Making Angel (Mariani Crime Family #1) Read online

  Contents

  Cover Page

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Thank you!

  Acknowledgments

  By

  Copyright © 2015 by Amanda Washington

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States

  For Aunt Cindy,

  The most courageous humanitarian adrenaline-junkie I’ve ever known.

  I miss you every day.

  PROLOGUE

  Angel

  THE MORNING OF my twelfth birthday I arose with feelings of anxiety and anticipation. I’d finally reached it: the day that would begin my right of passage into adulthood. I’d be honored as a man of the family, allowed to sit at the adult table, and trusted with family conversations. As I threw back the covers and climbed out of bed, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and paused.

  Who am I? Where do I fit in?

  Today, I’d have my answers. I grinned and flexed at my reflection before padding downstairs to find my father sitting at the breakfast nook, eyeing his electronic tablet. He lowered the tablet and flashed me a smile.

  “There he is. The birthday boy’s become a man now. Cappuccino?”

  It was the first time he’d ever offered me coffee, and I eagerly accepted it.

  Father started up the machine, filling the kitchen with whirring sounds and heady scents. Moments later he handed me a mug so big I couldn’t even get my fingers around it. I gripped the cup and followed him across the tile kitchen floor out onto the cobblestone patio. We sat on custom-built furniture and sipped our drinks. The cappuccino scalded my tongue and I winced, but when the old man eyed me I ignored the pain and took another sip.

  “Careful, Angel. It burns. It’s bitter at first, but you get used to it. Soon, you’ll grow to enjoy the taste. That’s the way most things in life are.” He set his cup on the table, looked me square in the eyes and asked, “Speaking of life, have you given any thought to what you want to be when you grow up?”

  I was supposed to be the one asking the questions, but he’d beaten me to the punch. Unprepared and feeling the weight of his inquiry, I squinted into the rising summer sun. Last week I had built my first website and imported a couple of how-to videos on customizing tablets. A commenter told me about a new, local tech school accepting middle school students, and I’d been hoping for an opening to discuss it with the old man. But before I could seize the opportunity, Father cleared his throat.

  “As the first-born son, you’re expected to take on the family business, you know?” he asked, watching me with such expectancy and pride that I swallowed back my plans and studied him. Olive skin, dark hair and features, and broad shoulders, he towered over everyone I knew. People said I looked like a younger version of him—a younger, scrawnier version—but I lacked his presence. When the old man entered a room, everyone stopped what they were doing to acknowledge him, whereas I had a gift for blending into the background. I idolized him, but sometimes I felt like I didn’t know him at all.

  “What’s the matter, Angel?”

  “I don’t know what your job is.” Heat crept up my cheeks at the admission.

  “It’s okay,” he assured me. “My profession is complicated. I do a lot of things.”

  I looked away, discouraged by his vague answer. If he wouldn’t even trust me with the details of his job, none of my other questions had a chance of getting answered.

  The old man leaned across the table and laid a finger on my chin, directing my gaze back to him. “Look at me when I talk to you, Son.”

  “Yes sir,” I replied, this time holding eye contact.

  “There.” His dark, all-seeing pupils seemed to drink me in. He smiled in fond approval, deepening the lines around his mouth and eyes. Pride lingered in his gaze, and I sat straighter, trying to be worthy of it. “What do you think I do?”

  I started to look down, but stopped myself. Vicious rumors floated around my school, but I didn’t believe them. There was no way my father deserved the names they called him, the reasons they gave for not coming to my parties. “I don’t know.”

  He frowned. “But you’ve heard whispers, haven’t you? What have you heard, Angel?”

  I’d never lied to my father, and I wasn’t about to start. “They say you… you do things.”

  “What sort of things do they say I do?”

  The intensity of his gaze dried my throat. I took another sip of coffee.

  “Angel?”

  The accusations were too heinous to voice. I honed in on the one term I didn’t understand. Hoping for an explanation, I replied, “They say you do wet work.”

  “Wet work, huh?” Father cocked his head to the side while color flooded his neck, creeping up his cheeks. Anger radiated from him, threatening to drown me in its wake. “Like I’m some sort of hired thug? I don’t follow anyone’s orders, you hear me?”

  “Yes sir.”

  Tense, silent moments passed. Finally, he let out a deep sigh. “Petty, small people will always speak out of jealousy, Angel. They talk and talk, but the world has never been changed by talkers. You really want to know what I do?”

  I nodded, increasingly uncertain.

  “I build empires. I write legislature and elect officials to enforce it. I keep the economy from collapsing, and the people from rioting. I enforce justice and keep Vegas from falling to gang wars and chaos. The people I work with… we are the government, the economic stimulus, and the peacekeepers.”

  I breathed his words in, letting them clear my mind. The old man sounded like a superhero. He was brave and strong, shining with god-like power. Caught up in the moment, I abandoned my dreams and blurted, “I want to do what you do!”

  “You make my heart proud.” He patted me on the head and stood.

  As he walked back into the house, I replayed his speech in my mind knowing I’d missed something important. He was great and powerful and the anticipation of being just like him made my chest swell. No more blending into the background. Only I still didn’t know what he did.

  Uncertainty drained the joy from my birthday as I thought about the other rumors. Kids shunned me, insisting that my father was a murderer and bully. And I still had no clue what wet work was or why the term had upset him so much. I stared at the cappuccino I no longer wanted, now dreading the changes it represented. I wasn’t ready to know the truth, wasn’t ready to become a man. But when Father returned carrying two pistols, I knew I was past the point of no return.
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br />   CHAPTER ONE

  Angel

  Eleven years later

  THE DAY BEFORE Halloween I sat blissfully alone, researching ways to widen the radius of an electromagnetic pulse blast without increasing the pocket-sized dimensions. I palmed the device, estimating the weight, before being interrupted by an annoying tap on my shoulder.

  “Angel, we’re gonna be late,” Bones nagged.

  My best friend, bodyguard, and schedule keeper stood just under six feet tall, inches shorter than me, but his build dissuaded muggers and his scowl made hardened criminals drop their gaze and cross to the other side of the street. His suit screamed funeral director, or some other occupation paid to put people six feet under. His real name was Franco Leone, but I’d nicknamed him Bones in fourth grade when he shattered the wrist of an aspiring bully who shoved me against my locker. The nickname stuck, and so did our friendship.

  “I know. I know. One more minute.”

  “The big man’s gonna kill us if we’re late. You know how important this drop is.”

  “The drop’s at three, right?”

  He nodded.

  I glanced at my watch. “Then don’t worry about it. We got plenty of time.” It was too early for rush hour, and little things like traffic weren’t exactly a big deal for my family. Our technical guru had the city wired and could control the lights from the comfort of his hidden office.

  “Plenty of time? Aren’t you forgetting something?” Bones gestured toward my body.

  I followed his gaze and swore. T-shirt, jeans, sneakers; I needed to change and had forgotten to bring a suit. We’d have to stop by the condo, which would add another twenty minutes to our commute.

  I swore again and ran for the exit.

  “Angel.” Bones’s tone held laughter, causing me to stop and look at him. He grinned and held out a garment bag. “Who’s got your back?”

  I patted his shoulder as I took the suit. “Aw, you picked up the cleaning? What a good butler you make.”

  He flipped me off.

  Laughing, I headed for the locker room to change. Bones followed me, grumbling like some fed up old woman. I dressed and we took the elevator up to the ground floor, emerging into the busy plastics manufacturing plant that served as a front for my father’s technical development business. Nobody even glanced our way as we hurried toward the garage.

  “Keys?” I asked.

  He tossed them to me. “She’s all gassed up.”

  I climbed behind the wheel of my black and silver Hummer H5 with tinted bullet-resistant glass and tires designed to resist deflation when punctured, glancing over my shoulder into the backseat. Blankets hid the inventory, and I did not check under them. The less I knew, the better.

  “Thanks for making the pickup. I’m really close to figuring out a way to keep the—”

  “You’re really close to making us late.” Bones tapped the clock on the dashboard. “Twenty-three minutes. I’m calling Tech.”

  I nodded and put the Hummer into reverse. As we pulled away from the building, Bones spoke a code and the dashboard screen came to life. The screen blinked, requiring another password. Bones rattled off a series of numbers and then placed his thumb in the center of the box.

  The face of a man I’d known for years, but had never met in person, appeared. “We are secure, Bones, how can I help you?” Tech asked. Nobody but my father knew the real name of the head of the technical department. To the rest of us, Tech was the autonomous human version of a digital personal assistant and knowledge navigator.

  “We’re in a hurry and need a clear route from Plant A to Drop…” Bones pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and scanned it before adding, “Charlie-four-niner-alfa.”

  Everyone who worked for my father spoke in code. Codes changed frequently, and were issued on an as-needed basis. Bones—for all his strengths—had one weakness. He couldn’t memorize the damn codes. But he was one of the few people Father allowed to write them down. Bones guarded his codes like they were a matter of life and death, and essentially, they were.

  “Got it,” Tech replied. “I’m sending the navigation now. Everything is covered.”

  Confident that Tech had control of the lights and eyes on the cops, I stomped on the gas and maneuvered through traffic. Lights turned green before we reached them and once we cleared the downtown congestion, the Hummer ate up the distance between us and the little blinking light on the screen. We were less than a mile from our destination when Tech’s face reappeared on the screen.

  “You have incoming. Blue. Next light,” he said, before disappearing.

  “What the hell?” I took my foot off the gas and hit the brakes. A siren blared to life. I’d only slowed to eighty in the sixty-mile-per-hour zone.

  Bones swore. “What’s going on, Tech? You said we were clear.”

  The screen stayed blank, but Tech’s voice came over the speakers. “You’re supposed to be. He’s off route. I’m calling it in.”

  “What do I do?” I wondered out loud. It had been years since I’d been stopped by a cop. The family spent millions to make sure such encounters didn’t happen.

  “Just keep going,” Bones said.

  “And go where? If I don’t stop now, more will come. The last thing we need is to create a scene.” I glanced behind me. If this ended in some high-speed chase, the pigs would search my car and we’d rot in the can. Father could only cover up so much, and there wasn’t a rug big enough to hide the evidence in the back of the Hummer. “I gotta pull over. Maybe I can reason with him.”

  “What? No! That’s a horrible idea,” Bones objected.

  “I’m working with my contacts at the station, but a team has been routed to your location just in case. Be careful, Angel,” Tech said.

  I slowed the vehicle and veered to the outside lane, rolling to a stop just beyond an on-ramp. Bones reached for the gun in his jacket pocket. I also had a gun in my jacket and another under my seat, but didn’t reach for either since I had no intention of using them.

  “This is a cop. He’s just doing his job,” I said, eyeing Bones’s pocket.

  Bones stiffened. “And I’m doing mine. At least trade me spots?”

  “No. I can handle this, and I can do it without violence.”

  I looked into my rearview mirror, watching as the cop sat in his cruiser, radio in hand.

  “He’s calling it in,” Bones said.

  Tech’s face materialized on the screen again. “You may have a problem, Angel. The officer has been ordered to return to the station, but refuses.”

  Damn. “Tech, I need information. Who am I dealing with here?”

  “I’m pulling his file now. Roger Hill, typical beat cop, no marks in his file, married, two kids, a third on the way. His family just moved here from the Denver area. That’s all I’ve got, but I’m still searching.”

  It would have to be enough. The door of the police cruiser swung open and Roger Hill climbed out. He marched toward us, wearing a stern glower with the same efficiency that he wore the signature tan uniform of the Metropolitan Police Force. Clipped to the top of his shirt was a lapel mic with a wire that led past his name badge to the radio at his hip. Clipboard in hand, he tapped on my window. I pasted on my friendliest smile and rolled down the window. Hot, dry Nevada air gushed in.

  Officer Hill leaned forward and looked us both over. I could almost see the wheels turning in his head as he took in our nice suits and the tricked-out Hummer, weighing it all against the orders from his department to leave us alone. He had to be wondering who we were.

  “You boys in a hurry?” he asked.

  I nodded. “We’re businessmen, Officer, always in a hurry. But I apologize, I didn’t mean to speed.”

  His eyes hardened, telling me I’d get no mercy. “I clocked you at seventy-nine, and your brake lights were on. License and registration.”

  I glanced at Bones, and we both eyed the glove box. Even if registration paperwork existed, there was no way it was in my name. My
father had taught me to officially own nothing, that way the IRS couldn’t officially take it away. I hesitated, wondering if I should pretend to search the glove box or just go straight for the fake ID in my wallet.

  A burst of static came over the officer’s radio, followed by a female voice with a hysterical edge. “Officer Hill, you are not on radar. Please report.”

  He frowned. “Excuse me for a moment,” he said to us, before stepping back and answering.

  “Tech, what’s going on?” I asked.

  “I’m working on it, sir. Don’t worry. The team is almost to you. Sit tight.”

  I knew what teams did, and therefore needed to come up with a plan to diffuse the situation before they showed up.

  Officer Hill reappeared in my window. “License and registration.” His request had morphed into a demand.

  Desperate, I lied. “We have this important meeting we’re late to and my car broke down. I had to borrow my father’s car, and I can’t find his registration. Can you just write me a ticket and we’ll be on our way?”

  “Officer Hill, we need you to check out a possible ten-seventy on Wedgewood Drive. What’s your status?”

  Keeping an eye on me and Bones, he pressed the button on his radio and said, “I’m still at the four-thirty-eight.”

  Static. Then, “Officer Hill, you are not authorized to proceed with that four-thirty-eight. You have been ordered back to the station by the chief.”

  He tilted his head to the side, his eyes hardening. “Your father could be the devil himself, I don’t care. Nobody’s above the law.”

  I shrugged, wondering what the dispatcher had told him. Wondering why the hell he wouldn’t follow orders. “I told you, we’re just a couple of businessmen trying to get to a meeting.”

  “Oh yeah? What type of business are you in?”

  “Officer Hill, report. What’s your status?”

  He didn’t even blink.

  “You should probably get that.” I nodded toward his radio.

  “Don’t tell me how to do my job.” His hand slid to his holstered gun. Sweat glistened across his forehead. “Now, hand me your goddamn license.”