Ties That Bind (18 page)

She tried to pull away from him as they entered the breakfast hall but Mitch wouldn't allow it. Instead, he slipped his arm around her waist and began laughing as if she had told a hysterical joke. All eyes lifted from the table and Nicolai rose to meet them halfway.

“My apologies, Nicolai, for keeping her out so late,” he smiled warmly. “I appreciate you letting me steal her away from all her admirers.”

“I'm sure no admirer could ever hold a candle to you, Mitch,” he returned. “You two have a history unlike any others. Don't you, Antoinette?”

“Indeed,” she smiled. “I do recall Mitch trying to steal my underwear and sell it on the street corner when I was ten. Do you remember that, Daddy?  You nearly wore out his-”

“Ah, boys will be boys,” he interrupted and silenced her with a sideways glance. “I do hope you had a good time.”

“I'm sure I bored her to tears with my tales but she was kind to listen to them.” Mitch turned to her, his lips barely brushing over hers. “Get some sleep. I promise to call soon.”

She nodded then leaned to give Nicolai a kiss on the cheek. “Goodnight, father. Please wake me should you need anything at all.”

“No, my dear, sleep the day away. I'll have one of the men make sure you are kept undisturbed. You deserve your rest.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Mitch dropped down onto the leather sofa, the chill of the slick fabric immediately easing the aches and pains coursing through his body. His head fell to the arm, his eyes drifting closed.

“I could have shot you already,” Jimmie's hoarse voice filtered to him from near the doorway. “That was nearly a mill out of my own pocket that you just lost.”

“Right now that would be a welcome improvement,” he countered, struggling to sit up.

“Relax,” Jimmie pushed him back down, pressing an ice pack to the darkening bruise on his cheek.

“What the hell happened to you, anyway?  I thought you were just making a routine run up to Buffalo.”

“Hell if I know. One minute I'm cruising along listening to piss poor radio stations and the next Ashli is scraping me up off the state highway.”

Jimmie paused. “Ashli?  What was she doing there?”

“Hey, man, she's your sister,” Mitch struggled to sitting, clasping the ice to his skin as the numbness began to wash through his nerves. “Didn't she tell you she was headed that way?”

“No,” he sank down opposite Mitch and slid him a glass of water. “She told me she was going to be in Philly this weekend.”

“That's-” he trailed off, searching for the right word.

“Convenient?” Jimmie groused. “Her stories are beginning to wear thin with me.”

“Give her a break. She's probably got some boyfriend stashed up there she doesn't want you to know about.”

“She was in D.C. last week.”

“Where'd you hear that?”

“You knew?”

“Of course not. You just aren't known for having the most reliable sources.”

“Fuck you, Mitch.”

“Oh, come on, Jimmie. We've been through this shit. You going to believe every bit of gossip you hear on the street now?  Next thing you know, I'll be hold up in Quantico singing songs to the IOC.”

“Are you?”

“Man, you are losing touch with reality,” Mitch grumbled, stretching back out on the couch.

“You didn't answer.”

“Yeah, well, some things are too ignorant to dignify with a response. Especially when they come out of your mouth.”

Silence hung in the air, the clinking of Jimmie's carafe as he poured himself a glass of water the only sound in the office. Mitch waited, longer than he expected to, and finally forced his eyes open to stare at Jimmie. “What aren't you telling me?”

Jimmie was quiet, watching Mitch intently. “Why don't you get some rest?  You've been going nonstop since San Fran.”

“Jimmie, come on-”

“Really. It’s been over a month now. Even you can’t handle that pace.”

Mitch's eyes narrowed, his senses now fully engaged. “Where's Ashli?”

“Safe. In her suite.” Jimmie sank down opposite him. “Mitch, an attempt was made on Sonny's life.”

“Who did he piss off?”

“He's in the hospital, Mitch,” Jimmie said, cutting him off. “It was a professional hit. They blindsided all of his men.”

“How bad?”

“He's in critical condition but expected to live.”

“When?”

“During your run to Buffalo. When we couldn't reach you-”

Mitch nodded, waving off Jimmie's concern. “Has the hotel been locked down?”

“Teddy took care of that,” Jimmie nodded. “You've found an extraordinary talent in him.”

“I should go-”

Jimmie placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “He's asked that you not come to Atlantic. He's afraid you'll put yourself in danger. All the families could be at risk.”

“Of course,” Mitch nodded, wondering why he hadn't recognized that immediately on his own. All the families...it took a moment for the words to register. His eyes flew to Jimmie but he shook his head.

“Antoinette's fine. I made a courtesy call to Terenari to let him know of the troubles and he confirmed her safety. She's not even in the states right now.”

“Thank you,” he managed when he was finally able to exhale. “I should-”

“Rest,” Jimmie commanded. “You should rest. Then we’ll make decisions. Okay?”

When Mitch awoke hours later, his wounds had been bandaged and the once empty room had been become a bustle of conversation. Men were milling about, on alert, but none seemed worried. He locked eyes with Teddy who gave him a reassuring smile. So they were safe. At least for now.

Mitch accepted the coffee Jimmie offered him, trying to make sense of the things being thrown at him. Feds moving in on Vinetti without his knowledge, Terenari waging some clandestine war with the east coast, Sonny in the hospital at the hands of some unknown assassin?  

He glanced to Jimmie who was asking him something about a meeting they had in Miami the following week and whether or not it should be postponed considering the security issues. Something about a weapons export to Cuba. The IOC would go nuts for information like this, he thought. Could Jimmie have picked a worse country to do business with in the current political climate?  Perhaps Sierra Leone but beyond that, Mitch could think of nowhere more volatile with which Jimmie could start building ties.

“I'll need to skip the meeting.”

“Pardon?” Jimmie glanced up from his laptop, his eyes shuffling from one of his bodyguards to the other.

“I know it's bad timing,” Mitch interjected, “but there's someone I need to visit. You're welcome to come, of course, but-”

Jimmie raised his eyebrows. He'd never had anyone desert him with such cavalier. That just didn't happen to him. “And just who is so damn important?”

Mitch's eyes moved to the guards behind him and Jimmie waved them off. They stepped outside, shutting the door behind them.

“I need to see Gino,” he said.

“I've been trying to get Palmese for months. Since before California even.” Jimmie shook his head. “He's unavailable. When we get back from Miami, maybe-”

“He won't be unavailable for me.”

It wasn't arrogance, Jimmie noted. It was simple, as if Jimmie should have realized it before the words were uttered- more of a tortured whisper as if it pained Mitch to actually have to admit such a thing out loud. And, of course, that was probably true. Their alliance or friendship or whatever it happened to be was known to no one. Jimmie had been trying since San Francisco to find out anything but it had all been a fruitless search. He had been contacting Gino since then hoping he would shed some light on the issue but he had refused to return any of Jimmie's calls. The idea of going to see him face to face when he wouldn't even talk to him on the phone sent chills up Jimmie's spine, afraid he had somehow managed to offend the man without realizing it.

“Jimmie?”

Mitch was eying him with confusion, undoubtedly wondering why it was taking him so long to form a coherent response. He would go without him- Jimmie was certain of it. And then he'd never learn anything. “Yeah, okay. I'll make the arrangements.”

“Ashli must be hysterical,” Mitch managed after several minutes of silence.

“She's safe,” Jimmie returned, “I honestly haven't had enough patience to hear anything else from her right now.”

“I'll check on her.”

“Mitch-”

Mitch turned at the doorway. “Yeah?”

“She’s not-”

“What?”

“Nothing. Just let me know how she is.”

“Of course.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

“Sonny's dead.” Ashli's voice was trembling from somewhere in her darkened room.

He grimaced at her pronouncement. “No.”

“And Jimmie?”

“Safely upstairs lamenting your poor choice in men,” he answered, sinking down in the chair beside her bed and snapping on the lamp. He stared absently at the over-sized t-shirt that she had pulled down over her knees, her disheveled hair giving indication that she wasn't as calm as Jimmie expected. “No company this evening?”

“No.”

“Is it a special occasion?”

“Are you done with the pleasant insults now?”

“Your witty banter exhausts me.”

“Don't believe a girl can be both sexy and smart, do you?”

“Believe me when I say your intellectual capabilities have never been in question.”

“What did you come here for anyway?”

“My apologies. I merely came to check on your safety considering the recent events.”

“I heard the feds ransacked the Chicago office,” she offered.

Mitch raised an eyebrow. “Really?  I hadn't heard that. But,” he added more to alleviate his own worries than hers, “that office is clean. It always is. So you have no need to worry.”

“Right. I never have to worry my pretty little head, right? You and Jimmie will take care of everything and I’m just meant to play along and-”

“Not tonight, Ashli.”

“Why because I’m some delicate flower that can’t handle the truth? For chrissakes, Mitch. You know me far better than that, don’t you?”

“I'm just trying to do my fucking job, all right?  This hasn't been the easiest night for me either, you know.”

He could feel her eyes on him, surveying him. Judging and surveilling, he thought. But, for once, he didn’t care.

“I'd forgotten. You and Sonny are very close, aren't you?”

Mitch scowled rather than respond.

She moved to stand beside him, offering him a hesitant kiss on the top of his head. “I'm sorry, Mitch. For everything, but especially for this.”

He couldn't let himself dissect it...why she would be apologizing at a time like this. His anger flared at her self-absorption, pondering if she really believed that she need only say a few kind words to get him in the sack. His voice was a low growl as he stood up and straightened his clothing. “I don't need apologies. I need the names of the people that would dare do such a thing.”

“Stop.” She lunged forward to hold him back as he tried to move to the door. “I'm not good at these things. I don't know the right things to say or the right motions I'm supposed to do to make this better for you. Please,” her voice was gentler now, the tender voice from their meeting at the estate- the one he'd been waiting to hear again for over a year. “Just tell me what I can do for you.”

Before he could rationalize against it, his mouth buried into the nape of her neck, a mixture of grief and adrenaline overtaking his common sense. He pressed into her, the curves of her hips seeming tiny and fragile compared to her gruff movements. He tore hungrily at her shirt, leaving it hanging in shreds against her arms as his mouth engulfed her chilled skin. He could feel the heat rising within her as his lips blazed a path across the curves of her stomach. His hand slipped up her bare thighs, the low moan that escaped her lips causing his fingers to tighten dangerously around her throat. Ignoring any gentleness he might have shown someone else, he yanked her hair to the side, lacing his fingers painfully into the water soaked strands. His teeth buried into her shoulder as she touched the flesh of his chest...her own violent touches making him want to punish her even more. His eyes fluttered open and then closed again as she moved, and then opened wider as if his unconscious had registered something he wouldn't allow himself to believe.

The mark was small...tiny enough not to be noticed under any of her normal clothing. It was still red and irritated, slight speckles of fresh blood still clinging to her flesh and it dawned in the back of his mind that this was where she had disappeared tonight...to find solace in cocaine or heroin or whatever she had been able to get her hands on this time. He felt his stomach turn as his body reacted to her urgent motions. She was attacking him now-he knew no other way to describe it. Hands; mouth; tongue; hips... all of her body viciously smothering him as her passion turned into a demand for ownership of him.