Mercy Undeserved: The Moretti Trilogy, #2

By Kristina Hall

How much more will she lose?

 

Lillian Rossi had it all—a devoted husband, a new baby, and all the riches she'd dreamed of. But one January day changed everything. Now, the consequences of her late husband's sins extend to her and her son, and Matteo, though only a baby, is the rightful heir to the Rossi empire, making him a target.

Alberto Moretti promised to protect Lillian and her son, but he well knows the cruelty and desperation of the Rossi family. He served them all too long—until God set him free.

As Lillian and Alberto are thrown together in a race to save her and Matteo's lives, their own sins and Stefano Rossi's plans threaten to destroy them. Will they fall prey to the danger so close behind, or will they find mercy they've done nothing to deserve?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kristina Hall
• Release date: Aug 29, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201172596

Kristina Hall

Kristina Hall is a sinner saved by grace who seeks to glorify God with her words. She is a homeschool graduate and holds a degree in accounting. When she's not writing, she enjoys reading, arm wrestling, lifting weights, and playing the violin.

Book preview

Chapter 1

ATLANTA, GEORGIA

June 1923

LILLIAN ROSSI SWEPT across the dance floor, skirt swishing at her knees.

Sweat trailed down her temples, and the humid, smoky air pressed close. She pasted on a smile and spun in a circle, twirling away from the man who’d asked her to dance.

Only in laughter, dance, and drink could she forget.

Forget most of her family didn’t want a thing to do with her. Forget only a lonely hotel room and little Matteo waited for her when dawn cracked the sky.

The first mournful notes of a waltz slipped through the laughter, conversation, and slap of shoes against wood.

She eased from the crowd and pressed close to the velvet wall hangings, her throat too tight, her breaths too quick.

Forget Vin lay dead beneath six feet of New York dirt. Forget the January day that had taken him from her. Forget he’d never again hold her close and lead her in time with that gentle, haunting melody.

Oh, forgetting wasn’t easy tonight.

She dabbed her temples to catch the perspiration before it could do more damage to her cosmetics and made her way to the bar.

She braced her hands against the polished mahogany, and the bartender slid her a gin.

Lights glistened in the clear liquor, and she curled her fingers around the glass. Cool seeped into her palm. She lifted the glass to her lips and let the fire claim her throat. She would forget. Somehow, she would forget.

She lowered the glass to the wood and met her gaze in the long mirror hanging behind the bar. Hollowness claimed her eyes, accentuated by the black eyeliner and gray eye shadow she’d applied hours before.

Save for her green dress, she well looked the part of a grieving widow. Yes, her mother had forced the traditional black garb on her for the time she’d stayed at the farm, but that sort of attire wouldn’t let her forget.

Not that anything would let her forget.

She slid the glass forward. In one smooth motion, the bartender refilled it and two more belonging to the revelers on either side of her.

The final note of the waltz echoed through the room, carried by a lone saxophone.

She finished her drink in a couple of swallows and slipped from the bar. Dancing would do her no good tonight. If she closed her eyes, Vin would be here, his arm warm around her shoulders, his smile for her alone.

She pressed to the velvet wall covering once again and folded her arms over her chest. Despite the closeness of the air, a shiver worked up her spine.

She blinked. As if a single motion could push away unfounded worries.

Months had passed since she’d left New York, and Stefano hadn’t threatened her. Why would he? She held nothing over him. He was Vin’s younger brother. He could have the Rossi wealth and power. All of it. At least that’s what she’d convinced Mae and Davis of. Her younger sister and Mae’s fiancé wouldn’t have let her go otherwise.

Fear wouldn’t rule her.

She lowered her arms and smoothed her skirt. She would dance. She would drink. She would laugh.

And she would forget.

The door on the other side of the room opened, and a couple walked in, her hand resting on his arm. Unremarkable save for the man behind them.

She fisted her hands, and her nails dug into her palms. The lights were low enough, the smoke thick enough he wouldn’t see her. Unless Stefano had sent him to find her.

She pressed closer to the velvet.

Alberto Moretti strode across the dance floor, parting the dancers with a single look. The months hadn’t changed him. If anything, they’d hardened him. The set of his shoulders carried warning, and the purpose of his steps promised nothing good to any man who got in his way.

Whom was she lying to? He would see her. How could he not?

And why was he here? Had he stooped to work for Stefano? Had he come to kill her?

He stopped at the bar and leaned in to speak to the bartender.

She took a slow step to the side, then another. She had to leave. Without him seeing. Without him knowing she’d been here. She could disappear to another city, lose herself in another speakeasy.

He turned, one hand propped on the edge of the bar, and his gaze settled on her.

She froze.

The door swung open yet again, and six men traipsed in. Vin’s men. No, Stefano’s men.

Her stomach knotted, and air stalled in her lungs.

A hand encircled her wrist.

She wrenched free and plastered herself against the wall.

Alberto towered over her. We’ve got no time for that. They’re right behind me. His voice cut low over the rhythm of the band, and he tipped his head to the door to the right of the bar.

Then he wasn’t with Stefano’s men. But why had he come?

His hand found her wrist again, and he pulled her away from the wall.

No. She had to get away from him, had to ... Had to what? Stay and face Stefano’s men?

He forced her along, now gripping her upper arm, his body positioned a hair behind her. Almost as if he wished to shield her.

Shouts fractured the air. The band fell silent.

He drove her toward the door to the side of the bar. Her shoes skittered across the wood, losing traction.

He snaked his arm around her and opened the door, shoved her through.

A guard stumbled to the side. A fist thudded against flesh, and weight hit the floor.

Gunfire cracked behind her. Glass shattered. Screams split the air. Screams that echoed from the speakeasy and from her own throat.

She’d die here, torn by bullets. She’d leave Matteo an orphan.

Alberto gripped her arm. Drove her up a flight of stairs, through another door, into the empty warehouse that covered the speakeasy, and out into the humid night air.

No, she could never forget.

IF HE’D BEEN A COUPLE of minutes later, Stefano’s men would’ve caught up to Lillian. Even now, they were too close.

No lights broke the darkness between the warehouse holding the speakeasy and the hulking building beside it. If he hadn’t walked this alleyway before nightfall, he’d have missed the door despite the moon’s cold light.

As if he’d leave something like this to chance.

He reached around Lillian, gripped the doorknob, and opened the door. Rusty hinges yielded with a shriek.

With a couple of quick strides, he cleared the doorway, shoving her ahead of him. He released her arm, spun, and closed the door. He stilled, one hand pressed to rusty metal, the other resting on his .45.

No footsteps pounded through the alley. No shots cracked.

If he were right, Stefano’s men would race from that speakeasy and search everywhere except in the simplest place—the warehouse less than twenty feet from the club.

He lowered his hand and faced her.

She stood motionless, arms clutched to her chest, the sequins on her dress catching the moonlight filtering through a dirty window high above the door.

You had no cause to do that. Her whisper came harsh.

No cause to stop Stefano’s men from killing her. No cause to stop them from going after her kid. No cause to waste months of his life fulfilling a promise to his enemy to protect her. No cause at all.

He forced out a rough laugh in place of a curse and angled to put both her and the door in his field of vision.

Engines roared from the street, and he pulled his .45 from his shoulder holster.

She stumbled back, gaze darting around the empty warehouse.

Though many feared him, she’d never been one of them.

Stop.

She came to a halt, her breaths rasping in the cavernous room.

Who’d you leave the kid with?

Her eyes shot wide. You don’t think they’d hurt him?

She had more sense than that. He’s Vincenzo’s heir. Stefano wants him dead. And he wants you dead too.

Her hands knotted in her skirt. I can’t let them find him.

Who’d you leave him with?

They couldn’t know where he is. I’ve been careful. So careful.

Not careful enough to keep him from following her. They’re looking for you right now. Not him. Where is he?

She stumbled forward, her heels loud on the scarred wood floor. I left him in my hotel room.

Some mother she was, leaving her kid alone while she went out drinking and dancing. He shoved his gun in his holster. Stefano’s men would look elsewhere. For now.

I paid one of the maids to watch him. I had to get away.

Like you had to get away from your family? The ones who were willing to take you in and keep you safe? And he’d spent the last couple of months trailing her from speakeasy to speakeasy, from city to city. Not until tonight had Stefano’s men gotten so close.

She released her skirt and smoothed the fabric. You know I hate that place. And they hate me. All of them.

Sure. Everleigh and your sister hate you. That’s why they went all the way to New York City to find you. That’s why they about got themselves killed. Killed by him.

He tipped his head toward the far side of the warehouse. There’s a door on that side. Walk to it.

I need to get Matteo. I don’t need your help.

Just as she wouldn’t have needed his help had Stefano’s men confronted her in the club. We’re going to the hotel to get him. Then we’re leaving.

Her shoulders stiffened. You heard what I said. I don’t want or need your help. Your promise to Vin is meaningless. Just as your promises to his father were. You didn’t protect him. You let Davis kill him. You watched him die.

He couldn’t save a man shot in the chest. I told him I’d watch out for you.

She let out a bitter laugh. How much is the word of a murderer worth? You’re free from your promise. Go. Let someone else buy your loyalty.

Heat coiled in his chest.

He covered the distance between them, grabbed her stiff arm, and turned her to face the other side of the warehouse. Let’s go get your kid.

Maybe she wasn’t that bad of a mother because she started walking. She tugged at his grip, and he released her. It’s too far to walk.

I’ve got a Ford parked right out that door.

He rested his hand on her shoulder as she reached the door and pulled her to a stop. With his other hand, he drew his .45. Stay back. I don’t know what’s on the other side.

He lowered his hand from her shoulder and opened the door. The squeal of the hinges raised the hair on the back of his neck, and humid air washed over him.

The alleyway lay empty except for a stray cat and the Ford he’d parked close to the side of the warehouse.

Come on.

He stepped from the cover of the building, and her hand clenched the back of his suit coat. Sure, she needed him now that she might be in danger.

The cat let out a yowl and darted from the alley. Lillian jerked on his coat.

He reached behind himself, caught her arm, and pulled her even with him. Get in.

He stopped by the front of the motorcar. You know what to do inside?

She paused, one hand resting on her door. Yes.

He gave a short nod, hand still tight around the .45. The door clicked shut behind her. He’d give her a moment to make the necessary adjustments before he cranked the motorcar.

Something crunched to his left. He dropped low beside the automobile, raised his gun, and cocked it. He’d been wrong. Stefano’s men were smarter than he’d given them credit for.

Fire flashed from the mouth of the alley, and lead ricocheted against the ground at his feet.

He aimed where the flash had originated and pulled the trigger.

Curses shrieked through the night.

Another shot cracked, this one pounding the Ford.

He fired one shot, then another.

The curses died out, replaced by a burst of gunfire.

Heat skimmed his cheekbone.

He pressed closer to the motorcar, aimed in the general direction of the shots, and squeezed the trigger.

Another round of shots slammed the ground in front of the motorcar.

An engine grumbled from the other end of the alley, and light flooded the narrow passageway.

Another automobile. His pulse spiked.

Feet pounded from the mouth of the alley.

He wouldn’t get another chance like this.

He sprang to his feet and cranked the motorcar. The engine purred to life on the second crank.

The other motorcar rolled by, coming within an inch of his Ford.

He rounded the motorcar, jerked open the door, and scrambled across the seat. Lillian crouched on the floorboard, her entire body trembling.

They didn’t have much time left. Not enough time to fool with all the particulars of this automobile. He dropped the pistol onto his lap and played with the controls.

He reversed. Away from the mouth of the alley. Away from where Stefano’s men had lurked.

The other motorcar turned the corner, and the light it provided fled. Yet no shots rang out.

He steered the Ford around the corner onto an empty street and accelerated.

Sweat trickled from beneath his hat, and stinging flamed along his cheek.

You can get up. He tightened his grip on the wheel and glanced over his shoulder.

No one followed. Nothing but the occasional electric light lit the street. Lillian hadn’t any sense to come to such a desolate place at night.

She pushed herself into the seat, her breaths quick and shallow. We could’ve been killed.

He muttered a curse, then shook his head. Hard habit to break, especially after being shot at. We almost were.

She grasped his sleeve. Take me to the hotel. I’ve got to get back to Matteo.

As if that hadn’t been the plan all along.

He took a hard right onto a side street, then a left onto a wider road. If he hadn’t followed her around this city for the past couple of weeks, he’d be lost. Maybe some good had come out of that waste of time. Almost as bad as trailing Mae around New York City.

You’re bleeding.

He shrugged. It’s not serious. As if she would be concerned about his health.

How can you be so calm? We could’ve been killed. She pulled in a shaky breath. You’ll leave me at the hotel and go on your way. Nothing like this ever happened before.

I’ve been following you around for the last two months to make sure of that. He turned right and steered around a motorcar parked on the side of the road.

If I haven’t made myself clear, I want nothing to do with you. I want nothing to do with what you represent. I want nothing to do with who you are.

A murderer. But also a sinner saved by grace. A man forgiven.

Yes, I was loyal to him. No, he’d been loyal to the promises he’d made to Vincenzo’s father. Vincenzo himself had done nothing to inspire loyalty. But you were even more loyal to him. He laughed. You were his wife.

I’m his wife. She slapped the seat. I bore his child. I carry his name.

He’s dead.

He wouldn’t be dead if you hadn’t turned on him.

The fear in Vincenzo’s eyes as he’d begged Alberto to protect his wife and kid. The bloody hands he’d pressed to his chest.

If I’d let him go on with his plans, three innocent people would’ve been dead by my hands. One of them your sister.

I hate him. I hate him for doing this to me. I hate him for dying. I hate him for who he was. I hate him for trying to kill Mae and Davis. I hate him. The seat cracked as she shifted. I hate him, but I can’t stop loving him.

His stomach twisted. On top of everything else, he didn’t need this emotional drivel.

He swung into an alley bordering the hotel and parked. We’re going in. You’re going to get the kid and your luggage. And no arguments.

THE HOTEL ROOM GAPED around her, flaunting its stark white walls, unpolished wood floors, and scarred furniture as if to remind her she had nothing more than this.

The click of the door signaled the maid had left, and Alberto braced his shoulder against the wall, his posture too careless for one who’d almost been gunned down.

The humid air clogging her lungs. The shots.

Shaking tore at her, and she tensed to tame it. He wouldn’t see her fall apart.

She rushed to the other side of the bed and scooped Matteo from his crib. He squawked in protest, and one of his tiny fists slammed her shoulder.

She pulled him close, pressed her cheek to the silkiness of his hair, and breathed. Over and over.

What if Stefano’s men had come to the hotel first instead of to the club? What if they’d found him here?

Her throat clamped tight. She could’ve lost him, lost him as she’d lost Vin.

She sank onto the bed. Matteo squirmed, and she loosened her hold. I love you. You know I love you. Yet Vin had doubted her love, had believed she’d leave him.

You trying to get us killed?

Matteo stiffened and whimpered.

She pressed her hand to his head. It’s all right.

Yet it wasn’t all right, and it never would be again.

Put the kid down and get your clothes. We’re leaving in five minutes.

She jerked to her feet and turned to face Alberto. My son and I are going alone, and we’ll go when we’re ready. The last thing she needed was another reminder of all she’d lost. And why she’d lost it. Do you think I want anything to do with you? You betrayed Vin. You betrayed me. Her throat clogged. And I hate you for it.

Even though he’d saved Mae’s life. Davis’s life. That preacher’s life. Even though he’d done what she should’ve.

He didn’t move from the wall. But his shoulders tensed, and lines fanned around his eyes, aging him well beyond his thirty-one years. You and the kid are coming with me. You don’t have a choice. Get your clothes, or I’ll do it for you.

He cursed. Do you want to see the kid die? Do you want to die with him? Because Stefano ordered his men to kill you and the kid.

Matteo’s whimpers escalated into full-blown screams. Alberto’s gaze never left her, gave her no choice.

Because she didn’t have a choice.

She couldn’t risk harm coming to her baby. If she had to go with Alberto for a few days to keep Matteo safe, if she had to allow the memories to creep in, that’s how it’d have to be. After those days had passed and Stefano’s men had lost track of her, she’d take Matteo and disappear. Alone.

And she would forget.

She broke eye contact, eased around, and lowered Matteo into his crib. You’ll wait outside.

Alberto laughed. And give you a chance to climb down the fire escape?

Infuriating man. Even though he’d claimed loyalty to the Rossi family, he’d questioned Vin’s every decision.

Vin. Never again would she laugh with him. Never again would he wrap her in his arms and kiss her.

He was gone. Gone, if Reverend Smith were right, to hell.

All right, have it your way. His footsteps thudded across the floor, and the wardrobe door creaked open. We don’t have time for you to stand and stare at the kid.

She spun and rounded the bed.

He stood in front of the wardrobe, dresses trailing from his fist.

She dragged air through her clenched teeth. I’m capable of packing my own things. She stopped at his side, grasped the dresses, and tugged them away.

He let out a low laugh, pulled her leather suitcase from the top of the wardrobe, and dropped it open at her feet. That’s three minutes now.

She should slap him and knock that arrogant look off his face. Yet even that wouldn’t do a thing.

He stepped back and resumed his position against the wall.

She let the dresses fall in a limp heap in the suitcase, then proceeded to empty the wardrobe and the chest of drawers beside it. So much compared to what she’d owned growing up, so little given what she’d had once she’d married Vin.

She slammed the suitcase shut. I’m ready once I get Matteo. If only she could stop shaking. The eight steps to Matteo’s crib left her breathing as if she’d run a mile, and sweat prickled her forehead.

She lifted him from the crib and propped him against her shoulder. I’m ready. When she turned, Alberto stood by the door, her suitcase in his left hand, his right resting on the .45 within his coat.

He narrowed his eyes, as if doubting her compliance. Well, she’d be compliant until it was no longer necessary.

When we leave this room, you’ll stay close to me. You’ll get in the motorcar and keep your head down. And keep the kid quiet. Without another word, he pulled his hand from within his coat, opened the door, and glanced right and left.

She tightened her grip on Matteo.

Alberto strode into the hallway.

She followed him through that hallway, down several flights of stairs, and to a side exit.

He opened the door and once again paused to scan both directions. He braced the door with his shoulder and returned his hand to his gun.

Her throat tightened. Stefano’s men weren’t fools. They’d find them sooner or later.

Walk.

She squeezed around him and froze in the narrow alleyway. Another alley, this one filled with deep shadows and the stench of rotten produce and urine. Yet no fire lit the mouth. No shots split the night. Engines growled from the street, and a horn blared.

Matteo squirmed against her but didn’t whimper. If he’d just stay quiet for a little longer. She rubbed circles on his back as Alberto strode from the doorway and let the door fall shut behind him.

The motorcar. He jerked his head to the right, and she turned. There, close to the brick exterior of the hotel, sat the Ford. She should’ve recognized the alley as the one they’d parked in.

She hurried forward, yanked open the door, and scrambled inside. Matteo let out a wail, and Alberto’s low curse followed the noise.

No. No. Please be quiet. She jiggled the baby in her arms and manipulated the controls to allow Alberto to start the automobile.

A moment later, the engine purred to life. She slipped from the automobile to allow Alberto entrance, then clambered in after him. He situated her suitcase beside her feet. Scant seconds later, he steered the motorcar through the alley and onto the street in front of the hotel.

She ducked her head as he’d instructed. Light flickered through the interior of the automobile from the streetlights every few yards, covering Matteo in a yellow glow. He pressed his face to her chest, and the tension drained from him.

If only she too could find rest. If only in sleep she could forget.

She clenched her jaw against the burning that invaded