Trapped in his End Game (Series)

Plates and plates of food cover the dining room table: baked ziti, roast beef in the homemade gravy, salad, Italian country bread. Maria slides up next to me as I salivate over it all barely able to keep myself from taking this or that.

“Thanks for inviting me. I haven’t been to a Sunday dinner in a long time.”

She grins. “Of course.”

A squirm of desire rustles inside me when she raises her wineglass and bumps it against mine, which is filled with soda. It’s nice to get away from all the mafia shit for a little bit. Still, I feel a twinge of guilt when I think about Vince eating dinner with his mother, who still thinks we’re broken up. I wonder if she hates me. She must.

Maria’s mother wraps her arms around me and kisses my cheeks when she sees me, looking distraught. “Honey, I’m so sorry to hear about your engagement.”

It takes me a moment to realize what she means. Oh, yeah. We broke up. Sort of.

“It’s okay, really. I’m doing fine.”

Her eyes widen a little bit. I suspect Maria may have told her about my recent decline into drinking myself to a stupor every night. Without Vince, I wouldn’t have been able to stop.

“What about your classes, honey?”

“I sorted them out with my professors. They gave me withdrawals instead of failing grades. I told them what happened and they went easy on me.”

Thank God for that. I’m skating on thin ice at that school. My heart skips a beat. I’m already feeling anxious about it. I don’t like getting bad grades in anything, but I was a bit preoccupied. I still am. Poor Vince wasted a semester of tuition for nothing.

We sit down to eat and I have the first decent meal I’ve had in a long time. I sigh as the sweet tanginess of the meatballs hits my tongue. While we’re eating, the TV blares in the background.

“-forty-five year old Detective Cramar, father of three, has been missing since last Wednesday. On Friday, his wife made an emotional plea for her husband’s return. At the moment, the police department suspects foul play, but there were no signs of a struggle at the detective’s home-”

Maria’s mother lifts an irritated head. “Jackie, can you shut that thing off!”

“I want to hear it,” her father counters.

“Turn it off! I won’t have the TV on while we’re eating.”

Her snappy retort closes the argument and I try not to look at the TV desperately before it shuts off. The meatball turns to ash in my mouth. I don’t know why I feel so shaken. Jesus, I can’t get away from all this, even when I try.

At the end of dinner, the police officer is out of my mind. Maria’s mother presses a tupperware stuffed full of leftovers in my hands.

“It’s okay, really Mrs. Foresta.”

“Take it,” she insists, pinching my forearm. “You’re too skinny. You need to eat more.”

I smile at her, waving at Maria as I leave the house. The sky’s dimming to a dark orange hue and I feel pretty good. Maybe I’ll go to Columbia’s student center and play a bit of pool, challenge some of the students to a game or two. As I hear the sound of a car behind me, I instinctively walk to the right, away from the curb. A brown car suddenly stops beside me, the windows rolled down.

“Adriana!”

Fuck, what now?

A familiar man sticks his head out the window. Agent Palmer.

“Get in.”

* * *

Never thought I’d be back here again.

They have me in the same room, but it looks smaller because there are at least four agents surrounding me. Some are standing up, looking down at me like I’m scum.

Forcing the jumpy feeling down, I swallow hard. I’ve done nothing wrong. Nothing.

“Long time no see, Ms. Baldino,” Agent Palmer raises an eyebrow. “So you’re dating Carmine now, huh?”

What the fuck do they care?

I sit there clam-shell, arms crossed tightly over my chest.

“So Vince’s legal problems no longer interest you?”

“What’s wrong with Vince?” I ask despite myself.

The one standing over me, a young guy who looks Italian, gives me a smirk. “He was arrested a while ago: tax fraud, money laundering. His court date is soon. Yeah, one of our witnesses came through.”

Agent Palmer gives him a sharp look and he swallows the cocky look, turning around.

What? What did he say?

“So?” I say aggressively. “What’s that got to do with me?”

“Besides the fact that we know you were present for the card game robbery and you witnessed two murders, and possibly a third, your former boyfriend is in a lot of trouble. He’ll be lucky to ever see the light of day.”

The bald man’s face blinks tiredly at me. I never realized how perfectly symmetrical his whole face is, like a bored frog.

“We’re willing to wipe his slate clean-and yours, if you give us some information.”

Crap.

My heart thuds against my chest. This-this seems like a great opportunity, but Vince warned me countless times: Never talk to the police. I won’t be able to protect you from them if you do. There’s just too much at stake, and I can’t trust them anyway. I shake my head. “Sorry, but no.”

An older man with round spectacles slams his fist on the table, and I jump.

“Are you aware about the disappearance of Officer Cramar?” he snarls.

I flinch from the heat in his gaze. “U-um yeah, I saw it on the news.”

“We know someone in one of the families did this. If you think the federal government is going to ignore a dead cop, you’re out of your fucking mind. Talk to us. Give us something, and we won’t come down on all of you like a ton of bricks.”

I lean forward, staring at him. “I don’t know anything about that. How could I?”

Agent Palmer gives him a look. “Ed, there’s no way she would know about any of that-”

“Bullshit!” he screams suddenly. “They let her work at their card games. She’s obviously privy to more information than most women. One of his CIs killed him, and I know it’s either the Vittorios or the Rizzos. It’s always one of them.”

But none of the agents seem to take him seriously.

CI? Confidential informant?

Informant.

Carmine.

He killed a cop.

I stand up shakily, looking down at my white hands. “I don’t know anything and I’d like to go now.”

It might not be Carmine, I tell myself as they escort me out of the building. Killing a cop, is he insane? It might be him, or it might not be. The way he spoke, it almost sounded like there were multiple CIs. Or perhaps they have no idea of the identities of the CIs. Only the cops who dealt directly with them would. That would make sense.

It’s only until they drop me at the same block, that I realize I forgot the tupperware in the police station. Damn it.

The car peels away, leaving me fighting for air as I look up and down the street. Hopefully, no one saw anything. Then I see something that knocks the air from my lungs.

Carmine.

Leaning against a fence with his arms crossed. Staring at me. He pushes off with a hand and slowly approaches me with a forced grin.

RUN!

Everything inside me screams to take off in the other direction. He saw. He knows. I can’t move a muscle. His light eyes are fractured in the sunlight, reminding me of broken glass.

“What, no kiss?”

A nervous laugh leaves me throat. “Carmine, I didn’t expect to see you there.” I lean in and plant a kiss on his scruffy cheek.

“I didn’t expect to see you with them.”

His hand closes over my arm as he gives me a deadly look that makes my stomach fall. I’ve never seen him like this. He’s always been so nice. Sweet.

I try to twist out of his arm. “You’re hurting me. I’ve no idea what you’re-”

His nostrils flare. “Such a little liar.”

My arms twists behind my back as he maneuvers me around towards the car parked on the street.

“Carmine!”

His arm pins me against his chest, his other hand holding my arm in a grip that sends stabbing pain up my arm with the slightest movement.

“Get in the car.”

Tears burst in my eyes when I try to fight him off.

“I’ll break your arm if you try to fight me off again. All it takes is a little bit of-”

“Stop!” The bones grind in my arm and I can feel them straining. It hurts so badly that I cry in relief when he stops twisting.

“Do as I say.”

Vince, help me. Someone. Anyone!

His arms drop from me as he walks in front of the car and opens the passenger door, unsmiling.

“Who are you?” I cradle my arm against my chest, sliding in the seat. Carmine ignores me, slamming the door.

Vince warned you. He said Carmine was dangerous, you just never believed him.

I dissolve into tears as Carmine reenters the car with a murderous look on his face.

“Why are you doing this to me?”

“Because I just saw my girlfriend getting dropped off by a car full of feds.”

My heart races and my throat feels cut off all air. This was what Vince always warned me about. “Carmine-”

“Please shut the fuck up until we get to my house.”

He’s going to kill me, isn’t he?

We spend the rest of the ride in silence, tears streaming down my face continuously.

The car barrels into the driveway. Carmine slams the brakes and we barely miss the garage.

“Fuck!”

He gets out of the car and I scramble to get out first because I’ve never been so scared in my life. I unbuckle my seat and open the car door, and he grabs my hair, yanking me upright.

“You thought you could lie to me about this? Huh?”

There’s an unreasonable, vicious look on his face that I’ve never seen before. “Carmine, please stop!”

“Keep your voice down.”

He shoves the small of my back, his fingers sliding down to my shoulder to grab me in case I run away. I feel sick down to the very marrow of my bones. He opens the door and shoves me through so that I stumble. When I turn around, he’s all over me, his hands clenched around my throat as he kicks the door shut.

“You’ve been talking about our business, haven’t you?”

I stumble down on the staircase, which dig into my back. His fingers wrap around my neck and squeeze hard. I try not to fight back, to look guilty.

I can’t breathe. I can’t-

My nails dig into his arms, leaving long red streaks. He won’t leave me with an opportunity to speak. I’m going to die and Vince will never know. He’ll hate himself for not being there. Carmine hardly seems to struggle as he strangles me. My lungs burn. Finally, I knee him hard in his stomach, and his heavy weight moves, pinning me completely. Black spots. I slap him, but it’s so weak that my hand seems to stroke his face.

Something slaps my cheek and I open my eyes. Carmine’s face is still in front of me. The stairs still dig into my back, but at least his hands aren’t wrapped around my throat. My face is wet with my tears.

“Start fucking talking or it happens again.”

I stare into his eyes and there’s nothing but emptiness, and I wonder how I ever found this man sweet and charming.

“The feds picked me up, but I didn’t say anything to them. I swear to God, Carmine. I’d never talk to them.”

His hand wraps around my throat and I dig my fingers underneath.

“No, please don’t!”

He slaps me hard with his other hand and I stop, tears burning down my cheeks. The slap stings my cheeks.

“What did they want?”

“They-they just want information,” I say quickly. “They’re fishing, that’s all. They’re worried about some cop who’s missing.”

Carmine’s lips part and his fingers loosen around my neck. He gives me a very stern look before he continues in a hard voice. “Adriana, what did they say exactly? Take your time and think about it.”

My vein pulses against his fingers, reminding me that at any moment he could cut off the flow of my oxygen again. “They-they said something about CIs. That one of them probably killed the cop. Either the Vittorios or the Rizzos.”

His eyes widen ever so slightly, but he doesn’t say anything else. They dart all over my face, as if deciding something.

“Carmine, I swear I haven’t told anything to them. If you don’t believe me, you can ask Vince. I’ve been picked up by them before.”

“What the fuck?” His fingers pinch my throat. “He knew about this and didn’t tell Jack?”

“He was supposed to, but he didn’t. He didn’t want to see me get hurt, and he knew I was telling the truth.”

He exhales through his nose, nodding. “He took a big risk.”

I suck in breath, which is still a bit hard with his hand around my neck. “Please don’t tell anyone. I’m telling you the truth.”

He lets go of my throat and sits back, looking unnerved. “I can’t believe Cesare would keep a secret like that from his boss.”

I inhale sharply. “He did me a huge favor.”

“All right, I’ll keep your secret-”

“Thank you, Carmine,” I gasp.

“-But it’ll depend on you. You have to show me that you’re trustworthy.”

Fucking hell. Like I don’t have enough problems.

“‘Course. Like I said, you could always ask Vince.”

“I don’t need to ask that douchebag anything.”

He stands up and towers over me. My wrists are raw from clenching the stairs. He offers a hand, but I clutch the rail and lift myself up.

I can’t stomach his touch right now.

“I need to get changed for tonight. There’s a big game.” He grips my jaw suddenly. “Don’t mess it up.” Then he leans forward, his lips hot and biting against mine.

Bile rises in my throat and I move my head away. His hands were just wrapped around my throat.

“The fuck is your problem?”

Then he touches my hand. I jerk away violently, unable to disguise the disgust on my face.

Don’t touch me.

Part of my disgust stems from my own inability to judge a man’s character. I really thought that he liked me, that he was a nice person.

He killed a woman before.

“You tried to kill me.”

Carmine’s face burns red and he curls his teeth, his lips trembling. It’s scary. “No, I didn’t.”

“How could you do that to me?”

Despite myself, I feel the sting of tears in the corner of my eyes. I completely misjudged him. I thought he was sweet, a little overprotective, and sensitive, but violent? Deranged? No way.

“You’re overreacting, Adriana.”

“I passed out. You could have killed me.”

“What you did was serious.”

“I didn’t do anything!”

His features stiffen with rage. “I’m going upstairs. When I come down, I expect you to put this behind you.”

Let him go! Search the apartment!

Suddenly, the reason why I’m here rushes into my head. The sooner I can find something credible for Tony, the sooner I can be rid of Carmine.

I turn my back on him, heading downstairs. I wait until I hear his footsteps creaking upstairs and then I scamper throughout the house.

Where should I start?

I run past what looks like an office. My brain is firing off a thousand different synapses, my hands darting at everything. Bookshelf, desk, drawers, chair. I start at the desk, first. I open the drawer and rifle through the contents, trying to be quiet but thorough. There are sheaves of paper with bets and people’s names and addresses. I slip my phone out of my pocket and take a picture. It’s so frustrating, because I have no fucking idea what I’m supposed to look for.

Running my fingers along the edges, I try to feel for a false drawer. I quickly open the other drawers. Nothing but junk. Pages and pages of crap. Slamming it shut, I look at the next one on top.

The floor above me creaks and the sound of leather patent shoes clipping on stairs startles me. There’s more crap inside this one: pencils, erasers, pens, and a photograph of someone who looks vaguely familiar.

Mom.

I grasp the photo in my hands. It’s a picture of my mother when she was much younger, with wavy dark brown hair. I can see my resemblance to her in it.

Why does he have a picture of my mother in his desk?

Something violent goes through my body, like a spear impaling my flesh. My hands tremble and my heart gallops ahead and I have no idea why, I just know that I am terrified.

A footstep outside the door. I drop the photo inside and lean against the drawer, closing it as Carmine walks inside.

“What are you doing in here?”

Shit.

He’s wearing a brand new suit. At least, it’s one I’ve never seen before. It’s a dark charcoal grey and it fits him perfectly. “You look really nice in that suit.” He looks down at himself briefly and I scan the desk, seizing a picture frame. “I was looking at this photo.”Belongs to NôvelDrama.Org - All rights reserved.

Ignoring the turmoil inside, I swallow hard as he slides in behind me and looks over my shoulder. It’s a picture of a small boy in the arms of a man with the same eyes and nose as Carmine.

“Your dad?”

Carmine’s face softens as he joins my side and looks down at the photo.

“Yeah.” His warm hand slides up my arm. “I don’t remember him much. Just little things like how his beard used to scratch my face when he kissed my cheek. He would buy me cannolis all the time.”

“What happened?”

“He left.” His jaw sets and a painful look glazes over his eyes. “And my ma never saw a dime from him all these years. Can you believe that?”

I hate how I feel sorry for this asshole.

“I’m sorry. My dad died when I was really young, so I know how it feels.”

Suddenly he takes the picture frame from my grasp and sets it down carefully on the desk. “I’m sorry about your dad.”

Why do you have a picture of my mom in your desk?

The question sits on my tongue. I feel it burning my mouth.