get your things."

"Don Bertoli, I don't think that would be necessary," Luisa protested, stopping when Dad held up his hand.

“You could be in danger. Until we know for sure you weren’t the target, I insist that you stay under my protection for the rest of your stay in Seattle. My son will be responsible for your immediate safety."

Dad turned and walked out of the gym, leaving behind an obviously pissed off Luisa, who stared at the door before looking at me. "Well?"

"He's a stubborn man," I explained simply, refusing to be baited into an argument to let off her anger. "Come on. The gym has a shower, and you've got a lot of blood in your hair. Doc didn't say anything about you washing up some, but speaking from experience, be careful with the scrubbing. Angelo's got a scar on the back of his head from a bike accident when we were kids, and he ripped the sutures open by accident washing his hair afterward."

"And clothes?" Luisa asked, looking at her suit. "Should I just wear this nasty mess?"

"You didn't listen very well, did you?" I said with a smirk. "He said Adriana left some things here for when she visits. She's shorter than you, but she always did like longer t-shirts for when she was painting. I'll get you some shorts too, if that's okay."

Luisa growled, but nodded. "Can you show me to the shower, at least?"

"Sure," I replied with a chuckle. I showed her the small locker room, which was normally used by the staff members who didn't live in the mansion but still wanted to use the room. "From what I remember, the water pressure's not too strong, but be careful still."

"Can you leave me alone long enough to risk showering alone, or will these terrorists come charging in while you’re fetching a t-shirt?"

I couldn't help it. Luisa was both cute and funny when she was pissed off. I laughed. "I think you can shower perfectly fine by yourself. Unless, of course, you want some company. I can help with that too. Like Dad said at dinner before, I’m a man of many talents.”

"I doubt it," Luisa hissed back, closing the curtain to the changing area. I left and headed up to Adriana’s room, where I found one of her old painting t-shirts and some basketball shorts folded in her drawers. Taking them down, I left them for Luisa, pausing to marvel at the silhouette that was barely visible against the shower curtain. Despite her bitchiness and her obvious distaste for when I was trying to be smooth, she was certainly beautiful, and I knew that I was attracted to her. I'd be a fool not to be.

"Here are your clothes," I said loudly enough to make sure I was heard. "I'll set them on the stool."

She didn't reply, and I shrugged, figuring that she was still pissed about my father's decision. I turned to go when I heard her turn the water off, and her voice was soft in the sudden silence. "Tomasso?"