Undercover (Crossing Lines Book 1)

  Undercover

  (Crossing Lines 1)

  Barbara Winkes

  Copyright © 2022 by Barbara Winkes

  All rights reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales are purely coincidental.

  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover art by May Dawney Designs

  For D.

  Chapter One

  To say I have no friends is not an exaggeration. Those who don’t want me dead would like to lock me up. Either one of those things could happen sometime soon, but there’s something I need to do first. I made a promise. If I can keep it, there’s a good chance I can honor my parents’ legacy and keep the business they have given everything to, alive.

  It’s no small undertaking when every day I’m reminded of what’s at stake. I can’t be distracted by grief because I’m afraid that time might be running out on me. This is not about me. It’s so much bigger than that.

  Aside from the more solemn task, I still have a business to run, and I’m on my own just as much as I am when it comes to the secret. This is why at 8:15 p.m., I’m sitting in my office, oblivious to the magnificent sight of the city lights below me.

  The Mancini Group encompasses mostly commercial real estate. A part of it is still the industry that gave my great-grandparents a fighting chance when they first made a home here. The cozy restaurant they started out with still exists, but we have several other locations as well. They come in handy in many ways.

  The profits are good. I have skilled staff, but I’m not someone who easily trusts. I need to know for myself.

  A knock on the door startles me out of my thoughts. Jimmy Bruno walks in, stopping cold when he sees the folders on my desk.

  “You’re busy?”

  “That depends,” I say, leaning back in my chair. He knows just enough about my off-the-books mission to be helpful, and I want to keep it that way. Jimmy has been with the organization since he was eighteen, and my dad trusted him a great deal.

  Me—I know that he’s been working hard to make himself irreplaceable. I can’t deny the support he gave me after the incident. I’m not sure that’s enough.

  If he has anything new to tell me, I’ll listen. I may not have friends, but he is one of the few people who have been a constant presence in my life.

  “It’s late. You’ve been in here all day. I was wondering if you’d like to come have dinner with me and my parents.”

  The Brunos are the sweetest people I know, and herein lies the problem. There’s been an ongoing misunderstanding, one that Dad unfortunately encouraged. I’ve known Jimmy for a long time. I know he gets the job done, whatever job it is that needs to be done. I have no reason to question his loyalty, but I’m never going to marry him. I think he knows, though Mr. and Mrs. Bruno haven’t quite caught up to the fact yet. It would be cruel to mislead them, or Jimmy.

  “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

  “You’ve got to eat sometime.”

  There’s been talk behind my back regarding the subject. Some say I’m crazy not to go for it—he’s handsome, charming, with a knack for business. What no one dares to say out loud is that they’ve been uneasy since my mother took over after my father’s death, with my help and Jimmy’s.

  The people I deal with on a day-to-day basis are old-fashioned. They’d like to see a “man of the house.” In the 2020s. It’s frustrating, not that I can allow myself to get distracted.

  “It’s kind of you to worry about me, but I’ll be fine. Go. I’m sure they’re waiting for you with enough food for an army.”

  He acknowledges that with a smile. “It’s likely. That makes me feel even worse. You’ll be back tomorrow before everyone else anyway.”

  “Good night, Jimmy. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Knowing that he’s lost the argument, he salutes. “As you wish. Good night, Kendall.”

  I sigh in relief when he’s gone, aware that he’s not wrong. I’m often the last person to leave the building and arrive when the cleaning crew has barely finished their job. Fortunately, when I needed to step in, I had a business degree to show for in addition to my determination. I had to learn fast. Now, being on top of things is just a matter of comfort as much as it is necessity. My father trusted too many, and it got him killed. Mom tried her hardest, but in the end, it was a broken heart that ended her life. After fifty years of marriage, she held on for another two after we got the call that changed everything.

  Now there’s no one I can rely on but myself.

  It’s frightening—and somehow freeing.

  I’m the only one left to solve the mystery as I promised my mother—to find out who killed my father.

  I might die trying, but I don’t think about it all that often.

  * * * *

  When I finally leave the office, it’s after nine. I nod to the security guard as I exit the building through the back and walk to my car on the illuminated and well secured parking lot. I’m not a big connoisseur of cars, but I also represent the company and the Mancini name. My midnight blue convertible Audi is the perfect compromise between practical and fun…Though there hasn’t been much fun in my life lately. I’ve accepted my obligations. There’s no way around them. I can’t leave the office early or go on a spontaneous road trip.

  All hell could break loose, and that’s not an exaggeration.

  I drive home, where I quickly shower and change into a different set of clothes, one that wouldn’t be appropriate for the office. I bind my hair back into a ponytail and apply only a touch of make-up and perfume. To blend in, not to stand out.

  I’ve had a few theories, right after it happened, and so far, nothing I’ve learned has me disavowed of those. I might be closer to getting evidence. I’ve put out the word, cajoled and promised, and someone took the bait. She wasn’t at the event on that fateful night, but she knows someone who can get me a guest list.

  They may not have pulled the trigger, but someone at that party facilitated the raid that ended in a bloodbath. With that list, I’ll be a lot closer to identifying the enemy.

  I’ll have time to grieve my parents.

  I’ll also send the message that nothing has changed. The Mancinis still own this town.

  * * * *

  It’s 9:32. I hate people who are late, unreliable. Perhaps being someone who relies on so few people for a reason, I shouldn’t be surprised. It still bothers me as I sit at the counter, sipping my glass of wine. The price is exaggerated, I find. Sure, I can afford it, but I don’t see what makes these grapes so special.

  The bartender, a cute young blonde fussing over me, is a small silver lining.

  “Would you like another one?” she asks, attentive to the fact that my glass is almost empty. “Or can I make you something else?”

  “No, thanks.” I look her up and down, notice that she’s blushing. I don’t think she knows who I am, which makes the moment even more satisfying. But that’s all it is, a moment. I have no intention, nor can I afford to follow up on it.

  Not tonight, anyway, and not while rapid developments are underway.

  10: 41. I could have had a lavish dinner at the Brunos’, but that always comes with conditions. This place is not known for its excellent cuisine. I’ll probably be better off grabbing something on my way back. As I pay for my drink, I leave a big tip, earning me a smile and an even more pronounced blush.

  I’ll admit it. Sometimes I envy people who can just follow every impulse. That’s not the life I chose t
hough.

  I’m halfway to the exit when Marina walks in, heading straight for me.

  “Kendall Mancini,” she says. “It’s nice to see you again.”

  “You’re late,” I return, irritated that she doesn’t even mention it. No apology—she’d better have something good for me.

  “Yeah, whatever. I have what you need.”

  “Are you sure?”

  She makes a face as she hands me the memory card.

  “Did I ever disappoint you?” She shakes her head, laughing. “No, don’t answer that. This was surprisingly tough to come by. You owe me, you know that, right?”

  I slide the card into the pocket of my jeans and take out my phone. After a few clicks I tell her, “The transfer is done.”

  “Great.” She leans in and kisses my cheek. “Always good doing business with you. If you need me, you know where to find me. Unless you’d like to stay for another drink…?”

  I look around, realizing that the pretty bartender is watching us, her expression pensive.

  “No, thanks. I need to head home.”

  When Marina looks at me, her expression is uncharacteristically somber.

  “I hope that whatever you find in there, it gives you peace.”

  Like she did it for my peace of mind, out of the goodness of her heart, and not for the dollars in her bank account…That’s not the world we live in. I’m grateful nonetheless.

  “Thank you, Marina. I have to go.”

  In a hurry now, I barely notice the woman coming in as I head out. It’s not a full-on collision, but I jostle her shoulder just a bit.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “No problem.” She smiles, holding my gaze for a few seconds, much like I did with the bartender earlier. It’s not the place for a gourmet dinner, though they have a satisfying menu. Other needs can be satisfied if necessary.

  I have no trouble setting my needs aside tonight. I have a solid lead.

  * * * *

  Marina didn’t rip me off. The card contains not only a police report, but the list of everyone who attended the party where my father was shot and killed. A private fundraiser featuring prominent names in the business community.

  I recognize a few names of CEOs that my parents worked with, that we still work with. A politician who dropped off the scene a while back, obviously eager to keep a low profile. Though the documents allow me to piece together some of what happened that night, the picture is not complete, and it’s not for Marina doing sloppy work.

  The FBI barged in with a warrant that night, the lights went out, and the shooting started.

  I’ve read reports like this before, and this one is startlingly vague, not just given the implications of the incident. It tells me that either the list isn’t complete, or there’s a name I haven’t been able to put into context yet. A couple of uncles, cousins, I could question them. The business partners brought spouses, maybe adult children. The politician.

  Who else?

  Did the authorities go out of their way to keep someone off the record? That could only mean one of two things: An undercover cop, or an informant.

  If it’s the latter, my theory was right.

  If it’s the former, that would mean…What? Did we all fail to pay attention? I’ll have to keep that in mind, but when I see the name Arturo Rossi, I know that I can’t have been too far off. His close ties to the Bianco family, and his hate for mine, aren’t a secret. I don’t see him facilitating a murder, but they would. It wouldn’t be the first time.

  I get up to stand in front of the picture on my living room shelf, both of my parents younger than I am now, in their wedding picture.

  “You can trust me,” I say.

  The ones responsible for their deaths will be held accountable. I will get it done.

  Chapter Two

  I am obsessed with Kendall Mancini, have been for some time. She occupies a great deal of my waking hours, and at night, I dream about her.

  She doesn’t know it, but Kendall is the one who can make or break my career, propel me on the path I want to take, or get me sent to a field office in the middle of nowhere.

  The Mancini family is a specific, complicated case. I’ve been on it, preparing for my assignment for several months.

  In the past few weeks, we’ve been moving up the timeline, because this case turned from complicated to explosive. I don’t have a lot of time, but I know I’m ready.

  We plan to take down others with her. Kendall is my primary focus.

  I’m thinking of her even now as I head out to my parents, a retired FBI agent and a former mayor who have both done their share to keep the city safe, against the rising tide of organized crime. You could say I’m in the family business.

  I’ve seen the results of the machinations and endless feuds from families like the Manicinis and the Biancos, and I’m not distracted by sympathy or the fact that Kendall is a striking woman. She’s not a teenager. After running the business first with her mother, and now, by herself, she knows what she signed up for. She knows what’s happening on and off the books. She doesn’t want or need anyone’s sympathy.

  I went to the mother’s funeral, sat in the last pew as I listened to her rousing speech, about the bond between her parents, their dedication to their family and company, their love story. How Al Mancini’s death broke his widow’s heart.

  How Kendall would work hard every day to make them proud.

  No one in the church could take their eyes off her as she spoke, standing straight with her head held high, dressed in black. She didn’t use the exact words, but the sentiment came across just as clearly: Whoever pulled the trigger on Mancini senior that night, shouldn’t hope for forgiveness.

  The official version is that no one knows who exactly is responsible for Mancini’s death that night, which is problematic. A ton of evidence was recovered from the room, multiple arrests made. It was supposed to be a quick, clean operation that instead became a war zone, a shoot-out that took Kendall’s father. It could have taken mine had he been there, but I was the lucky one. It seems only natural that I accepted a crucial role in making sure something like this never happens again.

  * * * *

  We, too, value family. My grandmother, my cousin, her husband and two-year-old son, and one of my mom’s former aides are present, and it’s just a normal Saturday night dinner. Julia isn’t just one of most valued employees Mom’s campaign ever had, she is also my ex. Our break-up lacked drama the way our relationship did, so everyone, including me, is comfortable having her here.

  The conversation I have with my dad in his study is a little less comfortable, but I can’t afford to miss the chance. He might be one of my most valuable sources—at the same time, I can’t tell him much, and I know he won’t like it.

  I wait until he pours a cognac for both of us, hands me one glass and sits across from me.

  “It’s strange how little things change,” I start. “One name that often comes across my desk is Mancini.”

  “I imagine. It’s part of the deal in this city.” It’s a casual conversation, still, but I have to be careful. It’s not an easy subject for him.

  “Yeah, I got that impression. You met Kendall, I imagine.”

  “The princess. Yes. Of course, I met her. Is there any particular reason you ask, anything you want to know?”

  I don’t answer right away, flabbergasted at the unfamiliar tone of his voice. Yes, I’ve heard that nickname. It’s been floating around for a while, but I’ve heard it mostly from members of the Bianco family, that, or older supervisors.

  “Yes and no. I mean there are ways to build a case, but that’s usually the small stuff.”

  “You got anything big going on?”

  “Just the usual,” I hurry to answer. “She’s interesting, to say the least. She and her parents were close.”

  “Oh yes.” This time, there’s no reservation. “Honestly I’m surprised at her restraint. There’s a time for everything but barging in on that
fundraiser was a mistake. Someone tipped them off—we lost some good men that night.”

  “I’m sorry.” As far as I know, he wasn’t one of the agents present at the raid, but he had a hand in preparations. Like others, he took his retirement not much later.

  “I told them it would be a mistake,” he says with an anger that surprises me as it rings still fresh and raw. “I was overruled…Mancini was going to come in. For sure he wasn’t going to hand us his business on a silver platter, but he had information. We’ll never know what it was. If I read correctly between the lines, the same fires we tried so hard to put out are still burning.”

  I can’t deny it. If there was a power vacuum, the Biancos would want to step in. Kendall Mancini and Jimmy Bruno, Al’s right hand man, won’t have it, and now she’s hell-bent on avenging her parents’ deaths. No, the occasional tax evasion isn’t our biggest problem here.

  I don’t want to end family dinner on such a dire note.

  “They can’t burn forever. What’s your impression of Bruno? You think he and Kendall are more than criminal business partners?”

  Dad gives this some thought, swirling the cognac around in its glass before he answers.

  “If that’s the case, it would surprise me. Alphonso liked him, Angela and Kendall, I’m not sure. There was talk about a brief fling. That’s all I know.”

  “Thank you, Dad. That’s very helpful.”

  He sighs. “I’m not supposed to ask.”

  “No.” There’s no point in denying it.

  “I can’t tell you how to do your job, and you know that Mom and I couldn’t be prouder of you…”

  “But…?” I prompt.

  “No but. Be careful.”

  “I always am.”

  * * * *

  We’ve discussed the various options for making first contact—a business offer, a visit to one of the gourmet restaurants, a side business of the Mancini group and a nod to their humble beginnings, a more private setting.

  My persona includes the right background for all three, though the private one might be the best chance to catch Kendall off guard, enough to get my foot in the door.