Page 19 of Falling for Carla

“What do you want, Dom?” I said as I answered more out of irritation than family sentiment.

“About fuckin’ time you answered your phone,” he huffed at me.

I rolled my eyes, ready to hang up on him. I didn’t need this crap from him. Guilt? After everything I lived through and everything I lost because of our dad. Something stopped me from just pressing the end button and turning off the phone though.

“What is it?” I asked, exasperated.

“Shit’s hitting the fan in Vegas. A big deal we had going went south. The local syndicate is spoiling for an all-out war and some of the LA affiliates are piling on. They got beef with Dad from a few years ago.”.

I grimaced. I remembered it well. My dad and brother had a whole set of tasteless jokes about it that I had to try and stomach at the time.

“I remember,” I groaned.

“There’s a war coming,” he said.

“This shit is exactly the reason I got out of New York. I didn’t exactly sign up for the email newsletter to get updates,” I said sarcastically. “I’m not involved in any of this anymore.”

“You’re still a Russo whether you like it or not,” he reminded me.

“Yeah, and you’re still a dick. Maybe take some time off from blackmail and threats of bodily harm, get a massage or something,” I said.

“I’m serious, Car,” he said. “I can send a couple guys out there to your hippie-dippie college to keep an eye on you.”

“No,” I responded immediately.

“You sure? You gotta watch your back. I don’t care how much distance you think you put between yourself and the business. We share a bloodline. You’re Carla Russo. You can shave off the curls and pierce your nose or whatever the hell they do out there, but blood is blood.”

“I love these cozy little heart-to-hearts we have where you keep saying the same shit until I hang up the goddamn phone,” I said.

“You always were a smart-mouthed little shit,” he said, but there was a fond thread in his voice, just like the one in mine. We lived through the same hell, even if we came out on the other side complete opposites.

“Yeah, well, I looked up to you, so whaddaya expect?” the Brooklyn accent creeping out from my carefully enunciated voice.

“You sure you don’t want me to put a coupla metal men on you?”

“You want to send your thugs to pack heat while they sit by me in my criminology class on Organized Crime and Mob violence?” I asked. “I’m fine, Dom. Don’t bother.”

“Keep your guard up, sis,” he said gruffly.

“I’m a Russo. My guard is always up,” I said ruefully.

I hung up, ending the call. If only I could’ve shaken off the way it bothered me, the impending war, the fact that, for better or worse, I was a Russo and I could be targeted as one. The sour business deal had spilled out of Vegas and all the way to LA, leaving me way too close to the blast zone.

CHAPTER 15

DRAKE

Carla didn’t show up for class.

That by itself was odd. She was a model student, never late, never absent, all of her work turned in on time and flawless down to the last comma. So, when she didn’t turn up in the front row of Crim 4, I knew something was wrong.

As her professor, I wasn’t going to do anything rash like contact her using her personal number to check on her. That would be crossing a boundary that my ethics kept firmly in place. If she needed the slide deck, she’d message me on the classroom web site. Otherwise, I’d have to assume she was under the weather or had an appointment that couldn’t be rescheduled. The cop in me knew something was rotten.

After seeing her in danger in the alley by the bar, I knew she could handle herself. But it also reminded me that she was at risk. She was a Russo. She was, first and foremost, a potential target for Mob collateral damage or a valuable hostage, depending on the enemy’s mood. There was nothing like the kingpin’s pretty daughter, an unsuspecting college student, to use as leverage if you were on the wrong side of a business deal. I swallowed a drink of my water and tried to focus on teaching the class when all I could think of was who wasn’t there front and center where she belonged.

When I finished class, I gathered my things and my umbrella. I wondered fleetingly if the hard rain and chilly wind had kept her home, but I dismissed the idea. Carla Russo was made of sterner stuff than that. I headed to my car, glad I didn’t have classes the rest of the day.

Instead of heading to the gym for a session with Aaron or picking up some fresh veg for a stir fry lunch, I was heading home. Nothing about a cold, relentless rain appealed to me, and I had some grading to complete in the comfort of my dry, spacious apartment with a hot cup of coffee, preferably. And some dry socks. The water pooled on the sidewalks and made a nuisance of itself.

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