Lethal Legacy: A Novel (Guardians of Justice) Page 16

  The longing that filled her eyes as she clung to the edge of the door set his pulse hammering. “I appreciate your restraint. And for the record . . . I hope we wrap it up really fast.” She handed him the pumpkin bars.

  “So do I. Now lock up.” With one last touch of her cheek, he exited.

  He waited until he heard the new dead bolt click into place before he continued to his car. Until all the questions about her father’s death were answered, he wanted her house locked up tight.

  But he was glad she was unlocking her heart. Letting him in. And he was glad he’d reciprocated.

  As he climbed into his car and took one last look at the light spilling from her windows, he couldn’t help smiling. Based on what Mitch had said earlier, Alison would be calling him soon for a chat. As usual, he’d evade any personal questions.

  If all went well, though, his sister would be getting an earful in the not-too-distant future.

  13

  The door on the side-entry garage of the suburban Buffalo ranch house opened, and from his parked position down the street Vincentio tightened his grip on the wheel of his car.

  The time had come.

  He watched as an older-model SUV slowed in front of the house, then pulled into the driveway and disappeared inside the garage. He’d have to reward his contact for supplying such accurate information. His son’s wife—Eileen—had arrived home from her teaching job, Jason in tow from day care, within minutes of the schedule the man had passed on. And his son wouldn’t be home from his job as a carpenter—Vincentio’s mouth curled in distaste at the shame of a Rossi doing blue-collar labor—for at least an hour.

  That gave him plenty of time to take care of his business.

  After exiting the car, he retrieved the cane he rarely used, then tucked the teddy bear under his arm and walked toward the modest Lancaster house. He drove by it now and then, when loneliness overwhelmed him. On one occasion his son had been cutting the grass. Vincentio was glad he’d worn sunglasses that day, though Marco had given his car no more than a passing glance as his father had driven by, gripping the wheel with sweaty palms.

  They were sweaty today too, despite the biting chill in the November air.

  Vincentio Rossi with sweaty palms. He shook his head. What a difference from the old days, when he’d had nerves of steel. When he’d have laughed at the notion that a baby could produce such anxiety.

  Funny how a man’s priorities could change.

  He paused at the bottom of the steps that led to the front door. The house was well maintained. Paint crisp, porch swept, no rotting wood. But it was small. Plain. Ordinary. And so much less than Marco could have had. A gracious two story in Amherst—or maybe Orchard Park—could have been his for the asking. Vincentio had plenty of money stashed in his offshore account, thanks to regular deposits during his working years. He’d intended most of those funds to be a legacy for his son.

  But Marco wanted none of it. Dirty money, he’d called it, when Vincentio had phoned him soon after his release from prison—the one and only time they’d talked in thirty-one years.

  The time Marco had said never to contact him again.

  His son’s rejection had been more painful than the stab wound he’d received decades ago from a disgruntled—and soon-to-be-deceased—colleague. But it hadn’t come as a great surprise, given their long estrangement. So, after a few more futile attempts to connect, he’d accepted his son’s decision.

  A grandson, however, changed things.

  A grandson deserved to know his nonno.

  Hand on the railing, Vincentio climbed the six steps to the front porch, huffing too much. He should cut back on his visits to Romano’s. Reduce his carbs and cholesterol. But how could he give up one of his few remaining pleasures?

  Unless he had visits with a grandson to look forward to.

  And maybe, God willing, he would after today.

  He repositioned the teddy bear under his arm, leaned forward, and pressed the doorbell.

  Ten seconds passed. Twenty. Thirty.

  Was Eileen peeking through a window? Had Marco instructed the wife Vincentio had never met to ignore any contact from him?

  Just when he thought his trip had been wasted, the door opened.

  The young woman with strawberry blonde hair who stood on the other side was lovely. None of the photos provided by his contacts had done her justice. But it was the infant in her arms who caught—and held—his attention. Even at such a young age, his jet-black hair and dark eyes branded him a Rossi. A rush of pride warmed Vincentio’s heart. Marco might try to deny his son his heritage, but he couldn’t deprive him of the Rossi looks.

  Suddenly Eileen eased back, and he lifted his gaze. She was staring at the teddy bear tucked under his arm, her expression wary.

  “Hello, Eileen.” He tried for a smile, but his stiff lips wouldn’t cooperate. “I’m Marco—Mark’s—father.”

  “I know.” The words, a mere whisper, held a tremor of fear. “I’ve seen your picture.” She eased the door a few more inches toward the closed position.

  Anger bubbled up inside Vincentio. What sort of monster had Marco painted him to be, that she would be so frightened?

  With supreme effort, he subdued his fury and managed to produce a smile. “I don’t know what Mark has told you, Eileen, but you have nothing to fear from me. Do I look dangerous?”

  He knew he didn’t. He shaved in front of the bathroom mirror every day. Saw the creases in his face, the thinning gray hair, the rheumy eyes behind the thick glasses. He was just a portly old man. The grandfatherly type.

  To illustrate that point, he pulled the teddy bear from under his arm. “This was in the package you and Mark sent back. I know he wants nothing to do with me, and I’ve learned to accept that, though the pain of it never goes away. I only ask that you let an old man have a chance to know his grandson.”

  He leaned on the cane, using it to full effect. “I’m seventy-four, Eileen. I have health problems. I doubt I have a lot of years left. But I’d like to spend some of them with that little guy.” He nodded toward the baby in her arms and extended the teddy bear. “Won’t you please at least take this small gift? And think about what I’m asking? I’ll accept whatever terms you and Mark set, as long as I can spend some time with Jason.”

  Seconds ticked by as she appraised him. A car honked on the street behind him. A dog barked in the distance. The rumble of an airplane reverberated in the sky above. From somewhere, the smell of frying hamburgers wafted toward him, the aroma of onions mingling with the smell of baby powder.

  He watched her the way he used to watch his adversaries, face placid, alert to every nuance of her demeanor. And he knew the instant she wavered. Her features softened infinitesimally. Her grip on the door loosened enough to let the blood flow back into her knuckles. Her eyes went from fearful to uncertain.

  He’d won. With Eileen, anyway.

  Summoning up his next smile was easy as he bent and set the teddy bear beside the door. “I’ll tell you what. Why don’t I leave this here and let you think about my request? I tucked my cell phone number into his pocket.” He gestured toward the red jacket the teddy bear wore. “If you can find it in your heart to arrange a way for me to get to know my grandson, call anytime. Day or night.”

  With a polite dip of his head, he turned. Grasping the railing, he descended the steps and walked back to his car, leaning heavily on the cane. He didn’t look back until he slipped behind the wheel and closed the door.

  Through the tinted windows, he saw that she was still watching him. He fitted the key into the ignition. Started the car. Pulled away from the curb. But he kept one eye on the rearview mirror.

  And just before he lost sight of the house, he saw Eileen bend down, pick up the teddy bear, and close the door.

  Yes!

  He slammed his palm against the steering wheel and grinned. No deal, no power play, no coup against his fiercest rival had ever given him such a rush of exhilaration.


  Today, he’d moved a needle that had long been stuck.

  Marco might not be in his corner, but he’d found an ally in Eileen—and wives had a lot of influence with their husbands. Whenever Isabella had taken him to task for some transgression, he’d always relented. Perhaps Eileen had the same power with his son.

  And if she did, maybe he’d get to play nonno after all.

  “Kelly, you are a lifesaver!”

  “Don’t be silly.” She waved aside Lauren’s comment. “I was happy to pick them up, and we had a blast. Didn’t we, guys?”

  Five-year-old Kevin looked up from her kitchen table, where the twins had been creating masterpieces for the past hour with some of her leftover watercolors.

  “Yeah! We had cookies too, Mom!” He aimed his brush at a plate in the middle of the table, empty save for a few crumbs.

  “Chocolate chip,” Jack added without losing focus on the winged purple creature he was painting.

  “I hope that was okay.” Kelly wiped some drips of paint off the table. “They said they were hungry.”

  Lauren rolled her eyes. “They’re always hungry. Come on, guys, wrap it up. We need to get moving.”

  “Oh, Mom, I’m almost done!” Kevin sent her a pleading look.

  “Me too,” Jack piped up.

  “Okay. Five minutes. That’s it.” Lauren dumped her purse on the counter and sighed. “What a day.”

  “So what happened with the plea bargain that delayed you?”

  “It threw a monkey wrench in our strategy. But hey . . . tomorrow’s another day. Did they give you any trouble at day care? I called to let them know you were coming.”

  “Not a bit. I’m glad you thought to authorize me for pickup way back when, just in case.”

  “I’m glad you agreed. With Shaun out of town and my mom and dad on a cruise . . .”

  “It was no problem. Honest.”

  “You’re just being nice. I know this was a big distraction from your work.”

  “I was distracted anyway.”

  “Yeah? How come?”

  Kelly motioned Lauren to follow her to the living room, and her friend fell in behind her. “Cole came for dinner last night.”

  “Business or pleasure?”

  “Both. And I’ve got lots to tell you. You won’t believe all that’s happened in the past three days. I’ve tried to call a couple of times but you’ve been tied up.”

  “You have my full attention now.” She perched on the arm of the couch. “Spill.”

  As Kelly updated her on the investigation—including the WitSec and Mafia developments—Lauren’s mouth dropped open.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “I had the same reaction. But it all fits. Cole is going up to Buffalo next week to talk to Rossi.”

  Lauren’s expression grew skeptical. “A mob boss isn’t going to admit anything, and all the evidence tying him to your father’s death is circumstantial. Don’t get your hopes up. Guys in his league know how to cover their tracks.”

  “If he was that adept at covering his tracks, he wouldn’t have gone to prison.”

  Her friend conceded the point with a shrug. “Well, it can’t hurt for your friend to pay him a visit.” Lauren leaned closer. “I’m assuming Cole is a friend by now. Maybe more?”

  “Not yet.”

  “‘Not yet’ as in things could progress in the future?”

  “I would say that’s a strong possibility.”

  “Now that’s the kind of news I like to hear.” Lauren grinned. “Tell me all.”

  “Let’s just say I’m optimistic. But he told me a lot of things last night about his . . . social history . . . and his faith journey that I need to think through. You were right. He did drive in a faster lane.”

  “Past tense?”

  “He says he’s willing to downshift.”

  Lauren narrowed her eyes. “Do you think he’s serious?”

  “Yeah. I do.”

  “Good. Because I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “I’m not worried about that.” Kelly slid her hands into the pockets of her jeans. “I trust him, Lauren.”

  “That’s high praise coming from the woman whose middle name is caution.”

  “Hey, Mom, we’re ready!” Kevin zoomed into the room, Jack on his heels, both clutching their works of art.

  “Glad to hear it. I’m getting hungry. How does pizza sound tonight?”

  “Yeah!” The twins spoke in unison.

  “Okay. Get your coats and we’ll hit the road.”

  Two minutes later, as Lauren hustled them out the door, she turned to Kelly. “I’ll call you later. I’m still digesting everything you told me and I know I’ll come up with a dozen more questions between here and the house. Unless you’re having company again?”

  “Not tonight. But Cole said he’d let me know how his phone call with Rossi went.”

  “In that case, you call me after you talk to him. I wouldn’t want to tie up your phone line if he’s trying to get through.” She stepped onto the porch, watched the twins scramble into the minivan, then focused on Kelly again. “Because if your take on this guy is accurate, he could be a keeper.”

  Lauren didn’t wait for a response. Raised voices in the van drew her attention, and with a flutter of fingers, she took off at a jog, yelling at the boys to cool it.

  But long after her friend had negotiated a cease-fire and driven away, her parting words about Cole being a keeper lingered in Kelly’s mind.

  And based on everything she’d seen so far, Kelly could only agree.

  Mark Rossi inserted the key in his back door, pushed through into the kitchen, and smiled at the scene before him. Eileen was at the stove, stirring what smelled like a pot of homemade chili as she bounced Jason on her hip and sang along with an oldie on the radio. His gaze lingered on his son. After ten years of marriage, they’d given up any hope of conceiving. Yet two months after they’d begun exploring adoption options, Eileen had become pregnant.

  It was a miracle.

  In fact, his life was a miracle. He had a wonderful wife, a steady job, a nice home, and a son to love, despite the taint of his past.

  Life didn’t get much better than this.

  As he pushed the door shut and turned the lock, Eileen swung toward him. “Hi. I didn’t hear you come in.”

  He crossed the room and leaned down to kiss her, then pressed his lips to the top of Jason’s head. “You were too busy singing. Very well, I might add.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “We both know better. I can’t carry a tune in a bucket.”

  “You sounded fine to me.”

  “You’re prejudiced.”

  “Yeah.” He gave her a slow grin. “I am.”

  The soft blush he loved rose on her cheeks. “You want to wash up? Dinner’s almost ready. I baked some bread too.”

  “Wow. What’s the occasion?”

  “Does there have to be one?” She busied herself at the stove, avoiding eye contact.

  A tingle of uneasiness crept up his spine. The vibes in the room had shifted—or perhaps he was tuning in to ones that had already been there.

  “What’s up, Eileen?” He leaned against the counter, keeping his tone casual as he watched her. She didn’t have a devious bone in her body. Yet she was hiding something. Her grip on Jason had tightened, and she was stirring the chili far more vigorously than necessary.

  “Nothing much. It’s no big deal.” The tremor in her words belied that assurance.

  Mark’s apprehension edged up a notch. Eileen didn’t get rattled. She was a placid, go-with-the-flow kind of woman. They’d agreed early on in their relationship not to keep secrets from each other, and even after he’d bared his soul, revealed his sordid background, she hadn’t turned tail and run. She’d accepted his story as history, not current events, and told him they could create a new future together.

  If his family circumstances hadn’t freaked her out, he couldn’t imagine what had happened
today to distress her so much.

  “Hey.” He joined her at the stove, took the wooden spoon out of her hand, and grasped her shoulders, shifting her toward him. “Whatever happened, we’ll get through it, okay?”

  “Yeah.” She swallowed. Moistened her lips. Inclined her head toward the corner of the kitchen. “I had a visitor today.”

  Mark glanced toward the rocking chair where Eileen often breastfed their son. A plush teddy bear in a red vest grinned back at him.

  “Your father left it.”

  Her words slammed into him with the force of a punch in the solar plexus, driving the breath from his body. He jerked back. Groped for the counter beside him. Willed his lungs to reengage as he tried to process the implications of what Eileen had said.

  But only two things registered.

  His father had been at his house.

  And Eileen had accepted a gift from him.

  Anger exploded behind his eyes, white hot, quivering through every muscle. “I can’t believe you talked to that monster! I told you to slam the door in his face if he ever showed up!” He hit the counter with his fist. Hard. Pain radiated up his arm. He didn’t care. “What were you thinking? How could you do that, after everything I told you about him?” His volume rose with every sentence.

  Eyes wide, his son stared up at him from her arms. Then he puckered his mouth and began to wail.

  Eileen had paled during his tirade too, and now she bounced Jason in her arms, doing her best to soothe the frightened infant.

  He’d scared his own child.

  That was like a second punch in the gut.

  He swiveled away and stalked to the kitchen window, glaring into the darkness. It took every ounce of his self-control to contain the rage burning inside him.

  “Put Jason in his room. Settle him down. Then come back so we can talk.” He barked out the terse command without turning around.