Chapter 3
DAMIANO
I’m wrecked. Everything aches: my back where the stitches are pulling, my foot from the dumpster, my teeth from clenching them all night.
But anger is keeping me focused. I call Rosa on the intercom to send breakfast up to the sunroom, plus lots of black coffee.
Then I shower and dress, keeping my eyes away from the bed the whole time.
I choose warmer clothes for what will no doubt be a bitch of a day.
It’s not even winter yet, and snow is already looming.
But I’ve got much bigger problems than early snow.
Not only has Caligula Clemenza escaped, he’s left me with a pile of shit to deal with. That dead Bratva, Grisha, for one. Daniel King will be out for my head, and I’ll have to explain to Big Gee why I started a Mob War with the Bratva over a fucking Clemenza.
I’ll also have to explain why that Clemenza prince, who was supposedly so grateful for my protection, has suddenly vanished.
That snakey little motherfucker.
I take the stairs up to the sunroom, where Rosa is setting out breakfast like I asked. But I stop dead when I see two places laid out on the table. Two places set with pieces from my collection of the Clemenza china.
She must see the look on my face, because there’s caution on hers as she backs up to the buffet.
“Go.” I know I can only get one word out before I lose it completely, so I make it count. She scurries out of the room. And then, alone with a mockery of what I’ve lost, I sweep the bowls and plates and silverware off the table, letting them smash and splinter on the floor.
When I glance up, Rosa has paused on the landing outside, staring in shock. As our eyes meet, she darts down the stairs.
But I’m too far gone to care. I stamp down on the broken pieces, grinding them under my boots, imagining Caligula Clemenza’s face in the place of fine china.
When I’m done, I take a deep breath and raise the security gates covering the sunroom windows so I can go out to the balcony. I like to sit out here on warm summer evenings, but this morning I lift my face into the biting wind to help cool the rage.
Why the hell did Rosa use the Clemenza dishes? She never has before.
Wait. I’m not thinking rationally. As far as Rosa, Vito, and Sammy are concerned, the Clemenza had become part of the place. Didn’t he sit around with us last night at dinner, smiling and laughing and acting like we were one cozy family?
Even then, he must have been planning his escape.
But as far as Rosa knew, I’d taken him into the household. Into my bed. Into my…
I suck in cold air and blow it out as a plume in the gray dawn. On the bridge, traffic is already twinkling in a steady stream of headlights and taillights, diamonds and rubies sparkling on a string. The city moving on like it always does.
Rosa probably laid out the Clemenza china as a welcome to a man she thought was an ally. So I can’t blame her. This is Caligula’s doing—and he’ll pay for it. I need to eat fast and get back out there. Find that little fucker and make him wish he’d never been born.
I’m still shaking from all the adrenaline, so I grab onto the railing and try to focus on the cold metal stinging my hands. It doesn’t work.
All I can think of is his fucking face.
I go down to the kitchen and find Rosa and Vito standing together at the counter, Vito with his arm around Rosa, comforting her as she talks in quick, quiet Italian.
They both look up at the sight of me, and Rosa’s stream of chatter stops dead.
Vito comes around the corner of the counter, pushing Rosa slightly behind him.
I stop, surprised. Vito is much older than I am, but his body language is unmistakable.
He’s expecting violence. And in Rosa’s face, something that I’ve never seen before. Fear. Fear of me.
What the hell do they think I’m going to do?
But I catch sight of myself in the dark window over the sink. The security shutters are still down all over the house, so my reflection is dark and shadowed, but that’s not why the man staring back at me is so unfamiliar. I look wild. Enraged.
Vicious.
Even though he’s gone, that serpent’s bite is still poisoning everything he left behind.
But I can’t do what needs to be done if my own household is shrinking away from me.
I turn away and pour myself a mug of coffee from the pot, forcing my hands to be still and careful.
I’ll choke down my anger for now. Let it all out later.
When I get the Clemenza back.
“I’ll eat down here this morning,” I say at last, turning back to Vito and Rosa. They’re both still watching me closely.
Rosa glances at Vito, then back to me. “I’ll fix you something, then clean up the sunroom,” she says.
“Leave it,” I say, a little too sharp.
Rosa begins fixing me a plate. Vito doesn’t take his place back at the table, but I head over there myself with my coffee.
I don’t know how to tell them about what’s happened. I don’t know how to tell them without making it clear what a fool I am. The second I tell them Caligula has gone, they’re going to know he played me. They’re going to know I lost my head over a pretty face, and lost everything else along with it.
Rosa gives me an easy out. “One plate, or two?” she asks carefully.
I have to force my jaw to relax before I answer. “One.”
Vito’s eyebrows go up, but Rosa has already turned back to the stove. After another moment, Vito sits down opposite me and resumes his bacon and eggs. Five minutes later, a similar plate is in front of me, and Rosa refills my coffee cup. I pick it up with a grunted, “Thanks.”
It’s hard to stay angry when so much bacon is sitting there in front of me. Like Vito, I pick up my fork and dig in.
Halfway through breakfast, Sammy wanders into the room, rubbing his eyes and yawning. He looks at me first, and smiles. Then he glances around. “Where is he?” he asks, his face dropping back into its usual scowl.
“None of your fucking business,” I snap.
Taken aback, Sammy glances at Rosa. From the corner of my eye, I see her shake her head in warning. But then a loud buzzing makes her jump—someone at the front door. I’m on my feet before she even checks the CCTV. “One of those vagrants is out the front,” she says nervously.
Shit. I forgot about Shuffles. “I told him we’d feed him this morning. Send him out something, then make sure he gets away from the house. We need to keep people clear of the place.”
She tells Shuffles to hold on a minute, and packs him a couple of bacon, egg, and cheese bagels with the breakfast leftovers. Another buzzing interrupts her just as she finishes, sounding from the side door this time. Rosa checks the camera, then turns to Sammy.
“Delivery. Put it on the countertop.”
Sammy, who’s been hovering around watching me nervously, seems pretty happy to leave the room, and Rosa heads off to the front door. Sammy is back a moment later, struggling with an enormous box which lands with a resounding thud on the countertop.
“What in the hell is that?” I demand, coming over to look at it suspiciously.
“Stay away,” I go on sharply, as Sammy gets a knife to slice open the wrapping.
“Was Rosa even expecting this?” I wouldn’t put it past my enemies to try delivering a bomb to the house, since they can’t get in any other way.
“I’m expecting it,” Rosa says, coming back into the kitchen. “And I need to start preparing it, so get out of the way, all of you.”
She opens it herself while the rest of us stand there gawking.
It’s a turkey. A giant motherfucking turkey packed in ice.
She gives it a look over with a tut and a shake of the head. “It will have to do, since I can’t send Sammy to pick one out himself.”
“Why the fuck did you order a turkey in the first place?” I ask incredulously.
She glances at Vito before replying, wiping her hands repetitively on her apron in what I know is a nervous tic. She does it when Big Gee drops by unexpectedly. “For…tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” I echo.
“It’s Thanksgiving,” Sammy says. “Tomorrow.”
I stare at him, then at the turkey. And I start laughing. A dark, caustic laugh that none of them join in on.
Eventually I trail off, and I think about taking the Clemenza and stuffing that turkey with his fucking intestines. “Trash it,” I tell Rosa. “Far as we’re concerned, Thanksgiving is canceled.”
Silence follows my proclamation. And Rosa doesn’t make a move toward the damn turkey.
“What’s going on?” Sammy asks at last. He sounds scared.
I need to tighten my hold on myself. Restrain the rage that should only be directed at one person. “What’s going on, Sammy, is that you were right,” I tell him, slow and careful. “You were fucking right.”
His eyes brighten. “You mean about—” Sammy cuts off when Vito nudges him.
I walk away before I say something I’ll regret, calling over my shoulder, “Bring the car around front, Vito. Now.”
Shuffles is still sitting under the portico and gives me a nod, chowing down on the breakfast sandwich Rosa made for him. “You finish that up and get,” I tell him as Vito pulls up. “I’m serious. This place is fucking radioactive right now.”
I get into the car without waiting for his response. He’s a survivor, Shuffles. He’ll get, and he’ll warn others, too. I don’t want any innocents getting caught up in this shit.
I tell Vito to drive around Midtown for a while as I stare out the window, and then I get out of the car and walk. Walking helps me think, plus I can get into places I can’t in the car, like the subway stations the Clemenza favored when he was on the run.
I tracked his movements closely for weeks before his cousin got iced, watching that proud little shit curl up in subway station corners or crawl under bushes in Central Park.
Park Avenue royalty, sleeping in the same places as the junkies and the runaways.
I used to revel in it, seeing him brought so low.
The Clemenza prince, living like a sewer rat.
I stop by three of my regulars for intel—Frankie J outside the Port Authority, Mags near Grand Central, and Pete Fingers who works the parking garages on East 43rd. None of them have seen or heard anything.
Whatever happened to Caligula, it didn’t leave a trace.
All the while I’ve been looking for him, I’ve been turning over all the other problems in the back of my mind.
I need to get in touch with the Boss, give him a heads-up about the Bratva.
But my brain snags on that moment again.
The room at the Obelisk. Caligula Clemenza on his knees, performing for that Russian motherfucker like it was nothing, like he could switch off every part of himself that mattered and still come out the other side intact.
And I think about that savage, blinding rage that came over me when the Russian told me it had all been for nothing. So I killed him.
Why in the hell did you do that? Caligula had demanded.
I didn’t have an answer then, and I don’t now. Why did I kill the Russian, when breaking down that arrogant asshole of a Clemenza had been my plan from the start? If I had an answer that made sense, Big Gee might even be satisfied. He hates the Bratva as much as anyone.
But I don’t know why I did it. And I’m out of time, anyway, my phone buzzing hard in my hand with an incoming call from the man himself. There’s only one reason Big Gee would be calling me this early. I guess he’s heard about the Russian.
I should’ve called him last night, but I was too eager to be balls-deep in the Clemenza. I let out a long breath and hit the answer button on the phone. “Hey, Boss, I—” I start.
“Shut the fuck up,” he hisses, “and listen.”