Chapter 18
Julia
I arrived in New York at two in the morning.
Carlo had called a family meeting after I’d updated him on the day’s events.
Apparently, a third party was aiming to take out Quentin Vanetti.
This meant our family had an unknown enemy.
Unknown enemies were doubly problematic, since not only were you blind to who was attacking you, but their strength and their numbers were also hidden.
Whoever was working against us wanted Vanetti's territories for themselves. Taking Quentin out before I finished my intel gathering would give them the opening they needed.
Business would have to wait until I got a full night's sleep—and sleep could wait until I had a couple of slices of greasy thin-crust street pizza.
The limo driver’s baby face made him look like a kid playing grownup.
Before he shut the door behind me, I glanced over my shoulder. “You old enough to drive?”
“Ha-ha. Real fresh material. You write that one yourself?”
“Attitude like that and you’re going to be looking for a new job.” I knew I was tired and cranky, but nevertheless, I wasn’t in the mood to take crap from the limo driver, even if he was probably one of my distant cousins.
“I didn’t mean nothing.” He closed the door. Back in the driver’s seat, he turned. “I’m your third cousin on your Uncle Joey’s wife’s side. I’m trying to work my way up. Apologies. I’m running on fumes here.”
“Apology accepted.” I lifted my chin and said in my best Brooklyn accent, “You know a place open where I can get a slice of real pizza? I’ve been in flyover country for two weeks, and nobody west of Bay Parkway knows what the hell they’re doing with dough.”
“Joe’s is open. I can get us there in under thirty.”
“Make it happen.” I closed my eyes and reclined. I nodded off once, but a bump in the road woke me. It had been a long day.
I hated that Quentin had turned distant and cold.
I didn't exactly blame him, but it still carved something hollow in my chest—a space where our easy banter used to live.
The thought of him eating those pastries sent panic spiraling through me, a sick dread that had nothing to do with my assignment and everything to do with the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled.
I'd spent the entire flight imagining our dinner tonight—what I'd wear, whether he'd reach for my hand across the table, if we'd end up back at his place.
Now that future had evaporated, and I wasn't sure I'd ever have another chance to be alone with him.
Just thinking about our kiss left my lips tingling, my whole body aching for more.
But that was wishful thinking, especially if he came to the conclusion—however wrong it was—that I'd tried to poison him.
They'd lock me out of the building at best. At worst, I'd be walking into a trap on Monday.
My pulse quickened at the thought. My only hope was convincing Carlo to help me find the real assassin and expose him.
Or her—although another female assassin would be rare.
The thought of a female assassin hit too close to home. If Quentin suspected I'd poisoned him, he'd be wrong. But if he suspected I'd come to kill him? Dead right.
Our kiss hadn't changed that. The mission was still the mission, no matter what I felt.
Though his coldness now—the way he'd shut me out—made it easier to remember why I was really here.
Still, if he was innocent of my father’s death, and someone was targeting him, then that would mean we had a common enemy—and our best chance of mutual survival would be to team up and work together.
Getting past Silvio’s objections would be the hard part.
But Carlo would listen if I framed it right.
An invisible threat undermining our family's interests?
That made Carlo look weak, vulnerable. He couldn't afford that—not with ambitious cousins and uncles waiting for him to stumble so they could take his place.
The limo stopped. “We’re here. Should I park? Or you want to jump out?”
“I’ll get out.” I opened the door before he had a chance to open his. I didn’t need courtesy at nearly three in the morning. I needed pizza. “You hungry?”
“I could eat.”
I stepped to the counter past three drunk college girls who were talking too loudly.
I don’t miss those days. “Give me a regular—not too hot—and a pepperoni for the guy in the car.” I glanced over my shoulder to make sure he was still waiting.
I guess all the drama today had me paranoid.
“Coke for him. Orange for me. And napkins, yeah?”
“Got it. That’s twelve.” He tapped the register, took a twenty from me, and nodded to the right. “Drinks in the fridge—grab whatever.”
Sitting in the back of the limo on my way to my cousin’s place, wiping grease from my lips, I had to admit some of the best things in life weren't expensive. Then I glanced at my handbag and designer heels and thought, yeah, lucky I wasn’t born on the wrong side of the tracks.
I loved simple pleasures—but a simple life?
It was way too late for that.
∞∞∞
Like last time, the meeting was scheduled for eleven that night.
I’d spent the time before that at my apartment, done some shopping, and took a taxi to Vinny’s place by eight.
The meeting wasn’t here because these old school types never like to meet at the same place twice in a row. Or even in the same quarter.
I suppose it was good policy, but if your cover was blown, it was blown. Wouldn’t matter if the meeting was in the Bronx or Harlem.
“Vin, where’s the meet?”
“Here in Howard Beach. We can be there in under ten.”
“Can I drive the—”
“No!” Vinny shook his head. “Nobody drives that car but me.”
“I’m just kidding, Vin. I wouldn’t be caught dead in a purple and yellow—”
“Don’t say it.”
I waved him off. “Is our Nonno going to be there?”
“Nope.” Vinny’s eyes held sorrow, I wasn’t sure if it was authentic or not, but it worked to pull on my heartstrings. “He’s not doing well.”
“Damn.”
“He’s been asking about you.”
“Me? Really?” Would he even know who I was at this point?
“He wants to know when you’re going to deliver the Vanetti guy.”
I huffed out a breath. “Shut up, Vin.” I didn’t want to sound paranoid, but I doubted his place had been swept since the last meeting.
Tonight’s location would be secured and we’d be able to talk freely, but right now, who knows who could be in the bushes across the street with a high-powered omni-directional microphone.
“I’m just saying, the old man is as impatient as ever.”
“He’s going to have to get in line.”
We chatted about nothing until it was almost ten.
“Let’s go.” Vinny stood up and grabbed his keys. “I’ll drive.”
“I’m not getting in that death trap, Vin.” I shook my head. “Even if you didn’t have it painted like the orphaned bastard of a banana and an eggplant.”
“You’re killing me, Jules.” Vinny frowned. “Relax. We’re taking the black on black, and the windows are bulletproof.”
Twelve minutes later, one of my brother’s soldiers directed Vinny where to park. Vinny, being a proud Italian, wanted to argue with the guy.
“I need to be up—”
“Shut up, Vin.” I hit him in the shoulder. “If you say another word, I’m going to key your yellow and purple monstrosity.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“I would.”
“It’s a freaking Ferrari Portofino, Jules.”
Vinny, in spite of his protesting, parked the Mercedes where he’d been told.
He got out, muttering protests the whole way.
“It’s customized. It’s not banana and eggplant.
It’s Giallo Modena—that’s official Ferrari gold.
And the purple is Viola Hong Kong. There’s not another car like this in New York or even, probably, America. ”
“Vinny, that’s not the flex you think it is.” I laughed as we walked towards the house. “Look at these cars—black, white, a couple reds, maybe one or two with some tasteful pearl. You see any jackasses rolling up in banana-mobiles out here? Do you, Vin?”
“You wound me.” Vinny put his hand on his heart. “I may never recover.”
A heavily armed soldato stepped out from behind the shrubbery. I hadn’t seen him until the last second. “Go on through, Donna Julia.”
“What am I, huh?” Vinny asked. “Chopped liver?”
The soldier stepped aside and pointed towards the house with his free hand. “You’re with the donna—you’re good.”
I picked up my step, shaking my head at Vinny, who was trying to catch up. “You take this stuff too seriously.”
“I deserve more respect.”
“Respect is earned, cousin.”
A rough voice spoke from the shadows. “That’s right, it is.” Silvio flicked his cigarette before stepping into the light. He looked me over and pointed at Vinny. “I see you’re still favoring wet-behind-the-ears boys, Jules.”
Vinny smirked. “Least I don’t chase what don’t want me.”
Sil took a step closer. “Watch yourself.”
“Leave him alone, Sil. We have enough problems without you stirring up the family.”
Silvio's glare could have burned through steel. “Yeah, we do, Jules. Yeah, we do.” He shook his head and walked past us into the house.
This wasn’t going to be a fun night.
Vinny must have felt the same vibe. “Skip the meeting and head over to Omertàs?”
“You have a death wish?”
“No, but I can get us a table, bottle service, and—”
“Shut it, Vinny.”
He shrugged, and we followed Silvio into the lion’s den.
∞∞∞
After an hour of general business, Carlo asked me for an update. “Be straight with us.”
Everyone turned their attention to me, and I tried not to show any weakness.
“Of course.” I held my head high and stood, pacing for a moment to gather my wits.
“On Fridays, Quentin has a standing order at a bakery owned by a friend. Above suspicion. But it looks like someone got to his order of zeppoles and poisoned them. Trouble is, we won’t know for sure until the test results come back. ”
“What do you mean you don’t know? Were they poisoned or not?” Carlo asked.