Body of Trust: A Romantic Suspense Novel Page 3

  “My family!” I shout as said reality comes plummeting to the front of my brain. “I need to call them.” I look down at his phone and see there’s no service. A heavy weight sits in my belly. “What if my mother and sister arrived when they …” My voice trails off, as I can’t finish the thought. My stomach drops, leaving a hollow pit.

  Jesse walks toward me. His hands are on my arms, rubbing affectionately, as his gaze lowers to meet mine. “They’re okay. Knowing them, they’re still home. Your sister always arrives an hour late to any of your family dinners.”

  I relax slightly at his correct assessment. “My father?”

  He shakes his head with a shrug. “I have no idea, but I do know that Raphael Sorrentino is a smart man. As are your uncles. They’re armed, and they have security.”

  “Who were those men? Why would they want to kill anyone?”

  “They came for your uncle Frankie.” He takes a pause before adding, “And your father.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  The way his eyes look up toward the cavernous ceiling as he takes a deep breath lets me know he’s privy to information I’m not.

  “Amelia,” he starts and then stops, as if he heard something.

  We still and wait in silence. I don’t hear anything, but I stand stiff and listen.

  He places his hand in mine. “We need to keep going.”

  The tunnel is long and dark, but after the small space we just crawled through, I’m not as nervous. Plus, there’s something about Jesse—his voice, his touch, his commanding presence—that puts me at ease.

  The tunnel splits, and we take the path on the right.

  “How did you know this was here?” I ask when we’re a good distance away from the grate and the noises that seemed to plague Jesse.

  “Would you believe me if I said I was interested in underground topography?”

  I shake my head. “No.”

  His hand tightens on mine. It’s callused in a way that surprises me. For a bartender, I expected his hands to be smooth, and yet the rough edges make me feel protected.

  “These tunnels were built in the ’20s, back when bootleggers had parties and needed to escape the police raids. The mob expanded on them in the ’60s when they built their mansions on top as a way to avoid arrests. These tunnels are secret passages to homes, which is how I knew there was one at Villa Russo. They also use them to smuggle drugs and weapons.”

  “Used to,” I correct him.

  He gives me a side-eye. “Right.”

  “And how might one find these mysterious tunnels? Is there a map I don’t know about?”

  “If you know the right people,” he states matter-of-factly and then stops. He looks up and starts counting beams on the ceiling. I open my mouth to speak, but he holds his palm up. “Wait. I lost count.”

  “You’ve been counting this entire time?”

  “Three hundred and four,” he says to himself and then appears to continue to count in his head. “Okay, this way.”

  We walk to another grate in the wall, and I hold my hands up in refusal. “I’m not going into another dark tunnel.”

  “This one should be different. You’ve trusted me this far, right?” His eyes shine bright as he pleads with me not to give up on him.

  “Seeing as I have nowhere else to go …”

  “That’s the spirit.” He removes the grate on the wall with ease, which seems to surprise him. “At least one thing is going our way tonight.”

  I know the drill, so I go first and wait for him to get behind me. We only have to crawl for a short time before we’re below a metal door in the ceiling. He unhooks the long handle, unlatching the lock.

  “Now, we pray,” he says.

  “After everything that has transpired tonight, now, you want to pray?” I nearly choke on my words. “For what?”

  “That the latch on the other side is open.”

  “Jesse, why would the latch on the other side be closed?” I think back to what he said before about these tunnels. “Are we about to magically appear inside someone’s home?”

  “Yep.” With a push and a shove, he opens the door. “Hope they like unexpected company. Let’s go.”

  I want to fight him. Normally, I would. But under the circumstances, I have no options.

  “Ladies first.”

  Chapter Three

  “Listen, I have followed you through this little Shawshank escape, but breaking and entering is where I draw the line,” I say.

  “You do realize, we’re running from gun-slinging criminals who want to kill your family?”

  The convoluted essence of that sentence has my head reeling. “My family?”

  “For a smart girl, you’re slow to pick up on this.”

  He doesn’t wait for me to say anything as he lifts himself up through the hole. He’s lucky he’s no longer in front of me because his insult did not go unnoticed.

  “It’s clear,” he calls from above.

  His hand appears, and I hesitate for a moment before grabbing it and allowing him to help me up. He easily lifts me and sits me on the ground with my feet dangling in the tunnel. I stand, dust off my hands, and adjust my dress.

  “We can wait it out upstairs.” He closes the metal tunnel door and secures the latch.

  I look around the room. We’re in an old basement. An oil tank has cobwebs on it, and the water heater doesn’t sound like it’s running.

  He moves to a staircase and doesn’t seem to care how loud his footsteps are. I, on the other hand, walk on tiptoe.

  The main floor of the home is dark, and there’s no furniture inside. He walks to a bookcase built into the side of the fireplace and puts his gun on the shelf before grabbing two candlesticks. He places them on the mantel and lights the candles with a matchbook.

  With the room lit by the two wicks, he takes the phone from my hand. “While I like traveling by iPhone light, I’d also like to save my battery.”

  “My mother. I need to call her and tell her where I am.”

  “You can’t do that.” His words are quick.

  “Why not? What’s going on?” With a turn of his head, I know he doesn’t want to give me a straight answer. I start to pace. “I hate being left in the dark. Literally and figuratively. I’ve trusted you so far; now, you need to have faith in me by explaining what the hell is going on.”

  He runs his fingers through his hair, and with his hands still on his head, he stares back, seeming unsure.

  “Jesse, please,” I beg, and he glares out the window. His jaw tightens as he clenches his teeth. The war in his mind rages, but my side seems to win.

  “Take a seat.” He gestures to the hearth.

  I sit on the cold stone, and he remains standing as he takes his phone out and makes a call.

  “Yeah,” he says to whoever picked up. He looks at me with a warning glare that says I need to stay quiet as he speaks, “I’m at the point. Yes, I’m alone.” He listens on the other end and walks the length of the room. “I exchanged fire with one man. Definitely a Lugazzi. I recognize him from one of my runs. He’ll need a bus if he hasn’t been hauled out of there by his own men already.”

  There’s more walking. His heavy footsteps tread the room.

  His eyes glance to me every once in a while. I’m sitting here, rubbing my sweaty palms together, feeling a pang in my gut, waiting with anticipation for him to ask whoever is on the phone what the hell happened to my family.

  “Two? Okay. And the men?” he asks.

  I bite my nails, and my knees shake.

  Jesse’s shoulders drop, and his feet stop pacing. He gazes at me. “What about Raphael Sorrentino? His wife and daughters were supposed to be there.”

  My eyes bulge, and my heart pounds in my gut as he asks about my father.

  He nods his head. “I assumed. He’s quick for an old guy.”

  His expression lets me know my father is okay. I let out a cry in relief.

  “I’m gonna wait here for a f
ew. No, don’t send a car. I can make it back.”

  He hangs up without a good-bye.

  The relief falls down my cheeks as I thank the heavens that my father is okay. Jesse kneels in front of me. His hands wrap around me as he pulls me into a hug. I grip him hard and cry into his shoulder.

  “It’s okay. He’s okay. Your mother and sister weren’t there yet. Your family is all right.”

  I sob. “And my uncles?”

  His body tenses, and I know the news is bad.

  “Your uncle Vic was shot. I’m sorry.”

  I gasp for breath. He’s one of my father’s best friends from childhood. “That’s horrible.”

  Jesse places a hand on my shoulder and the warm sensation of his touch sooths my nerves a bit. “He’s going to live.”

  I lean back and look at Jesse. How he knows all of this baffles me. “Who did this?”

  “Carlo Lugazzi. Does that name ring a bell?”

  I shake my head. “Should it?”

  “He’s a notorious thug who runs a cartel in upstate New York.”

  “What does he want with my family?”

  Jesse’s brow furrows. He looks pained. “Your father has kept you in a bubble, away from all of this for a reason. I shouldn’t be the one to tell you.”

  “The bubble burst when men started shooting at us!”

  He nods in agreement. He takes a seat beside me and rests his elbows on his knees. His hands fidget as he tries to start the story. “Your family doesn’t just provide private sanitation around New York City.”

  His foot taps on the wood floor as he swallows, hard. I’ve never seen someone so bothered by what they are about to say. It’s making me nervous.

  “Your family is involved in something bigger, and Carlo Lugazzi is upset because they’ve infringed on his turf.”

  “You’re being vague again, Jesse.”

  “And I promise, it’s for your benefit. You need to understand that me telling you this can get me killed.”

  “You saved my life tonight—”

  “No!” He turns his body to me. His eyes are red-rimmed, and he looks irritated. “You can never let anyone know you were here. They can’t know you were here with me, and most importantly, no one can find out we spoke. You have to promise me.”

  The plea is enough to make me grab his shoulder and hold it steadily. “I won’t. I promise. It’s a stupid promise to make because what you’ve done is nothing short of amazing.” I mean it. I don’t know this man as well as I should, but he put his life on the line for me tonight.

  “I didn’t do anything.”

  “You protected me.” My words make that pained expression morph into surprise and wonderment. “You rushed into action and didn’t hesitate. I put my confidence in you, and now, you need to believe in me. I want to know everything.”

  “I can only tell you what I know will keep you safe.”

  I swallow. “I can handle it.”

  “I know you can.” He runs a hand through his hair and rubs the back of his neck. “Getting you out of Villa Russo, rushing through the tunnels and bringing you here, was the best decision. The men who came tonight were careless. No one shoots up a restaurant if they don’t want to harm a woman. That alone was reason enough for me to take you with me.”

  “Why is this Lugazzi person so angry?” I swallow down the nerves, not believing this is really happening.

  “When I find out, I’ll tell you.”

  I accept his answer as I let out a heavy breath.

  “Are you okay?” he asks.

  “Sure. It’s not every day you find out your family is involved in business that has mobsters coming after them. I just need some time to adjust to the news.” I rub my eyes and then my temples. “I don’t suppose you have any advice. I’m sure your father has a normal job.”

  “He’s a geography teacher.”

  I swivel my head at his quick and honest answer. “And your mom?”

  He smiles, and it settles my anxiety. “Now, you’re pushing it.” The slight bump of his shoulder into mine makes me let out a light laugh.

  “Come on. You know all my secrets.”

  His eyes soften as he looks down with a grin. A deep sigh escapes his lips. “My mother is a bank teller. My sister is in her third year of college.”

  “You have a sister too? I’m surprised you never commiserated with me during our nights at the bar.”

  “I wanted to. Especially since she is just like yours. Center of attention and late for everything.” He stares off with a gaze of wistfulness. “She drives me up the wall, but she’s mine, and I wouldn’t change her for anything.”

  “I bet you’re the protective older brother.”

  “Actually, I haven’t seen my family in two years.”

  I blink rapidly at his statement. Not talking to my family is something I can’t even fathom. For him to have that kind of relationship with them could only mean something horrible must have happened between them. A fight or a misunderstanding blown out of proportion perhaps. It must be terrible.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, and he nods. I take his hand in mine. This isn’t like when he held my hand in the dark tunnels or when he pulled me to safety. I’m gripping his hand purposefully, telling him that I’m here. “That must be so hard for you.”

  He swallows with a nod, looking at our conjoined hands.

  My thumb runs over the top of his knuckles. They’re red and swollen. I flip his hand over and do the same to his palm, letting my fingers gently glide over the wounds from him forcefully removing the grates to bring us to safety. “You know, I … if you ever need someone to talk to, I’m here.” I shake my head at the lunacy. I’m sure he has friends or … someone. Still, it feels important to say. “Anytime. I can be there for you. If you need it.”

  I drop his hand, feeling awkward by the exchange, and look away. His fingers skate along the side of my arm. The warmth of his touch has me turning back to him. His eyes rise to mine, and that blue that I find so mesmerizing paralyzes me.

  “Thank you,” he breathes.

  I nod as I push my hair behind my ear. The intimacy in this moment is too powerful for my fragile mind.

  With a slap to my knees, I rise and walk around the room. It’s big with plank flooring and large crown molding on the ceiling. I run my hands up my arms as a sudden rush of cool air sweeps around me. “Why do you think this place is vacant?”

  “The owner died three years ago. It’s been held up in an estate battle ever since.”

  I blanch as I look at him. “You knew the house was empty.”

  He nods. “Breaking and entering isn’t my thing. Chances of not getting caught are better if no one actually lives where you break in.”

  I laugh at his nonchalant tone. This man has yet to cease to surprise me tonight. “I would ask how you, a bartender, know the map of Staten Island’s hidden crime tunnels by heart and how you brought us to this exact house”—I eye the bookcase where his gun is lying—“or how you got a gun and why there were candles and matches just waiting on the bookcase, but I’m almost afraid to ask.”

  Jesse stands up and slides his hands in his pockets. “The gun was behind the bar. I grabbed it when I heard the gunfire. And the tunnels have always been a backup plan. Let’s just say, I had a feeling I’d need a way out. The candles have been here for months.”

  “I have a plethora of questions I’m dying to ask, but I’m feeling pretty lucky for your preplanning and your honesty thus far, so I won’t push it.” My cheeks rise.

  “I’m relieved you’re finding some humor in this.”

  “This night has been surreal, to say the least. Tell me something boring. Like, super normal.”

  He laughs at my request. “Define normal.”

  “Stupid, mundane things you don’t put on a dating profile because it’s lame yet highly regular.”

  “Okay. Well, I was voted Most Likely to Go to Jail in my high school yearbook. I have a dog named Harry, who lives with my pa
rents. And I’m allergic to copper.”

  “Oh my God, you make me those drinks every week! The copper mugs must irritate you.”

  “Burns a little, and I make sure not to touch my eyes. It’s nothing.”

  My hands fly out as I explain, “Burning your skin is a big deal.”

  “Well, there’s this cute girl who enjoys them, so it’s worth it.”

  A swarm of butterflies inhabit my belly, and I have to fight a blush. I cross my arms and shake my head at him. “Well, next time, I’ll get something else.”

  “And I’ll ignore you.” He takes a few steps closer. “Your turn. What’s your normal?”

  “You know my normal. And my abnormal.”

  His eyes twinkle in the dark as his lip rises on the side, revealing a dimple. “True. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to know more.”

  A warm sigh escapes my lips. “My normal? I work, spend time with my family, go for the occasional drink with my quasi-cousin. That’s it.”

  “What do you do for you? I’ve watched you for a year, and you’re always so invested in everyone around you. There has to be something you do for you.”

  I raise a shoulder. “I like art. Sometimes, I go to the museum by myself and take in the paintings. It’s relaxing. I’m not opposed to a bath with some music after a long day. And … well, this is kind of lame.”

  “Tell me.” He lifts his chin in eagerness.

  I roll my eyes. “I … collect matchbooks.”

  “To light things with?”

  “When I was younger, if something memorable happened or I enjoyed a good meal at a restaurant or the moment felt right, I’d take a matchbook and keep it as a souvenir. Now, I just grab one because they’re a rarity. A throwback to another time.”

  “That’s not embarrassing. I’m impressed you can find one.”

  “I think that’s why I’m still so enthralled by it. If I spot one, it’s like an omen that something big is about to happen. That’s weird, right?”

  “Not at all. It’s exactly something I would expect from you.” He takes a step closer, and I look up into his handsome face. “You’re thoughtful.”