1. Lindsay #2
Our café has the best coffee cake in the city and genuinely terrible parking, which is probably why it’s survived twenty years on the corner of Main Street without turning into a juice bar. Valentina and I found it in our first year of college and have been coming back ever since.
Some things you just don’t mess with.
I’m on my second latte, shoes off under the table, flipping through case notes I’m not actually reading when I hear her. That specific careful waddle. The redistribution of weight with every step that I’ve come to recognize over the last few months.
I look up to see Valentina making her way toward me through the café like a ship navigating a harbor. Cream coat she’s long given up buttoning. Hair loose. Glowing so hard it’s almost aggressive. She spots me and points.
“I knew it.”
“Oh my god.” I’m already on my feet. “Val, honey.”
“I’m fine.”
“You are enormous.”
“Hey… that’s not a nice thing to say.”
“I say it with love.” I take her arm, steering her into the chair across from mine before she can protest further. She lands in it with a soft exhale and immediately looks relieved, which tells me everything I need to know about how her morning has gone.
I wave at Billie behind the counter. She already knows Valentina’s order.
“You haven’t been answering my calls,” Valentina says, arranging herself comfortably.
“Val.” I sit back down. “I talked to you yesterday.”
“I know. I’ve called you twice since then.”
I take a second to look at her glowing face and think about all the things that have changed in such a short amount of time.
“It’s been a year,” I say, before I can stop myself.
She goes still. Knowing exactly what I mean. “I know.”
“A year since the wedding. Since everything changed.” I wrap both hands around my latte. “I keep thinking I should have more figured out by now.”
“Do any of us?” She tilts her head, soft and certain. “You’re here. I’m here. We figured out the important part.”
I don’t answer that. But she’s right, and we both know it.
“Okay, why have you been blowing up my phone? Is the baby giving you mush brain again?”
“Possibly.” She doesn’t look remotely bothered by this. “So. Talk to me. You’ve been in your head.”
I wrap both hands around my latte. “I’m always in my head.”
“More than usual.” She tilts her head. “Your father?”
“Yes.”
“The case?”
“Yes.”
“Me?”
I pull a face. “Marginally.”
She gasps, deeply offended, and I laugh.
“Matteo?” she asks next, a little more carefully.
“Absolutely not.” The words come out faster than intended and she grins. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“I’m not looking at you like anything.”
“You served him,” she says, trying and failing to keep a straight face. “At my house, Lindsay.”
“I did.”
“On a Sunday.”
“Val.” I point at her.
“Twice!” she adds.
“Well, he should stop doing things that can get him served at your house on Sundays. I’m not the problem here.”
She dissolves into laughter, and I follow despite myself, the last of whatever tension I’d been carrying quietly leaving the building. She reaches across the table and puts her hand over mine.
“I love you,” she says simply.
“I love you too.”
We smile at each other for a moment.
“Okay,” I say. “Go ahead and tell me the reason you’ve been calling. And don’t say you were worried. Real reason.”
She bites her cheek. A tell I’ve known for fifteen years.
“Well,” she says, drawing it out.
“Valentina.”
She ducks into the enormous tote bag at her feet, rummaging around with great purpose, and surfaces holding a magazine so thick it could double as a weapon. She drops it on the table between us with a decisive thud.
A nursery catalog.
I look at it. I look at her. She is radiating innocence.
“Which sheets,” she says, already flipping to a dog-eared page, “do you think I should get these to welcome her home? Salvatore says they all look the same, and I need someone with actual taste.”
I stare at her. “You called me twice in twenty-four hours. Because of sheets.”
“They’re important sheets, Lindsay.”
“She’s a newborn. She won’t even know.”
“I will know,” Valentina says firmly, sliding the catalog across to me. “Now look.”
I look.
And just like that, two hours vanish. We go through the entire catalog with a pen she produces from the same bottomless bag.
We argue about thread counts and whether yellow is cheerful or alarming.
I circle the practical ones. She circles the ones that look like something from a French countryside dream.
We order a pastry platter because she’s not sure which one she wants and I’d rather not spend another hour waiting for her to decide.
It’s easy. It’s warm. It’s exactly what I didn’t know I needed today.
My phone buzzes, and I see a message from someone I’ve been trying to get a hold of asking me to meet with him. I check my watch and blink. It’s nearly dark outside.
“Oh… I’m sorry, Val, but I have to go,” I say, reaching for my shoes under the table.
“Already?”
“I have to meet someone. Do you want me to take you home?” I stand, gathering my things.
“No, Salvatore’s waiting to hear from me.”
“Okay. I’ll come see you soon.”
“Lindsay-soon means never.”
“Real soon.” I lean down and kiss her cheek, then look pointedly at her stomach. “Both of you.”
“You’d better. Or I’m revoking your offer to be godmother,” she threatens.
“You wouldn’t.”
“I would.”
“No, you wouldn’t. You love me too much.”
She laughs and waves me off.
I push through the café door into the cool evening air, smiling to myself.
That’s one thing about Valentina; she always makes my days better.
I couldn’t ask for a better friend, although her marriage has complicated my life in ways I find hard to navigate.
Especially having to deal with the brothers of her husband, the mafia Don. Matteo, in particular.
I roll my shoulders, check the address in my phone, and turn toward the alley.
Ice works its way up my veins as I take in the dark alleyway in front of me.
For a couple of seconds, I stand beside my car, watching, waiting. The streets are filthy and filled with grime, empty in a way that makes me even more sure that I shouldn’t be here. I fight a shiver when I spot a huge rat scurrying past along the side of a building.
“Definitely not in my neighborhood anymore,” I mutter to myself.
I look down at the YSL shoes on my feet, thankful there’s no one else around. I look so out of place here, I might as well have a bright red sign on my head, the words “rob me” flashing across it.
Usually, I’d dress more covertly for a visit to this side of town. But I got this text thirty minutes ago. And considering how rare it is to get a hold of this particular person, I figured it was a good idea to come straight here.
I finally press the button to lock my car before taking a step away and right into the alleyway in front of me. The smell that hits my nose is putrid and I briefly wonder if there’s a rotting corpse lying somewhere within there. In this neighborhood, it’s not out of the question.
In the back of my head, I can hear my best friend’s admonishing tone asking me why I would take a risk and put myself in danger like this.
Which is a little ironic considering she’s the reason I’m here.
A flashlight beams against my face, and I follow it toward a corner.
Standing there is a man slightly obscured in shadow.
Short scruffy beard, ratty jeans and a T-shirt, dark brown hair.
There’s fear in his expression, and he’s always looking over his shoulder.
Hence our meeting spots in dingy, sketchy places.
I’m pretty sure he’s running or at least hiding from someone.
He only gave me a first name. Chase. I’m almost certain it’s not his real name. He’s in his early to mid-twenties, slightly younger than me. I’ve tried to help him several times, but he always turns me down and assures me that he’s not in any danger. Not that I believe that.
Someone slipped me his contact information a while ago and told me he could provide me with information that I desperately needed. Since then, he and I have had about four or five meetings. Each time he calls me, I show up and he does provide helpful information.
Except for the last time.
“You’re late.” He frowns at my approach.
My eyes narrow, unamused, “You texted me thirty minutes ago.”
“You’ve been blowing up my phone for weeks.”
“Yes, because the information you gave me almost sent my best friend to the grave.”
A muscle ticks in his jaw. “I already told you. Someone fed me that shit. I had no idea what she would be walking into.”
“Why should I believe anything else you have to tell me?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest.
“I don’t care what you believe as long as you pay me,” he grunts.
With a sigh, I jerk open my purse before pulling out a wad of cash and handing it to him.
“Tell me you have something good.”
He swallows, eyes darting around the alleyway nervously. He’s way more on edge than he usually is, which is making me even more worried.
I really shouldn’t be here.
“The Vitale wedding. I know who took a shot at Marino.”
My eyes widen and I’m instantly on alert. “Who?”
“Dante Vitale,” he whispers. “The Shadow.”
I frown. “He shot at his brother’s father-in-law? Why?”
“That’s all I know.”
“Are you joking?”
“Afraid not. Now, I also feel like I should warn you. Things are getting heated within the Vitale family. It might be best to stay the hell away from it all. My sources tell me they’re looking into you.
You’re causing them trouble and you may find yourself face to face with trouble of your own soon. ”
I’m sure he’s referring to Matteo. Matteo Vitale has been a pain ever since I served him. Creating false leads and roadblocks at every angle, making it difficult to take him down. I’m sure he enjoys fucking with me.
“I can handle myself,” I state.
He shrugs, tucking the cash into the pocket of his jeans, “If you say so.”
With those words he offers me a short nod and a salute, readying to disappear once again.