Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Vita
The betrayal in Alejandro’s eyes cuts me to the quick. It’s even worse than what I hear in his voice.
“I did, Daddy. It’s for your own good. You may never believe me, but I have to do this. There’s no way you would ever allow it. I swear I’ll be back before you wake up.”
“Chica.”
He tries to reach for me, but I’m certain his limbs feel like stone, and his eyes grow glassy as he watches me.
“I pray you can forgive me, Alejandro, but I’ll accept it if you can’t. I’m doing this for you, even if you think I’m selfish for doing it my way.”
It’s not until his eyes are closed and his breathing deepens that I dare approach. I press a soft kiss to his forehead, but back away in a hurry, not trusting he’s as sound asleep as he appears.
I look around his bedroom, then in the living room and kitchen until I find a set of keys to a Porsche. I might have overcome two obstacles, but the biggest one awaits me outside. I have to ditch the guards posted outside the condo door and in the lobby.
It was far easier snooping through Alejandro’s medicine cabinet when I excused myself to go to the bathroom.
I went in there with a specific intent. I breathed easier when I found the bottle of powerful muscle relaxants.
It was nearly entirely full and must be left over from Alejandro’s last significant injury.
I crushed one on a tissue and carried it back out to the dining room with me.
It took all my restraint not to keep checking my pocket to be sure the tissue was still there while we ate.
I dropped the powder into that last quarter-glass of wine.
I feared he’d complain there was something gritty in the drink, but he downed the wine in two swallows, so I doubt he tasted anything.
I still have the burner from the bodega office.
Alejandro gave it to me on the way to Enrique’s.
He’s still got Zia Cosima’s phone. I also have the gun Javier handed me during the hospital parking garage shootout.
The phone goes in my front left pocket, and I tuck the gun in my waistband at my lower back. I brace myself as I open the door.
“Hola, senorita Trevisan.”
“Hola.”
The guard sizes me up as I smile. I grabbed the bag of trash from the kitchen before opening the door. I hold it up and scrunch up my nose.
“It smells.”
The guy stares at me for a long moment before nodding. He clearly questions me, and I don’t blame him. He should.
“I’ll take it for you, Senorita.”
“Thank you.”
I hand it off to him before closing the door enough for it to click.
But then I pull it open and watch the guard stroll down the hallway.
I slip out and make my way to the emergency stairs.
I don’t doubt security’s watching my every move.
I bolt down two flights before opening the door and heading to the elevator.
There’s no way I can make it down twenty flights of stairs without taking so long the guards catch me.
I hop on the elevator with a silent prayer of thanksgiving that I’m not alone. The family of five shifts to make room for me, and I keep my head down and hide amongst them. I get off on the first level of the parking garage and click the key fob.
Lucky guess that I’d find it on this level.
I figured our driver pulled all the way into the ground floor here for the same reason we attempted at the hospital.
Fewer people to notice us. However, Alejandro parked on the top level to make it easier in case he needs to leave in a hurry.
I pull open the door to his Porsche and slip inside.
One of the many times I’m grateful I’m European.
I don’t even think twice about driving a stick shift.
I pull out of the garage and get my bearings in Manhattan.
I recognize enough around me to know I’m in the recently gentrified Hudson Yards area.
Developers have built some of the most high-end condos in this area.
Once I figure out where I am, I point myself in the direction I need.
When I cross out of Manhattan and get onto a small side street, I pull over.
I dial my last known number for Patrick.
It rings through to voicemail. That’s no surprise. A moment later, I get a text.
Patrick
New phone, who dis?
He thinks he’s far funnier than he ever has been.
Me
Lisa Jennings
I use the persona from the gala. Immediately, the phone rings.
“Lisa, Lisa, Lisa. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“What the ever-loving fuck, Patrick?”
“A job’s a job, but it’s not work if you love what you do.”
“You’re a fucking psychopath.”
“Takes one to know one.”
“Patrick, meet me in two hours. We end this.”
“Why should I agree?”
“Why shouldn’t you? This is far more efficient than you hunting me.
Whether we agree to meet or you stalk me, there’s only one outcome to all of this—one of us dies.
So why waste our time playing cat and mouse when we don’t have to?
I know you’re a sick fuck and you enjoy that.
But the sooner you kill me, the sooner you can move on to the next job and the next paycheck, right? ”
“You make it sound so sexy, Lisa.”
“Two hours, Patrick.”
“Where at?”
“The gazebo, Westerleigh Park on Staten Island.”
“Why the fuck would I want to go to Staten Island?”
“Because that’s how everybody feels. It’s the least likely place anybody’s looking for either of us.”
It’s known as the “borough of parks,” so there are plenty of places for me to pick.
“Fine but make it three hours.”
“What, you in the middle of getting a mani-pedi, Patrick? You just want me to dance to your tune.”
“Whatever my reason is my reason. Three hours, Lisa.”
“Fine.”
We hang up, and I count my blessings he’s giving me more time than I thought he would.
I still have somewhere else to go before I can meet him, and it’ll take me an hour to get to the park.
I pull back onto the street and wind my way through the outer borough until I approach a neighborhood that’ll take all my skill to get into.
I park three streets over before leaving the car and scouting my surroundings. It’s a massive neighborhood that’s expanded to merge with an adjacent one. I take fifteen minutes before I find a spot where I can get over the community wall without landing in the wrong backyard.
It’s another five minutes of sitting in a tree waiting for my chance to drop into the backyard I want, praying the fence isn’t electrified.
It takes every bit of cat burglar skill I have to get over the fence without triggering the alarm or catching any of the patrolling guards’ eyes.
I recognize the type of wall around this property.
It’s the kind that has sensors on the top that’ll go off if anything heavier than a pigeon lands on it.
Before I got out of Alejandro’s car, I checked his glove compartment and found a lock-picking kit. Christmas came early. I stick to the shadows, moving in between the patrols until I can get to a patio door. From there, I’m inside within moments.
I wound up in the family room. I open the door, hoping to slip out and make it to the study, but a gun pointed at my chest greets me.
“Vittoria, you have twenty seconds to tell me what the fuck you’re doing in my house.”
“Buonasera, madrina.” Good evening, Godmother.
Sylvia Mancinelli isn’t exaggerating when she tells me I have twenty seconds.
I know her daughters are probably home, but even if they weren’t, she’s still one of the most capable women I’ve ever met.
She may have gotten the title by marrying the NYC don, but the woman could run any Mafia without batting an eyelash.
The title’s earned as much as it was given.
“Why’s your family trying to kill me?”
She tilts her head to the right as though she’s considering what I asked.
She’s one of the most intelligent women I’ve ever met.
She’s highly educated from the most elite schools and universities.
She’s practiced law in France, Italy, and the States.
She’s also the most elegant woman I’ve ever seen.
While the Kutsenko brothers’ mother, Galina, is the most breathtaking beauty, no one surpasses Sylvia’s natural sophistication and elegance.
“Why would you think anyone in my family wishes to kill you, Vittoria? Guilty conscience? Paranoia?”
“It could be that, Madrina. Or it could be the kidnapping, two explosions, and two shootouts in the past two days that’re making me nervous. I won’t live to see my next birthday when you give such thoughtful gifts.”
“Do you believe it’s my father or uncles trying to kill you?”
“Either, both? I don’t know for sure. That’s why I came to ask you.”
“Salva.”
She calls out to her husband while her gun’s still leveled at my heart. I’ve known her since I was a toddler. There’s not a doubt in my mind she’ll kill me if I breathe one too many times or I blink for too long.
“Sylvie?”
Don Salvatore rounds a corner, a shocked expression as he takes in the scene.
“Vittoria?”
“Good evening, Don Salvatore.”
His lips twitch.
“She’s been very formal this evening, Salva. She didn’t ask me for my torcetti.”
A twisted dough cookie—my favorite thing Sylvia makes.
“I want to know why your in-laws are trying to kill me.”
“I take it Alejandro doesn’t know you’re here?”
I shrug nonchalantly, which makes Salvatore laugh.
“Oh, you will not be so smug when your boyfriend finds you. He’s dead or drugged if you’re here alone.”
I force myself not to react since what he said hits the mark.
“You know who my neighbors are, don’t you, Vittoria?”
“I’m guessing someone in Alejandro’s family. Pablo?”
“Yes, on one side. One of my nephews lives directly across the street. I’ve never known you to be so foolish as to arrive somewhere unprotected.”
“You’re assuming I am.”
“Should I have Sylvie check you for a wire?”
“You know I wouldn’t do that.”