Page 41 of Merciless Attraction

I don’t want to worry him. The last thing any of us need is for Damian to wreck the car on the side of the road or break every traffic law known to man to get back here to help.

“Everything is fine,” I lie. “I wanted Nat to know the car is fine and I’m going to park it at Antonio’s building. Are you guys in Vegas already?”

“We’re about an hour or two out. We got a bit of a late start this morning,” Damian grumbles.

“Okay, I guess, let me know you got there safe.”

“Will do,” Natalie replies. I can hear her smile on the phone and know I made the right choice in not worrying them. Damian would turn around if I asked him to, but he’d never make it back here in time to help Antonio.

I end the call and go to collect my car which is being cleaned. Once I’m in the driver’s seat, it almost feels like my life is returning to normalcy. I can breathe. As I look around, I find myself looking through every pouch and compartment in the car to make sure the mechanics didn’t leave anything behind.

While I don’t find any tools, there is a yellow manila envelope under my passenger seat. It has my name on it, just my name scrawled across it in black marker. The way my heart sinks to the pit of my stomach has me on edge as I glance around to see if anyone is watching me in the car. The crinkling of the envelope from my trembling fingers echoes in the confined space.

A part of me wonders if I should even touch the thing, but I can’t just ignore it. Holding my breath, I tear it open for photographs to fall onto the seat beside me. One after another, my eyes zero in on the images.

The first picture shows Steve walking through the foyer of my parents’ Staten Island home. It’s close to sunset by the shade of the light streaming through the glass windowpane in the front door. White marble tiles with grey veins trail across the entire first floor with very few pieces of furniture in the frame. It’s just Steve waltzing through the front door with a slight angle upward at the camera.

“Did he know there were cameras inside the house?” I ask to no one as I sit inside the car near the entrance to the autobody lot.

The next picture shows me walking inside the foyer. The time stamp on the picture is about an hour after the first picture. Why was Steve waiting there? Why was he waiting for me if I couldn’t do anything to help him get closer to my brothers?

My heart races at a completely far off idea, but it makes sense considering who my brothers are. I try to settle my mind on what Steve had planned for me nearly a year ago. I go to the next picture which shows clear as fucking day, a gun in my hand and Steve with his hands up.

Of course, they don’t have pictures of him charging after me and dragging me across the tiled floor. The picture after that shows a trail of blood and me pulling Steve’s dead body through the front door. The last picture is the one that truly unsettles me. It’s a picture of a large grey trunk covered in seaweed on the rocks of a beach with pictures of the Brooklyn Bridge in the background.

FUCK.

Chapter 18: Antonio

The clinic is empty except for a very pissed Dr. Camilla Cannella and two men standing in the waiting room. One sports a handlebar mustache, beady eyes, and has beefy hands with freshly bruised knuckles. He has to be at least 6’5 and over two hundred pounds. The other is slim but has a slimy disposition as he leers at Camilla with sunken eyes and high cheekbones which make him look eerily skeletal. There’s a hardness to his eyes that says he’s the more lethal of the two.

“Good afternoon, fellas. I’m Dr. Antonio Calisi and I need to speak to the good doctor, here—” I approach Camilla, but the bigger of the two stops me with a hand to my chest.

I don’t want to brawl. At least with the scar-face guy, we were evenly matched, physically. Mentally, I think that asshole has a screw loose, but you need to be slightly unhinged when working with anyone associated with the mob.

“I think you can speak right here in front of us,” Beefy Hands tells me with a glimmer in his eye. He wants me to give him any reason to get physical, but I’m tired of throwing punches today.

I keep my voice as calm as possible. “Camilla, Ronan’s on a house call, out of state. I’m here to take over his shifts and patients temporarily. If you gentlemen don’t need Dr. Canella, allow her to leave. It’s close to lunch and I’m sure she’d like to eat.”

The two men eye each other and the slimy one nudges his chin toward the door. She stays silent as she slinks by them to leave the clinic. I know that as soon as she gets a chance, she’s either going to call Ronan or the police. She’ll have better luck with the police because Ronan’s phone is going straight to voicemail.

Once she’s out of the clinic, I ask them, “Who are you and how can I help you guys?”

“I’m Detective Oliver and this Detective Morningside. We’re looking for Ronan because he has information for us,” Beefy Hands, aka Detective Oliver, says firmly. They both show me their badges and look official enough. However, there’s nothing about these two that says they uphold the law.

“What kind of information are you looking for? A second opinion on a medical matter?” I don’t want to assume anything, but with how this day is going, I know they’re not interested in Ronan’s medical expertise, or mine.

The slimy one, Morningside, speaks up this time. “If Ronan trusts you to take over his patients while he’s supposedly out of town, I assume you’re close? Close enough to come at a moment’s notice when his sister calls. Are you familiar with his work after hours? Tending to Don Verducci’s men?”

“No. I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting any of hisprivateclients,” I tell them.

Morningside reacts first, punching me in the gut while Oliver moves behind me to wrap his arms under my armpits, and lacing his fingers behind my neck. He holds me steady as Morningside throws blow after blow like I’m a punching bag. I fuck up and twist to break free, giving Morningside an open shot to my back before Oliver jerks me back into position.

“Wait, this is unnecessary.” I manage to gasp out. There’s no way I can retaliate against these guys as police officers. But make no mistake, I’m searing their names and faces into my memory.

There won’t be any reports of police brutality, but I’ll make sure they regret taking their frustrations out on me. One kick can shatter Morningside’s diaphragm. A headbutt will stun Oliver into letting me go and giving me time to knock him out.

However, Oliver lets me go as Morningside shakes his hands out. His fists may be smaller than mine, but they pack a punch. Morningside flexes his fingers and clears his throat, saying, “Okay, let’s try this again. Tell me about Ronan’s clients who belong to Don Paul Verducci.”

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