Fatal

‘My name’s Alice Rose. You don’t know me, but I’m the daughter of Cabhan Morton.’

5

The splattering of blood covered the shower walls as Nico Russo stamped his boot into Don Lombardi’s face. Don was a small-time crook who’d spent most of his life in and out of penitentiaries, but it was obvious to Nico that the one lesson prison life hadn’t taught him was the most basic lesson of all: never steal from your own. So now he had to remind Don of exactly what happened to anyone who skipped that class.

‘Hey, Don, had enough yet? What was that?’

Nico jumped in the air, bringing his foot down from a height. The weight and severity was so great that Don’s mouth immediately flooded with blood while his front teeth were pounded out of his gums. Nico stamped his boot further towards the back of Don’s mouth, pushing the rest of his teeth out of the way.

Avoiding the jets of water from the large communal showerheads, Nico crouched down, panting from the exertion, inches away from hair-coiled soapsuds that mixed with Don’s body fluids on the cracked tile floor.

Nico’s tone was calm, reassuring. ‘Don, mio amico, my friend, I want to give you the chance to tell your side of the story. I want to know if it’s true what they said you did.’

There was silence save the running water and the gurgling noises from Don Lombardi struggling to gasp for air. Nico pulled a face. ‘I’ll ask you again. Is it true that you stole the phone? Tell me.’

Sighing, Nico forced one hand in Don’s mouth, yanking it open before putting his fingers between Don’s bleeding gums to keep it open.

Bringing his eyes up to his men, Nico nodded. ‘Give me them.’

Then without a word, a tall dark-haired man who stood impassively by the shower entrance handed Nico a pair of scissors from out of his trouser pocket.

Turning his attention back to Don, Nico said, ‘You see this, Don? This is what happens to people who disrespect my friends by stealing from them. Respect to me is more important than family. Rispetto. Respect. The one thing I ask of all who know me, because without it, we are all just animals … And as you have nothing to say to me, you won’t have any need of this.’

Don Lombardi shook his head with terror as Nico yanked at his tongue, digging the sharp scissors through the flesh as he began to extract it.

‘Nico! Nico, do you have to do this in here?’

As Don choked and convulsed on the floor in an agony beyond pain, Nico threw the severed tongue to one side before looking up at the prison warden. Officer Johnstone was just one of several on his payroll. In fact, most of the correction officers in the facility, whether voluntarily or by various levels of coercion, were on his payroll in some way or another. It made for an easier life, making the hellhole he was in slightly less of a hellhole.

Armed and dressed in a dark green uniform, Officer Johnstone glanced down at Don Lombardi, his manner casual, almost weary. ‘Get this cleared up. You hear me, Russo? And for Christ’s sake, make sure someone takes him to medical.’

Standing up, Nico brushed down his clothes, running his hands under the icy showers to wash away the blood. He turned to smile at his men, though his tone was ominous and taunting, something Johnstone didn’t fail to miss. ‘You heard him. Clear this mess up. Capito? Understand? We’d hate to upset the officer, wouldn’t we?’

‘Good, make sure you do by the time I get back.’

Watching Officer Johnstone leave, Nico thought, as he seemed to every moment of every minute of every day, that he’d been behind bars far too long. Eight years too long after one of his men had turned informer. A hazard of his trade and a reason to rule his empire like Satan himself.

Johnny Milano had worked for him for over twenty years, but he’d squealed to the FBI like a sow on heat. And despite the fact he’d given Johnny his first break – had let him in to the heart of the Russo family and even paid for the cocksucker’s wedding to some two-dollar stripper from Long Island – Johnny Milano had repaid him by telling the feds everything he knew about the drug deals, the money laundering, the illegal shipping, the prostitution, the smuggling, the whole goddamn lot.

But Nico had had a tip-off from someone on his payroll in the bureau and consequently managed to cover most of his tracks. The FBI couldn’t find anything that was going to stand up in court relating to any illegal activity, but ironically what they did find was in connection to tax evasion linked to some of the family’s legal businesses.

The IRS had thrown the book at him and he’d been given fifteen years, and it looked like he was going to have to serve all fifteen. The parole board didn’t seem interested in letting the head of the Russo family back out on the streets.

Though he’d sure as hell made Johnny Milano pay. Johnny had thought the FBI witness protection would keep him safe, but there was no such thing as protection for rats. No hiding place. His men had searched and they’d found the whole of the Milano family. The mother, the grandmother, the children, even the pet rabbits, along with the two-dollar stripper from Long Island. No one escaped revenge. Revenge had been Johnny Milano’s executioner and it would be anyone else’s who dared to cross him.

‘Nico.’

Breaking his thoughts, Nico looked up to see Chris D’Amato, his cellmate – and a good friend – walk into the shower room. ‘It’s for you, Nico.’

He held out a mobile phone.

‘Who is it?’

‘She says her name’s Alice Rose.’

Nico Russo whirled the pool of blood – yet to be cleaned up – with the tip of his boot. He leant against the tiled wall, feeling the damp go through his prison shirt. Of all the calls he’d imagined he’d have, this certainly wasn’t one.

His voice was low, calm. Warm. ‘Hello, Alice Rose, I’ve heard a lot about you.’

‘Have you?’

‘Yes, from Cabhan. Though I haven’t seen him in a while.’

On the other end of the phone, Alice was eager. ‘So do you work with him?’

Kicking Don Lombardi’s severed tongue to the side and signalling to Chris to pick it up, Nico smiled. ‘You could say that. Anyway, to what do I owe this pleasure?’

Feeling happier, Alice’s tone was light. ‘I don’t know if Dad told you, but it’s his birthday next week.’

‘No, Alice, he didn’t tell me.’

‘Well, I was hoping to have a surprise party for him, do something nice, invite all his friends and work colleagues. Is that silly?’

‘Why would it be? I don’t think you ever get too old for a birthday party, do you? Well, I know I don’t, I’d want a party even when I’m too old to blow out the candles.’

Delighted that Nico felt the same, Alice giggled. ‘Obviously, he doesn’t know I’m phoning you.’

‘Obviously.’

‘And I know this is a lot to ask, but I was wondering, hoping, you could come. I’m going to get as many people together as I can, and we’ll have the party in the school hall. It’s only small, but I’m going to make some decorations, so it’ll look nice. I just want to make him happy. Will you come?’

As Alice held her breath in anticipation, Nico looked up at the clear blue sky through the thick prison bars. ‘Alice, I’d love to, really I would, but the problem is, I’m a bit caught up here and won’t be able to make it. I’m sorry.’

Disappointed, Alice said, ‘And there’s really no way?’

‘I’m sorry, honey, no way at all, but I tell you what, I could get my brothers to come. Salvatore and Bobby. They’d like that. They work with your dad, too.’

‘Do they?’

Using the tip of the bloodied scissors to pick out a crumb in his teeth, Nico nodded. ‘Yeah. Your dad’s like family to us. He’s got a special place in all our hearts … You know, I’m so pleased you called me, Alice, this has really made my day. How did you get my number, by the way?’

There was a pause before Alice sheepishly admitted, ‘Last time Dad came to see me, I took his phone so I could write down all the contacts. Is that really bad of me?’

Nico winked at Chris D’Amato as he watched him drag Don Lombardi up onto his feet.

‘No, Alice, I wouldn’t call that bad. Believe me, I’ve done a lot worse myself.’

‘You have?’

Nico chuckled, his tone teasing. ‘Oh yes, Alice, things so bad I’d be in a lot of trouble if I told you.’

Alice giggled again, enjoying the conversation.

Nico continued. ‘That’s better, it’s good to laugh at ourselves, and besides, I’d say it was clever what you did. If you hadn’t, well, you and I wouldn’t be speaking now, would we? And I’ve got an idea you might like. Why don’t you leave it to me to invite the people your dad would want at his party? You don’t want to have people there he doesn’t get on with, do you?’

‘No, of course not. Would you really do that?’

‘Absolutely, I’d do anything for Cabhan. But you need to tell me where you are so I can tell my brothers and make all the arrangements.’

‘Thank you, Nico, thank you so much! It’s going to be brilliant. And you won’t tell Dad anything about it, will you?’

‘You have my word. Lo prometto. I promise. We wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise, would we? We want to give him a birthday he’ll never forget.’

6

Franny Doyle yawned as she made her way along the glass-panelled corridor of the Sheraton Hotel located in downtown Denver, Colorado. She was hot and tired after travelling for the past two days. It hadn’t helped that her flight had been a particularly turbulent one, or that opposite her – in the usually staid business class – a very large, noisy Greek family had insisted on breaking into the occasional champagne-fuelled song. Then, to make matters worse, the cab driver who’d picked her up from the airport had, for some inexplicable reason, shouted at every passing car before refusing to make his way around the roadworks, causing her to get out and walk the whole of the mile-long pedestrian strip in the searing Denver heat. Still, at least she was here, and ultimately that was all that mattered.

As she walked along the thick brown swirl carpet, grateful for the air conditioning that blasted out near sub-zero temperatures, she felt her phone buzz in her pocket, letting her know she had a voicemail.

She listened as she waited for the lift to make its way down from the twenty-second floor. It was Alfie … again:

Pick up, for God’s sake! I don’t know how many bleedin’ messages I’ve left, but you can’t keep ignoring me. For fuck’s sake, Franny, why are you doing this to me, darlin’? Just call me and let’s sort this out. I get that you could be mad at me. Maybe I didn’t give you as much attention as I should’ve done, or maybe you think I don’t tell you that I love you enough. But I do love ya. From the minute I knew ya, I started falling for ya. But Jesus, Fran, whatever it is I’ve done, don’t take it out on our future. Vaughn’s future. You want me to come and find you, Franny? Is that what you want, darlin’? To show you I care? Cos I do, but I just haven’t got time for these fucking games at the moment!… Franny!

Stepping into the lift, Franny clicked off the phone, smiling sadly to herself as she fought hard not to feel the devastation and guilt of what she was doing to him, because there was no getting away from it, she loved Alfie with all her heart, he was her soul mate. But the fact was, she just couldn’t afford to let her feelings for him change what she had to do, no matter how hard it was.

She knew he was hurting as well. The variety of messages from him since she’d texted him about the change of plan had ranged from calm to bewilderment then to anger before returning to calm in a merry-go-round of mystified emotions.

She didn’t blame him. Not one little bit. How could she? She’d taken his and Vaughn’s money, and the only explanation he’d had was a short, swift text. He deserved better, but she couldn’t explain, mainly because he wouldn’t understand. Yes, he’d appreciate the principle of it – caring and looking out for family – but she knew that Alfie saw this money as his one chance, his last chance at making it back on top, so there was no way, if he’d had his choice, he’d let her spend it on getting Cabhan out of trouble.

And of course, Alice Rose. Sweet Alice Rose whom Cabhan had only learnt of in the last couple of years.

Alice had been conceived following a brief affair Cabhan had had during a short business trip to the States sixteen years ago. Although Alice’s mother, Clara, and Cabhan had parted on good terms – friends even – and had kept in contact over the ensuing years, Clara had never told Cabhan anything about Alice until it’d been completely necessary for her to do so. And that had only been in the most extreme situation, when Clara had been diagnosed with a rapidly progressing form of multiple sclerosis.

Cabhan had been thrown into the deep end: he had only learnt he was the proud father of a beautiful young girl two months before Clara had died. Alice, of course, had been devastated. The other thing she had been was naïve for her age, having grown up in a tiny farm community in George County, Mississippi. Clara had not only protected her from the world, but had brought Alice up in a highly religious environment, which was certainly at odds with Cabhan.

Though not knowing how to get through to a teenager who had not only lost her mother but had been brought up as if God were her best friend, Cabhan had asked around and found a small and exclusive boarding school at a girls’ convent – as nuns and the religious community were something Alice understood. Business allowing it, Cabhan had visited her every day, then after a while a smile had slowly returned to Alice’s face.

What followed was the blossoming of a beautiful loving bond between Cabhan and Alice Rose. He loved Alice as Alice loved him. Completely and absolutely. In fact, Franny didn’t know anyone who’d met Alice and hadn’t fallen in love with the sweet, innocent, kind-hearted girl, who somehow had been shielded from the world turning upside down.

Suddenly, Franny shook herself out of her thoughts. She didn’t want to start feeling sentimental, she had a job to do: somehow she had to get Cabhan out of the mess he’d found himself in, before the Russos began to point the finger of blame.

Quickly looking along the corridor, making sure no one was coming, Franny tapped lightly on door 493. ‘Cab! Cab! It’s me.’

It took less than thirty seconds for Franny to hear the locks of the hotel room unbolt. Then, looking stressed and tired, Cab opened the door, giving her a quick, grateful smile before his expression immediately turned pensive as he glanced up and down the hallway. ‘You made sure no one followed you?’

Saying nothing, Franny nodded as she walked into the large Presidential suite, which looked out west across the city, over the Broncos’ ‘mile high’ stadium to the snow-capped Rocky Mountain National Park.

She turned to Cabhan, who was pouring himself a large bourbon at the bar in the corner of the freshly decorated room, and gently spoke, her large emerald eyes imploring him and full of kindness. ‘How about you leave that drink for a minute until you give me a hug … It’s good to see you, Cab.’

With her mane of thick, glossy chestnut hair falling over her beautiful face, skin like a porcelain doll, she smiled at Cabhan, though it was tinged with sadness. For a long time now, he hadn’t been himself. He’d been withdrawn, troubled, and each time they had spoken she’d also got the sense he was on edge. Nervous. She’d even go so far as to say he seemed afraid, and the man she’d known all her life had never been afraid of anything. But that was before. Before he’d started working for the Russo brothers.

She’d warned him. Begged him to think carefully about getting involved with them, because she knew, knew how dark and dangerous they were. Her father – who at one time had done business with the brothers – in the end refused to do so, which spoke volumes, because the game they were in was filled with sewer rats, scumbags, thugs, but the Russo brothers? They were on another level entirely. They had no moral code. Anything went. She’d heard the stories and wished she hadn’t. Nico, Salvatore, Bobby. All three brothers as twisted and dark as each other.

But there’d been no telling Cabhan back then. After what had happened with her father, he’d retreated and put a whole ocean between them. It’d hurt her and she’d missed him, but although she’d never been happy with him heading off to America, she’d understood that was Cabhan’s way of dealing with things. Though what she’d never grasped was why he’d gone to work with one of the most notorious families on the East Coast. The only reason she ever came up with was that it was some kind of self-imposed punishment, Cabhan’s guilt over her father; though when she’d put that to him, Cabhan had simply laughed it off.

Now, however, he’d realised that he needed to come home, and nobody could’ve been more delighted than her. It was the right thing to do for everybody, but after what happened to Ally, to get Cabhan away from the Russos would be harder than ever.

Welling up with emotions, Cab’s voice broke. ‘Fran, I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t come. Thank you. I’m indebted. I—’

She cut in. ‘Cab, stop. You don’t owe me anything, and truthfully, there’s nowhere I would rather be. Okay, maybe under different circumstances, but you, me and Dad, we were always a team, weren’t we? So, me being here certainly doesn’t need any thanks.’

Absentmindedly patting down his short, boxed Afro, Cab asked, ‘What about Alfie? Was he all right about you coming?’

Franny’s pause, although only a millisecond, was long enough for Cabhan, who knew her so well, to say, ‘You haven’t told him, have you? Franny, don’t ignore me.’

Franny’s tone was slightly irritated. ‘I’m not a child, Cab.’

‘That’s right, so you can start off by telling me why Alfie’s in the dark.’

Putting her bag down on the tangerine orange furniture, Franny decided to take a bourbon herself. ‘Look, it’s just best like this. The fewer people who know where you are, the better.’

Cabhan pulled on Franny’s arm, turning her round to face him. His Irish accent was always more pronounced when he was passionate. ‘Don’t give me that, Franny Doyle. This is Alfie we’re talking about. There’s no way he’d say anything to anybody. We both know that. So, come on, tell me what’s really going on.’

‘Cab, I love you, but I know what I’m doing, so leave it, please. Besides, I think you’ve got more to worry about than what I do or don’t choose to tell Alfie.’

Before Cabhan had time to reply, his phone – which was sitting on one of the dark wooden deck chairs on the balcony – began to ring.

Stepping outside, he gazed at it, his expression becoming strained again. ‘It’s Salvatore.’

‘Have you spoken to him since the accident?’

Cabhan shook his head. ‘No, you told me not to, but he knows about Ally. Actually, the whole of the American press seem to know. It was splashed across all the papers yesterday. The headlines all say the same thing: notorious crime boss’s daughter dies in accident. The only reason I left my phone on was in case you needed to get hold of me, but Salvatore’s been calling day and night. I haven’t listened to the messages, I thought it was probably best not to, though I doubt he’s wishing me well.’

‘Give it to me.’ Franny gestured with her hand, her manner and her authority reminding Cabhan of her father, Patrick. But then that wasn’t surprising: Patrick had taught Franny everything he knew about the business they were in. He’d started her off young, knee-high, showing her everything from how to pick pockets like she was the Artful Dodger to cracking safes and locks. And when she was old enough he’d gone on to show her how to run large business empires built on handshakes with dangerous men and dangerous deals.

Taking the phone, Franny looked at Cab, then, giving a tight smile and taking a deep breath, she swiped the answer button.

‘Salvatore. It’s me. Franny Doyle. You need to listen to what I’m going to say, because there are a few things we have to talk about …’

7

Salvatore Russo, holding the phone, kicked away the naked teenage hooker who seemed to think helping herself to his best cocaine was part of their deal. Watching her sprawled on the floor, he glared angrily as he sat at his gold-leafed kitchen table in one of his palatial homes in Fort Collins, northern Colorado, in only his cream cotton boxer shorts, which were straining at the seams and sticking to him like glue. His diamond-encrusted medallion, given to him by his father, hung amidst the sweat-drenched hair on his chest, and the oozing perspiration trickled leisurely from between the creases of his twenty-inch neck.

It was hot. Too damn hot, added to which the maintenance guy had given him a whole heap of bullshit along with some prissy smirk about how he wasn’t able to fix the air con until Monday. Two goddamn days away. Well, he’d teach the motherfucker about how it wasn’t possible to fix things. He’d make sure no doctor, no hospital, no surgeon could fix his goddamn legs and face once he’d finished with him and then he’d see who was smirking … Two goddamn days. The man was a jerk. And now, now, he had this bitch, this ball-breaker of a woman answering the phone like she was goddamn Capone.

Spitting at, but missing, the waste bin, Salvatore growled down the line as he gestured to the prostitute to leave the room.

‘Put Cabhan on … adesso! Now! I wanna know what the fuck he’s done with my coke.’

‘He’s not available to speak to you … but I am.’ Franny stopped, then, with her tone dripping in sarcasm, added, ‘And it’s good to see you’ve got your priorities straight.’

Salvatore, shaking with fury, hissed through his teeth whilst he squeezed his phone in both hands. ‘Fuck you!’

‘No, fuck you, Sal. I would’ve thought you’d have asked about Ally first, but I forgot, you’re a Russo.’

‘There’s nothing to ask, my niece is dead. Now if I were you, I’d go and sort your fucking period out and pass the phone to Cab. I don’t deal with women.’

Another pause before Franny, coolly and matter-of-factly, said, ‘That’s not what I’ve heard, Sal. I hear you deal in women all the time.’

Flickers of white light appeared in front of Salvatore’s eyes. Blind rage and fury surged through him as he felt his blood pressure go from baseline to sky-high. He pressed his muscular fingers onto his eyelids, massaging them, trying to find some relief from the stress.

‘Bitches like you need to be put in their place.’

‘And that’s why I’m at the top of my game. I’m in my place … So, are we going to keep going round and round in circles, or are we going to talk business? But I do want you to know I am genuinely sorry about Ally. Le mie condoglianze.’

Standing up, Salvatore began to pace around the large, expansive kitchen. He laughed scornfully. ‘Is that some kind of joke? I don’t want your fucking condolences. I curse them. You hear me? Like I curse Cabhan. He murdered my niece, and he’ll pay for that.’

Franny spoke firmly. ‘Salvatore, we both know that it wasn’t Cab who killed Ally. She was the one who was driving, not him.’

Mopping up the trickling sweat from his brow with the corner of a blue napkin, Salvatore opened the fridge and stuck his head inside for cool relief. ‘Let me tell you something, if you were standing next to me right now, I’d blow your fucking head off. My niece is dead. She was sixteen years old, yet you think you can disrespect her when she’s not even cold in the ground?’

‘No, Sal. I’m not saying it was her fault, I’m saying it was an accident. A tragic one, but she was driving nevertheless. They are the facts.’