OWN HER: A Dark Mafia Romance(54)

Her phone was silent. She took it away from her ear to look at the screen and saw that it was dark. The battery had conked out just before she could take the call.



Carla suddenly had an ominous feeling. She briefly considered going back to her place to charge the phone, just so she could call Don and find out what he'd wanted. But she knew that if she did, she'd be late for her meeting with Gio—and based on their earlier conversation, Gio seemed so conflicted and emotionally vulnerable that she didn't want to risk it.



If she didn't show up on time, Gio might assume something had gone wrong or that she'd hung him out to dry, and then what? He might try to run, and their whole case against the Mancinis would be kaput.



Just forget about the phone and make sure you meet Gio on time, she thought to herself. I'm sure there's nothing to worry about, and the bad feeling I'm having right now is just jitters from being so close to making my first major bust. Besides, Don was probably just calling to tell me to be careful for the thousandth time, and if that's all, then won't I feel pretty silly for having jeopardized the entire case over it?



Carla drove to Gio's house, parking in the driveway behind his Corvette. As she did, she remembered he'd previously mentioned that one of Mario's guys was watching the place to see if she came over to—how had he put it?—“fraternize” with Gio. She wondered whether she should be concerned about that, and decided against it.



As far as Mario and his men knew, she was still Gio's attorney, and there were about a hundred different legitimate reasons for her to meet with her client at his house. Besides, the two of them would be leaving together a few minutes later, so she clearly wasn't coming over for sex.



As she walked to the front door, she resisted the urge to scan the area across the street. She knocked on the door.



A muffled voice answered, “Come in, it's open.”



Carla froze in her tracks. She couldn't be sure, but that voice didn't sound like it belonged to Gio.



Her mind raced. What if Mario had somehow figured out that Gio was about to double-cross him, and he'd been waiting for Gio to show up with the journals? What if he was inside with Gio right now, ready to kill them both?



With her phone dead, she had no way to call for backup. Her mind screamed for her to turn around and run away, rather than walking into a trap.



But then what? If Mario killed Gio and took back his journals, then there'd be nothing left for the Bureau to nail the Mancinis, and it would all have been for nothing.



She'd be the agent who turned tail like a coward, forfeited a mountain of evidence, and allowed a valuable informant to get murdered, all because she was too scared to make the bust on her own. Worse, if Mario decided to look through Gio's cell phone and found the topless photo of her, then Gio's threat about shaming her in front of the whole world would become a very real possibility.



And there was something else. She'd assured Gio that she could keep him safe if he cooperated with her, and he'd agreed. She'd made assurances that they'd have more time to be together, not just because she knew it was what he wanted to hear, but because it was what she wanted too. She'd meant it when she said that she saw him as more than just a mindless thug and that she wanted him to have a chance at a better life.



How could she live with herself if she turned her back on him now?



She bent down and withdrew her gun from her ankle holster, keeping it ready as she turned the doorknob. She'd brought it just in case there were any last-minute complications, but she hadn't expected to use it.



Carla stepped into the living room, pointing her firearm in a two-handed stance to scan every corner for intruders. A second later, she saw a dark shape emerge from behind the door in her peripheral vision.



She pivoted to aim at him, but the hulking gangster was moving toward her too fast—he grabbed both her wrists with a single huge hand and jerked her gun to one side as she pulled the trigger. The shot went wild, burying itself in an easy chair.



With his other hand, the gangster raised his own gun, a massive .357. He slammed it against Carla's face, stunning her momentarily. She felt him trying to pull her gun away and tightened her grip.



He pistol-whipped her again, this time in the temple, and she saw tiny pinwheels of light dancing at the edges of her vision. Something wet was trickling down the side of her face, and she knew it was blood.



Before he could hit her with his gun a third time, Carla kicked him in the groin with the pointy tip of one of her high heels. He made a broad whuff sound like a carpet being beaten, and his grip on her wrists loosened.



She yanked herself out of his grip and shot him between the eyes. His rough, lumpy face had an almost comical look of surprise as he dropped to his knees.