Chapter Thirteen #2
“How would he have found out about Providence?” Owen asks, voicing the question that’s on my mind, as well. “Marcello kept his involvement on a tight leash for two decades.”
Anton leans back in his chair letting the question hang for a few seconds before meeting his eye.
“You can’t eradicate an entire group of people without leaving a permanent trail of bad blood.
It’s all speculation, but it’s possible a fragmented piece of the Rogue migrated to New Haven, while maintaining a pipeline to Providence, and Carmine kept an ear to the ground. ”
This series of revolving backdoors is getting old.
“Why risk everything for a dynasty that soils his hands, too?”
I wait for his answer, Owen’s eyes bouncing between us.
“Were they soiled, though?” He throws out the challenge with a waxy stare that sends unease crawling up my spine. “There’s no proof of any hush money going to Connecticut. If one of those encrypted accounts is Damiano’s, I guarantee it’s several layers removed from him and owned by a dead man.”
Son of a bitch.
Tension sizzles in the small room as we absorb the implication of those words. If true, it turns everything we thought we knew on its ass, and not only is the game plan we’re running all wrong, but our safety precautions are riddled with holes.
“So he plays dumb during your whole reveal, then sits back while you take out his only two threats,” Owen says, letting out a low whistle. “That’s some next-level Godfather shit.”
“The only problem is this Dagger guy figured out he’s not in the sequel,” Anton adds solemnly. “So, instead of waiting for us to find him, he’s bringing the fight to us.”
I glance at Owen. “Have you gotten any intel from your surveillance of the Authority?”
“No. Either they’re being extra cautious, or their lives are as interesting as static TV.”
Somehow, that’s more unsettling than a trail of blood.
Right on cue, my phone rings again.
Anton glares at it through three full rings before meeting my eyes. “That’s the fifth time he’s called. You can’t keep ignoring him.”
“I disagree.” I hit the mute button without looking down.
He sighs. “Do you really think antagonizing him is a smart idea?”
No. It’s the strategic equivalent of running blindfolded across four lanes of traffic.
However, while searching for Marcello’s Rhode Island ringleader, I’ve adopted a strict “fuck-all-the-way-off” policy.
Now, with this whole Damiano layer added, it’s even more important to keep my circle tight.
No contact is the only contact the Authority is getting until I verify who has a hand in this multi-state game of Whack-a-Mole.
“Let me worry about Toscano,” I say, as if I have any sort of game plan.
“You two worry about figuring out the link between Saddler and this Dagger asshole before he gets to Becca. I want a name by tomorrow.” Then, before I can change my mind, I center my stare on Owen.
“And narrow your surveillance to focus on Carmine Damiano. I want him tracked so closely I know the exact time that fucker takes a shit; got it?”
He must, because instead of pushback, I get a tight nod and diverted stare.
Apparently, Anton is placated by Owen’s scared straight act, because he turns to him, the tempest in him calming. “Can you send me that IP address for the burner?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“I’ll get it over to my contact. I don’t know if it’ll help, but it’s more than we had before.”
I sit back, my unease growing as I watch them. Something about the way this thing is unfolding sets me on edge. I can’t help but wonder if this Dagger bastard is really the threat I’ve considered him to be, or if I’ve been chasing the smoke of a closer gun?
And if he’s operating on a strike-first agenda, what’s with the circling vulture act?
What’s he really after?
“We’re still missing something,” I announce to no one in particular. It’s a thought that keeps needling in my head like an itch I can’t scratch. “Something more than Carmine’s potential involvement or this Dagger’s identity.”
Anton cocks his head. “Like what?”
“If I knew that, then it wouldn’t be missing.”
His attention shifts to his phone. “Yeah, well, until you find it, maybe my contact can find something that’ll crack the firewall and give us a name.”
I’m tired of this cryptic shit. “Who’s this contact of yours?”
Anton just sits there with his mouth shut. A few more moments of strained silence, and I’ve had enough.
“This really isn’t the time to test me.”
He runs his tongue along the back of his teeth, his stare a flat sheet of ice. “I’ll tell you when you tell your wife your villain origin story.”
Fucking dick.
I knew she didn’t pull that request out of her ass. If I wasn’t low on reliable allies, I’d rip his tongue out and mount it on the wall.
The sixth time my phone goes off, my temper snaps. I don’t even look at the screen before answering, my molars clenched so hard my jaw clicks. “What?”
“Gianni?” a soft, familiar voice says.
“Sera…” A spark of fear grips my spine. There’s something in her tone I don’t like. It’s too cautious. Like a wounded bird stumbling near a waiting tiger. “What’s wrong?”
“There’s been an accident,” she says, a choked sob unraveling her composure. “You need to get to All Saints Memorial in Bloomfield … now .”
I stand, my arm dropping by my side.
Becca.
Past and present collide in a violent explosion of fire and loss.
“Gianni?” Anton calls out as I stalk toward the door, my vision a tunnel of fear and fury. “Are you all right?”
I’m halfway to the car before my mind pieces together an answer.
No, I’m not all right, and if my wife is hurt or worse...
No one else will be, either.