On the Run & in Hiding with Stepmom

Then, as if fired from a sniper's rifle from a distance in the dark, a bullet from out of nowhere hit Charlie in the head. Not taking the chance of being identified, cutting loose ends, Billy immediately shot Charlie. Charlie had arranged to park the truck over the gate rail so that the gate couldn't close. If the gate closed, the truck would have continued inside the secured building and the money would have been lost to them.

All that Billy needed to do to win Charlie's friendship, trust, and cooperation was to introduce him to his childhood friend, sexy Maureen Shea, who had big, natural, Irish milkmaid, D cup breasts. After allowing Charlie to grope her big tits and finger her erect nipples through her blouse and bra while kissing her, and with Billy buying them beers, he'd do anything for his new, Irish friends, even leave his truck unattended. Unless they took the time to force open the gate and shoot their way in the building, the money would be lost. Besides, with not enough time for that, Brink's would have alerted the police.

Long before she was married and had kids, Billy Sullivan had once dated Maureen Shea. Back when they were 18-year-old teenagers, he had become quite fond and quite sexually intimate with Maureen's huge tits. They had a brief romantic affair until he fell in love with Kathleen Kennedy who dumped him to leave for college. Leaving him and her old life behind, she never returned to Charlestown after graduating and getting married to a financial adviser.

Somehow feeling responsible for her and continuing to watch over her, especially after her drunken husband left her and her two children for someone else, Billy continued helping Maureen out with a few dollars. Once in a while, when he was drunk and horny, nothing serious, they'd have sex. He promised her a big bonus after the robbery if she was nice to Charlie. A big, intimidating man, at 6'5" and 240 pounds, even though Billy didn't take any shit from anyone, he had a kind and generous heart. His 6'3" brother Ritchie was too dumb to plan the robbery so everything was left up to Billy, even getting Charlie as their inside man.

The armed armor car robbers needed to somehow hit the truck before it was moved inside the Brink's garage and Charlie was their inside man. A tragic end for such an affable, albeit naïvely dumb man, not even having the time to pull his gun, spilling his box of uneaten donuts, Charlie was dead before he hit the ground. By shooting Charlie, not telling the rest of his crew that he was going to terminate him, Billy surprised Ritchie, Sean, Brian, and Micky. From that moment forward, all Hell broke loose.

* * * * *

"They killed Charlie. They killed my friend," yelled Vinnie. "Take that you motherfuckers."

Immediately, Vinnie returned a barrage of gunfire but with everything so dark, he was shooting at nothing but imaginary shadows. John stayed low to the ground. He turned his cap around, as if he was a SWAT cop or a sniper again back in Vietnam shooting at little men in black pajamas. He crawled beneath the back of the Brink's truck and used that for cover. Obviously, he figured that it was armored car robbers shooting at them and not snipers. Unless a bullet ricocheted, whoever was shooting at them would have to be a crack shot to hit him from his secured position beneath the armored truck and behind a double wheeled axle.

"Hold your fire until you see something," ordered John. "Don't waste your bullets. You may need them later."

Taking patient aim when he saw movement of dark shadows against the snow-covered gravel in the distance, Vinnie shot and killed one man, Brian O'Hara, before Sean Connelly returned fire and shot and killed him. Now all alone to defend his life more than the money, armed with a shotgun, John returned fire and shot and killed two more of the robbers, Sean Connelly and Micky Coyle. Not giving up their claim on the money, two more men, Ritchie and Billy Sullivan, came out of the shadows and advanced for him. With his Glock in his right hand, he pulled his backup gun from his boot and held that in his left hand while waiting for them to move closer.

"Come on, you bastards. Just a little closer. Steady," said John talking to himself while taking aim. "Wait."

Not waiting for them to shoot first, as soon as they were close enough, he shot and killed Ritchie, Billy's brother, and wounded Billy before the last surviving robber shot and killed him. Not even making it to the truck to claim the stolen loot, Billy collapsed and died from his fatal gunshot wound. Had John's bullet hit Billy an inch more to the left, Billy's heart would have exploded, the gunfight would have been over, and John would have survived as the hero that he was.

Yet, over as soon as it began, with five robbers and two Brink's employees firing a couple dozen bullets, all eight men were dead. As the white, Christmas snow silently fell to the ground to cover the crime scene in a blanket of white, eight families would be forever touched by this tragedy. Silent night, deadly night, such an eerie sound on such a deadly night. As if knelling the bells for multiple funerals instead of ringing out Christmas, church bells could be heard in the distance and in readiness for Christmas Eve Mass.

Obviously, a call from his worried mother, Charlie's cellphone played Jingle Bells from somewhere in his jacket pocket. They always opened gifts on Christmas Eve, and obviously, sensing something was wrong for her to call her son while he was working, it was getting late. Several cars drove by on their way home from last-minute Christmas shopping at the shopping malls while oblivious to the crime scene.

* * * * *

Thirty-eight-year-old Emma Capizzi and her twenty-four-year-old stepson, Anthony, lived in the North End of Boston in an exclusive condo that overlooked the Boston Harbor. They were taken care of after Emma's husband, known as Fatal Frankie, a Mafia hitman, went to Walpole State Prison, now known as Massachusetts Correctional Institute, MCI -- Cedar Junction for double consecutive life sentences. After keeping him out of jail, Emma and her stepson were given special treatment by the mob for Frankie not ratting on and criminally implicating his boss, Don Vito, in the first-degree murders, as well as dozens of other crimes.

As future investments and to be used as safehouses, the Don bought several waterfront condos for low six figures each before they were even built, after he heard that urban renewal had plans to rehabilitate Boston Harbor. Now, twenty years later, the cheapest condos were selling in excess of two-million-dollars with some of the larger ones selling as high as ten-million-dollars. In addition to free rent, when Frankie first went inside, Don Vito supplied Anthony with a then brand new, 2011 Lincoln Town Car, and Emma, with a brand new, 2011 Lincoln Navigator.

"Don't worry your pretty head 'bout nothin'," said Don Vito in broken English as if he was just off the boat from Sicily or doing his impression of Marlon Brando as The Godfather, even though he was born in Boston. "As if I'm your surrogate husband, I take care of everythin' for you," he said giving Emma a kiss on each cheek while reaching his hand around her to feel, squeeze, grope, and pat her firm and shapely, Italian ass.

At 5'9" tall, as tall as Sophia Loren but more beautiful, Emma had long, lush, blue-black hair, olive skin, dark brown, expressive eyes, and a sexy body enhanced with C cup, shapely breasts. A rare, Italian beauty, where most Sicilian women were short and fat, Emma was tall and shapely thin. Only, she wasn't Sicilian. She wasn't from southern Italy. An American citizen who was born in Boston, her family all hailed from northern Italy. An issue with his family, nine years after Anthony was born, 40-year-old Frankie divorced his Sicilian wife to marry sexy, 23-year-old, Emma.

Anthony, a good looking, young man, looked nothing like his father. With his blue-black hair, olive complexion, and his big brown eyes, he looked more like his stepmother than he did his biological mother. A throwback to another generation, he looked like the younger brother of famed actor, Raoul Bova, best known for his roles in Alien vs. Predator and the movie, the Tourist.

"Frankie," said his mother, Maria, in broken English while talking with her hands after he first introduced Emma to her.

Even though she lived in the United States much longer than she lived in Italy, she still spoke in broken English. Rather than learn the language to speak in English, she spoke in fluent Italian any chance she had. With her father, brother, and husband all having mistresses, goo-mahs or padronas as they were affectionately called, she was accustomed to Italian men having women on the side. It was no big deal to be having sex with a young and pretty whore while still supporting their wife and children.

"Ma? What? I love her," said Frankie knowing what his mother was going to say before she even said it.

He looked at his mother with impertinent impatience. Obviously, with this a never-ending issue, he didn't want to listen to his mother disrespecting his wife, yet, again. He didn't want to listen to his mother defending his ex-wife while not accepting his current wife.

"She's so younga, too younga for you, Frankie," she said pinching his cheek. "You divorca Angela, the mama of your children, to marry thisa whore? Why? Who is thisa whore? Anda why marry her when you coulda just maka her your goo-mah?" She waved her hand in the air. "Ah, stupido. You maka no sense."

No doubt, with her husband already incarcerated for six years and put away for good with no chance of parole, Don Vito would be visiting Emma for some sexual payback of his generosity soon. No doubt, they'd be taken care of until they no longer needed to be taken care of and until they really needed to be taken care of, if you know what I mean. Once Don Vito no longer needed Frankie's silence, after he was tragically killed in prison, but not before he had his wicked, sexual way with Emma, he'd end his relationship with Frankie's wife and son.

Eventually, both Emma and Anthony would be swimming with the fishes somewhere off the Boston Harbor and at the bottom of the deep Atlantic Ocean. Only, something that she knew that Don Vito didn't know, not a stupid and/or naïve woman, she suspected his plans. Having lived this life of crime long enough after being married to Frankie for fifteen years, she knew what Don Vito had to do to keep himself out of prison.

* * * * *

Like so many other last-minute shoppers, Emma and Anthony were on the way home from the North Shore shopping mall in Peabody after doing some last-minute Christmas shopping. As if a mirage on the horizon, Emma spotted the huge, lighted sign that advertised Boston Sand & Gravel. It was then she had an idea to pick up some free stones for her garden.

With the gates left wide open and never locked, the security guard, no doubt, had already gone home to celebrate the Christmas holiday. Besides, with snow in the forecast, who in their right mind would be out looking to steal some dirt and rocks? No matter, who cared if they did? Unless they were filling a dump truck, dirt and rocks were relatively cheap. Moreover, everyone knew who owned Boston Sand & Gravel, just as everyone knew whatever construction project being done had to be approved by Don Vito. Unless it was one of their own, no one in their right mind would dare steal from the Mafia, even if it was only rocks and dirt.

"Turn in here, Anthony," said Emma.

Her stepson made a face but immediately obeyed his stepmother.

"Ma? What do you want here? This is Boston Sand & Gravel," said Anthony raising his hands in a shrug while looking at her as if she was nuts. "There's nothin' here but dirt and rocks."

Always following her lead, obviously Anthony knew that his stepmother had a nose for spotting merchandise that had just fallen off the truck.

"It will only take a minute," said Emma with a warm smile that made her stepson never say no to her and want to do anything to please her.

Never paying retail for anything, instead using her five-finger discount, most of the expensive, designer clothes she owned were shoplifted from high-end stores on Newbury Street. As if she was prettier and sexier version of Letty, played by Michelle Dockery, in Good Behavior, a master of disguises with wigs, makeup, and clothes, she was a talented thief, pickpocket, and shoplifter. Yet, this time, and obviously thinking that there was nothing of value worth stealing, Anthony looked at her as if she was mistaken in wanting to stop here.

"I just wanna go home and relax," said Anthony.

She squeezed his arm while looking deeply in his eyes as if she was about to lean to him an kiss him. A look that he hadn't yet learned to resist, casting him under her sexy, sexual spell, whenever she looked at him in that way, he'd do anything for her. In the way that his father was contracted to kill people to support his family, Anthony would kill anyone to protect his stepmother from harm. In the way that his father loved his wife, especially in the way that he was looking at her now, it was plain to see that Anthony loved Emma too.

She was so beautiful. She was so sexy. She was so shapely. His stepmother was such a MILF. Just as he'd do anything to kiss her, French kiss her, he'd do anything to see her in her bra and panties. He'd love to see her wearing one of her sexy, sheer, short, and low-cut nightgowns without the modesty of a robe just as he'd love to see her topless and/or naked.

Anthony stared down at his stepmother's hand while, no doubt, wishing that she'd squeeze his cock instead of his arm. Masturbating over her every chance he had, he'd love nothing more than to see his MILF of a stepmother without her clothes. Now that his father was put away and out of the picture for good, he'd love nothing more than to have sex with his sexy stepmother. In the way that his father made her his woman, his wife, his bitch, and his sexy, sexual slave, Anthony would love to make Emma his woman, his wife, his bitch, and his sexy, sexual slave.

"I need stones for my rooftop garden. Why pay for them when I can get them here for free now? There's no one here. They're all gone home for the holiday," said Emma with a shrug as if stealing stones from Don Vita's place of business was no big deal. "Pull in here. We'll just make a quick stop. There's a shovel and a bucket in the trunk. One bucketful should be enough and all that I need."

A typical Mafia wife, with her condo filled with stolen merchandise from TV's, to laptop computers, to Smartphones, to microwave ovens, and coffeemakers, Emma was always looking for something for nothing while selling hot merchandise on the side. Selling to only those she knew and to only those she trusted, she sold stolen goods to her neighbors and friends. Christmastime with everyone looking to buy gifts for cheap, even taking orders for those looking for something special, was her busiest time of the year.

* * * * *

Yet, always aware of her surroundings, just as she was no one's fool, she was no one's victim. Before alighting from the car, as if she was a paid assassin surveying the scene for witnesses or complications, seeing something out of the ordinary, she saw the opened Brink's gate and the Brink's truck with the back doors wide open. Accustomed to what a crime scene looked like and felt like, with her having seen enough of them, in the way that John grabbed for the shotgun, Emma sensed that there was something wrong.

Then, when she scanned the immediate area, it was as if a scene from out of No Country for Old Men when Josh Brolin as Llewelyn Moss stumbled over a drug deal gone bad in the desert. Staring at them while watching for any signs of life, Emma saw eight, dead bodies strewn everywhere and lightly covered with the snow that continued falling while her son, Anthony, was oblivious to it all. With everything so ghostly quiet, the lull before the storm of police sirens, flashing lights, and the bright spotlights from noisy helicopters, this was it.

Serendipitous serendipity, as if she won the lottery, lucky for her, she was at the right place and at the right time. It was now that she needed to make a split decision that would change the rest of her life forever or prematurely end it. A life or death situation, her decision to make, it was now or never. What does she do?

Having little time to waste in her indecision before the police arrived, her decision to take the money would spare her and her stepson from certain death at the order of Don Vito. Her decision to take the money would set her free with plenty of money to live out the rest of their lives in hiding. As if she'd be entering the Witness Protection Plan with Anthony, if she took the money and ran now, at least no one, not even the FBI would know that she took the money and where she was hiding. Moreover, if she took the money, free from being under the murderous thumb of Don Vito, she'd be set for life.

Either she takes the money and runs now or be doomed to tragically die later at the hands of a contract put on their heads by the Mafia. If she decided to take the money, she didn't have much time before the police arrived on the scene. She needed to make a decision now. If she was going to take the money, she needed to do that now.

Instead of taking the money, an idea that she immediately dismissed, does she call the police to report the robbery and be questioned for hours at the police station? With her husband a known, incarcerated criminal, a murdering hitman, and a member still in good standing with the Mob, no doubt, they'd suspect her of being somehow connected to the robbery. No one, especially with her ties to the mob, coincidentally stumbles upon a Brink's robbery gone bad, but she did.

Does she beat it the Hell out of there or does she take the money and run? With her only witness her son, she could trust him not to talk. Anthony was as loyal to her as her husband was loyal to Don Vito. Yet, with her having no such loyalty to a mob boss who'd want to see her, her husband, and her son all dead, again priding herself in her ability to survive, just as she was no one's fool, she was nobody's victim. Not a difficult decision but an easy choice to make, with her street savvy and not stupid but cunningly smart, she decided to take the money and make a run for it.

* * * * *

"Ma? What? What are you doin'?" Anthony stared at his stepmother frozen in place while she stared at the unguarded Brink's truck in readiness to make her split decision. "Are you gonna get the rocks or not," asked Anthony while still oblivious to the crime scene?

Emma looked from the Brink's truck to look at her son.

"Screw the rocks. Free money, Anthony. Free money," she said with an excited smile as if it was a miracle that their lives would now spared. She looked at her stepson. "Are you carrying?"

He made a face as if saying, duh?

"With all the enemies that Dad made, I'm always packing a gun," he said.

Obviously pleased that he was armed, just in case someone was still alive, she smiled.

"Drive the car around to the back of the Brink's truck and parallel to it with your trunk open," said Emma pointing him where to go. "But before you do, turn off your headlights, keep the engine running, get out of the car, and remove both license plates. Hurry. Then, get your father's hooded, hunting jacket from the trunk and a flashlight."

Obviously, not noticing it before, he hadn't even noticed the abandoned Brink's truck until his stepmother made him aware of it by pointing to it. Oblivious to him before, with dead bodies scattered everywhere, he obviously noticed the crime scene now. He looked from one dead man to the next dead man before staring at the unguarded truck and before looking as his stepmother again.