Endings & Beginnings (New Mafia Trilogy #3)

  ENDINGS & BEGINNINGS

  Book Three of The New Mafia Trilogy

  E.J. Fechenda

  Copyright © 2015 E.J. Fechenda

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without the permission of the author, except where permitted by law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Cover image by: Jessica Ouellette

  For all of the fans of The New Mafia Trilogy, you kept me going through dark times and sluggish writing days with your love for these books. You inspire me. XOXO

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Natalie

  PHILADELPHIA

  The pilot’s voice crackling over the speaker above my seat jerked me awake from a restless sleep. We were beginning our descent into Philadelphia. As the plane dipped, so did my stomach and my nerves kicked into overdrive. The sun had set while I was asleep and I peered out the small oval window at the skyline glowing in the distance.

  Almost directly below, a ring of stadium lights indicated the Phillies were playing. As the plane drew closer, I could see swarms of insects clouding the lights. By craning my neck and pressing my forehead against the cool surface of the window, I spotted the Delaware River, an inky vein dissecting the Philadelphia and Camden riverfronts. From above, the city looked innocuous, but I knew otherwise.

  The streets of Philadelphia were run by men fueled by greed and power - men who killed indiscriminately and took what they wanted, when they wanted. I knew this from personal experience and had the scars to prove it; hence the ball of nerves that had taken up residence in my gut. I had convinced myself I was stronger now, wiser, and ready to return home, but as the plane taxied to a stop at the gate, doubt took over.

  You’re only here for two weeks; I reminded myself as I stuffed my iPod into my bag and gathered up the People magazine I had purchased during my layover in Dallas. I took a deep breath and exhaled when I stood and filed out to the aisle behind the older woman who’d been sitting next to me.

  “Enjoy the wedding,” she said with a smile before turning to leave the plane.

  “Thanks enjoy your visit with your grandkids.”

  We’d had the typical conversation between strangers when we were sitting on the tarmac in Dallas waiting for our plane to take off, before I put in the ear buds and fell asleep. I told her how I was heading to Philadelphia for my brother’s wedding. I didn’t give her all of the details, like how he was a capo in the Philly mob and was marrying the former boss’ daughter, who was now the first female capo in the family’s history. She knew I was anxious about seeing my ex-boyfriend, Dominic for the first time in over five months. She didn’t need to know that Dom was now the mob boss and he had killed my future sister-in-law’s father. Yeah, this visit was bound to be emotional and full of complications. I just hoped that in two weeks, when I returned to Los Angeles, it was without a bullet wound, unlike my last journey west.

  I took the escalator down to baggage claim and spotted Grant almost immediately. He was leaning against an information kiosk. When he saw me, he pushed off and approached, wearing a big grin. He pulled me into a hug that squeezed the breath out of my lungs.

  “I missed ya, sis,” he said before releasing me.

  “Missed you too,” I returned his smile. Grant looked great and was even more muscular than when I saw him last in Los Angeles. He wore dark blue jeans and a forest green t-shirt that stretched across his chest and shoulders. I always felt tiny next to him and gladly allowed him to clear a path through the crowd surrounding the baggage carousel that was spitting out luggage from my flight. My lime green suitcase was easily identifiable and Grant grabbed it, pulling the handle up so he could roll it behind him.

  “Is this it?” he asked.

  “No, I have one more. It’s a small black one with a lime green stripe.” Moments later it appeared and we were off to the parking garage. Grant unlocked a silver Audi SUV and I raised an eyebrow. “New car?”

  “Yeah, this is more family friendly so I traded in the Lexus.”

  “Big Daddy Grant, huh?” I teased, sliding into the leather passenger seat and breathing in the new car smell. Grant was shaking his head and laughing when he got in. He was going to be a father in less than six months, hence the wedding. Not that he was marrying Miranda because she was pregnant, they were engaged long before, but because Miranda wanted to be married before the baby was born and before she really started to show.

  “How’s Miranda doing?” I asked and clicked the seatbelt into place.

  “Really good and the baby is healthy. Miranda’s a little stressed over the last minute wedding details and her mom is driving her nuts.”

  “Moms can do that.”

  He glanced sideways at me. “”About that,” he paused and turned to look at him.

  “What?”

  “Mom is already at the hotel.”

  I squeezed the ‘oh shit’ bar. Facing my mom was inevitable, but I didn’t think it was going to be quite so soon. When I left Philly for Los Angeles over six months ago, I left without telling anyone and mailed a letter to my mom. That was intentional. I couldn’t tell anyone where I was going and needed to be off the grid for a while.

  After Dominic killed his Uncle Marco, the Don of the Philly Mob at the time, the hit ordered for me was canceled and I was able to resurface. At that point I should have reached out to my mom, but we weren’t close and since she wasn’t concerned about my whereabouts to begin with, it was easier to not call. Now we were going to be sharing a suite.

  Grant must have seen me tense up or sensed the tension in the car because he reached over and gently squeezed my left knee. “Hey, I get it. I know how she was – definitely not mother of the year potential.”

  “That’s an understatement,” I muttered and stared out the window at the cars we were passing. Billboards flashed by in a blur of colors, but I didn’t really see them. I was lost in my head and the memories of years of caustic comments about not being good enough or for being the reason why my dad left. The first few years after my dad had moved on without loo
king back were rough. I was five and Grant was eight when he abandoned us and cleared out all of the bank accounts. Our mom struggled to get by and sunk into a deep depression. A depression she was in denial of. Grant looked out for me. He made sure I had lunch money and breakfast in my belly before we walked to school. He also made sure that my clothes were clean and I did my homework. Where he could do no wrong, I never did anything right and Grant acted as a mediator against the emotional abuse.

  “She’s changed, Nat and has actually been seeing a shrink.” He patted my knee once before placing both hands on the wheel as he turned off the interstate.

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, give her a chance.”

  “I’ll try, but can’t make any promises.”

  “I understand.”

  Now that we were crawling through South Philly neighborhoods, another set of memories bombarded me. We passed the clinic where Grant and Miranda took me and Dom to get treated for our bullet wounds; it was also where I was taken after being assaulted by the head of the New York mafia. I squeezed the door handle until my hand ached, not releasing for several blocks. We drove past a Greek restaurant Dominic took me to for our four month anniversary. Garlic and onion laced the air and I breathed it in, causing my stomach to growl.

  “Are you hungry?” Grant asked.

  “Starving! I had a hummus and cracker tray on the plane, but that was hours ago.”

  “Shit, well you can’t have a reunion with mom when you’re hangry.” I elbowed him and he laughed.

  On the next block, Grant pulled into a parking spot in front of a pizza joint. Just thinking about a slice made my mouth start watering. We got out and I followed Grant inside. The place was small and intended mainly for carry out. There were four tables on the left and three chairs lined the wall to the right by the door. A teenage boy sat in one of those chairs, playing on his iPhone while he waited for his food.

  I ordered two slices of pepperoni and mushroom which were served to me on a paper plate that bowed underneath the weight. I went to pay and the man behind the counter waved me off.

  “You with Grant, you don’t pay.” His Italian accent was thick and when he smiled a large gap between his two front teeth was on full display.

  “Are you sure?” I asked, looking between my brother and the man. Grant nodded once. I knew better than to argue. Whatever arrangement they had was between them.

  “Luigi, this is my sister.”

  “Ah, you’re molto bello,” Luigi said to me with a flirtatious wink.

  “Um, thanks.” I grabbed the plate and turned away from the counter. In my peripheral view I saw Luigi hand Grant an envelope, which he folded and slipped into the front pocket of his jeans. I should have known Grant would be working.

  We sat at one of the tables. I dabbed a napkin over the top of the first slice to absorb some of the grease. “What was that all about?” I asked and gestured towards the pocket where Grant had placed the envelope.

  “Loan payment – Luigi needed a new oven and they’re not cheap.”

  “Oh,” I said with a shrug, picking up a slice. I closed my eyes and moaned after the first bite.

  “Man, I missed this. LA has all of this gourmet foo-foo pizza, which is okay, but this is the real deal right here.” I quickly inhaled the first slice.

  Grant picked a few pieces of pepperoni off of the remaining slice when I paused to take a sip of soda.

  “Anything else you missed?” Grant asked.

  “Of course! I missed cheese steaks and soft pretzels and…” Grant cocked his eyebrow at me and I smiled. “I missed you a ton, Grant.”

  “Anyone else?”

  Fuck, I forgot at some point Grant had become Team Dominic despite their animosity towards each other when Dom and I first started dating. “How is he?” I asked with a sigh, setting my drink down and leaning back in the plastic chair.

  “Busy with running things. He hasn’t dated anyone else since you left.” Grant paused, allowing that information to sink in. “Dom misses you bad.”

  “I miss him too. It’s just hard, ya know?”

  “Yeah, Nat, I get it.” He stood up, his chair scraping against the linoleum floor. I followed him, dumping my empty plate in the trash can by the door. First things first: I had to see my mom then I would go and see Dom.

  Chapter 2

  It was almost 9:00 at night when we arrived at the hotel. We stopped at the front desk so I could get a key card before we took the elevator up to the sixth floor. I paused before swiping the card through the reader; a last minute attempt to shore up courage before opening the door and facing my mom.

  Grant entered first, immediately taking my bags to one of the two bedrooms in the suite. Our mom was curled up on a striped love seat in the living room area reading a book. She looked up when the door closed with a loud click. We stared at each other across the small space. My mom made the first move. She folded over the page in her book before setting it on the glass coffee table. Unfolding her legs she stood and hesitantly approached. I didn’t meet her halfway.

  “Natalie, it’s so good to see you,” she said before surprising me by wrapping her arms around me in an awkward hug. My arms were pinned beneath hers, so it was difficult to reciprocate after the initial shock wore off.

  “Mom, I’m sorry,” I started to say when we separated, but she cut me off.

  “I’m the one who needs to apologize and to thank you. You leaving the way you did prompted me to get help.”

  While we had pulled apart, my mom still held my hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. I didn’t know how to handle this new, apologetic touchy-feely version. She even looked softer. The tightness around her mouth was gone and the deep crease between her eyebrows wasn’t as severe. Her haircut was more feminine and blonde highlights had replaced the gray that threaded through her brown hair. Instead of the boyish short cut I always remembered her having, she had grown her hair out to where it brushed her shoulders and layers added volume.

  Grant was right, she had changed, but it was going to take more than a hug, an apology and a new haircut for me to lower my guard around her.

  “Come, sit with me. We have a lot to talk about.” She tugged on my hand and led me back to the love seat. Grant came out of my room and leaned over to give our mom a kiss on her cheek.

  “I’ll see you both later.”

  “You’re leaving already?” I was hoping he would stick around.

  “Yeah, I got some things to take care of.” He gave me a look to let me know that he had mafia business to tend to.

  Grant bent over the back of the love seat and whispered in my ear, “Relax, she won’t hurt you.”

  I resisted the urge to laugh. My mom was capable of hurting me with just a few words, but I nodded and gave him a weak smile.

  “Oh, I almost forgot.” Grant turned around right before he left, keeping his hand on the doorknob. “Miranda needs you at the bridal shop tomorrow – 11:00. Mom knows where.”

  He left after that, leaving me alone with my mom. We regarded each other from opposite ends of the sofa. I tugged on the bottom of my shirt and twisted the material as I stared down at my lap. My mom cleared her throat, so I looked up to find her smiling at me and the smile reached her brown eyes.

  “I’m so glad you and Grant are close. It’s like you don’t even have to speak to communicate. I was always envious of that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Just now, he gave you a look and you understood without him having to say anything out loud in front of me. You’ve always done that. I used to hate it – always felt excluded - and paranoid that you were silently discussing me.”

  “Well, sometimes we were,” I admitted sheepishly and she laughed.

  “I probably deserved it. I was pretty awful and not the best parent for you two. For that I am truly sorry.”

  I released the bottom of my t-shirt and began to relax. Unfortunately I had been conditioned to keep my guard up around my mom. Usually she was cr
iticizing my outfits or looks. One of the reasons behind my love for running stemmed from the need to stay in shape to avoid such criticism.

  “My therapist told me I need to come clean with you and she also told me to be clear that what I’m about to say isn’t an excuse for my behavior, just an explanation.”

  “So you really are seeing a shrink?”

  “Yes.” She reached for a bottle of water that was on the coffee table. Seeing it reminded me how thirsty as I was, an after effect of air travel.

  “Is there more water?” I asked.

  “Oh, there’s plenty. Hold on.” She stood and walked over to the small kitchen. “Grant had the fridge stocked,” she said, returning with two bottles and handed one to me before setting the other one on the table.

  She sunk back down on the love seat, curling her denim clad legs beneath her. I opened my bottle; the seal cracking with a loud pop, interrupting the sudden silence that had descended upon the suite, save for the faint scream of sirens on the city streets below.

  Mom cleared her throat and I looked over at her. She was twisting the bottom of her pale yellow cotton sweater, a nervous habit that I never realized I’d inherited.

  “What do you need to tell me?” I asked.

  She sighed, releasing the sweater, placing her hands flat against her thighs. “I didn’t know at the time, but leading up to when your father left, my doctor thinks I was already suffering from Dysthymic Disorder.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s a form of mild depression which, if untreated, can morph into deep depression and that’s what happened after your father left us. The stress and emotional loss triggered it, but, like I said, I didn’t know that at the time.” She paused and started twisting the bottom of her sweater again.

  I reached over and placed a hand on top of hers, stilling them. “Is that why you checked out on us?”

  Her eyes were watery and she looked away. “Yes,” she said, her voice trembling and she hung her head. Tears spilled down onto her sweater, darkening the fabric. “A part of me was aware. It was like I was trapped inside witnessing how I was behaving, but paralyzed and muted, helpless, unable to stop.”