31 Kisses Read online

  “That’s what couples do, right?”

  “Fuck if I know.” I chuckle as he leads me toward the entrance of the frat house. “I’m not the relationship kind of girl.”

  He smiles proudly. “Well, you are now.”

  “Want to go upstairs?”

  “Yeah, we can do that.”

  We’ve already talked way too much.

  9

  Slip Up

  Hayden

  Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me. I messed up. In case my cover’s blown, I phone Kade as soon as Kelsie leaves. One ring. Just to tell him to get back to me as soon as possible. I fall back in bed, bringing my phone with me, and try to calm my nerves. Between Stone’s advertisement and my slipup; Kade’s going to have my ass for this. I know it’ll only be a matter of time before I get the call, telling me to get the fuck out and meet him at the statue.

  Ugh. I don’t want to leave when I have reasons to stay. I have a life here. Friends. A girl I love. A future. Things I’ll miss. Faces I won’t be able to forget.

  I flip on my side and glare at the football in the glass case. All these years, and I don’t have a fucking clue what’s on there. I jump to my feet and hurry to the dresser. I take the thing in my hands and inspect the cotton-stuffed ball with a fake signature on it. It’s worthless, except for what’s inside.

  In a moment of impulse, I hold the case in both hands and slam it against the edge of the dresser, hard.

  The glass cracks. Pieces fall to the floor around my bare feet—one grazing the skin and making it bleed. I step back and take the football with me. I reach into my night stand and grab the toenail clippers. I use the little file thing on the inside to split the crazy-glued seam open. I pluck some cotton out and find the black flash drive.

  I hold it my hand and toss the ball on top of my bed. “Whatever’s in here got a lot of people killed,” I say to myself. My dad was missing for months before they declared him dead. Kade told me they were probably torturing him for the whereabouts of the it.

  Because of that, I’ve always been afraid of what’s on here. It’s time I know what I’m running from and why.

  I rush down the stairs. The pledges are still at the bar, so I borrow one of the working computers. Hoping there’s no password, I open the laptop as I climb up the steps and hit the enter button. A screen with an access code pops in. Shit. I turn around, put the laptop back on the couch, and head up to Stone’s room. I don’t think his was damaged; he barely uses it.

  I sit at his desk and open the drawer where he usually keeps his computer. I type in “alphapussy” and unlock the screen. It’s been the same since I met him. I insert the hard drive and glance at the time on the lower right hand corner while it loads. I don’t have much time.

  I open the folder titled Commission, revealing six separate folders titled: Cabrali, De Luca, Santarossa, Fontana, Beneventi, and Stallone. I double click on the one labeled “Fontana” to find rows upon rows of videos. I click on the first twenty-second clip.

  A familiar face comes on the screen. The head I found in the crawl space. He opens the door to what looks like a home office. There’s man sitting behind a mahogany desk, sipping on some dark liquid.

  “Cosa stai facendo qui, Fabrizio?” An older man with graying hair and a scar on his right cheek faces me. “Costa ti ha mandato?”

  “Si,” Fabrizio says and looks toward the guy who seems to have a camera on his upper chest. “Abbiamo cose da discutere.”

  I have no idea what they are saying. It sounds like they’re speaking in Italian.

  The older man points to the cameraman. “É affidabile?”

  “Lo garantisco, ma dobbiamo parlare da solo.”

  The old man nods in agreement and the cameraman turns his body toward the other guy standing, waiting instructions.

  “Aspetta fuori, Bobby.”

  The guy filming opens the door to the study, cutting off my view from the two men.

  I hear the scar-faced guy with the gruff and raspy voice saying, “É questo su Laura?”

  A mumbled response is heard from someone I can’t make out comes first, and then the raspy voice hollers, “Vaffanculo!”

  The cameraman shuts the door and walks down a long corridor. About halfway down, his phone rings and he pulls out his phone. Two shots echo in the background just as he checks the screen. The video ends and I replay the last ten seconds.

  That’s my mom’s name.

  I quickly pull up another video and another. All with conversations in Italian being recorded by the cameraman whose face never surfaces and never speaks.

  “Fuck,” I shout in the air and open another file until I find one with a language I can understand. This one was in the Cabrali folder.

  The Cabrali video starts off at a restaurant. A few small girls are gathered in a corner while two boys play in the background. The cameraman walks in and moves toward the table where three men sit, smoking cigars. Fabrizio is one of them and I’d recognize Costa Beneventi’s face anywhere.

  “Bobby, you have news for us?” Beneventi addresses the cameraman, who I suspect is my father. Some expression is exchanged because Costa gently smacks the other man’s shoulder and introduces him as Frank Cabrali. “He’s taking over for the Fontana family soon.”

  I exit out and open the file saying Beneventi. The first video is the only one with a name. “LBA.” The still shot looks like blurred skin on skin.

  Labored breaths and moans are heard as Bobby rounds a corner. The woman’s ass on all fours, while a man with pants dropped at his ankles takes her doggie style. You can’t see faces. Just blonde hair and the voice of Fabrizio saying, “Voglio che tu sai solo mia.”

  “Solo tua,” she says and Bobby leaves and fades to black. It comes back on with Fabrizio and a blonde woman talking in secret. Bobby has just walked on.

  “Esci!” Fabrizio shouts. I’m guessing that means get out. The cameraman quickly apologizes in Italian and says, “Costa needs you.”

  The camera guy sure sounds a lot like my father. I knew he was undercover with the Beneventis but I had no idea how deep in he was. There are years’ worth of videos here on what appears to be a file for of porn, death, and family time. Those three only make sense in the mafia world.

  I open the folders with the six names on them again. I open up a search page and type in the “mafia, commission, families.”

  A bunch of results turn up, proving my suspicions. They’re mob families.

  I click on a page belonging to someone who calls herself The Mafia Whore. I skim through it until a picture of the old guy with the raspy voice and scar comes into view. Under it is the subtitle “Mafia feud takes out two families.”

  I read through the first paragraph. According to the reporting whore, the Santarossas and Fontanas murdered each other over a few years, and are now replaced with the Astoris and Mancinis. A big investigation went on, but though other members were suspected, evidence turned up incriminating the feuding families.

  I exit out of the browser and run my hand through my hair. “Well shit.” Costa had the Fontanas killed, or at least the mob boss. I bet if I looked through all these videos, I’d find evidence incriminating them in the Santarossas’ murders as well. No wonder they wanted this flash drive. I run my hands through my hair and debate whether or not to keep looking through it. There’s a reason my father didn’t want me to see what’s on here, but why not just hand this over to the FBI? Or Kade?

  Don’t tell anyone you have it, not even Kade. My dad’s words echo in my ears as I glare at the files on the screen. Why didn’t he trust Kade with this?

  I go in search of the evidence in my dad’s file and come across a video of someone walking down the street.

  An explosion causes the person to turn around. The screams coming from the cameraman definitely belong to my father, and that’s when I see a young me bolting from the staircase of our apartment building and running toward the burning car. A thin woman holds me back.

  “Is t
hat Laura?” I recognize Kade’s voice just as the cameraman shoves the camera in Kade’s hands, filling the last few seconds of the video with a close up of his fingers and black wedding band.

  I remember that ring.

  “Robert!” he shouts before and the video goes black.

  I quickly search for Laura Beneventi. A beautiful blonde-haired woman in her late forties/early fifties shows up first, and then a few pictures of her with Costa Beneventi in their thirties. I play the video back until she comes into the frame and pause it.

  The women match.

  Why was Laura Beneventi at the apartment the day my mother died? I lean back and cradle the back of my hand with my laced fingers. I’m missing something.

  LBA? Laura Beneventi…

  The door swings open and a half-naked girl is shoved onto the desk, her breasts toppling out of her corset. She spots me and gasps probably as loudly as I do.

  “You fucking scared the shit out of me!” I shout at Stone while exiting out of the file and pulling the drive out with haste.

  “What the fuck are you doing in here, Masters?” Stone growls. He waddles to the side and steps out of the pants that are around his ankles.

  That’s twice too many times I’ve seen that picture.

  I jump to my feet as Selena fumbles with her clothes to cover up. “My computer’s busted.”

  “Well then, take mine and get the fuck out.”

  He glances at the screen. I follow his gaze to find the images of Laura Beneventi. Shit.

  His face is contorted with confusion. “Are you looking up the mafia?”

  “Yeah,” I answer, as I slide the flash drive into my pocket. “I got curious after I heard some girls talking at the bar.”

  “Right,” he says and glances at Selena. A grimace encompasses his face before he asks, “Are you sure there’s nothing else going on?”

  “Well,” I rummage for some information that will sidetrack him. “Kelsie and I actually decided to date. We’re spending New Year’s Eve together.”

  “Yeah, she invited me too.”

  I close down his computer and head toward the door, bypassing Selena who’s glancing around the room.

  She wiggles her fingers at me. “Bye, Hayden.”

  I didn’t think she knew my name. “Have fun you two.”

  “We on for Chinese?”

  I nod and close the door behind me.

  I woke up to no missed calls from Kade or messages, which made me feel better. I guess I didn’t mess up too badly then, or he’s ignoring me because it’s Christmas Eve and doesn’t want to deal with my shit. Either way, it’s not dire or I’d already be halfway to Memphis by now.

  I cleaned up the glass, hid the ball in my drawer, and sealed it shut with some more crazy glue before I hung out with the guys. Most of them were home for the holidays, they left early this morning, but the other few stragglers were massacring the gingerbread men and making the best out of the holiday season without their families.

  Stone went out and bought a Christmas tree, after he dropped the check for our fine and paid the guys what they were owed from the sprinkler incident. Our Bro-Christmas is going okay, though it’s seriously lacking some love from the opposite sex.

  The guys are punching holes in pictures and hanging them up on the Christmas tree, while others are stirring popcorn because we couldn’t afford anything right now. The house is broke for the rest of the year, until dues are in.

  My phone rings.

  “Hey, girlfriend,” I answer to test out the word, and get under her skin a little.

  The guys all look at me and throw popcorn in my face.

  Stone picks up the bowl, and walks over to me. Taking a handful, he says, “Tell her no girls allowed here tonight.”

  I pluck a piece of the flung popcorn from my lap and flick it at him. “Just because you aren’t getting any doesn’t mean I can’t.”

  He scrunches his nose at the thought. “Tell Kelsie your dick’s on vacation.”

  “Fuck off,” I chuckle.

  “Fine.” He flips the bowl over my lap, pouring popcorn all over me on his way to the kitchen. The guys laugh and I jump to my feet. “Let me get upstairs so we have more privacy.”

  “Oh, you don’t have to. I just wanted to know if you wanted to hang out with me tomorrow night?”

  “You can come tonight if you want.”

  “I can’t tonight. I have some things to do for my uncle.”

  “It’s Christmas Eve. Isn’t the restaurant closed?”

  “Yeah, but I still have work to do.” She pauses. “I might not be available until then.”

  Weird. “Kelsie, does this have something to do with the biter guy?”

  She chuckles softly and says, “No, he’s gone.”

  “Good,” I say triumphantly.

  A few moments of silence pass and she asks, “Still care today?”

  “Maybe.”

  She scoffs, “What?”

  “I’m kidding. I think I care even more today.”

  “See you tomorrow.” She ends the call.

  About an hour later she shows up at my door step, looking like the world decided to beat her up and permanently knock the beautiful smile off her face. I want to ask her why she’s here, but the fact that she’s here already means something.

  “Kelsie?” I ask as she steps to the side and leads me over to the wicker sofa. “It’s freezing out here. Come inside.”

  She takes a seat instead.

  I’m in a T-shirt and sweats, but I take a seat and bear the cold as balls weather. My pulse increases as the time passes, but it does little to warm me up. At the risk of looking like a wuss, I grab the blanket we keep out here and wrap it around myself. Fuck, it’s cold too.

  She cracks the smallest of smiles and tugs on the hem of the blanket with her gloved hands. “Aren’t you supposed to offer me that or something?”

  I playfully snatch the material from her hand and tuck it under my thigh. “You’re fully dressed, I’m risking permanent damage to various appendages.”

  “Various ones, huh?” The slight elevation in her tone elevates my heart, so I position myself parallel to her and bring our bodies close together—her left side flush against my right side.

  I wiggle around and manage to get a light giggle from her. Running with the change in her disposition, I joke, “Want to warm them up?”

  She shakes her head in disbelief, but I know she loves it because she bites on her lower lip, as if punishing the smile that keeps trying to take over her mouth. “Your appendages?”

  I shoulder bump her and point out, “You like my appendages.” Sex has always been neutral territory for us—the talking is the danger zone.

  She whirls her head in my direction and very seriously says, “I’ve come to like the things they’re attached to, too.”

  Attachments. The word doesn’t bring me as much fear anymore. “I kind of like that.”

  She crosses her legs at her ankles; the black cuffs of her boots rub together, making a weird noise in the silence. She slips her hand underneath the blanket to find mine and then curls into me. I maneuver the blanket around so that it covers both of us and drop a kiss to the top of her head.

  “You okay, Kelsie?”

  “I’ve been better,” she admits and rests her head on my shoulder.

  “Want to talk about it?”

  She sighs and expels her heartache into the air. “I don’t think you would understand.”

  She’d be surprised. “Try me.”

  “You ever feel bad about doing things you’re supposed to do?”

  I contemplate on the answer. “Depends. Why are you supposed to do them?”

  Another deep sigh. “Nevermind.”

  I reach for her chin and lift it up to face me. “You can tell me as much or as little as you want, baby. I just want to be here for you, Kels.”

  She gently presses her lips to my cheek. They linger on my skin for so long that I get the feeling she’s h
iding her face from me. Her head drops back down to my shoulder and she, with a hoarser voice than normal says, “I need you to be here for me, Hayden.”

  The tightness in my chest makes breathing uncomfortable. I don’t ever want to leave her… I couldn’t. I promise something I have never said to anyone, “Any time.”

  She grips my hand tighter and whispers, “You’re a good person, Hayden.” The last part is almost inaudible, but I’m pretty sure she mumbles, “You make me want to be one too”

  10

  The Other Secret

  Kelsie

  I sincerely hate this time of year. I should have killed them yesterday, when I had the chance, or saved this kill for after the fucking holidays. But no. Only the Beneventis put rush jobs on executions during the holiday season. It’s not that I’m feeling remorseful because Dan and Alexa Morgan are old Beneventi associates. I remember hearing their names when I was younger, but aside from a few Ranch supplies, I’m not sure what their role was in my dad’s murder, but it doesn’t matter.

  Now, I’m sitting in a tree house on Christmas Eve, watching the Morgans’ twin girls get into their neighbor’s car through a small binocular lens I attached to my phone’s camera. They’re headed for the church’s midnight mass to set up the nativity scene. The flyer in the local coffee shop said the music and carolers would be starting soon.

  I glance through the small windows at the rest of the houses in the cul-de-sac. The neighbor to the left’s house is empty and so is the one after that. They left their lights on to pretend like they’re home when they’re out.

  The relatively distant roar of engines comes to life, easing my nerves. Only the Morgans would be around in this cul-de-sac. I place the phone down, binocular facing up, and rub my hands together. It’s fucking freezing. I take another heat pad from my pocket, activate it, and hold it in my hands to warm them up.

  Soon after, the music starts up and coming out of the speakers on the lamppost. That’s my cue. I grab the gun from the wooden floor and tuck it into the space between my jeans and skin.