Chapter 1 #2
I check carefully before I slip out of the hotel, but there’s no sign of the Giuliano, or anyone else who seems interested in my movements.
When I arrive at the Midtown block that houses Stuccio & Associates on the third floor of an older building, the offices have been open for a while.
The receptionist, a woman with a tight face too young for her silvery hair, gives me a quick once-over, taking in my wrinkled clothes.
She tells me unsmilingly to take a seat when I give my name and admit I don’t have an appointment.
But surely Uncle Tony will make time for me.
He and my father went to Princeton together, were members of the same club.
He taught me to fish at our lake house upstate when I was eight.
On my acceptance to Princeton, he looked just as proud of me as my Dad, gave me a Montblanc pen to celebrate the occasion, told me he expected great things.
A few months later, he stood beside me at my father’s funeral, his hand steady on my shoulder.
I never went to Princeton. I put it off for a year. And in that year, everything changed. My grandfather was murdered in cold blood during what was supposed to be a peace-talk dinner, and so began the inevitable fall of my Family.
I sit in the waiting area, watching men and women in expensive suits walk past. I know a few faces—people who used to smile and nod at Clemenza functions, who jockeyed for invitations to our Christmas parties.
Not one of them acknowledges me now. In fact, as soon as they recognize me, they look away.
Funny how that works. When the Clemenzas were on top, everyone wanted to be seen with us. Now we’re poison. I could sit here and build a list of every single turncoat. Names, dates, betrayals. I’ve got nothing but time and nowhere else to go.
Eventually, the receptionist calls me back over to the desk. “I’m sorry, Mr. Clemenza, but Mr. Stuccio is not available.”
“I can wait.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Clemenza,” she says again, in the exact same tone. “Mr. Stuccio will not have time to see you.”
“Then I’ll come back tomorrow. What time would suit him?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Clem—”
“You know what? I don’t think you’re sorry at all.” A flash of my grandfather’s legendary temper.
It doesn’t faze her. She gives a small sigh and a false smile. “Would you like to leave a message?”
“As I said, I’m happy to wait. So that’s what I’ll do. I’ll wait right over there until Mr. Stuccio has time for an old Family friend.” I put a little emphasis on those last two words.
I do just what I said, and sit in the corner of the reception area, picking up an old magazine to flick through unseeingly. When I glance back at the reception desk, the woman is talking into the phone in quick, hushed tones.
I smile to myself.
A moment later, Tony Stuccio is marching down the corridor toward me with the expression of a man being led to his own colonoscopy.
I stand. I beam. I extend my hand like we’re at a cocktail party. “Uncle Tony!” I say loudly. “You look fantastic. Have you lost weight?”
He stops short, ignoring my hand. His eyes dart around—checking for witnesses, the coward. “Cal,” he snaps in a low voice. “You can’t be here.”
I keep the smile on my face. “I understand you’re busy, Uncle Tony, and I promise I won’t take up much—”
“Cut out that ‘Uncle Tony’ bullshit,” he mutters. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Didn’t you see the news last night? Louie was murdered.”
“Keep your voice down,” he says sharply, then leans in close. “Where are you staying?”
“Here and there,” I say, because there’s no way I’m going to confide in a potential FBI informant. “Why don’t we have lunch, and we can—”
“Whatever courtesies I might have extended to you and your Family previously, they were done under duress. And that’s what I told the FBI and the DEA and the ATF and all the rest of them when they dropped by. Do you understand me?”
I do understand him. Just like the rest of New York, he’s turned his back on the Clemenzas. This man, who once claimed he loved me like a son, doesn’t care if I live or die.
In fact, it would be more convenient for him if I did die.
“I understand completely,” I tell him, still with that genial smile on my face. “In fact, Uncle Tony, the only reason I came by was to thank you for your friendship. I hope one day to pay you back for it.”
Stuccio takes a step back. “Get out of here and don’t come back.”
“You have yourself a great life, Uncle Tony. What’s left of it, anyway.”
He goes a satisfying shade of puce. I turn and nod a polite goodbye to the receptionist before making my way to the elevators. I’m pretty proud of myself. I don’t even start shaking until I hit the street again, and then, hopefully, it’s from rage, not fear.
Because it was an empty threat. Grandstanding bullshit. The Clemenzas are done and dusted, and someone out there is making sure the line goes totally extinct.
But even at my lowest, I won’t show fear. And I swear to God I will find a way to pay Tony Stuccio back for his cowardice and disloyalty. To do that, I need to make sure I stay alive myself. Stay far, far away from that Giuliano and his hungry, burning, unforgettable eyes.
Unforgettable? Jesus. I need to get it together.
I need a plan. I need money. I need someone in this city who still owes me a favor, or at least someone dumb enough to get involved for the thrill of it…
And I think I know where to find them.