Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Natalia
I wake in the morning, the light from the sun behind the curtains illuminating the floor.
I check the clock radio on the bedside table and see that it’s almost six a.m. I work the early shift and need to be there at seven, so I’m a bit late.
Our night of talking and then the bath and pleasure must have made me sleep through the first alarm.
That, or I forgot to set it.
I’ll get up and have a quick shower so I can be ready in time to get to work.
“I’m late,” I say and get up out of bed. “Maybe your driver can take me this morning? I won’t have time to take the subway.”
“Yes, of course. I’ll take you. I have some business in that part of the city, so I might as well be your chauffeur.”
I lean over and give him a quick kiss, and then I am up and rush to the bathroom to start my shower.
By the time I’m dressed, Harrison is finished with his shower, so I leave him and go downstairs to put the coffee maker on. I need a cup of coffee to get me ready for the day, and so will Harrison.
He comes down to the kitchen just as the coffee has finished running through the machine, and so we both fill a thermos and leave the apartment. I check my watch and see I have fifteen minutes to get to work.
That’s barely enough time, but just enough.
We pile into the car and Harrison drives off, but not before we see a vehicle in the garage start up and follow us out the doors.
“Jesus, are they following us everywhere?” Harrison says, his tone frustrated.
I sigh. “I saw someone with a red button on his lapel on the subway yesterday, so yes, I expect they are following us everywhere. I guess we should be happy about it, considering the people we’re involved with.”
“I’ll be happy when this is all over and we can live a normal life.”
I watch the street as the car drives through the city.
“Will we ever be able to live a normal life? With our families? The only thing we could do would be to get new identities and start over somewhere far away. Like, maybe California. Or Oregon. I was in Portland once. I liked it. The air seemed so clean compared to New York.”
“Portland, huh?” Harrison says playfully and takes my hand in his. He kisses it briefly. “Can you put up with a winter of rain, because based on what I’ve read, it rains almost all winter.”
I shrug and smile at him. “Rain would be preferable to some FBI Special Agent following me around 24/7.”
“That will end as soon as we get Andropov’s ass in jail.
I promise we’ll get O’Connor Enterprises cleaned up, and then we can live normal lives.
Have a family. Take our kids to Central Park and enjoy the weekends.
Go to the fair and ride the Ferris Wheel.
Eat ice cream cones. Listen to live concerts in the park. Spend our summers on Fire Island.”
I smile at his description of the perfect life. It sounds almost perfect to me, too.
“That sounds too good to be true,” I say, and squeeze his hand.
Of course, it’s then my pregnancy weighs heavily on me.
We’re not even close to the kind of life Harrison imagines.
Part of me can’t imagine we will get rid of all this mess by the time I have our baby.
I had hoped that we would solve all our problems by the time I deliver, so we can be parents without anything hanging over our heads, but that seems less and less likely.
Every time I hear more about the operation that we’re part of, I think it’s going to take much longer to extricate ourselves from this mess.
“Nothing is too good to be true. We can make it true. One step at a time. First, we get you to work. The rest will work itself out.”
We drive through Manhattan to the hospital and Harrison pulls into the parking lot next to the staff entrance.
We kiss and he cups my face briefly. “Go. Do your doctoring for the day. Put all this out of your mind. I promise we will live a normal life — a better-than-normal life — as soon as this is all behind us.”
“I hope you’re right,” I say and kiss him back.
He lets me go, and I leave the car and walk up to the staff entrance.
I wave as he drives away and then turn and enter the building’s interior.
I’m not truly ready to start my day, but I have zero time left, and so I do my best to turn the worrying part of my brain off and turn the doctoring part on.
My day is the usual mix of patients, meetings with other doctors to discuss patient care, and reading over case files, trying to sort through patient problems and find adequate solutions.
By the time the end of the day rolls around, I’m exhausted and ready to leave.
I check my watch and see that it’s only a quarter of an hour before my shift ends, and I’m glad.
I was able to distract myself by being busy with my cases, but in the back of my mind, I was still anxious about the operation and what it’s doing to Harrison and me.
My mind keeps going back to the eight months Fogerty talked about when they knew about my parents’ deaths and the involvement of Giordano.
They knew for almost a year, and did nothing, and said nothing to me.
Why? Was their ongoing operation more important than justice for their own murdered member and his wife?
When did they actually know, and why didn’t they move sooner?
Part of me just doesn’t believe anything I’m told by Fogerty anymore.
The FBI will lie and delay if they believe it’s in the service of their higher cause — getting the really big fish.
Little fish like Giordano, and the murder of one of their own distinguished members, is not as important.
Sure, part of me understands. The real problem is the Mafia as an organization, of whatever variety, and the systems they have in place — moving drugs, sex trafficking, gun running, extortion rings… That’s the bigger, more important problem, and the FBI is right to be focused on that.
But at the same time, my mother and stepfather were murdered…
I hang my lab coat in my locker in the staff room and say goodbye to my fellow residents, then I head down to the lobby, where an Uber awaits to take me home. I’m too tired to take the subway, and Harrison is in a meeting, so we agree that I’ll take an Uber.
It’s waiting at the curb when I get outside. I step into the back seat, and the driver glances in the rear-view mirror and asks for my name.
“Natalia,” I say, and he nods. Then, he repeats my address, and off we go.
I glance outside, and in the side-view mirror, I see a dark sedan pull out from the curb behind us, and immediately, I wonder if that’s an FBI tail.
Do they really think I’m that important or that much in danger that I need an escort or protection 24/7?
We drive through the streets of Manhattan back to the apartment near Central Park, and finally, we arrive at the front entrance. I thank the driver and leave the vehicle, glad to be almost home.
Before I can enter the building, I get a call and check the caller ID.
It’s from the number I use to contact Carla.
I stop and answer. “Carla? What’s up?”
“Can we meet? I have some more news.”
I glance around and see that the black sedan that pulled out behind my uber has just parked a few cars down.
“Where are you now?”
There’s a pause. “Just down the street from you, actually. In Central Park. On Gapstow Bridge.”
“I’ll be right there.”
I end the call and then text Harrison, so he knows what I’m doing.
Natalia: I’m going to meet a friend in Central Park. Will be home in half an hour.
As I walk to the park, I wait for his reply, which comes in less than a minute.
Harrison: I’m on my way home now and will see you then. *Smooch*
Natalia: *smooches back*
I get to Gapstow Bridge near the Pond and Central Park Zoo. There she is — Carla. Standing on the bridge, overlooking the Pond.
I stand beside her and glance down at the water. It’s a famous part of Central Park, but it’s pretty remote and not too many people are passing by now. We’re alone.
No red-buttoned man around that I can see. For now.
“What’s up?”
“You asked me to contact you if I got any new information about the whole business,” she says and glances around.
“Well, I did a bit more digging. Because of my clearance, I’m able to check databases and records, and I have a name.
Deluca. Roberto Deluca. He was the mechanic on duty on the day your stepfather and mother had the accident.
He was working at the FBI Headquarters and had access to your stepfather’s vehicle.
I don’t know for certain if it’s him, but when I tried to find him, he was no longer working for the FBI.
He quit a month after the crash. I haven’t been able to find out where he currently lives or even if he’s still alive, but I thought you might want the name. ”
“Roberto Deluca. He’s Italian, obviously. Any links to Giordano? I wouldn’t think he’d have Organized Crime ties and work for the FBI…”
“Nothing I could find, but you never know. Anyway, that’s what I have.
I was in the neighborhood, at the Zoo for a break, and thought we could meet and I could tell you.
I don’t want any of this on file anywhere.
Luckily, I’m adept with computers, so I can clean up most of my research, but still.
Better to tell you in person than leave an evidence trail. ”
I nod. “I understand. I wish this weren’t my life right now, but it is. Thanks for doing the research. I’ll see what I can dig up on my own.”
“Well, I’d better go. I’m meeting some friends for supper nearby. You can contact me through the Reddit thread if you find out anything new or need any other help.”
“Thanks again,” I say and pat her arm. “I really appreciate your help.”
With that, we part ways. Carla goes in one direction, and I go the other.
I walk back to the park exit, and as I get to a path leading to the street, I see a man leaning against the fence, a paper opened.
He appears to be reading, but when I check more closely, he’s talking quietly and has a red button on his lapel.
I want to go up to him and rip him a new one, as Gramps would say, but I don’t. Instead, I walk right past him and cross the street. Then, I go back to the building and enter, glad to be finally home.
When I get inside, the apartment is empty. Harrison isn’t home yet, so I go into my office and open my laptop, determined to do whatever research I can on this mechanic, Deluca.
Who are you, Roberto Deluca, and what connections do you have to the Italian Mafia? And why in hell aren’t you in FBI custody and awaiting trial for murder?
I search his name, but of course, I don’t come up with anything concrete. I don’t have access to the kinds of databases that Carla has or that Harrison and the FBI have. I search Facebook, and as luck would have it, I find a Deluca family member and can trace it back to Roberto.
He’s in a nursing home…
My poor Zio is in a nursing home in the Bronx. I wish him well in his recovery after his stroke, poor Zio. Can’t even speak now or use his hands, speak or text us…
So, Roberto had a stroke and is now conveniently in a nursing home. Somehow, I don’t really believe it. How convenient for the Italian Mafia or the FBI, or both.
Why didn’t they outright kill him? Why leave him with a stroke? Did the attempt to kill him fail?
Now, I have to spend the rest of the evening researching while I wait for Harrison to get home.
I know I should tell Harrison about this, but part of me wants to wait and see.
Maybe he really did have a stroke. Maybe Deluca had nothing to do with my parents’ deaths.
How did the brakes fail? I suspect that whatever happened, happened on that road, rather than at the FBI HQ.
Did someone run my stepfather and mother off the road and then make sure that the brakes looked like they failed?
Maybe Deluca could accomplish that. Maybe that was his role.
Until I do more research and digging, I won’t know.