Page 81 of Gin & Trouble

“We’ll talk about this later.”

Imagining what Dante must think of me broke my heart. He needed to focus on Enzo and Dahlia, not me and my crazy family. I wouldn’t put him in that kind of situation again. No matter how bad it hurt, I had to walk away from him.

“I’m putting you on a plane out of New Orleans tonight. I have a safe house somewhere Tommaso will never find you.” He spoke as if discussing facts. No anger or threats or questions. In Marco’s mind, I would follow his orders. Period.

“You don’t have to do that. I’ve had an escape plan in place since the day I arrived in New Orleans. I just need you to get me out of the city. I’ll take it from there.”

“This isn’t a request, Frankie. I need to know where you are until I get to the bottom of what happened today. Don’t even think about running. If you do, I’ll assume you’re guilty and act accordingly.”

“I understand.” If I were him, I’d want to keep tabs on me, too, but that didn’t make the idea of being shipped off to who-knows-where any less frightening.

From one prison to another to another, the story of my life.

“Listen. If what you said was true, you know too much. Don’t think for a second Tommaso won’t order you eliminated to stop you from pinning the shooting on him.”

When I was a little girl, my nonna used to have petit mal seizures. Rather than her body shaking, she would disappear inside herself. One minute she’d be smiling and talking, and the next she would stare into space. I was pretty sure I had one of those in the middle of my conversation with Marco.

My brain seized like an overheated motherboard and my internal monitor stuck on one image—Tommaso executing me for knowing too much.

“Frankie?”

I snapped back to reality. “I’m here. Sorry.”

Marco’s tone softened. “I’ll let Dante know where you are.”

“No. Don’t. It’s best if he… No. I’ll go alone.” I let out a sob before I could stop myself and disconnected the call.

The woman whose phone I’d borrowed poked her head out of the stall. “Excuse me. I couldn’t help but overhear that. Are you all right?”

“Yep. Sorry. Some family trouble is all.” I handed her cell phone back to her. “Thank you.

“That sounded like more than a domestic situation.” She straightened her jacket. “I’m Samantha Jenkins. I work for the District Attorney. I can help you.”

The last thing I needed was her thinking she was helping by alerting the police.

Now that I’m wanted for questioning in an attempted murder.

“I’ll be fine.” I’d said the right thing, but she’d slowly started to angle herself toward the exit. “That was a friend. He’s sending people to get me out of here. My brother… He’s obsessed.”

“All the more reason to alert the authorities.” She took a step toward the door.

“Wait.” If I didn’t think of something, and fast, I’d end up in jail instead of on a plane. I remembered what Dante had said about the way people in New Orleans reacted to the Marchionni name.

Drawing on my informal education as a mafia princess, I squared my shoulders, raised my chin, and said, “I know I look an absolute mess, but believe me. My future in-laws will not appreciate the press coverage involving the police will bring.”

The woman pursed her lips and gave me a look that told me she wasn’t buying my bullshit. “Surely, your future in-laws would want you safe.”

“The Marchionnis are very private people.”

Her eyes widened. “TheMarchionnis?”

“I can give you the number to the mansion if you’d like to speak to the head of security.” Playing up the ruse, I held out my hand for her phone and added a veiled threat for good measure. “I’ll let them know that Samantha Jenkins from the District Attorney’s office would like to speak to them.”

“No. That’s quite all right.” She hurried out so fast, I worried she’d break a heel.

Dante was right.

24

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