A Debt Owed-A Promise Made Read online

  Some debts can only be paid in blood

  Brooklyn is thirty-four years old. She works crime and narcotics, weapons intelligence, and she has handled top secret material for the Information Operations Center Analysis Group. She is quick to anger and quicker to draw a weapon. And prior to her husband’s death, she was in bed with the mob—a fact that didn’t change after his untimely demise.

  Dante Mancini is public enemy number one. By all accounts, Dante is the most dangerous mob boss this country has ever seen. He makes his brother look like he was left on the monkey bars hanging upside down one too many times. Dante has two weaknesses, and only two—Brooklyn and her daughter.

  After three years of increased organized crime activity, agents realize Dante won’t slip. He doesn’t trip and he damn sure won’t fall. Then again, some say Dante has already taken the most detrimental tumble of all. He is head-over-heels for a woman indebted to a government agency eager to collect what is owed.

  Lucky for him, Dante is one step ahead of those who want to lock him up and misplace the key. And the woman he loves is prepared to protect him at any cost.

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  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  A Debt Owed-A Promise Made

  Copyright © 2013 Destiny Blaine

  ISBN: 978-1-77111-447-9

  Cover art by Angela Waters

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

  Published by eXtasy Books

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  A Debt Owed-A Promise Made

  By

  Destiny Blaine

  Chapter One

  A single mother shouldn’t have to stare into the dark, cold winter’s night and search for answers she already understands she won’t find. She shouldn’t beg for intervention, for some kind of superhero to stop a grander plan that was put into action long before she recognized the fallout or saw the potential for recourse.

  The sole guardian of one little girl shouldn’t ask for mercy while praying to heaven above for forgiveness of all sins particularly when she fully understood the crimes, once committed, were far too great to simply overlook.

  Above all else, a mother, an angel’s mother no less, shouldn’t bargain with God when years ago, she made a solid, public deal with the devil. She’d compromised at the time, realizing then what such a trade meant yet defying her inner voice even as she signed on the dotted line and sealed the deal.

  The sins of the mother would soon fall upon the child. Until fate ran its course, redemption would crouch idly in the corner, lurking in the shadows, waiting for an opportunity to play out the hand which would potentially destroy them all.

  Brooklyn Costello Mancini had known this day would come. She’d known when she’d least wanted the phone to ring, the call would come in and just like that—snap—her life as she’d known it, her days as she’d lived them, would be over.

  Leaving her post at the oblong hallway window, she peered into her four year old daughter’s bedroom. Her gaze held at the far corner. Irish, her daughter’s tabby cat, relaxed with her three kittens. She took her time cleaning the smallest one, stroking her young with dutiful licks.

  Ariela’s nightlight cast a perfect shadow upon the feline family. Tigger, one of her daughter’s favorite cartoon characters, seemed to laugh in the fluorescent shine. Practically a carbon copy for the plastic design covering the yellow bulb, the self-absorbed cat finally ignored her offspring and lapped at her paws before moving away from her mothering duties altogether.

  Brooklyn wasn’t blind to the irony, particularly when the cat cowered in front of her young. Perhaps she understood the danger, sensed the way it rolled across the room, casting a cloud of sorrow over them.

  On second thought, sorrow wasn’t the best word to describe the coming days. Devastation was more appropriate.

  The old cat wasn’t a stranger to danger. When violence knocked on their door years earlier, Irish was there. The imprint of the cat’s paws had been clearly defined in the blood pooling around her husband’s body.

  The wise cat released a mewling cry. Startled, Brooklyn stalked Irish. Her pet hissed when she attempted to scoop her into her arms.

  Abandoning her first intentions, Brooklyn decided the feline certainly understood their destiny. Perhaps the memory of an unforgettable and violent past remained stamped in Irish’s mind. Maybe as a mother, too, she sensed Brooklyn’s sudden change in demeanor and understood something wasn’t quite right.

  In any event, analyzing her pet was a complete waste of time. She was stalling and recognized her desperate attempt to postpone the inevitable.

  She had been summoned. And she couldn’t ignore the magnetic tug of a proverbial finger crooking back and forth, urging her forward.

  Again, she noticed Irish. The cat curved her body around her kittens, taking her maternal position. The mothering instinct was somewhat universal, and made all creatures stand up and take notice. Maybe Irish recognized the pending wrongful act of another mother, one destined to change their lives forever.

  Irish’s blue eyes slanted and her young regained her attention. At the same time, Brooklyn went to Ariela’s bed. She knelt beside her. Lightly brushing her fingers through the child’s scarlet-colored hair, she said a silent prayer. Rising to her feet again, she whispered, “I love you, Ariela. This will be over soon. You have Mommy’s word.”

  Closing the bedroom door behind her, she stared into a separate set of knowing eyes. Brooklyn’s mom had been here before. Tired and worried, her expression drew tighter with wrinkles. Time’s tiny lines marked their family’s burdens in her forehead.

  “The unpardonable acts of those who are already dead and gone, buried but not forgotten,” she chanted, squeezing Brooklyn’s wrist. Stoic, Brooklyn studied her mother’s fingers, unwilling to meet her gaze until she collected her thoughts.

  Her mom gasped as if she’d suddenly seen their unraveling future and refused to accept their precarious circumstances. She framed Brooklyn’s face with trembling hands, forcing her to look at her. “No, Brooklyn. No. Do you hear me? These sins we carry, they shouldn’t cost you. The men who have gone before us shouldn’t force us to pay with everything you vowed to protect.”

  Brooklyn swallowed. Her mother’s futile plea represented a final warning, a parent’s last word of caution.

  “I made a different kind of promise, Mother. I backed up Martino’s word with full intentions of carrying out what was required.”

  “A debt is owed, Brooklyn. A promise was made, but whatever obligations Martino placed on your shoulders aren’t your responsibilities to honor. You have to listen to me. I’m your mother. I know how these men think and I’ve lived long enough to predict the future many times over. I don’t like what I see. There isn’t any way to guarantee Ariela’s safety if you do this.”

  “Martino’s mob affiliations cost him his
life. Don’t ever forget why he is dead, why he’s unable to be a father to his little girl,” Brooklyn said.

  “My sweet daughter, Martino’s friends will come after you if you go through with this. Are you willing to let Ariela grow up without a mother?”

  The possibility of dying had crossed her mind. She’d quickly dismissed the possibility of a grisly outcome as soon as she’d considered the full recourse of displeasing those who still owned her soul. Thanks to Martino, her choices were limited and soon she would be devoured like prey deliberately thrown in a lion’s den.

  “I’ll be careful, Mother. You know what’s expected and there’s no way I can say no. Not now, not with Dante in Ariela’s life as much as mine. I can’t risk everything I have again.”

  Her mother followed her through the hallway, stopping in the foyer, right next to the marvelous waterfall with its cascading blue ripples forming a picturesque full fountain. “Are you doing this for money? Is that why you’re going?”

  “You know better than that, Mother,” Brooklyn replied, considering a more thorough, but guarded explanation.

  Her mom’s light green eyes narrowed. Her lips thinned.

  “I’m going because there is no way around this except to walk straight into the heart of the investigation surrounding our family. I’m following orders because a debt is owed and an agent is expected to pay the price. Unfortunately, in this situation, not just any agent will do. I’m the only one capable of doing the job.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m well connected.”

  “You don’t say?” Her mother’s words tumbled from angry lips as tears spilled from the corners of her eyes.

  “Don’t,” Brooklyn warned her, picking up a full keychain from a small table located next to the front door.

  “When will you be back?”

  She slipped a kiss on her mother’s cheek and gave an open-ended reply, “When it’s finished. Until then, you know what is expected of you. Take care of my daughter. I’ll take care of yours.”

  * * * *

  The lights dimmed. The fan from the overhead projector provided the only noise in the room. Clicking through the images of one breathtaking woman, Braxton Marshall ignored the gasps behind him.

  Some of the men there would soon fall victim to the spellbinding female who had once been considered the Information Operations Center Analysis Group’s finest. He, too, had once been impressed. That was before he knew what Brooklyn was capable of, and long before he realized how certain oaths and family ties ran deeper than career responsibilities and sworn duties to protect and serve.

  “Gentleman, in a few minutes, we’ll be joined by Brooklyn Costello Mancini, a former CIA Agent and Special Operative for a highly classified intelligence organization overseas, present status unknown.”

  Braxton clicked the small control unit in his hand and flipped through another few photographs. He felt the tickle on the back of his neck, the slight warning he’d often felt whenever Brooklyn was nearby. Perhaps she’d already entered in the building. Maybe she’d ridden the elevator to the second floor, exited the lift, and had started down the long hallway in pursuit of the meeting room.

  Clearing his throat, he slapped a pile of manila envelopes in front of one of the agents. The old guy didn’t await instructions. He immediately took one and passed the others around.

  Braxton addressed the small group, but propelled his arm behind him, pointing at the large screen. “Brooklyn is thirty-four years old. She’s worked crime and narcotics, weapons intelligence, and she’s handled top-secret material for us here at IOCAG. Top Information Operations Center Analysis Group officials believe Brooklyn has a photographic memory. She’s quick to anger, quicker to draw and—”

  “Was married to the biggest mob boss this country has ever seen. Ironically, the very brother of the man we’re trying to bring down.” A young rookie with noticeable blue-green eyes peered inside the folder before looking up at Braxton. “Mind telling us why you’d bring in Martino Mancini’s old lady for this job?”

  “She isn’t Martino Mancini’s woman anymore. He’s dead,” Braxton informed him dryly. “I thought you knew.”

  A few chuckles filled the room. Martino hadn’t been well liked by the men gathered there. Like Braxton, many IOCAG employees believed they had lost a mighty fine agent when Brooklyn married Martino.

  The knowledge of where she had recently been—another Mancini’s bed—slammed into Braxton’s chest. He’d lost Brooklyn to the Mancini family once. He didn’t plan on losing her again, especially to the vile likes of Dante Mancini, Martino’s brother.

  His personal vendetta played a big role in why they were pursuing Dante now. Some of his superiors had asked for more intelligence before they made a solid effort to bring him down. Braxton didn’t want to wait. The longer they postponed going in for the kill, the more attached Brooklyn would potentially become.

  Braxton hit the manual button on the old projector. Dante Mancini’s photograph filled the screen.

  From his picture, one could quickly make assumptions. He was larger than life and full of confidence. He looked like an Italian playboy with his long curly-Q hairstyle and expensive casual clothing. Undoubtedly, he would’ve made his brother proud.

  “Gentleman, meet public enemy number one. Dante Mancini is, by all accounts the most dangerous mob boss this country has ever seen. He makes his brother look like he was left on the monkey bars hanging upside down.”

  Muted whispers filled the room. Braxton didn’t elaborate. Instead, he showcased another slide. Brooklyn’s picture reappeared. This time she was shown with her young daughter, Ariela.

  “Dante Mancini has two weaknesses, but only two.” He pointed toward the door. “One of them will walk through that door any minute. The other is the child you see in this particular photograph.”

  The rookie shifted in his chair. Something was on the young man’s mind and Braxton would probably hear about it soon. The agents brought in for the meeting knew they were on to something big. The very fact they were invited to a closed-door session meant they were trusted men and valued as team players.

  Many of the agents there gathered with high hopes of earning a cover, a way to go in and infiltrate the Mancini organization. Little did they know, three undercover agents had already tried, and failed.

  No one could breach the Mancini organization’s security. And no one would achieve entry in the future. Dante trusted his deceased brother’s wife and her young daughter. No one else earned his confidence.

  From what surveillance had revealed, even Dante’s own father and mother were frisked at his gates before they were allowed into their son’s home. Eventually they stopped visiting altogether.

  Ariela and Brooklyn were never questioned, never stopped. They were, by all accounts, Dante’s only real family, his only circle of influence. He didn’t have friends, but he’d managed to collect many enemies. He didn’t spend a lot of money, but earned more cash than he’d spend in three lifetimes.

  He handed down orders. They were carried out. No one saw those demands delivered. A list of possible names for the killers he employed never surfaced. A hit list never materialized.

  Senseless deaths were cropping up all over New York City and all Braxton could do was sit back and watch, and hope for a slip-up. Three years. He’d known the Mancini way and he’d watched and waited, hoping Dante would make a mistake, but Dante didn’t trip. And he damn sure didn’t fall.

  After the agents reviewed the data filling their envelopes, the room stilled. Braxton prepared to answer questions.

  The rookie presented the first one. “How do you know this woman? Why do you think she’ll agree to work with us?”

  “She owes me a favor.”

  “By the looks of that, I’d find another way to call it in,” one of the seasoned agents said, nodding at the screen.

  Braxton squared his shoulders. At one time, he would’ve enjoyed nothing more. In another life, Braxton had admired
her. Years prior, he’d been halfway in love with her, but now it pained him to admit the truth.

  Brooklyn had changed. Opposing views had altered his feelings. If anything, resentment replaced all other emotions he’d once felt.

  Brooklyn wasn’t the same woman. Sure, they’d once shared an office, worked on a few cases together, and enjoyed a couple of late-night dinners rummaging through boxes of evidence, but their time together occurred before she married a mob boss.

  The woman with coal black hair and dark eyes to match possessed a cold, empty stare now, one she didn’t have when she’d worked at Langley. The harrowing gaze didn’t remotely resemble the look of excitement she used to own when they’d meet up for a little target practice at a nearby shooting range.

  No, the woman he’d once held in his confidences didn’t exist after Martino Mancini gave her his name and took her to his bed. And if Braxton spared a guess, Dante would take the rest of what little shine was left behind in those pretty black eyes.

  Brooklyn traded in a life of honor, a career designed to leave agents with a sense of pride. In turn, she married into a mob family, and tried her best to cut all professional ties including those she’d established overseas.

  Until recently, Braxton had often wondered if she had maintained her connections, but in the last year, Brooklyn had rarely left her home at all unless she visited Dante. Many of those visits were overnight stays. Sometimes she remained there for several weeks at a time.

  Her position beside Dante made her indispensable. Regardless of her foreign relations or where she stood with past acquaintances, Brooklyn was on the inside where it mattered. She was where Braxton needed her most.

  Years ago Brooklyn had cut a deal for her husband. It was a compromise made between gentlemen, sealed by a woman’s lips, a promise to make a bad situation right. Martino really didn’t need the deal since he’d been marked for death, something Braxton had known all along.