"Anything for you, boss. Can I help you with this one?"
"No. I need to do this all on my own."
Grinder studied me for a moment then broke into a smile. "I think I like your style, boss. I really do. I'll check back with you later."
"Just keep an eye on Francesca for me. Will ya?"
He shot a look toward the door, his grin enlarging. "She's not going anywhere, boss. She's in love with you."
I chuckled, giving him an amused look.
And I was desperately in love with her, but I couldn't allow that to matter.
I waited until he was out of the room before opening the file. I'd suspected who the mole was, although I'd needed confirmation. Now, I had it.
The drive only took twenty minutes and by the time I arrived at the tree-lined street, late afternoon was settling in. I pulled the Glock from the glove compartment, adding the silencer and sliding it into my jacket. I wanted this one clean. The car was in the driveway and there were no visitors.
I moved around to the back of the house, the various tall shrubs keeping my visit from prying neighbors. The small rancher had seen better days, all three windows on the back rotten. I found the back door unlocked with no one in sight. The sound of a television came from my left, but my instincts were on high alert. When I walked into the living room, we locked eyes for a full minute, a line drawn in the sand. "You were expecting me."
"I figured there was no way you couldn't know." Shane was sitting on the couch, his revolver on his lap.
I eased two of the pictures from my pocket, moving toward the coffee table and sliding them across the surface. The pictures clearly outlined two difference conversations with Franco Massimo, including an exchange of money. "As you might imagine, if my capo could find this without any issue, you can imagine that the Feds will soon learn."
"I know." He leaned over, making certain he kept his other hand on the weapon, reaching for his drink. "Do you know how much money I make a year, Michael? Sixty-two thousand dollars. In LA. That's barely enough to keep me in this house. Twenty fucking years on the job and this is all I have to show for it, a shitty little house in crappy neighborhood. And all while mobsters are making that in a month."
"You could have come to me."
He snorted, waving the glass before gulping several sips. "And say what? Hey, I really need extra cash? I was the law, one of the good guys. I'm supposed to bring shitholes like you in."
I allowed him to vent.
Shane shook his head. "I ignored the bastard for two weeks, until he made me an offer I couldn't refuse. I just... I just wanted a better life."
There was nothing I could say.
"I did what you asked, I mean with the money for that girl. I thought about keeping it. Isn't that shitty?" he asked quietly. "Her family was really happy. I felt like I'd done something good for a change."
"You did."
"Should I offer you a drink?" he asked, reaching for the half-empty bottle.
"Not staying long."
"You've come here to finish a job. I get it. I don't deserve any less. Well done, Michael. I'm certain your father is damn proud of you." He laughed bitterly and chugged the rest of the glass. After pouring another round, he sniffed. "Why don't you just get it over with? I don't blame you. You have to kill me. That's your job."
I was struck by his inflammatory words, but also by his sadness. If I didn't handle the situation, someone else would. He knew it. I knew it. He had little recourse. Sighing, I thought about what to do. "Life is what we make of it, Shane. We're all dealt a hand because of our families, economics, and tragedies. It's what you do with them that makes a man. Find another life, Shane, one that makes you happy."
With that, I walked out of his house and his life.
Forever.
As I rounded the corner, heading for my car, a shot rang out in the neighborhood of quaint little houses where everyone was simply trying to get by. I faltered for a minute, thinking of my mother, my father, and the woman I loved.
Maybe one day I could take my own advice.
"Goodbye, Shane. Rest in peace." Francesca
Demanding.
Dominating.
Frustrating.
I'd learn to accept that Michael was these and so many other things. He'd left the house the night before one person, coming back another. While we'd enjoyed a lovely dinner, there had been almost no conversation. Whatever was on his mind was far more troubling than I knew how to deal with.
Even during the long flight, he'd seemed preoccupied, studying his emails and making business decisions.
Then the beautiful necklace he'd given me, a simple locket that held a picture of my sister. The gift had been out of the blue, even out of character for him, but something I would cherish for the rest of my life. I'd cried for twenty minutes, unable to find the right words to thank him. For the first time, I'd seen tears in his eyes. He was a freaking complicated man.
I had a feeling our relationship couldn't survive, even as our passion continued to explode with every touch. Bringing me to this amazing location was surreal for so many reasons.
"I haven't been here since I was a child." I stood on the balcony, allowing the light breeze to whip through my hair. Positano had been my family's seaside destination as a child, only seventy-five miles from my father's estate in Naples. I adored the seashore, sand between my toes and swimming in the ocean. "My family was happiest here. The simple life."
"I thought you would enjoy a diversion." His deep baritone coming from behind sent a chill through me, creating a wave of heat between my legs. We hadn't made love since the moment in the hotel. Maybe we were both too damaged.
There was something different about Michael after killing Franco, as if he'd settled into being the man he was supposed to be. I'd accepted that he would never be a regular guy, that we'd never grow old together in a tiny little house full of love and children. As much as I'd wanted to push him away, pretending I could never care about a dangerous killer, I couldn't.