REMEDY: A Mafia Romance (Return to Us Trilogy Book 3) (16 page)

I suck in a quick breath. "What?" No!

"Before the vote, he blackmailed Gerry to stand down and to force his side to vote for him. I went up against Bernard. Gerry didn't run and backed Bernard instead."

"Oh no."

"Luckily, Gerry doesn't have that much control over his men and enough of them voted for me to earn me the win. Bernard was pissed and stormed out. I'm waiting for the news of the transition to calm down before I handle it. I can't kill him now."

He talks like he's planning when to go to the grocery store, not ending a man's life.

"Kill Uncle Bernie?"

"I have to. He threw you to the sharks, and he'll do it again."

"Oh." My shoulders fall, and I stare at his chest.

"You don't want me to do it?" His voice softens.

"Well, he's… I mean, I love him. Even if he betrayed me."

"You're loyal to a fault, my dear. Loving the wrong men your whole life."

"Don't say that. I love the right men. No one is perfect. We all have flaws."

He laughs. "Yeah, right."

He rubs the back of his hand along my cheek, and I'm lost in the ice-blue glint in his eyes.

"Does Aunt Helen know Uncle Bernie told Senator Boothby about me?" I whisper.

"No, I don't think so. That's why I didn't want to get involved back at the office. When she finds out about this, his cheating will be the least of her problems. I believe Helen is faithful to you. She'd never forgive Bernard for this."

"Let's plan a meeting with Aunt Helen to tell her. I should be there so she can lean on me for support."

"Okay."

He lowers his head and presses his lips to my ear. "I have to ice Gerry too."

His cold words freeze my heart. "You do?"

His nose rubs in my hair as he nods. "We can't let anyone hold that kind of power over you."

"I see."

He pulls back and examines my face. "You don't want me to take out Gerry either, do you?"

"I'm not sure. I googled him. He has a wife, kids, grandkids. His children are my half-siblings. Their kids are my nieces and nephews. They're innocent. They'll never know about me, but we are related by blood."

"His blood is poison, Ivy."

I glare at him for calling me poison Ivy. A gust of wind pushes my hair into my face. I hold it back with my fingers. "Can't we convince Gerry to keep my identity a secret? He wouldn't want it to get out, right?" There must be another way besides murder.

"Yes, but if you're dead, there's no evidence. Much safer for him. He'll try to kill you."

"Even if you're the boss?"

He cups my face in his hands, and his thumbs stroke by my ears. "He might not. He knows it's a death sentence. If you want him to live, I can allow it. But he'll need one hell of a convincing warning to stay clear of you."

"Take me with you to warn him."

His head snaps back and his brow furrows. "No way in hell."

"Please. I need to be there when you threaten him. I want to watch."

He shakes his head. "Fuck, no. You're insane. Way too dangerous. Right now, you're clean if anyone asks. You witness this, you're an accomplice to a crime."

"Let me go with you. I'll be good, I promise. I have to be there. I need the peace of mind that he won't ever come for me."

He growls and drops his hands from my face. He stares at the ground and shuffles his feet.

"Let me think about it," he mumbles.

"We're partners. We tackle challenges together. Let me come with you."

"I said let me think about it," he snaps back.

He's totally letting me do it. I love when I win.

Jacade

The wooden wall of the crack house scratches against my back as I crane my neck to catch a glimpse out the window. Ivy's mirroring me at the opposite window, her gloved hands pointing her gun toward the ceiling.

She shoots me a wicked grin from beneath her black beanie.

I'm in trouble. She loves this shit.

In the alley outside, Shane taps his foot twice. Gerry's been spotted. The slight movement of Shane's arm under his blanket is the camera turning on. We've got him.

Gerry walks into the alley wearing a black trench coat and a ridiculous hat tilted forward on his brow. He walks up to the dealer leaning against the cement wall of the alley.

"How much you got?" Gerry asks Felix.

"Eighteen grand. Sold all of it."

"Even the crank?"

"Yeah, it's all gone."

Felix hands Gerry an envelope, and Gerry stashes it in his inside pocket.

"Good job, Felix. Another shipment's waiting for you at dock eleven. Don't let anyone see you."

"I won't, boss. You know I'm good."

Yeah, he's good. Good at getting bought off to save his fucking neck.

Gerry nods at Felix and turns to leave.

In three steps, he passes by the door. My foot kicks the door open, and I attack him from behind, pulling him into a strong arm choke. Shane stands and covers me. Felix takes off running like I paid him to do.

Gerry grapples at my forearm around his neck. Really, dude? A former cop doesn't remember any moves? I could've easily killed him by now.

He shakes off the shock and kicks his right foot flat against my knee, trying to gain leverage.

Now we're talkin'. I wanna fight. Don't make it easy for me, Boothby.

He wedges his chin down but can't get low enough to bite me. I realign my hold and pull my forearm into a choke he knows will snap his fucking neck if he struggles.

He jabs his elbows at my gut, but I yank his neck to my chest, forcing him off balance.

Working my free arm under his shoulder, a vicious arm bar has him screaming in pain. He's easy pickins as I drag him through the door to the crack house and close it behind me.

I swipe his gun from his hip holster and release him with a heel kick to his spine. He shoots forward and lands on his ass in the filth of the floor.

"What the hell?"

"Hello, Gerry."

"Trip? What the fuck!"

"You make a lucrative deal out there, G? Eighteen grand for a load of crank. Sweet."

"Fuck you, Trip."

A quick check out the window confirms Shane's guarding the door, an M-16 at his side like a third arm. Black from head to toe, he's invisible and motionless.

Ivy's beanie bobs up from behind a couch in the corner, her pink nails digging into the fabric.

Gerry trembles at my feet and watches my hand pick up a discarded hypodermic needle from the floor.

I ram it in his neck above his clavicle.

"Argh! What the fuck!" His screams make me laugh.

Ivy flinches, but keeps her eyes on the show. She's fucking unshakeable.

He dislodges the needle from his neck and tosses it to the floor.

Oh look, blood. Excellent.

I nail him with another one in his trapezius. He can barely reach it, but manages to arch enough to pull it out.

"Fuck!"

"I gotta burn you, Gerry. Anyone who knows Ivy's identity must die."

"Ivy? You're gonna kill me over Ivy?"

"Yep."

"I haven't touched her."

"True. But unfortunately, Bernard let you in on our secret. Now you can't live."

I jam a long needle into his upper quad. I think I hit bone. Nice.

"Fuck! Are those empty? Are they clean?"

"No and no. The poor senator from Illinois overdosed in a crack house with eighteen grand in cash in his pocket," I say, mocking the cadence of a news reporter.

"Trip, no. Spare me. Please. What can I do?"

"Nothing. You've made your last deal. Goodbye."

I raise my pistol and aim it between his eyes.

Ivy emerges from her hiding spot. "Wait!" She struts into the room in her fucking high-heeled boots.

Woman, you don't need to be gangsta chic to threaten a man, you need to be able to run fast without breaking an ankle.

"Don't kill him, Trip. That would make us just as bad as him," she says in the same confident tone she used when she was conning Viktor.

I add it to my memory bank, so I'll forever know when she's pulling a fast one on me.

She makes eye contact with Gerry. "You killed my mother."

"What? No."

"You killed her. Vera Carillo. She was my mother. She loved you, and you killed her."

"No. I didn't."

"Don't bother denying it,
Dad
. I heard you confess it to my uncle Bernie."

"Ivy… Ugh!"

He buckles in pain when my toe connects with his liver. "Don't utter her name."

I saunter around Gerry and stand next to Ivy. "Now my woman here wants to offer you leniency. I'm not in favor of it, but she's got some misplaced sense of loyalty to you."

"Thank you, Trip. Thank you, Iv—Uh, I mean, thank you."

That's right. Don't even think her name.

"Here's the new deal. You do not know her, capishe?"

He bobs his head frantically. "Yes, Trip, uh, boss."

Good answer.

"Don't even consider calling a hit on her. If I catch wind you thought of her, I'll sink your whole clan. Your wife, your children, their children—there won't be a Boothby walking this earth when I'm done."

Drool runs down his chin as he nods like a moron.

"I'll take you and your family out on a boat and watch the cement dry around your shoes. I'll laugh as you all scream and gasp for air before sinking to the bottom of Lake Michigan. The news will report the tragic accident at sea that decimated a whole family. The Boothbys will lie in rest with Vera's soul down there."

"Trip. No. No. I won't say anything. I won't talk about her."

"She does not exist to you."

"I got it. I got it. You got it. Deal. Just let me go, please." He cries like a baby.

How did he get to second seat being such a pussy?

"You spend your whole life cowering in fear, Boothby? I got no respect for that."

I check out Ivy's expression. She's staring down at him with… wonder?

No fucking way, Ivy. He's not your father. He's scum of the earth. We need to talk about this later.

"You've been warned, Trip style. Never go against it."

"Yes." He stares at the floor.

I wrap my arm around Ivy's neck and we stride out the door, leaving Boothby gasping and grunting on the floor.

No need to tell him the needles were clean and empty. Let him sweat for a while.

Ivy

Crunch
!

What the… My heel smashes something crinkly and hard on my first step into my apartment. I peer under my shoe at the shiny lump of red foil.

A Hershey's Kiss? A big one—twice the size of the normal chocolate candy.

In fact, scarlet, over-sized Hershey's Kisses are sprinkled in a twisting trail all over my hardwood floor!

I follow the Hansel-and-Gretel path to the kitchen and discover a single long-stemmed red rose and a note lying on my counter. Frosty dewdrops tickle my nose when I raise the rose to smell its natural perfume. I pick up the handwritten note.

For years, I've kissed the ground you walk on
.
I always will
.
Follow the trail to your surprise
.
-J

This is what he was doing today? I thought it seemed odd for him to disappear on a Saturday.

Clutching the rose to my chest, I tiptoe between the kisses to the bedroom. A silver garment bag drapes over the edge of my bed. Another note—this one on a prescription pad—waits for me on top of a boot-sized ivory shoebox.

For: You.

Night on the town. Be ready at 5 pm.

Sharp.

P.S. Open the door. -J. Jordan

What does he mean open the door?

Knock-knock-knock
.

The note flutters from my hand.

Knock-knock-knock
.

I hustle to the front door, careful not to crush the remaining kisses. The security monitor shows a woman waiting on my porch. I pause with my hand on the alarm keypad before opening the door.

Trust no one
.

"Hello?" I say through the intercom.

"Ms. Summers?" Glossy coral lips smile around gleaming white teeth.

"Can I help you?"

"I'm Kimber." She hesitates. "I'm here to do your hair and makeup."

She appears legit, and Jacade's note said it was okay. I open the door to a cute little cupcake of a woman—petite frame, ebony skin, inky eyebrows arched over exotic eyes. She hands me a card with a sparkly silver fox in the background.

The
Painted Fox Makeup Artistry by Kimber Evans

"Oh! Come in, come in. I'm sorry. You caught me off-guard. Please, call me Ivy."

Wow. A professional to do my hair and makeup for our date tonight!

She bounces past me, her buxom figure wrapped tight in a ribbed coffee-colored turtleneck and stretchy brown corduroys. Her leopard print boots match the thick belt around her tiny waist. She wheels her supplies behind her in a pink camo suitcase.

"Where would you like me to set up?"

"How about in my bedroom by the vanity?"

"Sounds great."

I show her to my room, and she unpacks her case on the counter.

"Have a seat, Ivy." She points to the chair.

"Thank you." I sit and look at her in the mirror.

"What would you like me to do with your hair?"

"He likes it down." I leave out the
because he likes to wrap it around his wrist and pull
part.

"You have a nice natural curl."

Well, that's one way to describe my unruly mane.

"Have you ever straightened it?"

"I've tried, but it won't behave."

"Oh, I can handle it." She plugs in her flattening iron and rests it on the counter to warm up. "What about your makeup? You want Sasha Fierce or Becky with the good hair?"

I laugh because she's adorable. "I don't know. I'm not sure where we're going."

"What color is your dress?"

"I haven't looked at it yet. Wanna check it out?"

"Heck, yeah. Show me."

She follows me to my bed. We both gasp as the colorful, glittering gown emerges from the bag.

Good lord, it's stunning. Sequined ivy leaves start out emerald at the top and bleed to sage at the bottom.

Kimber's eyes light up. "Ooh! Is that a Vera Wang?"

I glance at the tag on the dress. "Yes, it is!"

"Let's see the shoes!" She claps her hands.

The shoebox holds a to-die-for pair of viridescent Louboutins. I lift them up, marveling at the finely sculpted leaves spiraling to the sky from the sandaled base.

"The leaves wrap up the calf!" The column of leaves springs down and back up at my touch. Awesome.

She squeals. "Oh, girl. Those are unbelievable. I know exactly how to do your hair and makeup now."

She whirls around and scampers back to her supply box. She plays Beyonce's Lemonade on her phone and bops around. The music and her energy zing through the room.

As she straightens my hair, I decide to ask. "So, are you from Chicago?"

"No, I grew up in Atlanta. Came out here to try my hand at acting. I got lucky and met Jacade when I was working as a waitress at Mogul."

"Oh, are you one of his girls?" I'm seriously hoping she's not.

"Yeah."

Oh. A dead weight drops in my stomach.

"He helped me get my makeup business going. He paid my beauty college tuition."

"That was nice of him." And totally something my magnanimous hot ass doc would do.

"He's helped lots of Mogul's gals follow their dreams. I have a built-in client base from the models and actresses he refers to me."

I guess my man takes care of his
girls
. Well, that's a relief.

She finishes dabbing and blotting me and—wow, she is good. She swept my bangs to the side and merged them seamlessly with the rest of my hair. My eyelids smolder with grays and hints of blue-green. I'm all set to bash cars with a baseball bat named Hot Sauce!

I glance at my phone. I only have twenty minutes to finish dressing. "Thank you so much, Kimber. You're so talented!"

"You're welcome. You look sensational. Have fun tonight."

I hug Kimber goodbye and rush back to my bed. I slip the underwear off the hanger—a matching set of silky bra and panties. The cute green and beige thong is held together with thick silk bows that tie at the hips.

A blush heats my cheeks at the thought of him pulling the string with his teeth to remove them.

The silky dress caresses my skin like a satin sheet as it slips down my torso and hips. Strategically placed ivy leaves layered over nude mesh create the impression of a svelte hourglass figure. A hefty amount of cleavage protrudes from the plunging neckline. The skirt ends modestly above my knees, but two dangerously high cuts on the sides reveal lots of thigh. If I kick my leg out, he'd be able to see my butt cheek. I hope we're not playing soccer tonight.

It takes some effort to slide my pointed toes into the helical straps of the heels, but once they're on, the leaves embrace my ankles and calves. Oh my. He's restraining me with a vine.

A twirl in the mirror reveals a glamorous and sexy garden enchantress with shiny straight hair, a kick-ass dress, and to-die-for shoes!

Rap-rap-rap
.

Must be five o'clock. Sharp. I scramble to the door.

Rap-rap-rap
.

Oops. I should check the security panel just to make sure.

Yep, there's the top of his onyx, spiked hair as he looks down at the ground.

I open the door, and my belly hyper-twists like I'm careening down the inverted Raging Bull roller coaster at Great America.

My tiny doorway is dwarfed by his immense figure in a black, tailored tuxedo. As he raises his head, the porch light catches in his eyes, and they gleam against his tanned skin. The sooty shadow along his angled jaw thins to a fine line up his chin and widens again under his bottom lip.

Sweet Jesus. With that narrow tie, he looks every bit the suave mobster, his tattoos hidden beneath his polished exterior.

His gaze drops to my shoes and scours my ensemble—adorned calves, bare knees, sequined hips, exposed cleavage.

"Hi," I say softly, bending one knee and leaning my head on the door.

He's silent, his icy stare fierce on my thigh that has popped out between the panels.

"Fuck me." He rubs his crotch and licks his lips. "I shoulda picked a less revealing dress."

With one step, his fingers glide through my hair at the nape of my neck, and his mouth lands on my face. His tongue parts my lips and curls around mine. He angles his head to deepen the kiss, our tongues tangoing in perfect rhythm. The fifteen minutes Kimber spent on my lips have been erased, but I don't care. He's kissing me and lighting me on fire. He could rip this dress off me and mess my hair, and I'd love every second.

He pulls away and skims his lips to my cheek. "No woman more ravishing than you has ever walked the earth." His deep, husky voice rumbles in my ear.

I wipe the smudged lipstick from the corner of his mouth. "Thank you."

"Now, let's go before I fuck you in the doorway."

"Kay. Oh, my coat."

"Yes. Good idea." He clears his throat and holds my coat open for me.

As we walk down the stairs to his Ferrari, the slight press of his hand on my lower back sends a shudder through my spine.

He slides on his shades before opening the passenger-side door for me. I glance down and notice he's wearing Italian leather shoes, similar to the ones he wore the day I met him.

The shoes… the shades… the glossy green enamel of his car…

My college graduation.

Uncle Bernie and Aunt Helen squinted into the setting sun as we emerged from the auditorium. Bryn and Greg laughed behind us. A gusty wind blew my hair and gown. I squeezed my diploma tight and held my robe down, but my cap blew off and clunked in front of me, rolling away in some weird kind of square-tire motion. My heels clicked down the cement stairs as I clambered after the wayward royal-blue cardboard and tassel. The cap stopped, wedged against the buffed tire of a sleek sports car—a hunter green Ferrari.

I blocked the sun with my hand and took in the sight of a tall, hot guy in a black suit perched on the driver-side door, arms and ankles crossed. He stared down at me through midnight Ray-Bans.

"I'm sorry. Excuse me. My cap flew right under your tire."

A haughty smile formed on his lips, but he didn't respond.

"Ivy! Come back here!" Uncle Bernie chased me into the parking lot.

The man in the suit stiffened and stood tall. His lips frowned. He folded into his car and fired the engine. I jumped back as he gunned it out of the parking lot.

Back on the sidewalk outside my apartment, I pause inside the door of the car and catch his eye.

"Have you always driven Ferraris?"

His shoulders tense, a chord straining in his neck. "I have other cars. You've seen them."

"But did you have another Ferrari before this one?"

"Yes." He digs his finger in his collar and tugs at his tie.

"Was it dark green?"

He grips the top of the doorframe and crowds me with his body. "Get in."

"Did you come to my college graduation?"

"Get in." He pushes my shoulder, forcing me into the car.

He closes my door and strides around the front to the driver's side. Worry creases his brow.

He raises his shades and purses his lips. "Yes. I was there. Bernard waved me off from behind your back. He was furious, but I had to see you graduate. You'd fought hard for it. I was proud of you. And you looked hot as fuck in that blue gown with pink heels."

I swallow hard, the sequins of my dress rough against my hand. "Were you going to tell me?"

"No." He speeds onto the street and heads north.

I lose track of where we are when he zooms down two alleys and onto a busy street. He pulls to the side and parks in a reserved spot.

I gawk out the window at an iconic red marquee. "Wrigley Field?"

"Yep." He climbs out and walks around to help me out of the car.

I grip his hand and he leads me through metal doors into a long, dark tunnel. We emerge to a quiet stadium. No cheering fans, no players in the dugout. The retiring sun shines off empty rooftop bleachers on the buildings surrounding the ballpark.

He motions over his shoulder to a square dinner table set for two. Candles flicker next to brilliant crystal glasses. A heat lamp creates a warm glow around the intimate setting that looks out of place in this outdoor arena.

"No way! We're having dinner in the outfield!" My hand covers my mouth.

"Yes, ma'am, we are."

"Are you kidding me? This is so…" I choke on my words.

He leans in and places a tender kiss on my cheek. "Have dinner with me." He pulls out my chair and sits opposite me.

"Bonjour." An older gentleman wearing a black suit with a towel over his forearm appears from behind me. He pours us each half a glass of Merlot.