His (A Bad Boy Mafia Romance)(58)
“You’re sure, Vince?”
“No,” I say. “But I’ve got a bad fuckin’ feeling that I’m right. So we don’t do anything permanent until we hear it from him. Clear?”
“Vince,” says Mario. “My girl called a few minutes ago and said Frankie was there. Said he was saying something about the safehouse being compromised and needing to move the women.”
Silence hangs in the air for less than a second before chairs screech and the guys are all grabbing their jackets and cocking their pistols. I’m the first one out the door.
28
Aubriella
I put the final touches on my article. It’s the fastest I’ve ever written anything, and I probably unknowingly set some records for how quickly I consolidated the evidence and made contacts. I take the time to read back over it once more before deciding it’s ready. A little rough, maybe, but this story is about the facts, not the fluff. And Goddamn are these some facts with legs of their own. I’ve already called in several favors from friends in the sports world. My biggest breakthrough was getting Ronnie White to agree to testify against the Anastasios. I took a risk and promised that Vince would forgive his debt if he pinned his flops on intimidation by the Anastasios. I also have evidence from three reporters who overheard and saw suspicious conversations that led them to predict below average performances from athletes before the day of the game. In each case, the conversations have paper trails leading back to Anastasio men.
Herbert Blume agreed to run my piece, partly as a favor and partly out of his own greed to have it in his paper. He knows as well as I do what a sensational piece on corruption like this can do for sales. As soon as I sent it, I called the police and told them everything I know about the Anastasios. They kept transferring me higher and higher up the command line until I was talking to the Chief of Police. He kept asking me to repeat things and sounded extremely interested. Though he wasn’t able to tell me his plan, I had a very strong feeling that the police were going to move on the Anastasios sooner rather than later.
I send it out and rub my hands together nervously, letting out a big breath. I close the document and walk downstairs, feeling strange. This isn’t how I expected it to feel when I wrote my first big investigative piece. I thought I’d be calling my few friends over to sip champagne while we spent the night celebrating and sharing cocktails. Instead, I only feel dread. I don’t know if I’ve done the right thing, but I don’t regret it. If I had done nothing, I’m almost certain Vince wouldn’t have survived what he’s planning. He may think he’s the only one who can take risks without asking for permission or apologizing, but he’s not.
I find Aria on the couch, looking exhausted as a woman in her thirties with prematurely wrinkled skin and curly black hair goes on about this place she uses for pedicures. I’m about to save her when a heavy hand knocks at the door. We all look up. My heart thumps in my chest. With all the talk about the danger we’re in, I can’t be sure it’s a friend on the other side of the door or someone who wants us dead. To my surprise, three of the women pull small pistols from their purses and take places on either side of the door. Aria raises her eyebrows at me and grins nervously.
When the door opens, everyone sighs with relief. I see one of the women cross herself and then pull her phone out to shoot off a text--probably letting her husband know that Frankie is here to get us. Good. Hopefully they will tell Vince about it so he knows where I am.
“Frankie!” says the woman at the door with relief.
“Come on,” he says, stepping inside the door and waving us out. “We need to go. It’s not safe here anymore.”
“Whaaat?” asks the woman with the New York accent. “This has been our safe house forevah! Since when is it not safe?”
“I don’t have fuckin’ time to argue about it. Come on!”
The women all quietly go about gathering their things. Aria and I lag a little behind, following their lead. When we get closer to Frankie, I see that his forehead is sweating and his eyes keep darting toward the cars waiting outside. It’s chilly outside, why is he sweating? It all gives me a bad feeling. A quick glance at Aria confirms my suspicion. She frowns and nods to him, giving me a ‘what gives’ gesture. I shrug. We both look to the other wives to see how we should be handling all of this, but they are all moving along like nothing’s odd. I wish Vince was here.
When we step outside, I see a row of waiting cars outside the house. They are all black and I see men in suits leaning against the doors, arms folded. I don’t recognize any of them. I feel a small spurt of panic looking out at them. Something is wrong. I can feel it in my gut. I just don’t know what to do. There are at least a dozen of them, and it’s not like I can just run away. They could easily gun me down before I could escape. It would be suicide.