Phantom

September 11, 1944

If Angelo knew I was here, I’d be swallowing his fist.

I couldn’t convince myself to walk away if I tried, though.

I’m standing outside Parsons Manor, hiding in the shadows just beyond the tree line in front of the house.

Paulie is also hiding in the woods, though he’s about ten feet ahead of me. Stalking my woman.

He’s only following orders. If he weren’t, it wouldn’t be Angelo’s fist flying down his throat, but a bullet.

While Paulie wouldn’t dare kill Genevieve, there’s no guarantee he wouldn’t rough her up.

And anyone who inflicts pain on mia rosa will die. Simple as that.

I don’t want to ice one of Angelo’s best enforcers, so it’s vital I make sure he doesn’t get that far.

Beyond the tree line, Genevieve’s daughter hurries out the front door and to the car, a rucksack hanging on her arm.

“Daddy, hurry up! We’re going to be late!” she calls out impatiently.

John appears in the open doorway. “Bye, honey. Love you!” he shouts into the house. Genevieve must respond, because he closes the door behind him and makes his way to the car, quickening his speed when Sera shouts at him again to hurry.

Paulie waits for several minutes after they leave, ensuring that the car isn’t returning for a forgotten item or some other reason that could take him by surprise.

Then he takes his first step out from behind the tree. I waste no time mirroring him, keeping my steps light as I quickly approach him from the rear.

He hears a twig snap too late. My arm is hooked around his throat before he can process my presence. “It’s me, Paulie. It’s me,” I rush out just as he prepares to maneuver out of my hold.

He stills. “Ronnie? What the hell is wrong with you?” he bites out. I release him, allowing him to turn toward me with a baffled expression. “The hell you doin’ here, Ron? You clockin’ me?” he asks, now appearing wary, glancing around as if there’s a target on his head.

I tap his cheek roughly, then point at him. “Watch what you call me, Paulie.”

He rubs his cheek where I slapped him, giving me a disgruntled look. “Ronaldo,” he mutters.

Being the consigliere, I’m treated with the same respect as a don. Paulie knows better than to ever lay hands on me—not unless he wants to go swimming with the fishes.

“Plans have changed. We’re to leave Genevieve Parsons be,” I tell him, glancing behind him to ensure we’re still out here alone.

Paulie narrows his eyes, staring at me suspiciously. Growing impatient, I grip him by the shoulder and pull him after me, forcing him to walk with me back toward the street.

He knows as well as I do that Angelo wouldn’t give an order only to turn around and retract it within twenty-four hours. Especially when it’s clear John has not handled his debts.

“You’re here off the record, ain’t ya?” he questions.

I clench my teeth, and when I don’t respond right away, he gets irate. “Come on, Ronni—Ronaldo—you know he ain’t gonna just bust my chops and send me on my way. It’s gonna be my head—”

“Angelo will not punish you for my decisions. I’ll make sure of that.”

It’ll be my head, but I have over two decades of friendship with Angelo, which offers me some layer of protection from his wrath. But I’m not completely immune. Angelo is the head of a powerful family, and I can only disrespect his orders so much before I become a problem.

I’m taking a huge risk sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong, but it’s worth it—Genevieve is worth it.

“You have a plan?” Paulie flicks another wary look my way, cementing that I’m doing something incredibly stupid, his words silent but clear: I hope you know what you’re doing.

I don’t.

But I do have an idea that may save my skin.

After scoping out Parsons Manor and stumbling upon Genevieve, I continued to look into John. At first, he was the man who owed Angelo Salvatore thousands of dollars. Now, he’s the man who’s married to my girl.

Eventually, I located John’s place of work, discovering that he owns a bookkeeping firm in downtown Seattle. He does very well for himself, and he acquired a large inheritance, which explains how he could afford to build a home like Parsons Manor.

Now, he’s broke and deeply indebted to the biggest crime family in Seattle.

It was dumb luck that John works in a field that could be valuable to the Salvatores.

The only thing I need to do is convince Angelo to see that.

Otherwise, John and I are both dead men, leaving Genevieve alone. A bird like that won’t stay single for long, and no one—no one—will ever love her the way I do.

September 11, 1944

Angelo has connections everywhere. Many professionals are on his payroll, including the police force, politicians, and more CEOs than I can count.

One of those people is a powerful banker, Lenny Giordani.

He’s currently staring at me like I’ve grown a second head. If I weren’t a composed man, I’d smash my fist into his face hard enough for the design of my ring to imprint on the inside of his cheek.

“Let me get this right: You want to pay off the remainder of John Parsons’s mortgage? Do you realize how much money that is?” Lenny asks, staring at me incredulously.

“What gave you the impression I was an idiot?” I growl.

“Four thousand dollars, Ronaldo,” he repeats for the third time.

“I’m half-blind, Lenny, not half-deaf,” I snap, growing impatient.

Angelo pays me more than enough to cover the cost, and Lenny knows that. It’s not a matter of being able to afford it; it’s a matter of why I’d spend that type of money on someone like John.

Lenny finally takes the hint and drops his gaze to the check lying on his desk already written out for the remaining amount owed on Parsons Manor. “You must really love this house,” he mutters.

Only the one who inhabits it.

I keep that dangerous thought to myself. I know better than to reveal my weakness. It’s bad enough Paulie knows, and I dread the day Angelo finds out.

The fewer people who know about Genevieve, the better. It’s safer. For both of us.

Sighing, Lenny picks up the check and shakes his head.

“All right, I’ll get it squared away.”

“Thank you,” I clip, standing from the chair seated in front of his desk. Then I toss a few bills onto the cherrywood, covering my fee for his services.

Without a backward glance, I leave his office, feeling a small weight lift from my shoulders. Parsons Manor is paid off, and I’ve already settled John’s past-due balances on the utility bills he neglected to pay.

As far as legitimate companies are concerned, he’s paid up.

As far as I’m concerned, he owes me now.

And it’s his wife I intend to collect.