Page 98 of Perfect Vengeance

“I’ve gotta get back to Deke,” Kyle interrupted. “We’ve got three in custody in the garage plus Franco. He’s alive but unconscious. Turns out your boy, there”—Kyle dipped his head to Tino’s lifeless body—“tried to strangle daddy dearest and nearly succeeded.”

Jack stared at Kyle for a moment. He shouldn’t have been surprised Tino tried taking out his old man, but he was. “Call 911. Let them know what’s going on and request two ambulances.” Behind him, Maria Falzone lay huddled in a ball, whimpering softly. One of her eyes was swollen nearly shut, and most of her face was covered in bruises. “Better make that three.” Although he suspected the woman’s emotional scars were far worse than her physical ones.

“Copy that.” Kyle turned, and a few seconds later the door to the garage opened, then slammed shut.

“Maria!” Gina crawled to the whimpering woman, then took her in her arms, rocking her gently. She stroked the woman’s hair. “It’s all right. Everything’s going to be fine. I promise.”

Jack stood. Every one of his bones and muscles ached. His entire body felt as if it had aged fifty years in the last five minutes. Maria Falzone would be fine. Now that her POS husband was dead.

More blood had pooled around Tino’s head but was finally slowing. Things hadn’t gone the way Jack had expected. He’d fully intended to let the criminal justice system run its course in court. In the end, things were better this way.

Jim Spencer’s killer was dead, and Jack’s witness would never have to testify or worry about a bullet taking him out. Tino Falzone’s murderous reign was over, and he’d never become head of the Falzone Crime Family.

At the sound of approaching sirens, he went to the front door and punched a button on the wall to open the gates. He turned to watch Gina, still sitting on the floor, rocking Maria and crooning to her as if she were a small child in need of comfort.

On a scale of one to ten, his admiration for Gina Perot aka Angelina Perotti was already beyond a ten. She’d been kidnapped, had probably come close to being raped and killed, yet she sat on the floor comforting the battered wife of a murdering mobster. His estimation of her jumped to a solid twenty. Not that it mattered.

She could never forgive him, and he couldn’t blame her. The scars he’d unknowingly inflicted on her fifteen years ago were permanent. He had to let her go.

“Jack,” she said over Maria’s head. “Thank you.”

Not being able to hold her or touch her again was killing him. All he could do was nod. As he walked out the front door to wait for the rest of the troops to arrive, he wondered if there would ever be a cure for the gaping hole in his chest where his heart used to be.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

No matter how long Gina stared at the portfolio spreadsheets on her desk, the numbers refused to come into focus. With everything that had happened over the last month, her work was beyond backed up. That wasn’t the real problem.

The last time she’d seen Jack was four weeks ago, when he’d walked out the door of the Falzone mansion. She hadn’t stopped thinking of him since.

Groaning, she gave up on work for the moment and flipped open today’s newspaper to read the front-page article for the third time. Franco Falzone Indicted for Murder. Her father’s murder. Miraculously, the FBI had found the evidence to charge Franco with her father’s death, something that left her mystified.

Rocco and Psycho were old-school mobsters. They would never squeal on Franco. Given the pricy lawyers Franco employed, and with no witnesses to back her up, Gina had been told by the prosecutor that her word alone wasn’t good enough. The statements Franco had made ordering her own death and that killing her father was “just business” might as well never have happened. Somehow, Jack had found a way around that.

She should be happy. She should be bouncing off the walls with joy. Instead, she was numb.

As she turned the page, the pink scar on her hand stood out like a beacon, an ugly reminder of what Tino had nearly done to her. Ironic that Franco’s arrival had stopped him before he could do any permanent damage. The wire cutter hadn’t gone deep enough to sever any ligaments or tendons. All she’d needed was a dozen stitches that had already been removed.

Since the day Jack and the FBI had raided the secret, infamous Mafia Commission meeting in upstate New York, every newspaper in the country continued headlining the latest in Mafia indictments and arrests.

Antonio “Psycho” Fiori and Richard “Rocco” Lambrusco were indicted for kidnapping her the day Jack shot Tino. With Tino dead, Maria Falzone hadn’t hesitated to relate how her husband had orchestrated the whole thing. The mystery henchman, Meat, somehow managed to avoid charges altogether.

She folded over the front page to keep reading. A grainy photo of Jack escorting a handcuffed Franco Falzone graced the center of the page. He had to be up to his eyeballs in work. She’d lost count of how many times she’d picked up the phone to call him. Each time, she’d lost her nerve. Facing him again was the second scariest thing she could think of. Never seeing him again was even scarier.

Laughter and voices from the office Christmas party grew louder. It was Christmas Eve, but celebrating wasn’t on her calendar this year. Maybe next year. If she was lucky enough to stop missing Jack. Or stop loving him.

She threw down the paper and walked to the picture window overlooking the city. From forty stories up, people scurrying about on the sidewalks looked like tiny bugs. Jack was out there somewhere too.

He said he loved her, and she’d pushed him away. After the horrible things she’d said that day in her apartment, he would never come to her. Yet when she’d needed him most, he’d been there, and he’d saved her life.

Her vision blurred, and she blinked rapidly, preventing the tears from falling. What’s done was done. There was no going back. So why couldn’t she let go?

The intercom buzzed. Before she could get back to her desk, the door flew open. Her friends stood in the doorway, smiling. Between the three of them, they carried two bottles of champagne, four glasses, two poinsettias, and a box of chocolates.

“Merry Christmas!” they shouted, rushing in to hug her.

Charlotte closed the door to give them privacy. Her admin always did have a knack for knowing what she needed. The woman totally deserved the hefty gift card Gina had given her this year.

Kinsey tore the wrapper from one of the bottles, then twisted the cork out with a resounding pop. “I love that sound. It’s the sound of par-tay.” With the skill of someone who’d done so many times, she deftly poured champagne into the four flutes without a single spillover. Warm color brightened her face, and her energy level was back to normal and then some. Courtesy of almost dying and a hot doctor she’d met at the hospital.