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Hunted by the Mob
by Elisabeth Rees
ONE
The heat of summer hung in the air, moist and heavy under a midday sun. Agent Goldie Simmons stepped from her vehicle into the humidity, wishing she had worn something other than jeans and sneakers that day. Standing in the driveway of a beautiful stone mansion in the exclusive suburb of Gladwyne, Pennsylvania, she could smell chlorine from a pool in the backyard and closed her eyes to imagine slipping into the freshness of clear water.
“Oh boy,” she muttered to herself. “This assignment might be my best one yet.”
Retrieving her case from the trunk, she waved at a female police officer standing guard at the front door of the palatial home.
“You must be Agent Simmons,” the officer called. “I was told to expect you and you’re right on time.”
Goldie laughed. “I have many flaws, but time management is not one of them.” Wheeling her suitcase along the path, she held up her ID badge for the officer to scrutinize. “Did my partner, David McQueen, arrive already?”
“Yes, ma’am. He got here two hours ago.”
Goldie read the name tag attached to the woman’s shirt. “You look a little hot, Officer Diaz. I hope you’re keeping hydrated.”
The officer smiled. “Actually, ma’am, I could do with some water. The force doesn’t supply us with a bottle, and I’ve been on guard duty for three hours without a drink.”
“That’s not right,” Goldie said, shielding her eyes against the blazing sun. “Come inside and get some water.”
“I’d appreciate that. The house is so secure. It’s kept locked at all times. This place is like Fort Knox.”
Goldie retrieved a key, which she’d been issued beforehand, from her jeans pocket. “It’s no surprise that this house is on lockdown, right? The lady who lives here has the power to bring down one of the biggest Mafia families in America.”
Mrs. Louisa Volto was the wife of the infamous Leonardo Volto, a ruthless Mafia boss, who, alongside his brother, Joseph, was facing multiple criminal charges, ranging from money laundering to murder. Mrs. Volto had cut a deal with the prosecutor in exchange for immunity and a sizable chunk of assets, but that betrayal had put her in potential danger. Despite being seven months pregnant with her husband’s child, she was still a potential target, the star witness in a trial currently taking place in a Philadelphia courthouse where she was due to give her testimony in just two days.
Goldie unlocked the door and entered the wonderfully cool interior where polished floors, large paintings and an aroma of lilies reminded her of an upmarket art gallery. Officer Diaz followed her inside and Goldie locked the door behind them and pocketed the key. “It’s quiet in here, huh?”
“Yes, ma’am. I guess Mrs. Volto is resting, what with being pregnant in this awful heat.”
Goldie walked along the wooden boards in the hallway, a faint scent of polish rising to her nose. This home was remarkable, likely more than one hundred years old but perhaps still as beautiful as the day it was built, with many of its original features well preserved.
“I’ll go find David while you get yourself a drink,” she said, admiring the intricate molding on the high ceiling. The kitchen was clearly visible directly ahead, so she pointed the way. “There’s bound to be some ice in the freezer to cool you down.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
As the officer left her side, Goldie walked through the living room and raised her eyebrows at the overt display of wealth. Sculptures, gilded mirrors, vast white sofas and Persian rugs all combined to create an opulence that she had never seen before. Coming from a dirt-poor and unhappy childhood home, luxury was completely alien to Goldie, and she could only imagine the kind of privilege that Mrs. Volto’s baby would soon be born into.
Hearing Officer Diaz running the faucet in the kitchen, she continued her tour of the first floor, noticing an open door to the patio out back and heading that way. Just as she stepped onto the brightly colored tiles, she stopped in her tracks. A man was standing next to the pool, his back to her, staring over the endless rolling hills beyond the perimeter fence. He wore a Hawaiian shirt and boat shoes, one hand in the pocket of his beige shorts, the other casually resting on the handle of a holstered gun. With his mousy blond, tousled hair and olive-toned skin, this certainly wasn’t David McQueen, her FBI partner of eight years. And with no sign of David, or of Mrs. Volto, this stranger’s presence could only mean one thing: danger.
Without a second to lose, she ran hard toward him, dropping her gun to the ground before knocking into his upright figure like a bowling pin, sending them both crashing into the pool. The effect was a little like being in a washing machine, spinning below the waterline, uncertain of which way was up. Goldie saw the man’s gun slip from its holster as he thrashed in the water, and she felt a sense of satisfaction watching the weapon glide to the bottom of the pool. She then broke through the surface right at the edge and grabbed her own weapon from the ground. But when she tried to pull herself out of the water, her jeans and sneakers were too heavy, weighing her down, and she repeatedly slid back into the pool with a splash. Instead, she held her gun above
