Protected by the Monster Read online

  Protected by the Monster

  BB Hamel

  Contents

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  1. Luca

  2. Clair

  3. Luca

  4. Clair

  5. Luca

  6. Clair

  7. Luca

  8. Clair

  9. Luca

  10. Clair

  11. Luca

  12. Clair

  13. Luca

  14. Clair

  15. Clair

  16. Luca

  17. Clair

  18. Luca

  19. Clair

  20. Luca

  21. Clair

  22. Luca

  23. Clair

  24. Luca

  25. Clair

  26. Luca

  27. Clair

  Also by BB Hamel

  Copyright © 2020 by B. B. Hamel

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  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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  1

  Luca

  I leaned back in the uncomfortable metal and wood chair, an espresso cooling on the table in front of me, the weight of my Glock pressing up against my spine, and watched as Steven leaned toward the old woman sitting across from him.

  “Mrs. Davidson,” he said, his voice low, his eyes hard as steel. “I’ll do what I can.”

  That was my Capo, Steven Bianco. His face was serious, but beneath that calm exterior, I knew there was a killer lurking like a hungry tiger.

  I’d seen it myself on more than one occasion. I learned everything I know from him, learned how to make my heart like ice, how to close down my mind as I took a man’s life, how to move fast and quiet and hit hard before anyone could even start to think about how to defend themselves.

  After two years of intermittent war, first with the Irish and then with the Jalisco Cartel, I’d learned the importance of keeping calm under pressure.

  “Thank you, oh, thank you,” Mrs. Davidson said. “You’re incredible.”

  “Your cat, Bootsy, is the most important thing in the world to me,” Steven said, and I swear she believed him.

  “Thank you.” Mrs. Davidson pushed back from the table, her hands shaking, her poof of white hair blowing in the air-conditioned draft. “I knew I could count on you.”

  Steven got up and helped Mrs. Davidson to the door. He shot me a look on the way and I grinned back, loving every second of his annoyed discomfort.

  I sipped the espresso in front of me and pushed away the laughter that threatened to spill out. Steven taught me that no matter what, no matter how small a task or unimportant a job might seem, I had to take it seriously. I had to step up and do whatever it took to see it through until the end.

  So even though Mrs. Davidson just asked one of the Leone Crime Family’s most important Capos to find her lost cat, I had to keep a straight fucking face.

  “She’s nice as hell, but I swear, I’m going to strangle the cat if I find it,” Steven said, sitting down across from me.

  I held up my hands, palms out, and smirked at him. “Come on, brother. You’re really going to kill that nice old lady’s cat just because she’s annoying?”

  “Fine,” he said. “I’m going to kill that cat’s whole family. Just to send a message.”

  “What’s the message?”

  His eyes stared into mine. “Cats better not fuck with me.”

  I groaned, rolled my eyes. “You’re so full of shit,” I said. “I know you love cats. I saw you feed a stray a couple weeks back.”

  “Don’t mistake charity for weakness,” Steven said.

  I laughed and waved him off, looking around the room to see if anyone heard that exchange. Fortunately for him, nobody did. The bakery was mostly empty, just Sergio’s bored nephew behind the counter swiping at TikTok on his phone and a hipster guy with a shaggy beard and a ratty ponytail jabbing at his MacBook in the far corner table opposite our own.

  The bakery was one of those new industrial-chic type places with a mix of wood and metal. I never really got that whole vibe, but Starbucks made it popular, so every other coffee place followed suit, I guess. I never took Sergio to be the kind of guy to follow trends, but the bakery’s been pretty profitable, so it must work.

  The fresh smell of bread wafted out from the back as Sergio came out wearing a white shirt and a white apron. His dark salt-and-pepper hair was pushed back, and his dark eyes were rimmed with red and baggy underneath, probably because he got up at ungodly hours to bake every day.

  He refilled the bread baskets that sat against the wall behind the glass display case. Even if I didn’t agree with the decor in this place, Sergio knew his bread and pastries, and the place smelled like heaven.

  “Check this out,” Steven said, his eyes on the front windows.

  I turned to follow his gaze and saw a black SUV parked out front. The driver got out, a bald guy with dark sunglasses, and opened the back door.

  “Is that Roberto?” I asked, nodding at the bald guy.

  “Seems like it,” Steven said. “And that’s the fucking Don.”

  I leaned forward, unable to hide my surprise, as Don Leone stepped out from the back of the car. Roberto helped him down, let the Don get his cane out and on firm ground, then helped the old man to the door.

  Steven stood and walked over as Don Leone entered the bakery. I stood up at attention, not sure what the hell was going on.

  Don Leone did not come to the bakery, not on some random Tuesday in the middle of the afternoon.

  “Steven,” Don Leone said. “How wonderful to see you.”

  “Don,” Steven said, bowing his head in respect. “It’s a pleasure. What brings you down here? Should I go get Sergio from the back?”

  “No need,” Don Leone said as his eyes swept over to me. Roberto lingered just behind the Don, looking like he wanted to beat the crap out of the furniture. “I’m here to see your lieutenant.”

  “Luca?” Steven asked.

  “The one and only.” Don Leone took a step toward me. “How are you doing, Luca?”

  “Very well, Don,” I said, bowing my head. “What can I do for you, sir?”

  “Come out from behind that table and let me look at you.”

  I did as instructed and presented myself to the Don. My heart beat fast and sweat pooled under my arms.

  Don Leone looked like a kind old Italian grandfather. His hair was getting whiter with age, and there were more lines around his eyes and mouth than I remembered from the last time I saw him nearly two years ago. He had olive skin, blue eyes, wore a comfortable sweater vest over a tucked-in white shirt and a pair of khaki slacks. His cane was a simple black with a silver handle at the top. He looked like any other old man in any Italian neighborhood in South Philly, which Luca kind of assumed was the point.

  But Don Leone was a shark.

  The man was a true player. He built the Leone Crime Family himself through years of brutal warfare and aggressive recruitment. He established one of the most robust and formidable mafias in the entire United States, and he did it almost entirely on his own.

  He looked harmless and he scared the shit out of me.

  And I’d been shot at. More than once.

  I’d rather get shot at again than get stared down by Don Leone.

  “I hear you’ve
been busy,” Don Leone said.

  “How so, sir?” I asked.

  “The Jalisco.”

  I suppressed my grimace. “They’ve been, uh, just a little problem,” I said.

  Don Leone laughed like a kindly old grandfather.

  “Oh, I think they’ve been more than a little problem,” he said. “We thought we squashed them, but two years later they’re already making waves.”

  “We’ve been knocking them down faster than they can rebuild,” I said. “I think in a few more weeks, we’ll clear them out of the city for good.”

  “Perhaps,” Don Leone said, bobbing his head up and down. “Perhaps that’s true. And I hear that has a lot to do with you and Steven.”

  “And your son,” I said. “He’s been a big help.”

  “Of course,” Don Leone said, gesturing dismissively. “But I hear you’ve killed… how many now?”

  I glanced at Steven, just an instant, as my heart leapt in my chest. We weren’t supposed to talk about body counts, not with anyone outside of the crew, but this was Don Leone. Steven gave me the slightest nod.

  “Twenty-three,” I said. “That I know of, at least.”

  “Very impressive,” Don Leone said. “You’ve turned into quite the enforcer.”

  I bowed my head again. “Thank you, Don,” I said.

  “I have a job for you,” he said, his voice going flat and serious. “It’s going to seem like a small job, perhaps it’ll feel beneath you. But it’s an important job.”

  “Anything for the family,” I said.

  “Steven, would you mind if I borrowed him for a time?” Don Leone asked.

  “Of course, Don,” Steven said. “Whatever you need.”

  “Good.” Don Leone turned. “Come with us then, Luca. I think you’re going to like her.”

  I frowned as Don Leone walked to the door. Roberto opened it for him, helped the Don out. I looked at Steven and he just shook his head.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “Better go.”

  “I’ll fill you in later,” I said, and followed after the Don.

  He got into the back and Roberto gestured at the passenger side seat. I got up front as Roberto got behind the wheel, and we slid back out into the Philadelphia traffic, gliding down the narrow one-way streets, past red-bricked rowhomes, torn-up sidewalks broken for construction, past gnarled trees growing along too-small plots, past people walking fast, people walking slow, people laughing on their stoops and standing in small groups.

  The living city, always growing, always morphing.

  “What do you know about the Chicago families, Luca?” Don Leone asked me as the car turned and headed west.

  “Not much,” I said. “I’ve never been there before.”

  “Chicago has a very, very long tradition of crime,” Don Leone said. “When I began as a young man, I thought about going out there. But I decided I’d rather be a big fish in a small pond, and so here I am.”

  “Now you’re a whale,” I said.

  Don Leone gave me a small, tight smile as I looked at him in the rearview mirror.

  “I don’t suppose you know who Fazio Pinto is,” Don Leone said.

  “I don’t, sir.”

  “No,” Don Leone said, turning to look out the window. “Of course not. Fazio was an important underboss in the Riva Family. He spent many years as the underboss, many, many years, nearly as many years as I’ve been head of the Leone Family. And do you know who his sister married?”

  “No, Don,” I said.

  “His sister Annabella married my brother Emilio.”

  “Oh,” Luca said, though the name didn’t mean anything to him.

  “He passed years ago,” Don Leone said. “Well before your time. When he was killed, Annabella turned her back on the family and vowed to keep my brother’s daughter away from us, perhaps from grief, perhaps from anger. They stayed in the city, and I’ve kept my eye on them over the years, but they kept their distance, and Annabella kept her vow.”

  “That must be… difficult,” I said, staring through the windshield. I saw Roberto give me a flat glare out of the corner of my eye.

  “It was,” Don Leone said. “But life continues. I respected Annabella’s wishes, kept my distance, and only made sure that my business didn’t cause them trouble. Truth is, I hadn’t thought about them much over the years, until three days ago, when Fazio died and left his fortune to Annabella’s daughter.”

  I coughed and cleared my throat. “Your niece, sir?” I asked. “Why would he do that? Were they close?”

  “I don’t know,” Don Leone said. “I don’t know if they were even aware of each other, or if they were as close as a niece could be with an uncle involved in violent crime, although I very much suspect they didn’t speak. If Annabella didn’t want anything to do with our family, I would guess she also didn’t want to be involved with them.”

  Luca nodded and watched as they car crossed over the Schuylkill River into West Philly. Roberto steered them toward the University of Pennsylvania’s campus and the surrounding neighborhoods. It was a decent enough area, not great by most standards, and the Leone Family only has a passing presence. Mostly West Philly was run by local gangs, small-time operations that controlled only a few blocks at a time. I knew there’d been talk of taking it all over and being done with it, but that never seemed to pan out.

  “Does this job have to do with the girl, sir?” I asked.

  “Very good, Luca,” Don Leone said. “You picked up on that quickly. I’ve heard you’re ruthless and good with a gun. Is that true?”

  “I don’t know, sir,” Is aid. “I do what I’m ordered to do and I try not to let my Capo down.”

  “Well said,” Don Leone said. “But be honest.”

  I looked out the window, at old glass-fronted businesses, as young kids walking with backpacks and messenger bags.

  “I’m good at killing,” I said. “I got used to it.”

  Don Leone let out an approving grunt as he nodded his head. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”

  “Do you want me to kill the girl?” I asked.

  A ghost of a smile slipped across his face. “Tell me, Luca. Would you, if I asked?”

  “I’d do as ordered,” I said, although I didn’t mention that I’d never killed a girl before, and didn’t want to start now.

  But I wasn’t about to contradict a shark in his ocean.

  “I’m sure you would,” Don Leone said. “But no, that’s not what we’re here to do. In fact, I want the opposite.”

  I sat up straighter. “Opposite, sir?”

  The car stopped just on the outskirts of the campus outside a light red brick rowhome with a small concrete porch out front. It shared a porch roof with its neighbor, the borders around the front painted a pale lime green color. The door was white, glass up top, bars on the windows.

  “Here we are,” Don Leone said.

  Roberto jumped out and walked around to the back. I sat there for a beat before unbuckling my belt and getting out. Roberto helped Don Leone down, and together they hobbled toward the front door.

  I followed them at a distance, hands shoved in the pockets of my jeans, not sure what the hell was going on. I didn’t know why Don Leone told me that little family story, and I didn’t know what any of this had to do with killing. If I wasn’t here to murder the girl, I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do.

  I wasn’t a fucking babysitter, if that’s what he had in mind.

  But then again, if he told me to jump off that porch roof, I’d do it.

  The Don and Roberto walked up the three low steps then to the front door. They didn’t knock, just opened the door and stepped inside. I followed at a respectful distance and stepped into a neat little entryway.

  There was a staircase just ahead and a small living room to the left with bare bones furniture. A low, wooden coffee table had random magazines thrown on top, a couple Vogues and an ESPN in the mix. There was a leather chair, used and abused and patched with d
uct tape, but it looked comfortable at least. The flat-screen TV sitting on top of a rickety black-brown Ikea stand had some golf tournament on mute, and I watched as a fat guy in a green shirt missed a short, easy putt, and I swear he nearly threw his club.

  “Through here,” Don Leone said, leading us toward the back doorway. There was a short hall to the right with two more doors, one standing slightly open to reveal teal-colored tiles and a white porcelain sink in surprisingly clean condition.

  The left back door opened into a kitchen, barren granite countertops, simple off-white linoleum floor, a large stainless steel refrigerator next to a gas burner.

  And sitting at a long white table was a blonde girl with bright blue eyes and one of the meanest scowls I’d ever seen in my life.

  She stood as soon as Don Leone stepped into the room, arms crossed over her chest. I stared at her, my heart beating fast. She has thick lips, a small nose, tiny round ears, her hair piled up in a messy bun on her head. She wore a tank top that showed off just a hint of her round, firm breasts, and her skin-tight yoga pants suggested she kept herself in shape.

  The girl was fucking gorgeous.

  “Uncle Luciano,” she said, her voice dripping with anger. “You can’t just keep disappearing. I told your other guy, what was his name? Dino the Dinosaur? Whatever, I told him I’m not staying and I’m telling you—”

  Don Leone held up a hand and she stopped talking, but she looked like he’d slapped her.

  “Clair,” he said, “please, just a moment more. May I introduce you to someone?”

  “I keep telling you, I’m not staying,” she said. “I know Uncle Fazio left me a lot of money, but—”