Sexy Ms. Takes

“Let’s go,” Vince said, poking him in the back with his pistol.

“Va fungule sfacime.”

“Watch your mouth,” Sal said, snorting. “Remember your girlfriend here.”

“Let her go, Sal. She ain’t involved in this.”

“She is now, Johnny. Come on. We have things to discuss.”

“Like how you shot me?”

“Be careful,” Vince said, his voice lower, closer.

“What?”

Vince hissed at him. “Just shut up. It’ll be okay if you just shut your mouth for five minutes.”

The urge to mess up this gavone was so strong it made every muscle in John’s body tense. He kept his gaze on the shotgun, jerking forward when it met the woman’s coat.

Vince noticed and gave Sal a warning look. The whole thing made John nervous. Sal had been getting in trouble for a while, but mostly small stuff. Vince not only wasn’t from the neighborhood, but he sounded as if he was from the old country. If Sal had somehow gotten mixed up with the Mob, this wouldn’t end well.

And thanks to John, the woman was now in it up to her pretty little neck.

Sal pushed her inside, but not far. The door to the basement was open and he prodded her down. Vince did his own urging and soon they were in the basement of the Molinari family home, only things had changed since John had last been there.

For one, the new door at the base of the stairs. It looked weird. Not just because it was steel, but because it had a slot in the middle, as if it had been made for a psychiatric lock ward. It had to have cost a fortune, but Sal had probably gotten a deal from his uncle’s cousin Nick, who owned a place out in Jersey. Or maybe this was a new Family addition. “What’s with the door?”

Vince poked him on. “What did I say about keeping your mouth shut?”

“Be happy to help you with that there, Johnny,” Sal said, forcing all of them inside the room.

A brown velvet couch dominated the basement itself. The TV was gone, so was the table it used to sit on. No books. No radio. Only a dingy floor lamp. The place looked like a tomb.

“Sit down.”

Johnny stood his ground. “Take the cuffs off.”

“Yeah, right. Sit down.” Sal didn’t push at him, but he did push the girl. The fear on her face when she turned was enough to get John moving.

The couch was even bigger than he’d guessed. He sank into the lumpy cushion. “So, I’m sittin’.”

“You and me, Johnny, we have a deal to make.”

“The only deal I’m interested in is the one where you and your mook friend here end up doing five to ten.”

“Okay, so we won’t talk now. That’s cool. Sweat it out. I don’t give a shit.”

John heard movement upstairs, reminding him where he was. “Where’s Nonna?”

Sal shifted nervously. “Don’t worry about her.”

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph, Sal, you didn’t hurt her?”

Shock and then anger contorted Sal’s features. “Fuck you, Johnny. What do you think I am?”

“Good question. I don’t know anymore.”

Sal made a move toward him. Vince stopped him. “Enough already.”

“I want to talk to her.” John pushed himself forward on the couch. “Right now.”

Sal made a one-armed gesture. John hit him with curses that would make Nonna, who was ninety-two last San Gennero’s, light enough candles to torch the Bronx.

“Sal.” Vince motioned with his gun. “Get out.”

“The cuffs,” John said, preparing his posture to charge.

Sal didn’t answer. Instead, he walked backward, the shotgun still pointed at the woman, until he reached the door. The two men slipped outside and closed the door so hard the reinforced frame shook. A moment later, the slot opened, and Vince said, “The girl first.”

John stood, and so did she. He cocked his head toward the door. “It’ll be a lot more comfortable.”

“I’m not getting out of here anytime soon, am I?”

He winced at the fear in her eyes. “Not yet.”

She looked at him a few more seconds, then went to the door and turned to offer her wrists.

A minute later it was John’s turn. If he thought it would do a bit of good he’d grab Vince by his goddamn jacket and smash his face in the door. Instead, he decided to leave that option for later and concentrate on the woman.

BELLA STEPPED BACK AS John’s handcuffs were unlocked and the door slot closed. She still couldn’t believe this was happening. Of course she understood that the Mob existed, but even living in Manhattan she’d never dreamed she’d be in any way involved with them, especially not as a hostage. It should have been a good thing to have a detective with her, but he was the one who’d gotten her into this mess, so no points there.

No windows, a steel door, lunatics with guns, no phone. Her chance at stardom shot to hell. And she had to pee.

“Look, I don’t know what to say.” John met her eyes. “Sorry obviously doesn’t cover it.”

Bella blinked at him, not sure how to respond. Especially since his GoodFellas accent had suddenly disappeared. She headed for the other side of the room, hoping against hope it had a bathroom. Thank goodness it did. A stall shower, a pedestal sink and god-awful wallpaper, but infinitely better than a bucket.

She closed the door behind her, then locked it and promptly fell apart. Leaning against the door she tried to breathe, but only managed a few labored gasps. She shook so hard her teeth chattered and for a long moment she thought she was going to faint for real. Finally, her heartbeat calmed enough for her to take off her coat and put it on the hook on the door. One look in the mirror at her pasty face and she straightened up. She might be an innocent victim, but she wasn’t going to lie down and wait to die. She focused on pulling herself together, using all her sense memories to project strength and calm. Thoughts of the audition almost derailed her. Just remembering how long it had taken her to dress, to make up, to do her hair this morning made her eyes well with tears. She’d been so excited. So certain that this was going to be her best New Year ever.

She all but had the part. The director had told her he just needed to convince the bean counters, and she’d be the lead. Nothing this big had ever happened to her before and now it was all going down the tubes. She couldn’t even call to let him know why she wasn’t there.

All she could hope for was to live to see January 1. She’d rarely thought about her own death, not seriously. To never have another audition. Never see her parents again. Or her best friend. She didn’t want to die. Not today. Not like this. The whole situation was impossibly unfair. A regular Greek tragedy, only no gods were going to swoop in and save the day.

As she washed her trembling hands she tried to find something to hold on to. He was a cop. A detective, although she didn’t know what kind. Killing a cop was huge. They wouldn’t do that, right? Vince had said she’d be fine. Sal had said they needed to talk. If the plan was to leave no witnesses, they’d be dead already.

She did a relaxation exercise she’d learned from yoga class. No Greek gods were going to save her, and more than likely the cop wasn’t, either. Which meant she’d better get on with it. Save herself.

First, she looked in the vanity drawers. Surprisingly, next to several unopened toothbrushes was a half-full box of condoms. A shudder stole through her at the thought. No guns or knives or even razor blades. She did find a hair brush that looked reasonably clean, a box of bandages and some superglue, but none of that would do her any good.