A Mafia Romance

Alan

ALAN

So she wants a lift to Montreal? It’s not my first border run. The last guy was running from the cops, not the mob. Less rules—more danger.

As I’m mulling this over, the burner phone buzzes.

I check the screen. Marty is messaging me back. I’m here.

Check for the LJ first, it’ll be high end. If this is a mobster’s car, it may have more nasty surprises than just a tracking device. And that’s bad enough.

I look back up at Melissa. “I can do that, but let’s talk over the specifics and lay some ground rules. This will cost you.” I keep my eyes on her face. My gaze keeps trying to graze the front of her coat, like I’m hoping to see through the layers of wool and leather.

My judgment is weird right now. It’s not every damn night you get to rescue a drugged, kidn*pped, and very hot woman who is running from the mob. From her father the mob boss, I should say.

Oh yeah, honey, if I’m sheltering you from your dad and taking you across the border, you’re going to pay a lot more than a thousand a night.

But only in cash. She smoking hot, and the shy way she looks at me piques my interest. Even if I’m risking my neck for her, some things are given, never earned.

That’s not going to stop me from getting as much as possible in the cash department, though. Call it hazard pay.

My phone beeps again. Found it. It’s got some extra wiring. Should I deactivate?

I stiffened slightly. No. Is it on the inside of the bumper?

Yes, the back one. Why?

Don’t mess with the extra wires. Don’t deactivate. Just remove the whole back bumper and leave it right there.

“What’s wrong?” she asks me softly as she perches her chin on the backs of her wrists. Cute, but not flirtatious. Her eyes are dull with exhaustion.

“You were right about the LoJack. He’s leaving it behind without deactivating it. He found some other wires.”

“You told him not to mess with them?” Her voice lowers uncomfortably.

“Yeah. Don’t worry; he doesn’t have his head up his ass.”

Stealing vehicles for a living, you need ways of unloading them without leaving a trail behind. I leave city limits, hand the keys to a transport guy disguised as a car wrecker, and have him tow it after paying me my advance. The rest of my cut comes afterwards.

Our coffee comes, and I order us both a slice of apple pie.

“Just try it,” I ask her gently, more than troubled about her d**g hangover.

“Okay,” she murmurs.

I check my phone. No more complications, comes the message. You’ll only get $1k on this.

Send it after, I reply. Thanks for coming out in the cold. See you in the spring.

No problem, brother. Happy New Year.

“Okay, the tow’s handled,” I said quietly and grabbed my coffee. I was pretty glad I wouldn’t be driving on the way back. “Our ride should be here in about ten minutes. We’ll meet him outside.”

The pie’s pretty good, tasting more of actual apples and spices than sugar. Melissa nibbles on hers doggedly, her eyes enormous and vulnerable despite the g*n in the back of her pants. I know she hung onto it because she doesn’t know me, and I don’t blame her, but when she pulled it on me, it put a hell of a chill down my spine.

I don’t do guns. I know g*n safety, how to aim, fire, and fix one. But I hate them. I have actually seen what they can do, and I don’t mess with them. The only thing not freaking me out about the fact that she pulled one on me is that she seemed eager to put it away.

“I still can’t believe this is happening,” she mumbles. She’s holding back tears again. I’ve watched her fight them off since she opened her eyes.

“You mean that you escaped?” I drain the last of my mug and set it down at the edge of the table.

She nods. “Um...yeah, I almost gave up. I should thank you.”

“Well,” I lean forward to look her in the eyes. “You’re welcome. I sure as f**k hope someone else would do the same for me.”

Why do I give so much of a damn about this girl? She’s paying me to look after her—maybe even get her to the border. She’s had a shitty time—but I’m a thief, not a saint. Getting tangled up with her—mainly emotionally—will be hazardous.

She sips at her coffee and then sets it down, dumping a lot of sugar and cream into it. “Too strong,” she murmurs.

“Assume that your freedom’s permanent.” The more I think about it, the more it pisses me off. Who does this crap to their own daughter? “Fear will drain you, and believe me, if you want a ride, you’re hiring the best. Going to cost you, though.”

“I can pay whatever you ask,” she says with quiet confidence. “I just need to get to my friends.”

It would really be nice to start the winter a step closer to prosperous. “What are you thinking?”

The waitress comes by to pour my refill, and Melissa busies herself picking at her pie. With her glorious hair tucked up and her body hidden in the coat, she looks like a child: big-eyed and vulnerable.

She swipes a figure into her phone and slides it across to me.

I take it. My eyes widen. 500k.

Off goes the waitress again, and I blink at her. “There’s got to be a story behind why it’s that much.”

“Yeah. But I’m not spilling the whole thing until we’re alone.” She tucks her phone back in her purse and looks up at me. “Okay?”

I nod. “Sounds fair.” The more I think about this, the more it sounds like hazard pay. Just who the heck is her father?

"Just so you know," I tell Melissa when we walk out of the café. "The driver has no idea what is going on. He’s been fed a cover story. We're a married couple going back to Lloyd. You're not feeling well."

"I'm not," she admits quietly. "I wonder what they shot me up with."

"Drink a lot of water and sports drinks to flush your system. I suspect it was a heavy sedative."

"Makes sense. Almost feels like the stuff they give you at the dentist. That always leaves me queasy." Her foot slips on the icy sidewalk, and I grab her arm quickly.

She catches her breath and gets her feet steadied. "Thanks."

"No problem." A burgundy SUV is idling at the corner. "That's us. Let's get you settled."

The driver's got an Uber tag in the corner of his dash, and Melissa gives me a startled look. "Come on, sweetheart," I reassure, getting into character as I move up to greet the driver. "We're almost home."

She's still wary of me. I'm still wary of her. But I'll take a risk for a good cause...especially for half a million dollars.