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“I’ve always been fond of my own company. We can put in a longer day tomorrow if we fall behind.”
“When are we interviewing for staff?”
“Bradley sent me over a stack of résumés to read through.”
Not that I needed to—Emmy had already hand-picked the key team members who would assist with my cover story. Samya was married to a Blackwood employee, and she’d managed a café downtown before Emmy poached her, plus Isabella would work four days a week. Dan had recruited three more women from a domestic violence shelter she was involved with, and they’d undergone their initial training while I was in Baldwin’s Shore. But pretending to interview candidates would allow me to spend another day or two at Blackwood’s training facility. Ana had been raving about their new kill-house simulator. Back in Russia, we’d used real bullets and been expected to bleed for our sins—I couldn’t help feeling that using VR was cheating.
“I can’t wait to meet all the new people. Can any of them crochet? Crochet is sooo in right now after that new Armand Taylor movie. You know, the one where he carries yarn and a crochet hook alongside his AK-47?”
I hadn’t seen it, but it sounded ridiculous. Ana had once killed a man with a knitting needle, but a crochet hook? It wasn’t nearly sharp enough. Unless you could ram it through an eye socket, and then it might?—
“Holy cannoli, Bradley just got a new car, and he says he’ll pick me up at five.” Paulo thrust his phone into my face. “Look, it’s pink!”
Bradley’s lime-green Lamborghini had come to a sad end last week when Dan borrowed it to go on a donut run and ended up chasing a carjacker. The suspension was somewhere along I-95, and the remaining parts had gone to car heaven along with the carjacker’s left nut.
“That’s the exact shade of the new La Coutoura limited edition yarn we got in last week. Maybe you could knit him a matching sweater?”
“Ooh, that’s such an excellent idea. You’re sure I can go out tonight?”
I wasn’t his fucking mother. “Just don’t stay out too late. You know you get cranky if you don’t get enough sleep.”
Paulo threw his arms around me in a hug, and I shifted so he didn’t notice the shiv in my bra. Old habits died hard. So did terrorists, if there happened to be one on the airplane. Who cared about TSA agents when you could assemble a weapon after security with a roll of tape and a shard of broken glass? If Paulo hadn’t been waiting outside the bathroom with a croissant, I could have built an IED with items I bought from the gift store.
I sent a message to Alex.
Me
Pick me up at 17:15.
11
HALLIE
Eleven.
So far, we’d identified eleven Cavallaro men who fit the description given by Anisha Kapoor, and Collier hadn’t been kidding about the family’s business interests.
As well as Mamma Mia’s Pizza Parlor, they owned a dozen more restaurants and cafés, bars, a billiard hall, a cabaret club, and a concert venue. Rumour said some of the businesses sold drugs as well as food, but convictions were thin on the ground, no doubt due to healthy donations made to key political figures.
They were active in traditional Mafia industries such as trash-hauling and construction, but they’d modernised too. The Cavallaros ran illegal online gambling sites, and they were major players in the porn industry. Cam girls made them millions, and I shuddered to think that Kaylin might have gotten mixed up in that. What if one of the men had coerced her into appearing on camera? I’d have to ask Agatha to take a look.
Real estate was another money spinner for the sixth family, and they rented out overpriced slums to desperate tenants, exploited immigrant workers in the agriculture industry, and bribed public officials to grant licences for wind farms. One or two of the peripheral family members had even run for office. Cavallaro thugs extorted local businesses—although that had become harder to do now that corporate chains had taken over downtown America—and as well as running street prostitutes, the family allegedly controlled a high-class brothel somewhere on the Upper West Side. Their ties to the entertainment industry didn’t end there. Aldo Cavallaro owned a beauty pageant, Carmine Cavallaro had invested in a vacation resort, and Otello Cavallaro ran a record label. Hmm… A record label… What if he’d reeled Kaylin in with promises of stardom?
“Who’s Otello Cavallaro?” I asked Collier. “Could he be our guy?”
We’d asked the server at Gino’s to pack up dessert, left a healthy tip, and then walked past the bakery Dan had told me to visit. When Collier assured me it wasn’t linked to organised crime, I picked out half a dozen cookies for myself, plus another two dozen to take to the office. Then I bought extra boxes to ship to Dan and Emmy because even though they drove me crazy, I loved them really. Collier carried the bags as we took the subway back to Blackwood’s office. The hot-desk area was only half-full, so we snagged two spots together, made coffee, and returned to brainstorming.
“Otello? Nope. He’s one of Cesare’s brothers, but he weighs at least three hundred pounds.”
“Are any of the other Cavallaros involved with that business?”
“I can put some feelers out.”
There had indeed been reporters present at the Cavallaro-Bucci wedding, like rubberneckers at a car crash, all waiting to critique Lia Cavallaro’s designer gown while secretly hoping for a confrontation between the guests and the small crowd of Mafia victims who’d bravely gathered outside to protest. Pictures showed a pretty brunette in a bejewelled fishtail dress leaving the church on the groom’s arm amid a shower of confetti. Several police officers milled around to prevent any trouble, and they’d succeeded, although there were reports of a later scuffle between several guests at the reception. The bride had been given away by her uncle, Vito “The Duck” Cavallaro, boss of the family and all-around thug.
Crime definitely paid.
I counted at least six dark-haired, handsome-in-an-arrogant-way men in the photos, and I copied those pictures to a separate file for further investigation. Then my phone rang. A video call.
