Chapter 6
“Where to next?” Enzo asks me as we’re leaving the cemetery, and I shoot him a smile, causing him to nearly growl at me. “No.”
“That’s fine, I can get an Uber,” I tell him, whipping out my phone.
“Are you out of your mind?” he asks me. While he’s able to keep the horror out of his voice, the look on his face shows his disdain. “Do not tell me you ride in Ubers. They barely run background checks on the drivers. You could literally be getting into a car with a maniac!”
I can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of me as his outrage at the thought grows, and although I know his concern comes from a good place, telling him I have a five-star rating from the drivers won't help me get a ride to his brother’s house.
“Please, Enzo? I want to see the baby.” I try to avoid falling into our established roles and calmly state my purpose rather than manipulating him into doing something he doesn’t want to do.
To say that Enzo and his brother aren’t close is the understatement of the year. Our parents always attributed it to their age difference, but I know it runs deeper than that. While Dante was always annoyed at being saddled with the two of us when we were kids, he and I became closer as I progressed into my teen years.
In fact, it was Dante I went to for advice about how to break the news of my decision to Mamá and Papá when I decided to start out on a different path from the famiglia . He took a couple of days to think about it, but he was the one who arranged for my new identity and school transcripts under our great-grandmother’s maiden name.
It wasn’t until my send-off party that I found out I was making the escape he had once planned for himself. That night I was caught between my heart breaking for the dreams he walked away from and anger at all the walls he had built around himself. Especially those that alienated him from a real relationship with his brother.
Regardless of Papá’s plans, I’m not moving back for good, so neither God nor Enzo is going to get in the way of me spending as much time as I can with Isabella.
“She’s a natural!” Dante crows, raising his glass in my direction from the other end of the dinner table. “Issy took to her right away and fussed when she left, didn’t she, Fran?”
The woman to his left gives a tight smile before going back to ignoring the dozen people at the table.
Mamá shifts in her seat, leaning over to whisper in my ear, “She’s had the sadness since Isabella was born. She won’t even go to therapy anymore.”
Postpartum or not, there’s nothing wrong with Francesca’s hearing if the look she sends our way is any indicator. Without a word, she reaches for the wine bottle closest to her and fills her glass nearly to the rim.
While Dante seems to be trying to figure out how to gracefully address that while she takes a deep sip, it’s Uncle Carlo who reaches for a dish as she’s putting it back down—completely spilling the glass. In the melee of cleaning up the table, the remaining wine bottles are removed.
“Are you happy down there, Alessandra?” Dante asks, catching me alone in the hallway that separates the living room from Papá’s office.
“I am…” I stop once I hear raised voices in the office, my eyes cutting to my cousin’s.
“Your father is determined that you’ll be moving back. Earlier today, I countered orders to have the contents of your apartment packed and shipped up here. Since both Enzo and I are on the same page, for once,” Dante drolly informs me about what’s been going on behind the scenes. “Dad is advising patience as the case unfolds.”
I let out a snort, knowing damn well that when Uncle Carlo advises patience, it’s because he’s already sent Carmine in to sort out the facts.
Dante’s smirk and tip of his head confirm my thought. “Some things never change, Alessandra.”
With that, he rejoins the men in the office.
Knowing that both of my cousins are advocating on my behalf eases my need to eavesdrop outside the office. If they’re working on Papá, that leaves Mamá for me to convince.
Catching my reflection in the large, gold-framed mirror, the small cut on my face reminds me that while I’ve been safely hidden away with my family, several of my co-workers’ families never got to see their loved ones again.
With that thought, I promise myself to call the office first thing in the morning. I know I’ll miss any memorial services, but it would be wrong not to offer condolences to the families in mourning.
Entering the room, my Aunt Gina gives me a large, silly smile. “There she is! Alessandra, you’ve been holding out on us. I want to hear all about this man you met!”
I never knew how much I’d miss Alabama.
Goliath
“Prez…” I start, interrupting him and Wash when I get back to the clubhouse.
I hadn’t noticed that Wash was on the phone when I approached them, but I pause when I do. Miller gives me a look, as though he’s assessing how pressing it is that we talk right now.
Holding his stare, he understands that I’m not simply checking on Drake. I’m just not worried about him; I have no doubt that after a few hours behind bars, it’ll get worked out. What I need Miller to understand is that we’re not looking in the right direction.
With a tilt of his head, Miller turns on his heel and we head over to the corner of the bar. He reaches over the counter for a bottle of whiskey and a couple of glasses.
“You smell like you’ve been rolling around with a corpse,” he grunts, pouring us each a couple fingers and sliding my glass over to me.
“A dumpster seemed like the best hiding place. Of course, if I knew how long it’d take to get the all-clear , I probably would have opted for cuffs.” I throw back the amber liquid and wait while he pours two more. “We’re not looking at this right, Prez. The shooters were organized. Besides the van, there was another team who panned through the garage.”
Wash walks up to us, and I push my second shot in his direction before continuing.
“Drake’s hunch paid off. They had junkers parked outside, but these guys were dressed like they were going to a funeral, and left the warehouse in high-end, matching sedans,” I pause, letting that sink in with them. “Then there’s the woman who was in the paper.”
“The looker from the law firm?” Wash asks with a knowing grin, and I nod.
“She was supposed to be one of the elves. We were talking outside the garage and retreated there after the van pulled up,” I pause, wanting to weigh how much I tell them about her, even though I know my allegiance falls with the Jokers. “She kept her head and ended up jimmying open a camper top on a truck. That’s where we waited things out.”
“Fucking Goliath, man,” Wash laughs, reaching up to heartily slap my back, instantly assuming what I didn’t say. Miller’s face remains stoic as he considers the alternatives we haven’t looked at already.
“Set a meeting with Williams,” he tells Wash. “Let him think we’re coming in to talk about Drake, then we dig for info on the girl.”
Wash begins dialing on his phone before he starts to step away from us. Feeling the weight of Miller’s glare, I swing my eyes back to face him.
“You said ‘she kept her head,’” he starts after he signals the prospect tending the bar, and water instantly appears before us. “What stuck out most in your mind about how she acted?”
“She tensed up and started moving for cover almost as soon as the van came screeching into the lot. When we had cover, she insisted I take off the red get-up and then moved low, between the cars, like she knew what she was doing,” I tell him exactly what caught my attention at the time.
Wash rejoins us, letting Miller know that they have a meeting with their lawyer the next morning.
“What’s been bothering me,” Prez says, pulling out his cigarettes and lighting up before passing the pack to Wash, leaving us hanging as he takes a deep drag on his, savoring the initial rush, “is that we’re all pretty big targets, and like your girl pointed out, even more so with the fucking Santa suits on. Four of our guys got what amounts to nicks, while more than a handful of the elves are dead or in critical condition. And that’s not counting the hospital staff that was on hand.”
“Let’s not forget the common denominator,” Wash speaks up. “We’ve used that law firm for a long time because they don’t mind organizations; well, I think it’s safe to say that many of their clients make the naughty list every year.”
“Shit, if there was ever a time we needed Drake,” Miller growls. “We’re missing something, but the law firm is the hospital’s largest donor, so I don’t see them being complicit in anything that went down at the hospital. Hell, they got us involved in the Santa thing a few years ago to help us with our image…”
“And because the assholes there didn’t want to dress up, let alone spend time with sick kids,” Wash interjects, as they both fill in a blank for me that I never bothered to ask about.
After seven years in prison, someone I trust hands me a Santa suit and tells me to ride, I ride.
“I gotta ask, Goliath,” Miller starts, shifting his eyes down to the bar. “You get Fed vibes from your girl?”
I take my time answering, mostly because it’s the second time he’s referred to Alex as my girl , and I like the sound of that more than I should. Also, because while I’m certain she’s had some kind of formal training, I’d stake my life on the answer I’m going to give them.
“No. I can’t pinpoint any specific thing,” I lie to them, because I can’t imagine a Fed having a quickie during a mass shooting. “The article said she’s a law student and an intern at the firm you use. Your contact will know more, but I’m telling you, when the shit started, she was cool as a fucking cucumber and probably saved my life.”
“What do you think?” Miller turns to Wash for his read on the situation.
“I don’t know, man. This is Alabama. It could be as simple as her daddy’s a prepper, or as complicated as all get-out. She just got added to our list, though, no way around that,” he replies with a shrug.
“One other thing, with all this going on, I didn’t get over to Strike’s,” I remind them, mentioning another member of the Jokers who has a contracting business. “I have that meeting with my PO tomorrow, and I’ll need some proof that I got a job.”
“I’ll have him email something to us by the morning, and we’ll get it printed up,” Wash says before heavily exhaling. “Now you gotta pray that the looker didn’t tell the cops about you being there.”
“I’m certain they’d have come looking for him already if she had,” Miller answers in my stead. “I mean, our brother here has been away so long he probably nutted on her ass, and she’s regretting saving his life .”
He delivers the last of that in a falsetto, and Wash’s deep laugh gets him choking on the lungful of smoke he just inhaled.
“Fuck you both,” I growl, even as I chuckle along with them. “Unless there’s anything else, I gotta go scrub the dumpster stench away.”
“I hadn’t noticed him smelling any different than usual,” Wash cracks, looking puzzled. “Did you, Prez?”
I wave my middle finger at them as I head back to my room. Feeling my phone vibrate, I remember that I owe Granny a call, not to mention starting to visit her on a regular basis.
Shaking my head at the hand she was dealt—the car accident that took my mom, her only child, when I was nine. How she and Gramps took me in, and later losing her husband while I was in prison. And you’d never know it to talk to her. She comforts everyone around her without ever asking for anything in return.
Now that I’ll be earning again, I’m going to figure out what she needs and handle it, like Mom and Gramps would have wanted me to do.