The Woman in the Snow (Costa Family #12)

Chapter One

Venezio

Snow drifted down in fat, lazy flakes, softening the hard edges of the city. Nearly every window glowed with strings of lights; each lamppost was draped in pine garland and bows.

People were everywhere, ducking in and out of storefronts, arms heavy with shopping bags, or families rushing to see Santa or the tree in Times Square.

The world around me was drunk on Christmas cheer, but for me, it always kind of felt like sticking my face against the glass of a party I’d never been invited to. Decorations, cookies, the carols spilling out of doorways—they belonged to other people. That had never been the life I’d known.

I ducked my head down against the snow and kept walking, my boots crunching on the powder that had already started to accumulate.

Up ahead, Lorenzo Costa’s brownstone was decked out for the season—wreaths adorned every window, garland framed the front door, and a life-sized colorful nutcracker stood guard on the step beside the actual human guard in his thick puffer coat, his breath puffing out smoke in the cool night air.

I’d never got my ass personally summoned to the capo dei capi’s house before.

Figured I was about to be promoted or murdered. Either way, there didn’t seem to be a reason to put it off, so I rushed up the stairs, nodded to the guard, then moved inside.

The warm air slapped me in the face as I tried to knock some of the snow off my boots before making my way into the dining room where the boss always held his private meetings.

Christmas threw up all over the inside of his place, too.

Thick garland strung with twinkle lights and red and gold ornaments framed each doorway, matching décor draped the fireplaces, a Christmas village filled the seating area of the bow window, and a giant tree sat in the living room, a train lazily chugging around the skirt.

Somewhere in the house, Bing Crosby was crooning about toys being in all the stores. Something sweet was in the air, but I had no idea if it was cookies baking or a candle burning.

“What are you looking for?” Lorenzo asked when I stepped into the doorway and looked down at the floor instead of at the collection of nutcrackers down the center of the table or the dozens of Christmas cards displayed on the sideboard.

“Tarp,” I admitted, rocking back on my heels.

“You thought I’d off you in my house? With my kids upstairs?” Lorenzo asked, shaking his head. “Besides, don’t do much of the dirty work myself anymore,” he admitted. “You gonna take off your coat and sit down, or…”

I turned around to go back into the foyer, shrugged off my jacket, and hung it in the closet before heading back in.

Lorenzo Costa was what the ’80s movies said gangsters were: tall, fit, good-looking, and perpetually wearing a fucking suit. Even in his own house on a random Monday night.

Then again, pretty much every member of the Costa Family dressed that way. I was the odd man out in my black jeans, tees, and Timbs.

“Coffee?” he asked when I dropped down into a chair.

“Rather figure out what the fuck I did wrong and be on my way.”

Lorenzo’s brow raised, but he said nothing as he sat down. “What makes you think you did something wrong?”

“This feels like being summoned to the fucking principal’s office in school.”

“Spent a lot of time there, huh?”

“Not as much as I spent in detention.”

“You’re not in trouble,” Lorenzo said. “Unless you’ve done something I don’t know about yet, you’ve been keeping your head down, earning, and kicking up like you should.”

“Pretty sure I’m not here to get a pat on the back.”

“No,” Lorenzo said, exhaling. “I have a job for you.”

“Me?”

While we all technically worked for Lorenzo, I usually only got orders from one of his capos—Cosimo.

“Yeah.”

“Why me?”

“Can I level with you?”

“Don’t gotta dance around shit with me.”

“Alright. In that case, I need you because everyone else is busy with Christmas shit. Family shit. And you—”

“Don’t got nobody,” I filled in when he hesitated.

“I wasn’t going to put it that way, but, yeah, essentially. Between holiday parties, shopping, wrapping, Christmas concerts at school, all that shit, everyone is swamped from now until Christmas.”

“I got time. What do you need?”

“The Family have been long-time donors to a local charity that provides presents to shelter kids and their families.”

Honestly, the charitableness of the mob was probably the most surprising thing to me when I’d been brought on to work with them. The cynical part of me wanted to think it was a tax write-off thing, but it seemed like everyone had a cause they took up for: the homeless, women’s shelters, animals.

“Something tells me that you ain’t just doing it out of the goodness of your heart.”

“Well, we were for years. Until someone got an idea that helped us move some product into the city without suspicion.”

“What are you moving in?”

“A little bit of everything from all our connections: counterfeit goods, weapons, tech, some diamonds. Enough shit to keep a bunch of the capos and their associates busy for the first quarter of the year.”

“This the reason I was out fencing fucking fake red-bottoms until Easter a few years back?”

“Yeah,” Lorenzo said, smirking.

“Made a lot of money on those.”

“Yeah, we did. Anyway, we had an in at the charity itself: a director who was willing to look the other way, thanks to a generous cash donation on top of all the toys.”

“Sensing a but coming up.”

“But he dropped dead the day after Thanksgiving. They’ve got a new director now and we have no idea who she is, see if she’s someone we can finesse. I need eyes and ears at the charity.”

“You want me to get my do-gooder hat on?” I asked, looking down at myself. I didn’t exactly look like someone who spent their time cataloging fucking teddy bears and wrapping baby dolls.

“Yeah. I need someone inside that building, listening, getting a feel for shit. Especially this new director.”

“And if we don’t think she can be bought?”

“Then that’s when the job gets more complicated. But still doable.”

“Alright. And do I say who I am? Do we want her to know I’m connected to the family and their donations?”

“For now, no. But depending on what you learn about her, maybe. At the beginning, I just want you to be a guy caught up with the spirit of Christmas and wanting to spread some cheer.”

He had no idea what a tall order that was going to be for someone like me.

That said, I’d done harder shit over the years. I could fake a feeling I’d never experienced before if it meant more money coming my way in the new year.

That was why I was in this gig, after all. Money. Security. A chance to move up and no longer be hustling on the streets like I’d been doing my whole life.

I had a feeling that if I aced this job, I’d be getting called back to the boss’s house in the new year and going through whatever super-secret ritual they used to swear someone in as a capo.

“How long is the job for?”

“That’s the part that you aren’t going to like. Christmas Eve would be the last day.”

“Why would that be a problem?”

“Because of Christmas.”

“Could be doing it on Christmas Day too, if needed. Don’t got shit going on.”

“Didn’t Cosimo and Halle invite you to dinner?”

“Yeah. Miko and Max too. Didn’t take ‘em up on it, so if this needs to bleed into the holiday itself, that’s fine.”

“It shouldn’t. The truck should be emptied, unpacked, and wrapped before the presents make their way to the shelters on Christmas Eve.”

“Got it,” I agreed, taking the name of the charity, then getting up out of my chair.

“You don’t want to hang for a bit?” Lorenzo asked.

“Why?” I asked, getting a snort out of the boss.

“Alright. Well, keep me updated.”

“Will do,” I agreed.

I made my way back into the hall just as Lorenzo’s wife, Giana, moved past the doorway in the kitchen.

I glanced back, catching sight of her red and green apron as she scooped cookies off of a silver sheet and onto the kitchen table where a couple of their kids were sitting.

Across the surface were a dozen different kinds of sprinkles and frosting.

There was a strange tug in my chest that I didn’t have a name for before I turned, grabbed my jacket out of the closet, and made my way out the front door.

“You gotta be fucking freezing,” I said to the guard as the cold bit at my face.

“Jacket has built-in heat. Gloves too. And shoes.”

“Living in the future,” I said, yanking my coat’s hood up and heading down the street.

The snow was really kicking up, coating the road enough that even the cabs seemed to decide to wait until the plows came through before risking it.

A group of teens ran into the street, ducking down to grab handfuls of powder, forming it, then hurling it at one another.

It was all laughter and squealing.

Again, I felt like an outsider looking in. My own teen years hadn’t featured anything as lighthearted as a snowball fight. Hell, my childhood didn’t involve anything that easy.

Shaking those thoughts away, I ducked down into the subway to take me far away from Lorenzo’s multi-million dollar brownstone.

My building was identical to several others in the same general vicinity: tall, brick, ugly.

The inside was no better. The linoleum had once been an off-white but was currently an almost uniform black.

I was pretty sure the paint on the walls was still lead-based.

And the elevator had been busted since I was a teenager.

I moved past a couple of kids who were taking a minute inside the building to warm up from being outside, scouting for one of the local street gangs, and started up the stairwell.

My feet crunched on wrappers and old food as I tried to sidestep the piles of rat crap.

“Fuck’s sake, man,” I said when I came upon a guy sitting on one of the steps, out cold with his face against one of the treads. Reaching down, I yanked him up by the back of his hoodie, watching his head loll to the side.

It wouldn’t be the first time I found a body in the stairwell. But when I held a finger under his nose, I felt his steady breath.

Not dead.

High or sloshed.

Either way, none of my fucking business.

I put him back down on the step, making sure his head was on the side, so he wouldn’t choke on his own sick if it came to that, then I kept on making my way up.

My floor was like the rest of the building—old, dirty, loud as fuck. I could hear two babies screaming, music blasting from several stereos, a couple having a screaming match, and two dogs barking their heads off.

I could afford to move. I’d been making enough money to change apartments for a couple of years already. Something just kept holding me back.

Was it the fear of losing it all?

Or that I didn’t deserve more than the shithole I was raised in?

Who the fuck knew?

All I knew was it was familiar. Home, in a way. Even if all I usually did was sleep and shower in it. I’d always rather be working than twiddling my thumbs at my apartment.

The proof of it slapped you in the face as soon as you flicked on the light.

Small, dingy, no carpet, no curtains, no nothing except the black recliner sitting facing the TV that was set on two TV dinner stands.

It wasn’t even a nice TV. Nothing worth stealing.

Sure, everyone in my building knew who I was connected with now and not to fuck with me. What can I say? Old habits died hard. I once got my fucking bike stolen six times over one summer. I had to track it down and beat the shit out of whoever stole it over and over.

Walking over to the fridge, I reached inside to grab a beer before dropping into my chair and flicking on the TV.

Damn near every channel was playing some classic Christmas movie full of low-stakes family drama or relationships that were starting to form against a backdrop of glittering lights.

With a sigh, I found something a lot more realistic—a movie about a gang turf war, and drifted off to sleep, wondering how the fuck I was going to fake holiday cheer that I’d never felt before.

And I only had a few hours to figure it out.