Chapter 24
CHAPTER 24
V incent
She’s focused and hasn’t noticed that I’m watching her. She really is a beautiful dancer. She takes correction from their instructor with grace and helps Bella improve her skills. The image of Sarah leading a class of kids in their first lessons flashes through my mind. Robert is, shocking as it may seem, down in the basement gym with Marco. Go figure.
My phone buzzes. Stepping away from my viewpoint at the door, I pull it from my pocket.
“Special Agent Martinez,” I greet. “How are you today?”
He clears his throat. “Um, fine, thank you.”
Every organization has ties with law enforcement. I have my people with the NYPD, but having a supervisory special agent from the FBI makes a very powerful ally.
I hear the faint hiss and clicking in the background, indicating that he is calling from his encrypted phone, not that it matters because firstly, mine is also heavily protected, and secondly, Martinez knows that by now our histories are so entwined that we have a case of mutually assured destruction. It’s in his best interests to keep our cordial, helpful relationship going.
Which doesn’t mean we’re both not a little paranoid.
He sighs. “Have you been to church recently?”
“Not as often as I should, I’m told.”
“Same. Confession is good for the soul, or so I’ve heard.”
“I’ll take your word on that.”
He chuckles. “Good talking with you.” The line goes dead.
To any outside listener, the conversation would be obviously odd, but not altogether incriminating. It’s also our long-established code for, “We need to talk right the hell now.”
I fire off a quick message to Alessandro that I’ll be swinging by.
I’ll have the sisters hide the sacramental wine.
I roll my eyes.
Without the hinderance of rush hour traffic, the drive into the city is quick. Our Lady of Naples Catholic Church is tucked in the heart of little Italy, its weathered brick walls surrounded by the high-rise glass and concrete of greater Manhattan.
I pull around to the side, where a grounds keeper opens a gate. They know my car by now. I park the sleek black SUV between a 1990s Toyota Corolla that looks like it’s held together by rust and a prayer, and a fifteen passenger church bus, both adorned with the name of the parish on the doors.
I don’t need an escort to find my way through the maze of hallways and stained glass, and between my brother the priest and the substantial amount of money I donate to keep the church and its various programs funded, no one bats an eye at my presence. I make my way down an unmarked hallway and through a nondescript door.
The door, however, leads to the priest’s side of the last confessional booth. I sit and slide open the lattice partition.
Martinez chuckles. “I suppose this is probably the only way to get men like us into a church.”
“So people keep telling me,” I reply.
“You have a problem.”
“No shit. Care to be a lot more specific?”
Through the lattice, I see Martinez running his hands down his face, obviously stressed by the information. “NYPD started getting information, good information, on you. They brought it to the Organized Crime SSA and are trying to make a RICO case out of it.”
“Interesting. Is it going anywhere?”
He groans and scratches his head. “I don’t know. Enough for an actual RICO case? I doubt it. Enough to be a pain in the ass? Yeah.” He slides a folder through a crack in the base of the lattice. “We both know that the government owes you a big fucking favor after that stunt you pulled off for the counter terrorism task force a couple years back.”
I chuckle. “Well, that didn’t exactly have a courtroom resolution.”
Though it was great for Giuseppe’s family business.
“When it comes to terrorism, the task force doesn’t give a fuck about the courtroom so long as it keeps people alive. Look, so far as the FBI is concerned, this isn’t going to go anywhere on this side of the house. Our control over locals is pretty fucking slim. Then again, so is their case in the first goddamned place. But you’ve got a leak. It might not have been enough this time, but next time? Who knows.”
Without anything further, Martinez puts his jacket back on, concealing the badge and gun from the unsuspecting worshippers outside. The door to the booth swings open and closes with a soft click. I slide the lattice closed before the next person can come in and actually confess their sins. Entertaining though it may be, even I have boundaries.
Taking the folder with me, I help myself to my brother’s office and begin to sift through the documents. Martinez was correct, the information is accurate, but I doubt the DA would be able to make a case from it. I’m certain that my very well compensated attorney would rip it to shreds. Most of it is financial, holdovers from my father’s era.
I shoot off a message to Jack DuPoint and arrange for him to meet me at the house. I send him photos of the documents through our encrypted system before shredding the originals.
On my way out of the city, I dial Marie.
“What can I do for you, Mr. De Luca?” she answers in her normal cheerful tone.
“See what you can do about getting a box suite at the Lincoln Center for the masquerade performance of the ballet.”
“Sure. Anything else?”
“Make sure Sarah is set.”
“Is this top secret or public information?” she asks.
I laugh. “A surprise would be nice, thank you.”
“No worries. I’ll text you when I have details.”
By the time I’m back in my office, Jack has set up and is waiting for me, along with Marco.
“Thanks for coming out again,” I tell him, sinking into my desk chair.
“Anytime. I’ve been looking at the info you sent me. There are a few businesses of concern. Your father used them to launder money and had been for years. Lately, we’ve shifted the majority of the business to the casino, so your remaining involvement with them is minimal.”
“How much of a concern is this?” I ask.
He quirks an eyebrow. “So that’s the really interesting part. The connection between these businesses and your money is tenuous at best. The businesses themselves would go down, in no small part because you were almost certainly not the only organization they had been working with. When it comes to you, though, any first-year law student would be able to argue this one. I’m not sure what they were trying to do. All I can come up with is that either the police thought this would be enough to authorize a search warrant for more interesting information, which they won’t get because our legit books are well kept and the other books are secured, or their source is actually wanting to get these businesses shut down.”
“Why?” I ask, drumming my fingers on the glossy wood.
“Your guess is as good as mine. Might be a competitor trying to drive out the competition. Might just be pissed off for some reason.”
“Can we remove ourselves from the situation completely?” Marco asks.
Jack nods. “Oh yeah. I already wiped any electronic trace that your family ever did business with them, and clearly going forward, things will continue to be processed through the casino and the nightclubs. You still get the same clean money, but without losing any to the middleman.”
“Okay. Thanks, Jack.”
The young man nods his head and quickly breaks down his computer set up.
Marco strolls over to the bar and pours two glasses of whisky. Handing one to me, he says, “So what do you think? Fishing for a warrant? Or some other bullshit.”
“I’m not entirely sure we’re the target at all. Like Jack said, if they were coming after us, God knows there are better ways to go about it.” I take a sip of my drink.
“You expecting problems?” my brother asks.
“I’m always expecting problems. Martinez says this isn’t going anywhere on a fed level, and it doesn’t sound like there will be a reason for the NYPD to look into it any further.”
Marco swirls his drink contemplatively. “You think it’s related to everything else?” He gestures around the room like he’s indicating the overall state of my universe.
I nod. “Unfortunately, I think so.”