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Better yet, putting the team together had been a collaborative affair based on skills and strengths, not a directive from the top. We’d all had input. Which was why I was currently sitting in the Starlight Lounge with Alex. My arm candy, Emmy had told me with a wink, although Alex was a seasoned operator himself. Sky had brought Rafael, who appeared to be a younger clone of Emmy’s husband, and Dan was cosied up at a table in the back corner with Evan, whom I hadn’t previously met. Sofia and Alaric were sitting at the bar while we waited for Daisy de Ville to take to the stage. According to Ana, Emmy had dated both Sofia and Alaric in the past, which again reinforced my view that Emmy walked her own path in life.
“Vito just pulled up,” Logan said in my ear. He was in a car across the street, a spot that had taken him over an hour to secure.
The ball of tension in my gut expanded, but I’d long since learned to let the rush fuel me rather than unbalance me. Alex’s arm tightened almost imperceptibly around my shoulders. The situation in the cabaret club tonight was fluid, eight of us involved in a deadly dance with one finale in mind. Ultimately, it didn’t matter which of us spiked Vito, only that one of us did. There was no glory, only a common goal. Another welcome change. In my old team, Ilya, Pav, Vik, and I would have been in competition while Rad tried to keep the peace, and if Ilya or Pav had lost the game, they would have been angry and sulky, respectively. Perhaps Vik would have been annoyed too, but he’d always been so fucking cold it was hard to tell.
Anyhow, Sofia had supplied us all with an appropriate drug, explained the dosage, and warned us to scrub our hands fast if it touched our skin. I noticed she was fond of gloves. Now we were watching, waiting, ready to move. Vito drank Scotch or whisky, Talisker Single Malt or Cutty Sark, and he usually ate an appetiser and entrée but rarely dessert. Everyone on the team had visited the Starlight Lounge several times, and Vito came in three or four nights a week. He hadn’t missed any of Kaylin’s shows. Supporting his daughter-in-law, or just ogling the Divas?
Speaking of which… Kaylin’s six backing dancers trooped out onto the stage, and now Bradley’s fun started. He was watching the feeds from our covert cameras, and now he had a quarter of an hour to make any last-minute tweaks to Emmy’s costume. She didn’t have to pass a close inspection, but from a cursory glance, she needed to look like a Diva. This evening, they were shimmering under the spotlights in the same halter-neck swing dresses they’d been wearing the week before last—think fifties vibes—but they’d added white headbands. Ah, well, Bradley liked a challenge, didn’t he?
And there she was.
Daisy de Ville.
Also known as Kaylin La Rocca.
She had no idea what was going to happen tonight. No idea that Nico was waiting for her on a jet at Farmingdale Airport. No idea that there were eight trained killers watching her sing an Etta James number with another five waiting outside. No idea that her father-in-law was about to suffer a tragic cardiac arrest.
“Having fun?” Alex whispered.
“The New York Mob has better taste in music than the Bratva.”
Vito settled into a seat at the next table along with Otello and Salvatore—Salvatore was one of Cesare’s cousins—plus Salvatore’s wife and another blonde who might have been a friend or a hooker for Otello. He didn’t have a girlfriend. He also ate Vito’s unwanted desserts and invariably managed to drop blobs of whatever onto his shirt. I slid the syringe into my hand, ready in case a suitable moment arose. Eight pairs of eyes watched as two goons stood in their designated places behind the Cavallaros, looking bored, and a waitress took everyone’s orders, starting with Vito. They all wanted liquor. Good. In my peripheral vision, I saw Sofia move toward the bar with Alaric, and Sky headed for the restrooms, ready to intercept any food that might leave the kitchen. The tray would be easy to identify—the servers always brought a stack of extra napkins for Otello. The tricky part would be working out which appetiser was destined for Vito, but so far, he was the only member of the family who’d eaten scallops, and he’d done so on every visit but one.
If Sofia and Sky failed, then I’d step in with a little social engineering. Meanwhile, Dan would be watching Kaylin, ready to act when the time was right.
“Package delivered,” Sofia said softly, and the tension loosened a fraction. This was how a well-planned operation should go. No surprises, no drama, at least not yet. Give it ten minutes, maybe fifteen, Sofia had told us.
I sat back to enjoy the show.
24
KAYLIN
Six weeks had passed, and I hadn’t heard from Nico. Not a word. There had been no sign of him or his wife, and I began to lose hope. Maybe he’d done a little digging and realised just what an impossible task it would be to free me from Cesare’s clutches? Honestly, there were times I wished I’d taken my chances in jail. At least prisoners were permitted to make the occasional phone call.
Matty and I hadn’t been allowed out in months, not since Lucia told Cesare that I’d asked her to send a letter to my grandma. She’d seemed so sweet at first, and I’d made a huge mistake in trying to recruit her. Now she tormented me five days a week, Cesare’s eyes and ears as she vacuumed and dusted and threw me pitying glances. Loyalty was the only reason Cesare kept her around; I knew that because she was a terrible cleaner.
And thanks to my error, Matty was suffering too. Before, we’d been able to walk in the park during quieter times, always under supervision, of course, but I missed the sound of the wind in the trees and the gentle lap of water as we ambled around the lake. These days, I was only allowed as far as the roof terrace, and if it hadn’t been for Matty and Cricket, I would have thrown myself off it.
Like mother, like daughter.
The crowd was quieter tonight, mostly couples and a large group of Japanese tourists who kept taking pictures. Did that worry me? Not really. In the two years I’d been performing, only Nico had recognised me as Kaylin, and I never sang in public without a wig and heavy make-up. Cesare had once told me that the best place to hide was in plain sight, and he’d been right. A group of cops had even booked out the club one night for a bigwig’s retirement celebration, and I’d thrown up in the dressing room before I went on stage, but there hadn’t been so much as a glimmer of recognition.
Get out there and own the place, Cesare always said, and that attitude was how he got away with as much as he did. He believed nobody would challenge him, and they didn’t. Me? I wasn’t so brave. No matter what people thought of me, I didn’t fit into his world.
Vito held up a glass toward me, toasting my choice of song. He was an Etta fan. When I first met the big boss, he’d seemed kind and convivial, everyone’s favourite uncle, but it was all an act. He was as hard-hearted as the rest of them. After the Virginia incident, I’d begged him for help, told him what Cesare was doing to me, but he’d coldly informed me that I was carrying his grandson and heir, and from now on, I’d better do as I was told if I wanted to see Matty grow up.
I forced a smile as the band played the opening bars of “Midnight Train to Georgia” and wished I were on it. I’d been to Georgia once, when Mom had a modelling job in Atlanta. She’d left me in a hotel room all day, quiet as a mouse, hiding behind a Do Not Disturb sign, but after she’d finished her shoot, we’d gone out for pizza. Well, pizza for me and salad for her. Back in those days, I hadn’t worried about my weight.
“Ain’t No Sunshine” came next, and wasn’t that the truth? I’d seen the faintest glimmer when Nico showed up, but now the storm clouds were back. Matty had been cranky today, bored from being cooped up inside, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it. I’d asked Cesare to take him to the park, but childcare was a woman’s work, so of course he’d refused. Oh, he liked the idea of having a son, just not the practicalities. But someday, when Matty was older, things would change. Cesare would want to train him to follow in the Cavallaro men’s footsteps. By rights, those footsteps should lead to jail or an early grave, but there was no justice in the?—
Wait, what was wrong with Vito? Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him swallow the last of his Scotch, and he looked…odd. As I watched, the glass slipped out of his hand, hit the polished table, and shattered along with my last nerve. He clutched at his chest. Was he having a heart attack or merely suffering from indigestion? When he straightened, I thought I was imagining things, but the expression of horror on Salvatore’s face when he finally turned to glance at his uncle didn’t lie.
Was it too late to add “Hallelujah” to the set list?
I kept singing, but Sal was yelling for someone to call an ambulance. He had a phone—he was addicted to Candy Crush and never went anywhere without it—but he wasn’t used to doing things for himself. One of the bodyguards did the honours, and now the band had stopped playing, so I figured it would be bad form to carry on singing, even if this was the most joy I’d felt in months.
“Can I help?” a tallish blonde asked. “I’m a nurse.”
