Chapter warnings: T for a potentially disturbing violent sequence (and a mother load of flirting.) No gore, I promise.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"Gazing at people, some hand in hand,
Just what I'm going through, they can't understand
Some try to tell me thoughts they cannot defend
Just what you want to be, you'll be in the end…"
---Nights in White Satin by The Moody Blues
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
A month later.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
There were advantages to cover IDs that came with a girlfriend.
Tony pressed the woman back against the couch, feeling the relentless beat of the music vibrating through his bones, and recaptured her lips with his. Running his hands through her silky black hair, he noted that she was kissing back rather more eagerly than the role required. It was enormously tempting to let his hands wander, but sheer force of will kept him still.
Clarity of focus was essential. This was the most crucial stage of the operation, and Tony couldn't afford to be distracted. Even when his distraction was big-eyed and well-endowed, and trembling with just enough nervousness to make him feel protective in spite of himself.
Not that Tony wasn't nervous. It was part of the reason he was allowing himself the pleasure of kissing her. So long as he kept his thoughts focused on sex, it was impossible to be overwhelmed by the stakes.
And did she ever have nice lips.
But he was getting carried away. Panting, Tony pulled back, and grinned crookedly at his ticket into the world of organized crime. Maria Donatti of the impossibly long lashes smiled back so slyly that he really, really wished that they were back in her apartment instead of in a crowded nightclub. Thoughts racing as he imagined how that pleasant but implausible scenario might pan out, Tony wrapped an arm around her frail shoulders.
She leaned her head against his shoulder. Tony took the opportunity to scan through the crowd for any sign of Macaluso or his closest henchmen. Nothing. Plenty of shady faces, of course, many of which he recognized from their suspected Mafia lists; and a great many women squeezed into brightly colored dresses, but no sign of Macaluso at his favorite hangout. A passing waitress with a platter of hot pink cocktail drinks---and very long legs---winked at him as she passed. Tony grinned back appreciatively, and was startled by a sudden sharp pinch.
Maria pouted up at him with red-lipstick smeared lips, looking just a little bit miffed. Tony bit back a surprised laugh. So even fake girlfriends, who knew perfectly well that there was no way you could actually sleep with them, didn't like having your attention divided? Well, never let it be said that Anthony DiNozzo would deny a woman's needs. The detective leaned towards her, leering appreciatively at her low-cut blouse, and kissed her. Hard.
Pulling away slightly, he placed his lips by her ear. "What a fiery Italiana, " Tony breathed, voice husky. "Too bad we're breaking up."
She chuckled, a throaty sound. "We can always make up, Antonio. And you know what comes after that."
The suggestion was clear, but for once Tony didn't bite. There was no way he could get involved with this woman, any more than he could have gotten involved with Julia. Not only would it be unwise, it also didn't fit in the least with the operation. Their "relationship" was a ploy---and a ploy only. As the sister of a trusted (and now deceased) mafia member, Maria had every reason to bring her new Italian boyfriend to Macaluso's hangout. But she was taking a substantial risk. Passing information was dangerous enough. Deliberately installing a mole into Macaluso's organization…
Tony was in no doubt of what would come to pass if her betrayal was discovered now. He would not be responsible for that. Instead, once the organization had been convinced of AntonioFlorentino's loyalty, he and Maria would have a "falling out," leaving the window open for Tony to obtain a new girlfriend---a cop this time. It was a traditional strategy, but not so common that Macaluso should be overly suspicious.
"Should,"of course, made a tenuous basis for safety.
"Maria, Bella," a warm male voice remarked from his left, "You are always a sight for sore eyes."
Maria tensed every so slightly, and Tony felt a tidal wave of adrenaline crash over him. Then the woman pulled to her feet, smiling, every sign of nervousness wiped from her face. "Buona sera," she replied, pleasure clear in her soft voice. "How are you?"
And Tony looked into the eyes of Mike Macaluso.
The man smiled, planting a chaste kiss on Maria's cheek. He was handsome in classically Italian way, with swarthy skin, dark eyes and a smile that looked like it could be as predatory as Tony's. But there was a hard edge to him entirely incongruent with his current genial expression. Tony regarded him warily, and tried not to be jealous of the man's designer suit.
"I am very good indeed, Topolina. Better now that I have seen you in your sexy heels. Gucci?" Macaluso gave her an up-and-down look that to Tony's sharp eye seemed almost cursory, and smirked when she planted her hands on her hips. The conflicting messages in the interchange might have confused Tony, if he hadn't known the two were cousins.
"Mike, no flirting," Maria scolded, lips twitching. "You would say such a thing in front of my ragazzo?"
She was good. Almost too good for comfort, which wasn't really what he'd been expecting, though maybe it should have been. If she decided to turn back to Macaluso's side, Tony wouldn't be able to tell until it was far too late. He could only pray that her motives were sincere.
Recalling her convulsively trembling body as it pressed against his, he was inclined to think they might be.
Macaluso swiveled towards Tony, slightly scraggly eyebrows rising in what appeared to be casual surprise. The detective couldn't help but be impressed at the dissembling---no one reached that level in the Mafia by being unobservant. That Macaluso was able to convincingly pretend to be told volumes.
A dangerous man.
"So this is the New Yorker who has captured the lovely Maria's interest," Macaluso said, extending a hand. "Antonio Florentino. I have heard a lot about you."
Tony took it. The hand was cool, dry and as smooth as a lady's. Tony memorized the feel of it without even meaning to. Had these pampered fingers, so clearly unused to labor, held the knife that ended Julia's life?
Tony grinned, darting an impish glance at Maria. "Reeeeallly, Ria?" Turning back to Macaluso, his expression eased from flirtatious to friendly. "My uncle speaks of you very highly."
"I always had the impression he thought me, what is the word, a reprobate?" Macaluso commented, mouth quirking wryly. His eyes gave none of his feelings away.
Tony laughed. His mind was racing. Had their intelligence been wrong? "An effective reprobate."
Suddenly, a hand clapped on his shoulder. Macaluso was grinning himself, now. "True, my friend. And that is the best way to be, yes? Come." And Macaluso was steering him away from Maria, who was smiling in a way that made him think their intelligence hadn't been wrong. "You must lend me your boyfriend for a while, Maria. I want to learn about the man who is dating my cousin."
"Be nice, Mike," The lady in question called out, voice amused, and blew an airy kiss to Tony. "I might even keep this one!"
The crowds parted easily as they made their way to the back of the club. Clearly, no one here was under any illusions as to the importance of this man. Uneasy, Tony tried to read their expressions. Some gazed at him in frank curiosity. Others' eyes skittered away as though they didn't want to be seen taking notice.
He wasn't sure how to read that.
"Where are we going?" Tony tried, keeping his face casual and unconcerned. The hand on his shoulder patted once. Twice.
"To a place where we can talk, away from snoopy people," Macaluso said easily, leading him towards a small exterior door. "Yes. Here we are." Extending his hand, Macaluso grabbed the handle, and pulled. A rush of cool autumn air swept inside, and Tony caught a glimpse of an almost pitch black ally before he was ushered into it.
Stomach churning, he turned towards Macaluso. The door slammed shut, plunging them into darkness. Vision still dazzled by the flashy lights of the club, Tony could see nothing. But he could sense movement around him, far too close for comfort.
"This your conference room?" Tony began, refusing to let himself step backwards. "Gotta say, I liked the club better---"
An arm wrapped around his throat. Something sharp pricked his jaw line.
Tony froze.
"Don't move," A new voice rasped, the breath hot on his ear. Tony didn't really think he needed the warning. Alone, without backup, and unarmed aside from wholly inaccessible knife tucked into his shoe, he'd never felt less like moving in his life. Harder to resist was the temptation to mouth off, with every nerve screaming at him that he was helpless, powerless…
"There is no need to be nervous, Antonio," Marcuso's smooth voice announced from a few feet away. A sudden flare of light illuminated the alleyway---a cigarette lighter. The flame cast his face into sharp relief as he lit a cigarette and stepped forward.
"Oh, well, that's all better then," Tony commented, as boldly jovial as the scrape of the blade against his neck allowed. "I mean, I was really worried there for a moment. But nowâ€""
The knife pricked more sharply. Tony fell silent, unimpressed. That his captor had taken so long to recognize the sarcasm in his tone didn't speak well of the man's intelligence. It was so very cliché---the dramatic lighting of the cigarette, the dumb-as-a-post henchman---that Tony found himself almost disappointed. He could think of a half dozen movies which had utilized a scene not unlike this. The least the mafia boss could have done was come up with something that Tony hadn't already experienced on film.
Of course, Tony had seen a great many movies.
Macaluso was smiling, an unnervingly amused expression. "A clever tongue, Florentino. Not unlike your uncle. But truly, I mean you no harm. It is simply that I am not…convinced…that you wish me the same in return." Shrugging, the man took a drag of his cigarette. "I am sure you understand. It is a difficult world, Antonio---no. Tony. Not Antonio." Macaluso moved closer, shaking his head. "The name does not suit you. My grandfather was named Antonio. He was an insufferable old bore. You are, like me, a reprobate." White teeth flashed in the darkness. "A rascal."
"Ah, you've been reading up on me," Tony managed to grit out through the pressure on his throat. "Did you hear about the drinking game I invented? You start with some good Italian wine---"
A laugh, a full-throated one. "Yes. Most inventive, Tony. I will have to try it. But I imagine you begin to see my dilemma. When someone is so very clearly a scoundrel, it is hard to imagine them doing anything for purely altruistic means. And why would a successful man," Macaluso loomed even closer, cigarette glowing red in the dark, "Drop his entire life for a girl he has known barely a month?"
"Well, Maria's a wonderful woman," Tony said firmly. Macaluso's eyes flashed.
"Not a good enough answer, my friend."
The mafia boss lifted his hand, and Tony recognized what was coming, but it was too late to react, impossible to flinch away, and the cigarette butt seared into the sensitive flesh above his collarbone.
White hot pain shot through his body. A meaty hand clapped over his mouth, muffling his yell. Tony kicked backwards, struggling, but the man behind him held him in a viselike grip.
Then it was over.
The detective swallowed hard, trying to gain control, feeling nausea rise in the back of his throat. God. He'd forgotten what that felt like.
Macaluso reached out again. Instinctively Tony recoiled, but the other man merely laid a hand against his captive's soft cheek. "Easy, Tony," the mob boss murmured. "Easy."
There was a long silence. The burn throbbed, stinging viciously.
"For what it is worth, I am sorry. You are what---twenty seven? Very young. Very foolish, and so, I will help you. I understand your reluctance to seem forward, but that would have been a very good time to mention that you also wish for a place in my organization. Ah, you see. Maria has already told me. It comes down to complete honesty. A very important thing in this life of ours, as I have no doubt your uncle has explained to you. But sometimes lessons have trouble sticking."
Macaluso ran a gentle hand through Tony's hair, ruffling it almost affectionately. "We won't have to repeat this lesson, I hope."
He stepped away, dropping the arm. "Not that I disagree with your statement, you understand." Suddenly there was humor in Macaluso's voice. "My little Maria is a most excellent woman. I very much hope you are sincere in your motivations towards her. Not only would I be angry that you had broken my favorite cousin's heart, but it would also force me to reconsider your motivations for coming to Philadelphia." His voice dropped, softening. "And we don't want that, do we, Tony?
"So the question becomes, how much do you want in? I take care of my own, Florentino. If I find you trustworthy, there is a great deal to be gained for working with me. Wealth….security…" Again his tone gentled. "…a family. But as in families, sometimes you must suffer for those who care for you. As they will suffer for you if there is ever need. Are you willing to suffer for us?"
And Tony knew, this time, the answer that was expected from him. "Yes."
For your victims.
"Good."
The pain came swiftly, an agonizing burn against the underside of his wrist. He could hear the skin sizzling, but this time Tony bit his lip, and not a sound escaped. When it stopped, his captor released the pressure on his neck, and stepped away.
"A brave man." Macaluso dropped the cigarette, grinding into the dusty ground with his toe.
"Strong. I like you, Tony." His smile was odd, a mixture of pride and something harder to pin down. "Go home, clean up. Let Maria fawn over you, she likes that. I'll make contact. Get some rest, Florentino."
Macaluso vanished through the door of the club. His henchman followed like a shadow, silent and inscrutable.
And Tony was left alone. Stumbling, the detective made it to the wall just before the shakes hit. As he waited for his body's reaction to the adrenaline to subside, his thoughts churned darkly---was this what Alicia had gone through, day after day? Month after month? Straightening, Tony became aware of a source of discomfort apart from his burns---small in comparison, but unexpected. He touched his thumb to his mouth, and encountered wetness. Blood.
He'd nearly bitten through his lip.
Carefully, Tony sucked the liquid off his finger, burying a sensation of horror and disgust. For the victims, he reminded himself dully, pushing off the wall.
For Julia.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Tony twisted the key in the lock, hearing tumblers shift and fall into place. His fingers still trembled with aftershock; he pulled the key loose, only to promptly dump it on the carpet below.
Cursing softly, Tony bent to grab it, before tucking it back within his designer leather wallet. His real wallet, all smooth and well-creased and familiar, though of course emptied of anything remotely connected to Anthony DiNozzo. The detective caressed it, smilingâ€"he'd always loved that walletâ€"before squaring his shoulders.
Room 216. His home until…well. Until he found evidence that could take down Macaluso. Or, of course, until his cover was blown and he ended up somewhere with his chest and legs cut to ribbons. Whichever came first, Tony supposed wryly, drawing on a humor so dark that it neared pitch black. Just as long as you give it a gaming try, DiNozzo.
Tony pushed the door open quietly, wondering what he would find inside. Darkness, probably. No doubt Maria had beaten him home, but by now she'd probably feasted on last night's leftover Chinese Takeout and stumbled into bed---
Or not.
Tony stopped short, green eyes widening. Soft music filtered through the apartment, a jazzy tune he recognized as Sinatra. Bright light issued from the kitchen; the dining area was haloed with a soft glow he suspected was candlelight. A delicious scent floated to his nose---
something cheesy and slightly sharp. His mouth watered.
The detective adjusted his rumpled dress shirt the best he could without brushing the circular burn on his lower arm, and sauntered into the kitchen.
Maria stood leaned over in front of the oven, dressed surprisingly casually in worn jeans and a hot pink polo shirt. An apron and hot mitts protected her hands and clothes from food splatter and heat as she reached into the oven, removing something hot and bubbling.
Tony waited in silence, not wanting to startle her. Plus, he was enjoying the view. The tight jeans suited her curvy build perfectly, as far as he was concerned. Rrrhow.
Sighing, the woman placed the dish on the counter, and removed her hot mitts.
"You look cute in an apron," Tony said, grinning when she jumped. "But that one clashes with your shirt."
Maria stuck her tongue out, a response so delightfully immature that Tony fought down a laugh. She was fun to tease. He'd seen glimpses of that over the last month, as they consulted over how best to set up Operation Hawkeye, but he'd never actually seen her completely relaxed. It seemed he was seeing it now.
"Then buy me a better apron, Antonio," she retorted mildly, reaching behind herself to untie the strings. "And if it says anything lewd, I'll make you wear it."
"Ha ha," Tony said forcefully. "Very funny. Does kiss the cook count?"
Maria darted a sidelong look at him. "Well, that depends on who's doing the kissing."
Well, indeed. Tony's grin widened into something far more predatory. The motion pulled on his cut lip. Wincing, he let his smile drop. "Ria---"
"Your lip." Maria's demeanor changed abruptly, from coquettish to grim in an instant. She shoved her apron onto the counter and came to stand in front of him, taking in the puckered burn mark on his neck with bleak eyes. "So cruel," she whispered.
"Maria," Tony warned softly, eyes flicking around the roomâ€"are we under surveillance?
She shook her head. "Not tonight. Tomorrow?" Maria shrugged, leaning one-armed against the counter. "Probably. But not yet. Tony, I have some medical supplies. Antiseptic. Burn cream. Come on."
For some reason he didn't quite understand, Tony found himself resisting. "I can do it myself," he argued, setting his jaw. "It's just a burn." Though just felt an improper modifier, with pain radiating relentlessly from the spots.
"I know," came her simple reply, leaving him oddly defeated. "But I would like to help you. Won't you let me, Tony?"
That was fighting dirty. With her kind gaze locked on his, Tony found himself incapable of saying no. He told himself it was because she was a woman; inwardly, he knew it was something far more fundamental. A weakness he'd always had.
He followed her into the bathroom, scowling slightly. Tony gazed longingly at the bathtub---a long hot soak was sounding more appealing by the minute---but Maria was right, on one count at least. Untreated, burns could be nasty. Worse---to his vanity, at any rate---they could scar.
The last thing he wanted was a lifelong reminder of Antonio Florentino.
In the fluorescent lighting of the bathroom, Maria looked pale and washed out. Tony caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror as she rooted through the medicine cabinet, and grimaced. If Maria with her stronger coloring appeared washed out, then he was positively ghoulish. A dark trickle oozed down his chin, adding to the unpleasant image.
Not quite the Italian Stallion of lore.
"It would be easier if you took off your shirt," Maria said unexpectedly, her voice extremely serious. Startled, Tony jerked to look at her, but her face was turned away.
"The burns aren't on my chest," he returned, confused.
"Mmmmm." Through her curtain of dark hair, Tony still couldn't read Maria's expression, but something in the throatiness of her tone made him suspicious. It was almost…a purr?
"Minx," Tony growled playfully, catching on. Feeling rather better about the whole situation---though quite aware he'd just been manipulated into a better mood---he sank down on the side of the tub. And realized that, in fact, if he wanted to clean the higher burn properly, taking off his shirt would be the best way to go. Resigned, he tugged loose the buttons and wadded the fabric into a ball, dumping it next to the tub.
Maria turned around, a tiny smile hovering on her lips. Catching sight of him, she blinked, her eyes widening. Suddenly she giggled, sounding more like a schoolgirl than a twenty-eight-year-old woman partially responsible for infiltrating the Italian Mafia. Cheeks faintly flushed, Maria placed the bottles in her hand back on the sink. "I'll be right back," she murmured, and vanished into the hallway.
Grinning rather gingerly, Tony turned on the faucet. The water flowed into the tub, coldness rising off it in waves. Shivering, he splashed both burns with the water, clenching his teeth at the discomfort. He tried not to look as he cleaned them, his stomach turning at the sight of the scorched and weeping marks.
"I put a cover over the casserole," Maria announced, reentering the room. This time, she sounded perfectly normal.
But her dark eyes were still dancing.
"It should stay warm until we're ready to eat," she continued, swinging into place next to him on the tub, a jar of burn salve in hand. The musky scent of her perfume floated up to tickle his nose as she scooped a dollop of cream onto her fingers.
Tony sucked in his breath as she began applying it, though her touch was gentle. All the same, he found himself relaxing under her ministrations, the tension slowly ebbing out of him. It was new to him, this touching without an immediate sexual purpose. Almost…uncomfortable. Disconcerting, for certain. Tony fidgeted, twisting his torso away as she worked.
"There you go." To his intense relief, Maria's voice was brisk. "Now, here's some antiseptic. This may sting."
"I know that," Tony grumbled, snatching the cloth she handed him with a muttered thanks, and pressing it to his lip. It smarted sharply, making his eyes water even as he patted the area dry. But at least this way the area wouldn't become infected.
Taking a deep breath, Tony forced himself to relax, and smiled at his helper crookedly. "How about that dinner of yours?"
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Chapter notes: Just in case anyone's wondering, this is not a romance story. It does contain a romantic element (of a sort, as you shall see) but it is not the main thrust of the story. I like Tony and Gibbs father/son too much (Gibbs is currently scheduled to appear in chapter 4, by the way.) Besides, I'm an action chick at heart.
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.