Divine Intervention

By S.R. Claridge

Some might say Angel has it all. Power. Money. Love. But she’s lacking the one thing she needs now more than ever... Loyalty.

When a simple favor to Olga lands Angel in the middle of a shootout which almost costs her, her life; there are questions. When the man who has always protected her now stands against her; there are doubts. And when a search for answers reveals the players involved in an assassination attempt against His Eminence; there is panic. Shot, kidnapped, drugged and betrayed, Angel must put her personal feelings aside to uncover the truth, reveal the lies and intervene before it is too late. The plot thickens when unlikely paths collide and lines of loyalty blur into a muddle of mafia mayhem; where being in the right place at the wrong time might just be an intervention of the Divine.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Global Publishing Group LLC
• Release date: Feb 3, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310684036

S.R. Claridge

S.R.Claridge, nominated for the 2010 Molly Award, 2013 Pushcart Prize and awarded the 2011 Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers Pen Award, writes full-time and lives in Colorado. She loves autumn, moonlight and Grey Goose martinis with bleu cheese or jalapeno stuffed olives. She believes Friday nights are for indulging in Mexican food and margaritas and Sunday mornings warrant an extra-spicy Bloody Mary. Growing up in St. Louis, Missouri and earning her BA in Psychology from the University of Missouri, Columbia, S.R.Claridge is a mixture of mid-western family values and western wild nights. She loves Jesus, believes in the power of prayer, in the freedom of forgiveness and that life is a gift that should be enjoyed to the fullest. With a background in theatre, S.R.Claridge creates characters with dramatic flair and is known for her intense plot twists and engaging humor. S.R.Claridge would rather walk dangerously where there’s a view than sit in idle safety and let life pass her by. Her spirited outlook comes shining through in her novels, as she takes readers to the edge of their seats with bone-chilling suspense.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Detta stepped from the shower, wrapped herself in a towel and then wiped the steam from the bathroom mirror. The kids were off to school and she could finally relax. Towel drying her long, dark hair and slipping her arms into an ivory colored, fleece robe, she trudged down the narrow hallway of her mobile home and into the kitchen for a cup of coffee.

Where is it? Came his voice from the adjoining living room, startling her. It wasn’t in the fruit bowl as promised.

Detta’s eyes quickly scanned the lime green speckled, linoleum countertop and landed on the white bowl of fruit at the end. That’s where I placed it, she said, lurching toward the bowl and then emptying its contents onto the countertop.

He joined her in the kitchen, shaking his head in a display of obvious disappointment. I don’t have to tell you what betraying me means, do I?

Detta shook her head. I didn’t betray you. I placed it in the fruit bowl this morning. Panic began to set in as she opened and closed every drawer beneath the countertop, thinking…hoping it had somehow fallen inside. She turned toward him, pleading. I swear to you. I put it there this morning.

She could feel his eyes burning through her. This is problematic, Detta, he gritted.

I know, she whispered.

Can you make another?

Detta shook her head. I could only hack into their system once. It would be impossible for me to do it again undetected. It’s heavily guarded.

He drew a knife from the block near the sink and then turning quickly toward her, ran the tip of it down her cheek until the blade rested against her throat. Let’s make one thing clear, he hissed, slithering behind her so his lips lay close to her ear lobe. I trusted you to give me what I asked for and in return you and your disorderly rug rats would be left alone, even protected… He abruptly stopped, as if a thought had entered his mind and then lowered the knife and spun Detta to face him. Is it conceivable that one of the children took it?

Detta gasped. No! Nicholas, NO! She threw herself to her knees and gripped his legs, begging. Please leave them out of this. They know nothing about it.

They may know nothing about it and yet they may possess the very item I am seeking, he said, kicking her from his legs. Get dressed. We are leaving immediately.

Where are we going? She hesitantly stood.

I think it’s time we paid a visit to East Side Junior High, don’t you?

Detta’s eyes widened. No, Nicholas! You can’t. I refuse to help you hurt children.

The words had barely left her lips when he backhanded her across the face with such force that she lost her balance and struck her head against the countertop. The last thing she remembered before slipping into unconsciousness was the cool linoleum against her cheek and a wave of nausea.

Sorry, love, Nicholas sneered.

Within moments Detta’s ankles and wrists were bound by duct tape and her eyes and mouth taped shut. He then dragged her outside and threw her into the trunk of his car.

We have a problem, he hissed into his cell phone as he crawled behind the wheel and started the ignition. Get a delivery truck and meet me at the warehouse in one hour. We’re heading to East Side Junior High.

CHAPTER 2

What do we do once we get inside the school? Thomas asked as he climbed into the passenger seat of the delivery truck and then slicked back his hair with a comb retrieved from the pocket of his black, leather jacket. I mean, how do we find what we’re looking for?

We use any means necessary, Nicholas seethed, tightening his grip on the steering wheel.

We gonna shoot kids, boss? Thomas narrowed his brow. I don’t wanna shoot no kids. Thomas was a Nicholas wannabe but he lacked the guts to do what needed to be done. He wanted to appear powerful and have everyone believe that he and Nicholas were tight, but the truth was he was weak and Nicholas knew it. There was only one way to motivate Thomas.

Pulling a Glock from his jacket, Nicholas took aim at Thomas. You will kill whoever I tell you to kill. Capisce?

Yeah, I got it, he cowered.

It’s kill or be killed. You understand? Nicholas gritted.

Thomas held up his hands. Yeah. Yeah. I got it.

Good, Nicholas snipped, lowering the gun and feeling satisfied. Besides, I don’t think we’ll need to kill any kids. We’ll take out a few teachers if we have to and that will scare the kids into telling us everything we need to know. A sadistic grin filled Nicholas’s face. And I know who is going to die first.

Who? Thomas asked, wide-eyed.

We need to teach Detta a lesson, he sneered. I want to make sure she knows that mistakes are costly.

You gonna kill Detta? Thomas gasped. I thought you and Detta were a thing. Like you loved each other.

Nicholas’s eyes darkened. First rule of business: Love only yourself. Be loyal to yourself. Trust no one, especially not a woman you’re bedding down with. They’re good for a fuck but if you hang around too long they’ll fuck you over. Nicholas gave Thomas a sideways glance. That’s wisdom right there. Remember that.

Thomas nodded. So, how are you gonna teach Detta a lesson?

Her sister works at the school and you’re going to kill her, Nicholas said nonchalantly.

Thomas squirmed uncomfortably. Why do I have to kill her? Why don’t you kill her?

Nicholas made a clicking sound with his tongue. Thomas, Thomas, Thomas. You’re going to create a diversion by killing Detta’s sister, while I sneak into the building and find the rug rats that stole what rightfully belongs to me.

Looking at a copy of a school schedule he had pulled from the front of Detta’s refrigerator, Nicholas checked his watch and noted which classroom he would visit first. Ms. Schneider, Room 206, he muttered. It’s your lucky day.

CHAPTER 3

The Snake pulled the tank to the front of Chicago’s East Side Junior High School and turned to face Angel. Ms. Maratinzano, I don’t think this is a wise course of action, he said, his grimace a display of disapproval.

I know, she sighed, which is exactly why Giovanni can never find out. Agreeing to do it was the only way to shut Olga up.

The Snake’s half-grin told Angel that he understood her dilemma. It was no secret to anyone in the Maratinzano family that Olga’s relentless demands could drive a person over the edge. If Olga hadn’t been Giovanni’s sister someone would have certainly taken her out by now.

I think I should accompany you inside, he said, killing the ignition and then checking the clip on his .45 and slipping it back into his waistband.

Yeah, because my arriving with an armed body guard won’t look weird, Angel uttered sarcastically, lowering the visor mirror and checking her reflection. I have to appear to be a regular business woman, coming in to talk to the kids on career day. Angel raised the visor. I just don’t know what in the world I’m going to say to a group of thirteen year olds to hold their attention.

Thirteen. Hormones raging. I can tell you what Chase would say, the Snake smirked.

I don’t think the teacher will appreciate me talking about sex. Angel laughed. Wish me luck.

You don’t need luck, he said and held up her 9mm. She’s loaded and the safety’s on.

I’m pretty sure guns aren’t allowed in schools. Angel pushed the gun away.

With all due respect Ms. Maratinzano, you either take the gun or I tag along; the choice is yours.

She hated when he formally addressed her instead of using her first name; and he knew it. Narrowing her eyes, Angel cocked her head slightly to the side. Do you honestly think someone is going to try and take me out in a middle school? She pursed her lips and glared at him as if to imply he was paranoid. No one, except you and Olga even know I’m here.

Me or the gun, the Snake stated matter-of-factly.

As she opened the door and slid from the seat, Angel carefully placed the gun into the back of her waistband and smoothed her black pencil skirt, to be sure her black suit jacket covered it. Fine, I’ll take it, she said. Happy now?

I’d be happier if you let me come inside.

Angel rolled her eyes. You worry too much.

It’s my job.

Over-achiever, she teased.

He was right, it was his job to protect her and a certain amount of worrying came with that occupation. After all, if anything happened to her on his watch he would have to answer to Giovanni; a body guard’s worst nightmare and some would say a fate scarier than even death.

Angel leaned her head inside the car. Relax. This is a middle school, filled with pre-teens who are more interested in each other than anything I have to say. I’ll be back in twenty.

After closing the Tank door, Angel headed briskly up the sidewalk toward the school; her black pumps clicking noisily against the pavement. Sometimes body guards can be a pain in the ass, she thought; but she couldn’t blame the Snake for being cautious. They had been through a lot together and he had worked for Giovanni for a long time. He knew, better than anyone, the importance of protecting Giovanni’s assets, of which Angel was considered his greatest.

The closer she came to the front doors, the more nervous she grew, silently berating herself for not taking the time to prepare a formal speech or at the very least, jot down a few ideas on note cards. She was a planner by nature so winging it didn’t come easily. Stopping momentarily Angel inhaled and then exhaled quickly. It was silly to be nervous she told herself. After all, she had looked down the barrel of a grenade launcher, been hurled from an airplane and exploded off of a dock; surely she could face a classroom of eighth graders. The truth was, she didn’t want to be here. She wasn’t even sure why or how she had let Olga convince her to do this. It was just like Olga, though, to volunteer Angel without her consent.

During Olga’s recent visit to her favorite hair salon, she promised Elsa, the salon owner, that Angel would talk to her granddaughter, Ruby’s, eighth grade class about being a successful business woman in a working man’s world. Somewhere amid the babbling about Elsa’s newly remodeled salon, her incessant ranting over her new and improved hairdo, which looked just like her old one; and her rambling on and on about how thrilled she was to receive a Fitbit from Elsa, even though she didn’t know what it was or how to use it, Angel heard herself agreeing to go just to shut Olga up.

I can’t talk to kids about being a Mafia boss, Angel had initially objected.

Merciful Heavens, child! Olga had exclaimed, gripping her chest in over-dramatized fashion. Why, you’d scare the living daylights out of those kids. No, no, no. You need to tell them what it’s like to own a pub in Chicago. Except, leave out all the sex parts, you know, with you and Grayson and then you and Andrew and you and Tony and did you ever sleep with your old chef, Anthony? Oh, that Anthony, what a hunk-a-hunk-a-burnin’ love he was.

They had had this conversation at breakfast and Angel picked up a piece of toast and chucked it across the table at Olga.

It’s disrespectful to throw things at your old aunt, she said, taking a bite out of the toast. Your sex life is nothing to be ashamed of, dear. I just don’t think you should tell children about it.

I wasn’t going to talk to them about my sex life! Angel rolled her eyes. How Olga could rabbit trail a conversation into an entirely different topic was amazing.

Oh, she shrugged. Well, then why’d you bring it up?

YOU brought it up!

Angel had stormed from the room, flabbergasted; while Olga mumbled something about how she’d consider owning a pub if it meant she would get to have sex with hot Italian men. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, missy, Olga called after her.

Olga had won, as usual, and here she was, entering East Side Junior High School to talk to the kids about anything BUT sex. Through the double glass doors, Angel made an immediate right turn into the front office. As she approached the desk, a bright eyed, red head looked up and smiled. Can I help you?

Angel cleared her throat. I’m here to speak to an eighth grade class for career day, she said.

Okay, we’ll need to get you a badge. The red head stood and pointed to a clipboard which was on the counter in front of her. Sign in here and then I’ll need to see your driver’s license.

My driver’s license? Angel puzzled.

District policy, the red head said with a smile.

Angel bit her bottom lip. I don’t have my driver’s license with me. Mafia Bosses didn’t run around with identification on their person, neither did most of the Made members of the family. It wasn’t wise.

The red head sighed with obvious exasperation. What is your full name?

Angel Maratin… she began and then stopped abruptly and cleared her throat. Angel Martin, she corrected herself. There was no sense in using the family name on the off chance that someone might recognize it. Better to be safe than sorry.

In which classroom will you be speaking?

Angel stared blankly. She didn’t know. Olga never gave her the teacher’s name and, come to think of it, she didn’t even know Ruby’s last name. All she knew was that Ruby was Elsa’s granddaughter and she was going to be speaking to her class. This was embarrassing. With a slow blink and a deep breath, Angel began to explain the story, but mid-way through the red-head interrupted her.

Excuse me, she said, holding her finger up to indicate that she needed a moment. Then she turned to a dark-haired, heavy-set woman sitting next to her. Sandy, can you facilitate this delivery?

Sandy looked up from her computer screen. What delivery?

The Wholesome Goodness truck that just pulled up outside, the red-head said, pointing to the window. He’ll need clearance through to the cafeteria and, since Ms. Martin came with absolutely no information, it’s going to take me a while to figure out where she is supposed to be.

Angel found the woman’s snide sarcasm unnecessary, not to mention disrespectful. Her jaw tightened and the hair on the back of her neck bristled, as she struggled to remind herself that this woman didn’t know her. Had she known that the Capo di Tutti Capi’s granddaughter was standing before her, she probably would have refrained from using such a sardonic tone.

I don’t see a delivery scheduled for today, Sandy said, leaning closer to her computer screen and squinting at the data. I’m showing a cafeteria delivery for next Tuesday.

The red head displayed her annoyance with an eye roll. Just handle it, she snipped.

Angel watched as the delivery man entered the office and spoke momentarily with Sandy, who then led him out of the office and down the hallway toward the cafeteria. Now, said the red head, redirecting her attention back to Angel, you said you were speaking to an eighth grade classroom?

Yes.

I’ll have to contact each teacher to find out which one is expecting you, she muttered condescendingly as she plunked down into her chair. People who were mean for no reason infuriated Angel and she silently envisioned ramming her 9mm into the woman’s face and giving her one last chance to improve her countenance. The thought made her smile. She was still fantasizing about it when all of a sudden a gunshot rang out like a cannon. The red-head shrieked and dove beneath the counter and even Angel, who was accustomed to the sound of gunshots, flinched and instinctively squatted down.

Quickly crawling around the counter to where the red-head lay hunched into a ball, Angel pulled out her gun and put her fingers to her lips, indicating that the woman should be quiet. Her eyes widened in terror when she saw Angel’s gun.

Just then a woman with short black hair and round glasses darted into the office. Shooter! She screamed. Go to lockdown! Go to lockdown! The black haired woman hollered and then dove toward the red head’s desk, pushing a button that was located on the underside of the counter. An automated voice boomed over the speaker system throughout the school: THIS IS AN EMERGENCY LOCKDOWN. THIS IS NOT A DRILL. THIS IS AN EMERGENCY LOCKDOWN. THIS IS NOT A DRILL.

The black haired woman glared frantically at Angel. This was every teacher’s nightmare. This was every parent’s worst fear. Who are you? She blurted, glancing at Angel’s gun. What do you want?

I’m not with the shooter, Angel blurted.

Are you a cop? The black haired woman asked.

No.

Then why do you have a gun? The woman’s eyes darted from Angel to the gun and back to Angel. I can’t explain right now but I’m here to help. Who are you? Do you have any weapons here? Is there a security guard? Angel’s questions came rapid fire as she glanced nervously toward the office doors.

I’m Principal Radley, the woman uttered breathlessly. There are no weapons on the premises and no funding for a security guard. Our only defense is to pray that everyone remembers the proper lockdown protocol.

Another gunshot rang out and Principal Radley’s body trembled uncontrollably.

Did you call the police? Angel whispered.

The minute we press the lockdown button the police are notified, she answered, her voice shaking.

Then they are on their way, Angel muttered more to herself than to the women next to her. Checking the clip on her 9mm, she clamped it back into place and took a deep breath, grateful that the Snake had insisted on her bringing her gun.

I’m going after the shooter. You two stay under the counter. I have a guy outside who can help. His name is the Snake.

The Snake? The red-head looked up and her eyes widened. Who are you?

It doesn’t matter. When the Snake comes rushing toward the door, which should be any second now, you need to buzz him in. Do you understand?

The women nodded slowly.

Tell him I think the shooter was disguised as the delivery guy and I’m headed toward the cafeteria. Angel took a deep breath. Did you get that? Principal Radley nodded. Which way is the cafeteria?

The Principal pointed and leaving the two women huddled beneath the counter, Angel crept through the doorway and down the hall. The school was silent; so quiet it felt surreal. Sliding out of her heels so not to make clacking sounds against the tile floor, Angel moved quickly, noticing that every door she passed was shut and the lights were out. It was obvious that the students and teachers had practiced this lockdown drill more than once. Fear hung so thickly in the air that it was almost palatable. Anger churned inside of her. How dare anyone come into a school and terrorize children like this. As rage and fear fought for top billing in her gut, Angel gripped the 9mm a little tighter.

As she peered around a corner and down the next hallway, she saw a sign indicating that the door to the cafeteria was to her right. Quickly crossing to the other side of the hallway, she positioned herself to peek into the cafeteria. Sandy and a woman, whom Angel guessed to be the gym teacher because she wore white tennis shoes and clutched a whistle in her hand, were lying face down on the floor next to each other in a pool of blood. They had been shot execution style but there was no sign of the executioner. A wave of nausea hit Angel’s stomach, followed by a fierce anger.

Moving passed the cafeteria doorway; she quickly raced down the hall with her gun outstretched. There had only been two shots fired and Angel was determined to find the shooter before he could kill again. East Side Junior High School was connected to the East Side Elementary School so external alarms were now sounding in both buildings. The police should be here soon, she told herself. There was no sign of the delivery man on the first floor so Angel started up the staircase at the end of the hall. At the top of the stairs she heard a whimper coming from the boy’s restroom to her right. Using her gun, Angel slowly nudged the bathroom door open. Then immediately ducked down and began checking beneath the stalls for feet. Under the sink she found a blonde haired boy, curled into a fetal position, trembling and crying. Angel rushed toward him, bent down and extended her hand. Come with me, she whispered, but the boy covered his face with his arms and wept harder. Kneeling in front of him, Angel pleaded, I’m not going to hurt you. We need to get out of here.

He shook his head and wrapped his arms tighter around himself.

What are you doing in here? Angel asked, trying to spark conversation so she could coax him out of hiding. Why aren’t you locked in a classroom with the rest of the kids?

Peering out from between his arms, he gave Angel a quick once over and she caught a glimpse of his terrified, teary, blue eyes. I was trying to give this to my brother, he sniveled, opening his right fist and displaying a small, black jump drive. He needs it for his science project otherwise he’ll get a bad grade and Mrs. Palumbo said if he gets one more bad grade, he won’t be allowed to play soccer anymore.

Angel could tell by his size, his facial features and his voice that he was not a junior high student. She surmised that he must be a student from the adjoining elementary school.

My brother loves soccer more than anything in the world. So, when I saw the drive in Mrs. Palumbo’s fruit bowl this morning I knew that Jack forgot it so I snatched it, he continued.

Who’s Mrs. Palumbo? Angel asked, hoping that keeping him talking would garner trust and enable her to lure him out from under the sink.

The lady I live with. He lowered his teary eyes to the floor. I’m a foster kid.

What’s your name? Angel asked.

Caleb, he answered quietly, peering cautiously up at her. Are we gonna die? The question caught Angel by surprise. It was so forthright, so raw and honest that it gripped her heart. I don’t want to die, he cried. I don’t want to die. I want my mommy! He broke into sobs.

Angel had no experience with children but she could remember the feeling of growing up missing her mom and she definitely knew what it felt like to not want to die. Reaching down, she gently wiped a tear from Caleb’s cheek. Sshh, she said and glanced over her shoulder toward the bathroom door. If the shooter came in, they were sitting ducks. Somehow she needed to convince Caleb to follow her and fast. Angel leaned in closer and whispered, I know you don’t want to die. I don’t want to die either. That’s why we’ve got to get out of here. Come with me and I’ll get you somewhere safe. I promise.

His terror-stricken eyes stared back at her and she could only imagine what was running through his little mind. How could he trust her when she was a complete stranger and he, like most children, had probably been taught to never trust a stranger? What’s more, she was holding a gun, which probably intensified his fear. Despite that possibility, she couldn’t put her gun away on the off chance that the shooter might come barreling through the door.

What’s your name? Caleb asked.

Angel, she said softly. How old are you, Caleb?

Eight… and a half, he uttered.

Well, that’s old enough to be my helper, Angel said and felt a tiny glimmer of hope as Caleb’s eyebrows raised slightly with interest.

My teacher says I’m one of the best classroom helpers.

That’s great, because I’m going to need a good helper, Angel said softly. We’ve got to get out of here.

But I can just hide under the sink until the police come, he whispered.

Angel shook her head slowly side to side. Listen, Caleb, there’s a man with a gun somewhere in the school building and you can’t stay here because he might find you just like I did. So, I need you to come with me. Can you do that?

What if we run into the man with the gun? Caleb asked.

That’s what my gun is for, Angel answered bluntly, setting the 9mm on the floor next to her knees and reaching for his hands. There was no sense in lying to him or trying to soften the situation. She needed to get him to safety and in order to do that, he had to trust her. Lying to him wouldn’t earn his trust. This she knew firsthand.

You mean, you’ll shoot him? The innocence of youth glistened in his eyes.

Angel swallowed hard. This was not a conversation she ever envisioned having with a child. Yes, I’ll shoot him.

Caleb’s face contorted into a grimace and his brows narrowed. Good, he said sharply and crawled out from under the sink. I hope you kill him. I’ll help you. His innocent glare was suddenly laced in anger, an anger Angel knew all too well.

With Caleb tucked behind her, Angel made her way out of the bathroom and started back toward