Chapter 40
“What did you get?” I asked Massimo as I stalked into Tore’s basement the next morning, Natale on my heels. The stench of copper and piss hung over the pine-scented bleach used to clean this place.
Black, blue, and purple deformed Julius’ face. Blood wept from a corner of one eye. Sweat-oiled hair stuck in clumps to his head.
“Hadn’t I told you to leave him untouched?”
“Wouldn’t stop yelling nonsense. Had to find a way to shut him up.”
His companion looked far worse. He was passed out, head back, mouth wide open. Oozing cuts decorated his arms and legs. A few teeth were missing, and one of his legs was pointing the wrong way.
“This one’s Nikos.”
I waited a few seconds, but Massimo added nothing else.
“That’s it?”
Massimo shook his head, his thick, short hair sweeping around with the motion. His lip curled in disdain. He spat at the prisoners. “They’ll crack soon.”
I grunted, not impressed.
“Seems you overestimated your interrogation skills. Natale, time for you to take over and give me results.”
“I can handle it,” Massimo stated.
“Not this time.”
Massimo clenched his jaw, his eyes firming. He snapped off his apron with one rough tug and tossed it into the cleaning bin.
“I need the latest reports on all the loans we’ve given out and protection rents we have going,” I told him.
Sour-faced, Massimo banged the doors on his way out.
I watched dispassionately. He’d gotten his chance and failed, and now what I needed was results.
Natale’s oxford heels clacked in an echo against the tile.
I pointed at him. “Get me something from these two I can work with by the end of the day.”
“You got it, boss.”
Natale slipped out of his suit jacket and hung it neatly behind the door.
I pushed earplugs into my ears, leaned against the wall, and checked my phone for the hundredth time since leaving Ainsley’s hotel room.
No new messages. No reply to mine either.
True to her word, there’d been no communication from her at all.
I refreshed the screen—no change. I turned the phone off, then back on, and still nothing.
The muted grunts and cries from our Greek captives as Natale worked them didn’t even serve as a proper distraction.
This growing unease at her lack of reply was like a fist pounding against my sternum. I roughly rubbed my lower lip.
During my years in prison, Tore visited two times a month at most, Vinny the same, and Persetta maybe twice a year.
Only Ainsley’s letters were immutable. What started as an occasional correspondence turned into a constant back-and-forth.
Over the last two years, her replies came at least weekly, if not every three days.
It had been routine. I’d known her letters would come.
I relied on them for some news, any news, whether it was about her, about the world outside, or just a question she had.
Sad as it was, I often counted down the days.
Since I’d been released, we exchanged messages by phone constantly throughout the day.
Small things. Insignificant details. Sometimes only one word, but it hadn’t mattered because the connection remained.
No more counting the days. I’d counted the seconds.
It’d been my drug of choice—to see a response light up the screen gave me an indescribable rush.
I stopped whatever I was doing to read what she sent.
Then each night, I read it all again. Just like in prison, I hung on her every word.
Now the connection was cut. My messages were received and read, but no replies were given. I swiped up and down through the messages. Not a single answer. I wasn’t sure how long I could take her prolonged silence.
The disconnection was what I’d initially hoped for. Back then, I’d told myself it was for the best. She didn’t need to be tainted by my life more than she already was. She could find happiness elsewhere, but that was before I realized there was no longer a me without her.
“Natale.” I pulled out my earplugs as he cut another short gash over Julius’ forearm. That made twenty-two small bleeding cuts on each man, and both the Greeks were already sweating bullets and shaking. At this rate, they wouldn’t reach a hundred cuts before they broke.
“Natale!”
He lowered his knife and twisted my way, his one eye on me, dark and foreboding. “Yes, boss?”
“What do you know about winning a woman’s forgiveness?”
He glared at me deadpan. Right. Wrong man to ask.
Natale didn’t do personal connections, not since he and his wife were captured by Triad Black Dragons ten years ago.
They tortured them both for two months before Elio Iannelli organized a raid and managed to get him out.
His wife didn’t survive, and by then, he’d lost an eye and had scars over all his body.
“Forget I said anything. Let me know when you’ve got something.”
I shut the soundproof basement door behind me just as one of the two captives cried out in pain.
My finger hovered over Tore’s name on my phone.
After me, he knew her best, but he also saw her as his kid sister.
Knowing him, he’d stand in the way. I scrolled back up and tapped the video call icon next to my sister’s name.
A few rings in, half of Persetta’s face appeared.
She held the phone the right way, but it was far too close and uncentered.
Her left eye shifted, probably unable to find a focal point on the screen, while her right remained motionless and unfocused.
The chemical burn scars around them were now a pinkish white, the skin no longer puckered.
“Imagine my surprise when the caller ID said Fratellone in a horrible French accent.” Big brother. “I thought I was hearing things. I’m still not quite sure I didn’t, so speak up.”
“This the way you greet me. Not even a ciao or come stai?” Hello, or how are you?
A squeal went across the line. “So it’s true. You’re really out.”
“I am.” I scratched my eyebrows.
Her head turned down a hallway. “Marie, viens avec les enfants.” Marie, bring the kids. On cue, clamoring ramped up in the background, with the high-pitched cry-laughing of children. There was more talking in the background. Persetta sighed. “Sorry. Dominique and Juliette are finishing up dinner.”
“There’s always next time.”
“Oh, so there’ll be a next time then?”
“I’m not sure I like the surprise in your voice.”
“Considering it took you five days to call?”
I scratched the back of my head. “I deserve that.”
She huffed but didn’t look the least bit put out. “At least I can rely on Ainsley to keep me up-to-date. I never used to get anything from Vinny or Tore unless I asked before she stepped up.”
“You like her?”
“Oh, please. She’s an angel. I hope you know how lucky you are.”
“Am I?”
Her smile was soft. “Why do I get the feeling she’s why you’re calling?”
“What? I can’t just call mia sorellina?” My baby sister.
“For no reason? You’ve never been the type.”
I sighed.
“Oh, that sounded heavy. Big brother needs little sister’s help. This is new. I like it.”
“Don’t tease, or I’ll hang up.”
She laughed so genuinely, it took me off guard.
“You’re happy with Adrien?”
“Yeah. è meglio di quanto immaginassi. .” It’s better than I ever imagined. “Juliette’s turning four soon. You should come visit. Meet your niece and nephew in person.”
I sighed. “I’d like that, but…I need to settle business here first.”
“Any of that business because of Ainsley?” I let the question hang. “Look, I don’t know what’s between you two. Honestly, I don’t know if I even want to know. But she’s a nice girl, and she cares about you.”
“You got that from a couple of visits?”
“She’s an open book, and I don’t need to see to understand how she feels about you.
It bleeds into everything she says and does.
She got you to accept visits from me. She sent you birthday gifts.
She kept in touch more than I doubt anyone else did.
She even helped get you out. If not for her, I wouldn’t have known you were out or your new number.
” Persetta’s face bounced in and off screen, giving me a prime view of the ceiling and her nostrils as she walked through her home.
“Question is, though, do you feel anything for her?”
“I’m not calling to discuss feelings.”
“Right. Then what do you want?”
“I need some advice.”
The top of a doorframe passed by, the image jumping around. Then a couple of simple, bright chandeliers popped in and out of view. Soft taps smacked through the line, probably as she felt along the walls for furniture.
“Well, my advice? I think she might be a little young for you.”
“Yeah.” I swept a hand through my hair. “I’ve already scrambled my fucking brains over that.”
“But so what? Age is just a number. It only matters if you let it. You’re both adults. As long as you both consent, what does it matter what everybody else thinks?”
“Now you’re just confusing me.”
She sputtered a chortle. “No, I’m trying to tell you it doesn’t matter what I believe or not. It’s about you two.” The phone stabilized as Persetta set it down, putting her elbow and waist in view. “Anyone who tells you otherwise is a jerk.”
“I almost adopted her.”
“But you didn’t. End of story. It’s not an excuse you can use.
” A small pair of pants crossed the screen, then disappeared as she folded them.
More little clothing followed. “If you don’t care for her, then say it, mean it, and that’ll be that.
But if you do, then show her and stand by it. Don’t screw it up.”
“She’s a little pissed at me right now.”
“Don’t tell me. I’d rather not get mad at you.”
“So quick to blame me?”
“You wouldn’t need advice otherwise.”
I huffed in annoyance. “You going to help me or not?”
“I already told you. Show her you care. Show her you think of her. Show her what she means to you. Make her your priority. It might not be easy, but nothing good ever is. Just look at Adrien and me.”
“No, thank you.”
“Maman”, a little voice called. “Je veux un calin.” Mom. I want a hug.
Persetta disappeared from view for a few seconds, only to come back up with my four-year-old niece in her arms.
“Renzo, meet Juliette. Juliette, meet your zio. My brother.” Uncle.
“Comme Dominique?” Like Dominique.
“Yes. Dominique is your brother. Renzo is mine.”
Her little hand grappled for the phone, fingers smudging the camera angle.
Aside from a baby photo I’d received four years earlier, this was the first time I’d seen my little niece.
She had her father’s deep blue eyes and her mother’s black hair, chubby cheeks, and a button nose.
The most beautiful little girl I’d ever seen, aside from her mother.
“Ciao bella.” I wiggled my fingers.
“Mio zio.” My uncle. She smiled wide, bouncing in her mother’s arms. Then she pressed her little mouth to the camera with a loud smack.
“Adrien’s been showing them old photo albums of Mammina, you, and me that we picked up from your place two years ago. I thought it’d be the best way for the kids to know you until they could meet you.”
“I’ll come visit once business settles over here.” I waved again at the little girl, and she buried her face in her mother’s neck with a giggle.
“You know…” Persetta caressed her daughter’s hair. “You could have a family of your own.”
“I don’t know about that.”
“Don’t lie to yourself.”
“Have to get the girl first.”
“Then do it.” She made it sound so simple.
Persetta’s smile was soft as we said our goodbyes, and the call ended.
“You going to stand there looking at your phone all day, boss”—Vinny slowly stepped down the last few basement stairs—“or you going to take her advice?”
“Great,” I muttered to myself. “How much of that did you hear?”
“Very little I didn’t already know.”
“And?”
Vinny crossed the room. The remodel in this basement matched mine to a tee.
The space was divided into two halves: the interrogation room, separated by its own door, and the equivalent of an Italian villa cantina.
Wine bottles and barrels lined the walls.
Drying herbs hung from the ceiling, freshening up the grayish-brown space.
Jars of homemade sauces and pickled goods decorated shelves.
Cheeses and hanging salami contributed a savory aroma.
The small kitchen, at the front, with its appliances, added an electric buzzing undertone to the otherwise peaceful space.
You’d never think anything shady happened only one room down.
“None of my business, to be honest. Just treat her right.”
“How long have you known?”
“Caught her dropping off letters at the post office a few years ago. Intercepted a few on arrival. Then I found her stash of them in her room. Everything was always tame, so”—he shrugged—“I never saw the harm in it.”
I squared up to him. “You’d have put a stop to it if not?”
“Course. Boss or not, she’s family.”
“Good.” My head snapped up. “Does Tore know?”
“You think he’d stay quiet if he did?” He pulled three tomato sauce jars off the shelves and into his arms, probably at Isa’s request. “Ainsley deserves the best.”
“She does.”
“Is that you?”
My voice lowered menacingly. “You think there’s someone better?”
He snorted. “See, you’ve already got your answer. Now go woo your girl.”
“Woo?”
“Woo the shit out of her.” He shoulder-checked me on his way out. “And check your damn messages. Natale got a bar name. Something random, not tied to the Greeks in San Francisco. We’ll need a plan of attack.”
I checked my watch. Only thirty minutes had elapsed. That was why Massimo couldn’t measure up to Natale. The guy was a damn legend when it came to getting information out of prisoners.