Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Nicolò
Benito passes me a small cup of espresso. “How many of these have you had today?”
“Four.” But who’s counting?
“Make that your last or your aim will be unreliable.”
“My aim is never unreliable,” I grumble. “And you know it.”
“Jeez. With that attitude and those dark circles, man, anyone would think you hadn’t slept in thirty-six hours.”
“Try seventy-two,” I mutter under my breath.
Benito pulls out a chair and sits. “Have we had any data on the trackers?”
When I swipe my phone, the app pops up and I scroll through the headline numbers. “Nothing unusual.”
“And it’s been, how long?”
“Five days. I honestly don’t think any of these guys are traitors, Benny. They’re good men.”
“I agree. But it narrows down our search. Which capos weren’t in the room that night? Which ones don’t have trackers on their cars?”
“Caruso, Vince, DeLuca. None of them have the backbone to converse with Russians in my opinion. We shouldn’t rule out our soldiers either.”
“No, we shouldn’t, but they have more to gain by staying loyal. They’re at the bottom of the ladder now but each of them has a chance to climb.”
The second I place my phone on the table, it rings. The number is unfamiliar. I glance up at Benito who nods at me to take it.
I hold the phone to my ear. “Yeah?”
“Is this Nicolò Di Santo?”
“It is. Who’s this?”
“I have someone here who wishes to speak with you. A friend of a friend. Someone you’ve been trying to get in touch with.”
Benito’s gaze narrows on me as recollection sets my jaw. Alessio Bellucci.
“I know who it is.”
“Very well.”
There’s a rustle of Italian cotton, then another, older, sterner voice rumbles down the phone.
“I understand you are experiencing some issues with deliveries.” His voice cracks, not from nerves but with age.
I lick my lips slowly. “That’s right.”
“I have a solution you might be interested in.”
My brows arch. The Bellucci’s don’t waste time. “Go on.”
“One of my men is in a car on the street below you. He has the details.”
Click.
Sliding my phone into my pocket, I glance over at Benito. “I’ll be right back.”
The street air is pungent with burning oil and cigarettes. I walk to the edge of the sidewalk and look up and down the street. A black car emerges from the shadows with its lights out. When it pulls up beside me, the driver’s window lowers and a suited arm reaches out to pass me a slip of paper.
I take it and peer into the driver’s eyes. He’s unfamiliar, but then again, I don’t know enough about the Belluccis to recognize any of them.
His voice is rough. “You know what to do with it.”
I nod once and step back as he drives silently away.
Back inside the elevator, I unfold the paper. It says, simply,
Tomorrow, 9pm. 180 Newark Avenue – basement. You and CDS only.
Cristiano, Augie and Benito are seated round the table when I return. I pull out a chair and push the note to Cristiano.
His eyes darken on the paper with intrigue. “Who are we meeting?”
“Alessio Bellucci.”
He looks up, holding the paper between his fingers. “Jersey City?”
“I guess. He says he has information that could help us.”
Cristiano flicks the paper back and forth with one hand and rubs his jaw with the other. “Okay. We’ll go. Despite the measures we’ve taken, we’re still losing shops—and men. We should explore all options.”
I nod and pull a Zippo out of my inside pocket. The piece of paper burns quickly and we watch it curl into a crisp of ash on the table.
“Let’s call it a night,” Cristiano says, pushing his chair back.
My brow dips in a frown. “Already?”
“We need to have clear heads if we’re meeting a Bellucci tomorrow,” he says, standing up. “On Bellucci turf, too.”
“My head is already clear. In fact, I—”
“In fact, nothing, Nicolò. You look like shit. Where have you been the last few days?”
“I’ve been bugging cars and tracking down Bellucci’s. Where do you think?”
“That’s one night’s work,” he says, tightly. “Look, I don’t expect you to work all hours—that’s not it. But I do expect you to take care of yourself when you’re not here. Maybe give the girls a rest, huh?”
My eyebrows shoot up. “Girls?”
“Well, I’m assuming there’s a reason you look like you haven’t slept in weeks.”
My jaw clenches. “It has nothing to do with girls.”
An image of Lina sitting beside me in the doctor’s office slides into my mind, taunting me that all evidence is pointing to the contrary.
I grip the table as I stand.
Then I feel Cristiano’s hand on my arm. “You okay buddy? You’ve gone pale.”
I wave him off. “I’m fine. Just… stood up too quickly.”
“My point exactly. You’re younger than all of us, Nicolò. You shouldn’t be almost passing out because you stood up too fast. Go home. Get some rest. If you don’t feel any better in the morning, give our doc a call.”
Yeah, I grumble to myself. Not sure there’s a cure for fucked up.
“Fine. I’m going.”
The lights of Manhattan follow me all the way to Brooklyn Bridge. When I get halfway across, I let the car idle while I step out and walk to the edge. A familiar sight greets me across the other side. The hospital where Sofia underwent treatment almost every week for more than a year.
I remember the first time we drove my little sister to see the doctors there.
The tension in the car was palpable. My father drove in complete silence while Sofia and I sat in the back and Mom kept turning around to check we were both doing okay.
It felt like an elephant was wedged between us all.
We knew something was terribly wrong, but none of us could voice it.
The journey home was worse. We knew exactly what was at stake.
My little sister was to embark immediately on a course of radiotherapy, followed by four separate operations, and an aggressive course of chemotherapy.
Mom cried silent tears from the front passenger seat while I sat next to my sister stroking her hand.
Whenever she looked up at me, I smiled. I couldn’t think what else to do.
I suppose, more than any of us, I had hope.
I thought that once the doctors knew what they were dealing with, they could fix it. Unlike my parents, I had no comprehension we were fighting a losing battle and that all these interventions were designed to keep my sister alive just a little bit longer.
We made that same journey so many times it eventually became normal. And now, I can’t drive past the area without being reminded of every single one.
My chest tightens with unresolved need. I failed to protect my little sister.
I was her older brother—I was born to protect her.
And regardless of the fact she’s no longer here, that need has never gone away.
I feel it side-stepping to the new sister in my life.
That must be why I disabled the gardener and threatened the doctor with a bullet.
My ship has come in. Once again, after all these years, I have someone to protect.
With my arms leaning over the handrail I rub my eyes and the vision ahead blurs.
Fuck, I must be tired. But as soon as my eyelids rest, the image of Bambalina sitting beside me with my fingers beneath her dress floods my senses.
That wasn’t even what she wrote. But that’s where my mind has willingly taken it. And it feels wrong. So fucking wrong.
But if I let the vision take me, if I let it carry me out of this life—the life in which I’ve lost a sister—a small, insistent part of me says it doesn’t have to be.
When I look up again, it isn’t the hospital I see, it’s the road home.
It isn’t grief I feel, it’s a sudden urge to know more.
My insides are torn, but one half of me—clearly the indecent half—is fighting, and it has tenacity on its side.
I get back in the car and put my foot down on the accelerator. I knew I was curious, but now it’s all I can think about.
I need to know what else Lina has written.
Is the scene at the doctor’s office the only one inspired by her real life?
A strange kind of heat crashes through me and I grip the wheel. Streets blur into one until I reach the gate, and the closer I get to the house, the harder my pulse batters against my eardrum.
The engine is still hot when I lock the car and stride urgently into the house. I’ve barely kicked off my shoes before I enter the living room and see not only that the diary is no longer there, but my mother and Tony are.
“Oh, hi.” I sound out of breath.
Mom looks up from the TV. “Hi love, you’re home early. Everything okay?”
“Yeah. Just tired. Big day tomorrow.”
A film of denial covers her features as she looks back at me.
My chest tightens. I’d hoped the house would be empty and quiet, so I could snoop in peace. I guess that because my room is right next to Lina’s, it wouldn’t be obvious to them if I opened the door to the wrong one.
“Is it just you guys here?” I hold my breath, hoping Tess hasn’t decided to spend the night too.
Tony looks up. “Bambi’s in her room.”
Just like that, my chest deflates. “I thought she was at some photography thing this evening.”
“She was but got a stomach ache so she came home early.”
Mom turns to Tony. “I took her some Advil thirty minutes ago, so she’s probably sleeping now.”
Okay then, full fucking house.
I won’t get to snoop in her room after all. It’s probably for the best. What happened on the bridge was a moment of madness. I was overcome with grief for losing Sofia. My emotions were unlocked; I was vulnerable. Of course my brain is going to latch onto something distracting.
I need to be stronger. I could’ve killed someone driving the way I did to get back here.
That would have been unintentional and I never kill without intention.
I need to get whatever crap this is out of my head for good, and the best way to do that is to find my own place, and fast. And there’s no time to get that ball rolling than the present.
“Hey, Mom?”
She turns back to me, her face much brighter for bypassing any business talk. “Yes, honey?”
“I’m starting to look for a place of my own.”
She blinks slowly and tilts her head. If Mom had her way, I would never leave home.
“Oh, right. Okay.”
Guilt overcomes me. “Not straight away. It might take a while until I find the right place. I just… um, I just thought you should know.”
Tony rests a reassuring hand on Mom’s knee and where once I might have cringed at the sight, tonight I’m thankful. Mom has someone. So, when I move out and get on with my life, she isn’t going to be alone.
“There are some stunning apartments going up in Greenpoint,” Tony says, glancing briefly at my mom. “A few of the warehouses are being converted. It’s a nice area, and not far from Benito’s place.”
I click my tongue. “Sounds interesting. I’ll take a look this week.”
Mom’s shoulders fall but her smile is wistful.
She knew this time would come and, to be honest, I only moved into the Castellanos’ to indulge her dream of blending our two families in one physical space.
I’ve lived more or less independently for over a decade.
I’m twenty-eight now, and wealthy. I don’t need to be living under the same roof as my mom anymore.
“Well, I’m going to bed,” I say, shrugging off my coat. “See you in the morning.”
I make my way up the stairs, silently trying to navigate the tornado of feelings coursing through me.
I’m a little excited about the prospect of having my own place again.
I’m also relieved there were obstacles to me sneaking into Lina’s room.
But most of all, I’m disappointed that I won’t get to read anymore of her innermost thoughts.
Conflict is normally something that happens outside of me, that I can often resolve with a broken bone or a threat or two.
Conflict inside of me is a new feeling, and not one that I like.
On the one hand I know that reading Lina’s diary and betraying her trust is wrong on so many levels, but on the other, I feel like I need to read it.
I need to know what’s going on in that annoyingly pretty head of hers.
As my lungs constrict again, an uncomfortable thought occurs to me. I physically can’t sit back and do nothing as she writes about me participating in her fantasies. The tightness feels like a rubber band being stretched to its limit, and urgent, like time is running out.
I hesitate outside her bedroom door, wanting to knock and ask if she’s okay, but it wouldn’t be fair to indulge my wish to lay eyes on that brown book in her room when she’s trying to sleep off a stomach ache. So I walk on past into my own room where I undress and climb into bed.
Staring at the ceiling, I know I’m in for another restless night. I roll onto my side and reach for the sleeping pills in my bedside drawer. I knock back two and close my eyes. I’ve always had them by my bed, just in case—Cristiano’s advice—but I’ve never needed to take them until now.
As I eventually drift off to sleep, a thought glides faintly across my consciousness. Funny how it isn’t bullets, blood and death that makes me sleepless. Nope. It’s a little stepsister and a big brown book.