The Good Daughter: A Mafia Story by Diana Layne

Author:Diana Layne [Layne, Diana]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Black Gold Books
Published: 2012-01-03T23:00:00+00:00

* * *

Sandro slammed the car into gear and spun out of the driveway. He’d ffound the house, but a thorough search proved it vacant. He’d been kneeling by a blood puddle on the floor at the top of the stairs, struggling to breathe, hoping it wasn’t Nia’s blood. He’d sagged in relief when he took Marisa’s call.

His windshield wipers slapped at the snow. He cursed the weather. Visibility was poor at best. Heedless of the dangerous road conditions, he sped on.

He remembered the time when he’d sped to the airport, anxious to fly back to the States to be reunited after months of carrying on a long-distance relationship.

Her father had objected to his and Nia’s romance. By her own right, Nia was a soccer star in the United States. Her father didn’t want to see her lose her status over a love affair with an Italian.

“Believe me when I tell you I won’t ask her to give up soccer,” Sandro had told him. “But she will have to live in Italy when we marry. There is no other way. At least while I’m playing soccer. My schedule is more demanding. But she can fly back for her training and games.”

“You’ve got that much money that you can afford to fly her back and forth?”

“I am the highest paid soccer player in Italy. She will be well cared for.”

Well cared for. His words to her father had been arrogant, and seemed like a sick joke now. Maybe her father had been right and Sandro should have never asked her to make that choice. Then she would be safe now. Married to some American--maybe even Dave.

Who would have thought that after Sandro had given up his career in Italy to escape the Mafia’s clutches--with the excuse to Nia that he was ready for a less demanding career--that Carlo would land in America, and in New York, too. Many of the mobsters fleeing ahead of Italian justice had run to South America. Just his luck that Carlo already had ties to New York.

Sandro wasn’t running again. This time there would be a face off. And this time, he would win.

He whipped his car into the convenience store parking lot, the same one he’d used earlier for the light. The irony of it did not amuse him.

A man staggered out of the store as Sandro parked the car. The man weaved along, holding his stomach. He dropped to his knees and threw up in the snow.

Sandro got out of the car and hurried over through the slushy parking lot. “What’s wrong? How can I help you?”

With a shaking hand, the man pointed to the store. “Dead. Blood everywhere.”

Sandro’s horrified gaze shot to the store. He pulled out his gun. “Someone’s dead?” A cold hard lump settled in his stomach. “A woman?”

Sweat glistened on the man’s bald head in spite of the freezing temperatures. “A man. The store clerk--”

Not Nia. Relief. Then sadness for the person who had been killed. “Is there anyone else inside?” Sandro moved toward the door, gun ready.

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