Chapter 56
CHRISTIAN
“ I can’t believe they’re back here again,” I say to Roman as we pull into the curb fifty yards from Le Petit Café.
“Maybe they like the coffee?” Roman muses.
“Not enough to drive ten miles for it. All they did last time was read the paper… for an hour. It was like watching paint dry, only less interesting.”
“Do you want to go in?” Roman asks.
“Not much point.”
“I wouldn’t mind a coffee,” Roman says.
I give him a look of disgust.
“Their Pastel de Nata are to die for.”
“What the fuck is that?”
“A Portuguese egg custard tart. Cali eats them by the tray. You know, I try to help her out.”
“She’s eating for two,” I point out. “And about to drop any day. You’re literally taking food from a baby. Also, if you start eating trays of Pastel de egg custard, you’ll get fat.”
He chuckles. “Fuck you, Christian. Have you looked in the mirror lately? If you did, you’d realize you need a coffee more than I need my Portuguese tart. And I’ve got a toddler, and a baby on the way.”
It must be very fucking inconvenient to be in his line of work and having a family.
He speaks to Cali a dozen times a day. If she’s not calling him, he’s calling her.
I’ve been round their house plenty of times when I’ve needed to pick him up, and she’s a real sweetheart.
“You’re in the wrong business for having a family. ”
“Yeah, the work hours suck. But it pays well, and they don’t care that I’m an ex-con with a record.”
He has a point.
My cell dings in my pocket, and I pull it out to take a look, expecting orders from Jero.
Dante: I’ve lost the book you left in my apartment. If you happen to find it, let me know.
Well, that’s very fucking cryptic… What book? The last book I read was some classical shit back when I was still in school, and it sent me to sleep… “Fuck!”
“What’s happened? Something going down?” Roman asks.
The ants go from sleepy to swarm in an instant.
“Nothing.” Jesus fucking Christ! “Just my stupid brother. I gave him something valuable, you know? And he’s lost it.” I’m going to kill someone.
Roman rolls his eyes. “Didn’t realize you two spoke to each other that much.”
“I was told to keep him in the loop, what with everything that’s been going on. Not that he’s added any fucking value.” I insert more venom than I intend to, but my mind is pitching into chaos in the wake of the message.
Roman chuckles. “I heard you two didn’t get along.”
I’m going to rip his head from his shoulders and pummel it if he’s really lost Carmela. I shove my cell back in my pocket. “Yeah, you heard right.”
The ants are fucking manic. Acting normally is a challenge. I need to call him and find out what the fuck is going on. That half-cooked message is worse than nothing… Does Ettore already have her?
Does someone else?
Not the Russians. They wouldn’t be sitting reading the paper if they’d just bagged Ettore’s wife.
A woman walks past the car on the sidewalk beside me, and something about her catches my attention.
My eyes track her passage.
I blink a few times.
You’ve gotta be shitting me.
Carmela…
The ants ramp up to a fucking frenzy. I stab blindly in the general direction of the door release button, trying to get my foot through a gap that’s not yet there.
“Going in after all, then?” Roman says cheerfully.
I don’t answer him. I’m on a mission. The car door finally opens, and I pitch onto the sidewalk. Ahead of me, she disappears into the coffee shop… the same coffee shop the fucking Russians are in.
Fuck that shit!
“Stay in the car,” I call to Roman.
No way he will stay in the car… he’s going to follow me
Fuck!
CARMELA
Le Petit Café.
I’ve been outside my comfort zone from the moment I left Dante’s apartment, but a form of elation hits me as I see the familiar thick, black-framed coffee shop windows reflecting back the sun and passing traffic.
It feels surreal being here again. It must only be a couple of weeks—three at the most—yet my world and my place in it have gone through turbulence in between.
I’ve never walked here before, nor this far—ever. I’m more of a Pilates kind of girl. Jessica likes to jog. Since she’s been staying with my father, that’s mainly on a treadmill in the basement of their brownstone.
I can’t worry about Jessica right now. She will be disappointed in me for coming back. What she will say when I follow through on my plan, I can’t begin to imagine.
Made men kill all the time. They have to, if they want a place in our world. It almost seems easy for them. I’m sure it’s not, nor will it be for me.
Only I have conviction on my side.
He’s guilty, and he needs to pay.
The old wooden door creaks as I enter a place outside of time with its mismatched tables and chairs, and an age-worn wooden counter behind which Tony is busy restocking a cake dome.
The thrill of arrival, of navigating my way here alone when I’ve never been alone a day in my life, is short-lived and followed by a douse of cold water because this is where I’m about to enact my plan.
A sepia rolls over the interior as a cloud moves to block the sun outside the window.
The familiar scent of roasting coffee, the sound of chinking cups and the quiet conversation from the few patrons’ present would usually soothe me. Today it feels off like chalk scraping over a chalkboard.
My eyes skim over the occupants. It’s quiet. The lull before lunchtime, maybe. Only Tony is at the counter. My perusal abruptly halts on two heavy-set men with buzz cuts and leather jackets.
Soldiers. I snatch my gaze away and jolt out of my stupor.
Not our kind of soldiers.
The other kind.
The enemy kind, or just plain old street thugs?
“Can I help you?” Tony calls.
My palms turn sweaty, and a hot tide rolls down my spine. Head down, I hurry over to the counter. My legs have lost all coordination, and I stub my toe on a chair on the way.
Jesus! Get a grip, Carmela!
Are they looking at me? I don’t dare turn to check. When I’m level with the counter, I lift my eyes to meet Tony’s.
“Tony.” My smile feels wobbly. “It’s Carmela… Mrs. Gallo.” God, I will forever hate that name. “Can I come around the back? D-do you have a phone I could… use.” My throat is dust dry, and the words have to be scraped out.
His eyes widen and his jaw falls slack before his gaze shifts to the corner of the room where the two men in leather jackets are sitting.
“Yes, yes, of course. Come on through.” He’s still staring over my shoulder as I squeeze around the counter.
On the other side of the room, I hear a chair scrape across the wooden floor.
An almost electric current goes through me.
“Bolt the door,” he says quietly. “There’s a phone in my office. Second door on the right.”
I don’t look back, shoving through the door.
“How can I help you?” I hear him say just as the door closes on the coffee shop.
I fumble to shove the bolt across.
Oh God, what have I done?
I’ve got tunnel vision. The tiny corridor seems to close in on me.
A thud comes from the other side of the door, followed by a crash.
Fuck! I turn full circle before my focus lands on the open doorway at the end of the corridor—I run, banging into the open door before I can correct my trajectory and push off.
I slam it shut behind me. No lock—damn it! The only chairs present are two overstuffed armchairs—I won’t shift them quickly.
Another thud comes from the direction of the coffee shop, followed by the sounds of splintering wood.
I pitch myself over the desk and drop down behind it, fumbling for the desk phone.
The office door crashes open and bangs against the wall.
I’m plucked from my hiding place by a meaty fist and dragged back across the desk.
I scream. The phone is snatched from me.
Not satisfied with this, the man, still with my arm in a death grip, takes hold of the desk set and rips the landline—and all connecting equipment—clean from the wall.
I’m losing circulation in my hand. I shove against the brute holding me, but I might as well try to dislodge a concrete wall.
A second man enters, rounding on us. He snatches my baseball cap from my head and tosses it to the floor. He gets right up in my space and pinches my jaw between his fingers and thumb, forcing my chin up.
“It’s her,” he says in a thick Russian accent. “The door is blocked. It won’t hold him for long.”
Him? The blood drains from my face so fast I fear I might faint.
So stupid. It didn’t cross my mind that they might be here.
I’ve just put myself into the hands of the very people I was going to pretend were holding me.