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“Nico will fund your living expenses until you get back on your feet. Hurry.” I pulled the collapsible dog carrier out of my oversized handbag and pushed out the sides. Bradley had found one that I could wear as a backpack, which let me keep my hands free. “Is Cricket friendly?”
“Mostly. He doesn’t much like Cesare.”
“Smart dog.”
“Yes, he is.”
“Put him in the carrier and pass him over to me. You can bring Matteo.”
“What if Lyndsey tries to call Cesare?”
Would the jammer work on the thirty-third floor? No, the signal wouldn’t reach that far, and nor did we want it to. A localised issue in the lobby wouldn’t raise too many eyebrows, but if everyone in the building lost cell service, that would lead to more questions than we wanted to answer.
“I’ll deal with Lyndsey.”
As always, I had a plan for that. And I needed it because when we walked into the apartment, Lyndsey Austin—age twenty-three, an aspiring actress originally from Redboro, Alabama, population 407 and a stone’s throw from Montgomery—was walking around the cavernous living room with Matty on her hip. She was trying to get him to stop crying, but unsuccessfully, probably because her technique involved jiggling him around while snapping, “Shaddup, you noisy brat.” I didn’t know much about kids, but I was fairly sure there were better courses of action.
“I’ll take him,” Kaylin said.
Lyndsey spun around, which only made the kid wail louder.
“What are you doing here?”
“This is my home. I live here.”
The line might have worked on Serge, but it didn’t work on Ms. Ooh-Harder-More-More-More.
“You’re meant to be at the club. Cesare said so.”
“He told me to pick up Matty and take him to the hospital.”
“No, no, he said I should take care of Matty until you both got home.”
“That was before he realised how sick Vito is. We’ll be at the hospital all night, and I expect the whole day tomorrow too.”
“Then I’ll stay here and look after the little man. Honestly, it’s no problem.”
“I’m his mom. We don’t need a babysitter when I’m with him.”
“Cesare said you shouldn’t be left alone with him, okay?” Lyndsey turned to me. “I don’t know who you are, but she has problems.” She mimed drinking from a bottle. “Matty deserves better.”
Uh-oh. This one had drunk all the Kool-Aid.
“He said what? I am not an alcoholic!”
And this was fast turning into a shitshow.
“Go and get Cricket,” I instructed.
“But—”
“Go. And. Get. Cricket.”
Kaylin’s bottom lip quivered, but wisely, she decided to obey. She grabbed the carrier and ran farther into the apartment just as the radio blipped in my ear.
“Cesare’s car is turning around,” Slater said. “Heading back to Belgravia Place.”
Black spoke up from the driver’s seat of the cab. “Wasn’t Serge. He’s tried turning his phone off and on, and now he’s whacking it on the desk.”
