The Woman in the Trunk

"What are you doing here?" he asked, jerking his chin up as he sucked in his stomach. It was a ridiculous move, a testament to the fact that he felt insecure around me. It had to piss him the fuck off that panties dropped wherever I went, and he hadn't been able to get laid without paying for it for years.

"I ran into Emilio when I was finishing up a job. We'll have that money," I added, even though I was sure my father didn't keep up-to-date with the day-to-day debt collecting like I did. "But he said there was a new job. I wanted to volunteer for it."

"You?" he asked, brow lowering. "I thought you were too busy for anything."

"I recently had an opening." Thanks to Emilio. "I'd be happy to handle it. That way you can have Brio, if you need his... particular skill set. We all know how long and tedious house guests can be."

"True," he agreed, torn. On the one hand, he knew I was right. On the other, he didn't like knowing that. "And I already agreed to handle that shit with New Jersey," I told him, meaning a meeting I had subtly stolen out from underneath him with the boss of the New Jersey mafia, the one who ran the import docks. My father was trying to broker a deal to get the Russians to be able to bring in guns. But the New Jersey family was resisting, as they had a treaty with the local arms-dealing MC. It was delicate business. And my father was a bull in a China shop. "I can do this on the way there or back," I said, shrugging. "Why make anyone else go out of their way when I am already all over the place?"

"Alright. Yeah. I think that will work. I am going to need Brio. I just remembered." Bullshit. That was bullshit. But I had learned a long time ago to let him have his pride. He was ugly if he had that bruised.

"Where am I picking up my new guest?" I asked.

"She is usually kicking around the city," he told me, waving a hand. "But there is a vacation house down in Cape May. That's where my intel says she will be for the weekend," he said, scribbling an address on a piece of paper, holding it out.

Pushing off the wall, I walked over and took it, checking it out, tucking it into my pocket to shred when I left.

"Anything I need to know?"

"Don't know much. She's small. Five-two. Black hair. I was told that you would know her when you saw her."

"Okay, got it," I agreed, nodding. "You want me to handle the contact with her father? Our usual check-ins?" I clarified. "Take some burden off you," I added, stroking that notorious ego of his, because he never seemed to sense my subtle ways of stealing the risky jobs out from under him.

"I have a lot going on now. That should work."

"Great. I got it. I will head out tomorrow," I added, making my way out to the door. "I will tell Frank to get you more coffee on my way out."

With that, I left before he could engage me in another argument. It was important I stayed as diplomatic as possible. With my father's temper, there was no telling what he was capable of. There had been more than one capo who took out his own son in the past. I didn't want to be added to that statistic.

Sure, from the outside, the simple answer would be to take out my old man, get Biblical and shit. But if I did that, the other bosses would take me out. Because you didn't get to take out a made man in the mafia unless you got the approval of all the other bosses.

So for the time being, I had to adapt, accept, work things behind the scenes like I had been doing for years.

Back at my place, I packed a bag, had a couple drinks, tried to tell myself that it didn't bother me that I was heading out of town to fucking kidnap a woman—something that didn't go against my father's moral code, but did go against mine.

I consoled myself that this leg of the job would be easy, just a quick snatch and grab. Not too much of a hassle. No one would get hurt.

Then, hopefully, it would all be over quickly.

I had never been more wrong about anything in my life.Chapter TwoGiana"Gigi, you're here," Penny, the housekeeper of the Cape May house, greeted me as I made my way in the door.

"Oh, Jesus," I hissed, hand flying to my chest as I whirled around to find the woman sitting in the rocking chair my grandfather used to occupy every summer of my childhood.