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He had an arsenal, he thought, as he took a Sig Sauer in his hand, got the heft, the feel of it, then loaded the magazine. Definitely an arsenal. A small one, but it would give him all the power he’d need, if and when he needed it. As for the little Ruger…
The cell phone in his pocket beeped.
It was Zach.
“How you doing, dude?”
“Fine.”
“House okay?”
“It’s great.”
“Figured you’d have checked out the gun safe by now.”
Matteo smiled. “Doing that right this minute.”
“And?”
“And, you have excellent taste.”
Zach laughed. “Thanks.” His tone changed. “Find anything in particular you like?”
“The Sig Sauers.”
“Good. Choose one, keep it with you at all times. Stash another couple of pieces where you can get to them, fast. What about the Ruger?”
“I’ll wait. Bring that up a little later.”
“Whatever you think.”
“Zach?” Matteo hesitated. “Caleb said Pastore’s even worse news than I’d figured. Correct?”
“He’s a piece of shit. There’s stuff on him that’s never seen the light of day. He’s been protected by some heavy-duty contacts. People high up in politics, finance, the rooms where money and power change hands. “ Zach’s tone hardened. “ But Caleb and I know some people, too. I saw some stuff… Let’s just say that with a little tweaking, Pastore can be put away for a long time. And if we prove he’s trying to do in you and his wife, he’s done.”
“That’s the best thing I’ve heard in a while.”
“Agreed. But it turns out we may not have to do much of anything. Pastore doesn’t know it yet, but the Feds already have a noose around his neck. All they have to do is tighten it.”
“I don’t follow you.”
“I did some checking on his wife. Your lady. That’s when I stumbled across… I don’t know, man. You want to hear the rest or not?”
Mateo tucked the Sig Sauer in the rear waistband of his jeans.
“Tell me.”
“She comes from a family on her mother’s side that dates way back. Daddy started as a CPA, became Bennett Investments. His client list resembles a page out of the Bluebook. Mom was on damn near every charity board in Manhattan. Ariel grew up on what’s called the Long Island Gold Coast. Private schools all the way, but dance was her thing. Mom and Dad thought it was okay as a rich girl hobby, but she wanted a career. Made it into a top dance group. The Electric—”
“The Electric Dance Theater. I know that much.”
“The perfect life, until a couple of years ago. Then, everything changed.”
“Go on.”
Zach cleared his throat. “Mom got cancer. She’s gone now, but right when she got sick, Daddy was caught with his hand in the till. Well, not that anybody knows about it except the SEC and a couple of high level, never-speak-our-names-in-public government committees. They’re keeping it all under wraps while they unravel Daddy’s ties to… Guess who?”
“Anthony Pastore.”
“And others like him. Seems Bennett’s been doing a Bernie Madoff, living large off the client dollars he was supposed to have been investing.” A pause. “Guess who made that discovery?”
“The same Anthony Pastore.”
“You got it. Seems Pastore was one of Bennett’s clients. He, or more likely one of his accountants, smelled something bad and figured out that Bennett was a fraud.”
Matteo could sense where this story, this terrible story, was heading.
“And this came down before Ariel married him, right?”
“One hundred percent right. They’d met at some charity function where her dance troupe performed. Pastore came on to her, pursued her, flowers, jewelry, you name it, he sent it.”
Matteo ran a hand through his dark hair. “And she sent everything back,” he said slowly.
“You got it. Pastore was not happy.”
Matteo choked out a laugh. “Yeah. I bet.”
“After that, it’s a little murky. I have some facts and if I look at them, I can come up with some pretty solid assumptions. Want to hear those, too?”
“Tell me.”
“After that had gone on for a while, you know, after Pastore learned Ariel’s old man was stealing his clients blind, he had a meeting with Bennett in an out-of-the-way place in Jersey. The next day, Bennett had a long lunch with his daughter. With Ariel.”
A river of ice-water raced through Matteo’s veins.
“Jesus, Zacharias…”
“A huge infusion of cash made an electronic trip to the Caribbean, then doubled back and landed in Bennett’s waiting hands.” Zach paused. “The Bennett fund was still a Ponzi scheme, but now it had the money to make up for the games it had been playing.”
“Goddammit. Goddammit! Ariel’s father sold her to Pastore.”
“That weekend,” Zach said quietly, “the Times reported that Ariel Bennett had been married to The Mall King, Anthony Pastore, in a small, private ceremony at Pastore’s Upper West Side home.”
Matteo’s vision reddened. There was a roaring in his ears. Ariel had been her father’s bribe to Tony. No prison term for Bennett. No dying wife learning that her husband was a thief.
Ariel had been the sacrifice Tony had demanded.
“Matteo?”
I’m going to kill him.
“Matteo?”
I’m going to kill him with my bare hands.
“Hey. Bellini. Talk to me, dude. “
Matteo shook himself like a dog coming in from the rain. His vision cleared. His breathing evened.
“Yes,” he said calmly. “Okay. Thank you for the information. Goodbye.”
“Bellini. Do-not-hang-up!”
“Zacharias. I have things to do.”
“Nobody calls me Zacharias except Jaimie. The very fact that you’re calling me Zacharias tells me the things you plan on doing are things you should not, must not do. You understand?”
“I have to protect my woman.”
Zach, seated in his study several hundred miles away, looked up as his wife rapped lightly at the half-opened door, flashed him a smile he knew he would never weary of seeing, and mimed bringing a glass to her lips.
He smiled back. “Two minutes,” he mouthed. Then he got to his feet, crossed the room, put his arm around her and pressed his lips to her shining, lovely face, and Jaimie Wilde Castelianos rose on her toes and lightly kissed her husband’s mouth.
She stepped out of the room. Zach closed the door.
“Damn right, you have to protect her,” he said quietly. “I understand that. But killing Pastore isn’t the answer.”
“It’s the only answer.”
“Think about it, Matteo. If you have to defend yourselves, okay, that’s one
thing, but to set out to kill him…”
“You think it’s wrong?”
“I think you could be the one who buys it instead of him. You’re not trained for this.”“I told you, I know how to use a gun.”
“The man’s a stone-cold killer. He’ll certainly have another killer with him. Even if you’re not sure you love Ariel…”
“Cancel that,” Matteo said quietly. “I figured out what I feel for her a little while ago, and you were right.”
“You love her.”
“Crazy, right? I mean, we only just met.”
“Not crazy. Sometimes your heart knows things your head doesn’t… And listen to me,” Zach said, with a quick laugh, “sounding like Dear Abby. Dude. The thing is, absolutely do whatever it takes to protect Ariel, but if you don’t have to take Pastore out, don’t attempt it. This isn’t your area of expertise. You against a guy like Pastore… The odds are not in your favor.”
Zach was probably right. Hell, he was definitely right. The primary thing was to keep Ariel safe, to make her happy, and getting into a gun battle might not do that.
“Matteo?”
“Yes. I hear you. And you’re right. I’ll only do what I have to do, nothing else.”
“Good man,” Zach said. “Just remember. Stay armed. Get Ariel to try out the Ruger.”
“Let’s hope Ariel agrees.”
“Let’s hope Ariel agrees to what?” Ariel said.
Matteo turned and saw her coming toward him. She was wrapped in an oversized robe, her feet were bare, her hair was tousled, and she was so beautiful she made his heart ache.
“I hear the lady’s voice,” Zach said softly. “Go to her, man. Remember that keeping her safe is all that matters.”
The line went dead. Matteo put the phone away and opened his arms.
“Let’s hope Ariel agrees that I’m the man she needs to keep her happy,” he said, and she smiled, went into his arms, and lifted her face for his kiss.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
What did you do with a loaded handgun when you were about to make dinner?
Did you put it beside the salt and pepper mills? Tuck it in among the paper napkins? Refrigerate it? Or did you leave it where it was, tucked into your jeans?
In the end, Matteo put the gun on the counter as if it were nothing more than a breadbasket.
