Chapter 2
Aubergine.
I watched Nicola’s guys load three bio-hazard buckets into the back of their SUV.
My hand absently rubbed over my aching shoulder from all the vigorous scrubbing. I made sure every last trace of blood was gone. Mostly, though, focusing on the floor was easier than listening to Danny scream.
Nicola got the information he wanted, it just took a while to get there. At least he’d been considerate enough to keep the actual execution clean.
The UV light only picked up a few faint traces of blood afterward. A little peroxide, another round of scrubbing, and the warehouse looked as though nothing had ever happened there.
While the guys loaded up the last of their equipment, I had worked slower than I needed to. I hoped they’d leave before I finished.
No such luck.
Instead of leaving, the guys sat in the SUV. Nicola came to me carrying a large black garbage bag open. I peeled off my gloves, safety glasses, mask, and hood, dropping each piece inside.
Finally free of the hazmat suit, I shook out my light brown hair.
“So?” Nicola asked as he tied the bag shut. “Breakfast?”
I finally got a solid look at him.
Ugh, big mistake. Up close, the man was infuriatingly handsome. Thick, shiny black hair. Dark eyes. Curved lips.
Unfortunately, I’d just watched him torture a man before calmly ordering his execution.
Growing up around the Morettis, I’d always known Nicola killed people. But knowing something and witnessing it were two very different things.
The cleanup money was good. But not good enough to convince me to make this a regular habit again.
“Um...” I offered an apologetic, polite smile, remembering I was speaking to a don. Beneath my hazmat suit, I only wore leggings and a raggedy oversized t-shirt that had Mariah Carey on it. “I’ll take a rain check.”
Nicola nodded once. There was no attempt to change my mind, which I was grateful for.
He slipped a hand into his pocket and pulled out a little square of metallic foil, absently folding it between his fingers.
“I hope your Dad feels better soon.” He creased the paper again. His eyes lifted to mine through strands of dark hair that had fallen across his forehead. "And drive safe."
“Oh. Thanks.”
He ordered executions, then asked after my father’s health. Both with the same sincerity.
My standards for men had apparently fallen so low that a mob boss asking about my dad’s cancer nearly made me swoon.
Fucking pathetic.
I turned stiffly toward my car. All I wanted was to go home, shower, and collapse into bed.
But the thousand dollars in my pocket reminded me I had one stop to make first. Dad.
“Abby?” Dad’s voice drifted down the hallway. Standing in the tiny foyer, I frowned at the strip of light spilling from beneath his cracked bedroom door.
“Dad, it’s four in the morning." I stopped in the doorway and leaned against the frame. “What are you doing awake?”
He shrugged from where he sat propped up in bed. His lower body was covered in blankets. In the dim lighting of his bedroom, he looked older, his gray hair was thinning because of the chemo. His face looked gaunt.
“The steroids keep me up," he replied. "And I got anxious thinking of you doing the cleaning by yourself."
"Anxious? Why?"
He tilted his head at me. “Did you check everything over with the UV light?”
I gave him a flat look. “Hey. Don’t insult me.”
He chuckled. “I’m not insulting you, honey. It’s just been a while for you.” His gaze drifted over me. “You’re a white-collar girl now. Fancy.”
Yeah. A fancy white-collar girl who lived alone and on the brink of getting evicted from her apartment.
I sat on the edge of the mattress. The old springs creaked beneath me as I reached into my purse.
I moved Michael’s cash into Dad’s hand. “That’s half the rent.”
He immediately tried giving it back. “I’m not taking your money.”
“Too late.” I folded his fingers over it. “I’ll get the rest before it’s due.”
“You shouldn’t have to—”
“You’ve got one job.” I pointed a finger at him. “Get through this last round of chemo.”
He sighed. “I don’t want you stressing about me.”
“If you don’t take the money...” I smiled sweetly. “You’ll have to move in with me. I’ll make it worse than a retirement home. You only get pudding and Matlock.”
He groaned. “I’d rather take the chemo.”
I laughed and Dad’s smile softened. “You shouldn’t have to take care of me when you’ve already got enough on your plate.”
I reached over and squeezed his ankle through the blankets. “The hard part’s behind us.” I hoped. “Now we just get you through next week.”
He nodded slowly. “You know one of the guys can drive me, you don’t need to miss more work.”
“Nope. I’ve already got the time off approved. I’m taking you.” I bent over and kissed his forehead.
“Hey, was Nicky there?” he asked when I straightened.
“Yeah.”
His brow lifted. “Yeah? That’s it? Fifteen years ago I couldn’t get you to shut up about the guy. Now it’s just… yeah? Did he talk to you?”
“A little. Pleasantries.” Uncomfortable, I rose to my feet.
“I’m gonna head home, Dad. I’m beat.” I wrinkled my nose. “And I smell like Ajax.”
Dad laughed. “I can barely smell anything these days.”
“Take that as a silver lining.” I headed toward the door before pausing and half-turning. “Oh. I set the alarm on your phone. So you don’t forget to take your pills at eight.”
He smiled. “What would I do without you?”
“Obviously, you'd sleep through your medication and wake up in pain.”
He laughed again. “I love you, kid.”
My hand rested on the doorknob as I smiled. “I love you, too.”
I moved down the hallway of the apartment I had grown up in.
Nothing really changed. Same faded carpet. Same family photos lining the wall.
My fingers brushed the glass of one from the early 2000s. Mom stood between Dad and me, smiling beneath a blonde perm and feathered bangs.
She died a few years ago. Right around the time my marriage fell apart.
I swallowed. It was just me and Dad, now.
This was our last shot with chemo. If he didn’t make it…
My throat tightened as the thought took root.
There wouldn’t be anyone left to call. I’d just be alone.
No more clean up calls came that weekend.
By Monday, I convinced myself Friday night was just a one-off deal. Maybe Mike really took my large-tarp suggestion to heart and they wouldn’t need Dad or me anymore.
The thought pleased me, even though it presented a whole new slew of problems. How was I going to make more money?
A few minutes before noon, my desk phone rang. I tucked the receiver between my ear and shoulder while finishing an email.
“This is Aubergine Martin. How may I help you?”
“Hey, Aubergine.” I recognized Johnathon’s voice from security downstairs. “There’s an...”
He hesitated and his voice lowered. “Um, interesting gentleman here in the lobby asking for you.”
My fingers stopped typing. “Interesting, how?”
His voice dropped to a whisper. “I’m guessing he dressed up as Scarface for Halloween as a kid, if you catch my drift.”
Nicola dressed up as Vito Corleone, actually. I slowly leaned back in my chair.
But no way Nicola would show up here.
“He wanted to come up to your office, but, uh, I made him wait.”
“Uh...” I rubbed my forehead. “What does he look like?”
Across the aisle, Blanca glanced over. I covered the mouthpiece.
“Did one of you order Grubhub or something?” I asked hopefully.
Blanca blinked. “...No?”
Fuck. Did Nicola send someone here to check on me?
Johnathon cleared his throat. “Fancy hair cut. Fancy black suit."
My stomach dropped. “Um… does he have a lot of rings?”
“Oh, yeah.”
I closed my eyes. Fuck. “Go ahead and send him up.”
“You sure?”
No. “Yeah, I’m sure.”
The line clicked dead and slowly, I lowered the receiver back into its cradle.
Nicola Moretti at my office.
Why?
My pulse kicked up.
The cleanup. It had to be the cleanup. Maybe I’d missed something.
A speck of blood. A fingerprint. Something under the UV light.
Wait, no, goddamnit. I’d checked it twice. Three times!
Didn’t I? Shit.
“Okay...” I whispered to myself. “This is fine.”
It absolutely was not fine.
My mind immediately replayed Daniel’s interrogation. The execution. Something had gone catastrophically wrong.
“Oh, God.” I buried my face in my hands.
“What?” Blanca asked. I forgot she was there. “You okay?”
I straightened and quickly rose from my chair. “Yeah. If you don’t see me again, make sure I’m cremated. Bodies in coffins look weird to me.”
Blanca laughed and I smiled weakly at her. I really wasn’t joking.
The elevator dinged and every muscle in my body locked up.
Think, you dumb bitch, think.
What did people say to mob bosses?
Please don’t kill me?
My brain, in all its infinite wisdom, decided now was the perfect time to remember Nicola’s advice:
’Go buy yourself a goddamn thesaurus.’
I couldn’t think of a single synonym.
The elevator doors slid open. Polished black shoes stepped onto the carpet.
Then an expensive suit emerged, perfectly tailored to that tall, elegant body.
The many, many silver rings. One hand held a black paper bag. Probably his silenced pistol.
Nicola Moretti looked around the finance office with genuine curiosity, as though he accidentally wandered into a museum.
His eyes landed on me. Immediately, he smiled and lifted a palm in greeting.
Yep. I was definitely going to die.