23. Prime
PRIME
It’s like the floodgates open after that first night.
Deanna’s in my office morning to evening going over the meeting plan. Then she’s in my bed arching her back and moaning my name.
I sense the drift happening. I’m sliding toward her despite myself. I reach for her in the morning, finger grazing her hip to make sure she’s safe and sleeping, and the relief I feel when she’s still there is terrifying. What’ll happen if she’s gone? What will I do when this is all over?
I’m so fucked and so deep in denial that I refuse to let myself think about it.
“Would you please sit down?” Deanna’s checking herself in the mirror. Her dark hair’s slicked back and she’s wearing a gorgeous tight dress that shows off hints of her curves but is still appropriate for a business meeting. “You’re starting to make me nervous.”
“Wouldn’t want to do that.” I glance at my phone for the fiftieth time. “Carbone said we’d get the location an hour before the meeting. That’s in five minutes.”
“Relax.” She glides over and puts a hand on my arm, guiding me to sit on the edge of our bed. “We know the plan. We’ve gone over it a dozen times. There’s nothing to worry about. What do you think’s going to go wrong?”
I could list it all out. Deanna with a hole in her chest. Deanna with her skull blown to pieces.
Deanna gasping for air, dying in my arms, staring at me with hate and accusation in her dimming eyes.
She’s been murdered a hundred times or more in my dreams these past few days and it’s deeply fucking with my head.
“Nothing will go wrong.” I lean over and kiss her. She smiles back, not sure how to react. “I’m fine. I mean it.”
“You’re sure?”
“Impatient, but fine.” I have to be strong for her. She does a good job of hiding it, but she’s even more afraid than I am. I tug her close, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “You’re right, we know our roles, and you’re going to stick to it, correct?”
“Absolutely.”
“No matter what happens.”
She lifts her chin. “What’s that mean?”
“It means what I said. No matter what happens, you won’t deviate from the plan. You’re the data girl. You talk numbers. Otherwise, you remain at the table and sit quietly, not drawing attention to yourself. That’s for your own protection, not some sexist bullshit.”
“I know, you’ve explained a thousand times.” She worried at her lip, but kisses my neck. “It’ll be great. And, you know, if it’ll help to relax you and we have time—“ Her mouth moves up toward mine.
The doorbell rings. I grunt in frustration. “As much as I’d love to hike that dress up and fuck you until you’re a gooey mess, I think that’s for me.”
She pouts as I leave the room. Down the steps and to the door. I hesitate, looking through the peephole, and almost laugh: Ricardo’s on my stoop looking sweaty and uncomfortable. He reaches for the bell but I open before he can press it.
“I was expecting a phone call, not a warm body.”
Ricardo’s smile is deeply pained. “You know how these things go. My boss doesn’t trust the phone.”
“That’s probably smart.”
“And a massive pain in the ass. Are you ready?”
“Tell me where to go.”
Ricardo shakes his head. “Not how it works. My car’s waiting. I’m driving.”
“I was told I’d be given the location. I already called my driver.”
“That’s the problem, you involve too many outside people. Bad enough you’re bringing your wife.” Ricardo scowls like I’m tainting his boys-only club. “It’s my car or not at all. Decide now. My employer hates when I’m late.”
My jaw sets. This isn’t right. Already the plan’s getting altered. We’re supposed to have the car waiting and ready in case we need a quick escape, but if I’m trapped with Ricardo as my way home?—
Fucking hell, that increases the risk to Deanna.
“Is everything okay?” She descends the steps and appears by my side. Her face brightens. “Ricardo! Wonderful! How are you? Would you like a drink? Please, come in?—“
“I appreciate the offer, Deanna, but I’m only here as your chauffeur. Last chance.”
“He’s our ride?” Deanna looks at me quizzically. “What are we waiting for? I’ll fetch my coat and the documents.”
She turns to leave. I catch her wrist, stepping to the side so the door blocks my expression. I give her a look I hope she’ll understand: this is deeply fucked already, but she only smiles back like this is no big deal.
“Don’t worry. I’ll be quick.” She leans in and kisses my cheek before hurrying off.
“Good woman, that one.” Ricardo seems more at ease. “If it were my wife, we’d be stuck waiting for hours.”
I don’t bother to reply. We stand in awkward silence on the threshold to my home and all I want to do is call this off. It was bad enough before, but now it’s downright suicide. If we go there and have no escape plan, no way to run if everything goes sideways?—
“Ready, gentlemen?” Deanna takes my arm and tugs me after Ricardo.
Fuck, this is happening.
We climb into a BMW. I take the passenger seat and Deanna gets in the back.
Ricardo drives, grimly trying to make small talk.
Deanna answers him which saves me from having to say anything.
Instead, I concentrate on our route, a meandering series of turns that spirals away from south Philly and up toward the north, past Girard, past Temple University and Diamond, into the upper half of the city.
I’m surprised when Ricardo parks outside of an old Victorian home on the edge of La Salle University’s campus, the sort of place that would usually be home to a half-assed frat.
“I leave you here.” Ricardo rolls down a window and produces a cigar.
“You’re not coming in?” Deanna sounds like she’s genuinely disappointed. “We’ll miss you.”
“I doubt that very much, but thank you all the same.” He leans back in his seat, lighting his smoke, puffing gray haze.
I slip my hand into Deanna’s as we ascend the steps toward the large front door.
It’s strange, leaving Ricardo behind. I knew he was low-level, but still, we’re entering a place even he’s not allowed to go.
The porch is clean, the floorboards newly varnished.
It’s a beautiful example of the style: a peaked roof, bulging windows, freshly painted green accents.
I touch Deanna’s back as I ring the bell and wait.
“Last chance to back out,” I murmur, leaning down to kiss her neck.
She shivers under my touch. “And miss the fun?” Her face lights up as the door opens. “Hello, Mr. Carbone. It’s nice to see you.”
Carbone looks over our shoulder toward the street. He seems satisfied and steps aside with a gesture. “Come inside. We’re waiting.”
The interior of the house is cool and spacious. There isn’t much in the way of furniture. It feels like it was staged by a realtor. Everything has that temporary, faux-expensive glaze to it, but looking closer I notice the wear to the tables, the dust on their surfaces.
Two guards stand in the front room. Both are in black suits and have conspicuous guns at their hips.
Neither smiles as I nod to them in passing; I get the feeling their pay is docked if they ever act friendly.
Deanna’s hand tightens in mine as we’re taken into a very large dining room dominated by a massive conference table, plenty of seating, and several more men talking amiably in low, comfortable tones over glasses of whisky.
“Gentlemen,” Carbone says, grabbing everyone’s attention. I’m very aware of the scrutiny we’re under from the most powerful men in the Fontana outfit. But I don’t worry about Deanna: I know they’re seeing a beautiful, intelligent woman.
It’s me I’m worried about.
Especially when I spot him sitting at the far end of the room.
I can’t pay attention to anything else, not even when Carbone’s clearly talking about me.
I stare at old man Augustus like I’m spotting a real unicorn in the wild.
He’s wrinkled in a hard way, the tanned and leathery face of a man used to laboring outdoors.
His suit is plain, almost simple, and his eyes are dark brown.
I wouldn’t look twice at him if I saw him on the street, but in this room, sitting with these men, he’s like a totem I can’t turn away from.
All my plans instantly vanish. All my carefully composed ideas, my painstaking thought, it poofs away like the mist of Shawn’s blood that night.
Augustus Fontana’s here, barely fifteen feet from me, smoking a short cigar like he has a right to keep breathing.
My childhood friend is decades in the grave while this old bastard grinds on, dragging his brittle bones to these haunted proceedings, and the hate I feel is like a blade in my heart.
I don’t care what me and Deanna agreed to before.
I’m going to kill him today.
“We’re happy to have you join us today,” Augustus says, leaning back in his chair. “I’ve been told you bring a very interesting proposal.”
“We hope so,” Deanna says, sounding nervous. She’s been covering for me, but I manage to find my voice and smother my face in my best, most charming smile, doing my best to brighten an otherwise dour proceeding.
“I hope none of you mind that my wife is here. She’s the head for numbers. I’m just the good looks.”
A younger man to Augustus’s left laughs loudly. “If he thinks he’s the looks, I’m guessing he’s never actually seen his wife!” Frankie Inzerillo howls with joy at his idiotic joke. I smile along, but make sure to add his name to the list.
Bastard shouldn’t talk about my wife like that.
Carbone. Frankie. Augustus.
All dead men.
We’re seated at the opposite end of the table. Carbone takes his position near Augustus and folds his hands like he’s preparing for an actual business presentation. And for her part, Deanna hands out the materials like we discussed, passing around folders with charts and projections.