Lethal Lullaby-Chapter 6
Star Light, Star Bright
Salvatore sat at the large desk in his secure room. He opened a humidor, removed a specially-made Cuban cigar, and snipped the tip. Putting a flame to the end, he nursed the light until it was just as it should be. Then he blew out a stream of the fragrant smoke and glanced at his surroundings.
Fine paintings, some obtained legally. The "how" of how he came by them didn't matter much. At least no one was harmed in the acquisitions. Then there were the other art pieces, the first-edition books, the rare coins, the rarer stamps. Some people measured their lives in coffee spoons, others in tangible treasures. It came down to hay and stubble, his bishop had reminded him just recently. But what hay! What stubble! Items he had spent a lifetime collecting. He often came to this room to relax when the pressures of family and business became too much.
But now it was both which brought him here. Closing his weary eyes for a moment, he centered himself and ordered his thoughts, then set his cigar in an ashtray and reached for one of the three phones sitting on the desktop.
These phones were the only ones he trusted. It was no secret the FBI had illegally—or perhaps legally—bugged his home. He had known for some time that they, as well as the local police, had his house and staff under constant supervision. But what the authorities did not take into consideration was that his upbringing in the Pinelli familia had trained him to expect and anticipate such violations. After all, the mafia had been keeping tabs on rival families for centuries. With his phones obviously tapped, he only did his legal business upstairs.
Not that his business this afternoon wasn't legal. But there were a few things that required some under-the-table dealings. And this was one of those times.
Dialing a number he knew by heart, he waited until the familiar voice answered. "Fratello?"
"Sto chiamando per un favore."
Upstairs, Perry and Paul had entered the banquet hall. The lawyer moved to the bar and, after grabbing a bottle of vintage scotch and two glasses, motioned Paul over to one of the tables. Pouring a healthy portion into each glass, he drained half of his own before handing Paul his.
"Okay Paul. Let's have everything you know."
Paul drained his glass and reached for the bottle to refill it before he pulled out his ever-present notebook. "Okay. Here's what I was able to dig up. Donovan faked an illness, an appendicitis attack. The prison doctor was apparently paid off—police are looking into that angle—because he ordered the warden to have Donovan transferred to a hospital in the city. While en route, there was an accident."
Perry felt his insides clench. An accident? What kind of accident? The kind that leaves dead men, or the kind that merely . . . He forced himself to be patient. Staring hard at his friend, he demanded, "What kind of accident?"
Paul took another large gulp of the scotch. "A semi-truck rammed the prison van. They overturned. The semi driver must have been on the payroll too, because he knocked out the . . . the surviving two guards. Then he grabbed Donovan and vanished."
When Paul had finished, Perry drained his scotch and sat staring at the empty glass. "There can be no doubt about this. Donovan arranged for the escape. The particulars aren't nearly so important at this moment as the steps we take next. He is obviously either already in Los Angeles or well on his way. As of right now, he must be considered the top suspect, Paul."
Paul shook his head. "I don't know, pal. It's possible but— How do we prove it? I just don't know."
Perry smiled at that. His blue eyes darkened as he thought silently for a moment, then lightened as several ideas occurred to him at once.
"We're shooting ourselves in the foot, here, Paul. It doesn't matter if we can prove it or not. The charges against my client were dropped. And Tony—Tony was beaten . . ." he described the condition in which Salvatore's right-hand man was found. "The DA's office isn't pursuing that angle, either."
"That's great, Perry," Paul said soberly, "But Donovan is determined to implicate your client."
"I know," he sighed. Picking up his glass, he contemplated pouring another belt, then decided against it.
"Well, he'd certainly have had the time, but how could he have known where Richards would be? Why implicate Salvatore, though? It was Rico's fault that he went to prison."
Now, as if the lightbulb in his brain was suddenly turned on, Perry knew why Tony had called Della Nicky. The color drained from his face and he felt light-headed. Donovan had no idea he and Della had been undercover. If he was cleaning up loose ends, he was sure to be searching for Nicky and Giovanni.
"Paul, I need to get to the hospital. I have to talk to Tony."
Paul met his eyes, read the masked fear in them, and nodded. "Okay, are you telling me you know what's going on?"
"Not exactly, but I know Della and I are in danger. That's why Tony insisted we stay here with Salvatore."
Paul shook his head. "The gift Hamilton Burger gave keeps right on giving."
Perry snorted. "Tell me about it. I should have slugged him when I had the chance. Why Della insisted he be named as a godfather is . . . I didn't mean that. I like Hamilton. I'm just irritated and anxious." He managed a small smile. "I hated that whole business. Except for the disguise Della wore. I, uh, I liked that a little bit."
It was Paul's turn to snort. "Only a little?" Then changing the subject, he asked, "By the way, where is Salvatore?"
"Right here, Mr. Drake." Paul's face flushed as he jumped. Perry laughed outright. Then he grew serious. Seeing the look on his face, Salvatore's friendly smile died on his lips. "Perry, amigo, what is it?"
Perry stood, placing his hand on Paul's shoulder. "Paul, fill Salvatore in, will you? I need to see Della."
Passing Salvatore, he grasped the man's arm. "I hope your fortezza is all you say it is, my friend."
Before Salvatore could respond, Perry was out the door and bounding up the stairs.
When Perry reached the nursery, he stood in the doorway, marveling at the sight before him. Della sat in white, wooden rocking chair, gently moving backwards and forwards, cradling a sleeping Katherine in her arms. Like the perfect Madonna in a masterpiece, his wife was the image of a loving mother. As he watched his ears became attuned to the sounds of the room. Della was softly singing a lullaby. His heart swelled and he thought fleetingly that he could not possibly be happier than at that moment in time. His eyes moved on, spotting Mae. She was sitting in an overstuffed armchair, fast asleep, obviously having fallen under the spell of his wife's voice.
With everything that had happened, and even knowing the danger they still faced, Perry could have stood in the doorway for hours. His eyes traveled back to his small family. Now as before, the sight of them stirred something in him. He stood there, dominated by the thought of how much he needed Della, how much he loved her and their daughter.
He must have shifted his weight because Della looked up and met his eyes. She saw his heart reflected in his eyes, saw their expression when he looked at her, as though something had leaped between them, a sudden flare of passion, desire and pride. Unbeknownst to her, her own eyes were shining in a kind of sympathy, an understanding without words. Then the light shifted and faded from his blue eyes and her smile faded.
Standing, she laid the baby down in the crib, covering her. Then taking a quilt from the back of the rocking chair, she placed it over her sleeping aunt and gave her a kiss on her weathered cheek.
Tiptoeing across the room, she gently pushed Perry into the hallway before shutting the door quietly behind her. He took her elbow in the familiar way, and led her a few steps away from the nursery.
"Okay, Sweetheart. Start talking and don't you dare think of holding anything back."
Instead of speaking, Perry gathered her into his arms, pressing her close to him. Claiming her lips for a deep, lingering kiss, he was elated when Della's arms wound around his neck, her hands tangling in his hair, holding his head tighter so that he could ravish her mouth. His need for her was undeniable, and his control threatened to snap right then and there in the hallway.
When at last he raised his head, he looked into her hazel eyes, now gleaming with unabashed passion. Her face was flushed, her lips roughened by the kisses. The bulge in his pants spoke volumes.
"Which room is ours?"
Della laughed her throaty laugh, pointing to the room next to the nursery. Then she cried out softly in shocked surprise as he scooped her up. Taking long strides, Perry entered the room, shoving the door shut with his foot. Carrying her across the room, he laid her on the huge canopied bed, dropping down beside her.
"I love you," he managed, but when he would have continued his kisses and more, she put her hand on his chest and shoved him over onto his back.
Rising so she could look in his cobalt blue eyes, she frowned a little. "Oh no you don't, Mr. Mason. As much as I love you, and this, I'm not going to be distracted. Talk!"
Perry, recognizing the steel in his wife's voice, sighed deeply. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he stood, pulling Della with him.
"Perhaps we should continue this conversation in an upright position." He led her to an alcove with two comfortable chairs that was obviously intended as a sitting area.
Holding her hands in his, he told her all Paul had reported, including the possibility Donovan had committed the murder, and his unyielding fear for her and Katherine.
Della listened without comment until he had finished. Seeing the worry and fear in his eyes, she stood and pulled him back to the bed. He hesitated but she shook her head.
"Della…"
"Shh." When they were lying side by side, looking into each other's eyes, Della stroked her hand down Perry's strong jaw. "Listen to me, Darling! We survived dealing with these people before. I have faith in you. I have faith in Paul. And I know that being in this house with all of Salvatore's resources, Katherine and I are safe. You know that man will die before he lets anything happen to us. Plus," she let out a giggle, "I think he's got the hots for Aunt Mae."
He drew her closer to him, whispering in her ear for a long minute. Then he pulled back a little, searching her hazel eyes, reading the message in them, communicating his response with his own intense gaze. Then he pulled her close, trailing kisses from her hair to her neck, where he nipped lightly at the tender skin. The scent of her perfume filled his nose.
"Salvatore can chase Mae. I have the hots for you. Please . . . Let me love you, Della."
"Il mio unico amore." At her breathless whisper, Perry quickly divested both of them of their clothes.
Sometime later, Della lay sleeping, one bare arm and leg exposed, her lips slightly parted. Perry had dressed and was standing over her like a guardian angel called up for a celestial battle. He leaned toward her and placed a kiss on her forehead.
I would walk through fire, face any danger, slay dragons or escaped prisoners for this wonderful woman. How far would I go to prove my love? How far would I go . . . how far is forever?
In the nursery a few moments later, he looked down into the crib at his angelic daughter. He brushed a finger lightly down her cheek. And I would go beyond forever to protect you, my little Katnip.
He straightened and started down the hall. Hesitating at the doorway to their bedroom, he took one last look at his sleeping wife, then quietly closed the door and headed downstairs to find Paul and Salvatore.
They looked up as he entered. Paul rose to his feet.
"To the hospital?"
Perry shook his head. He caught Salvatore's eyes and the brief shake of his head. "I have something else in mind."
