I don’t say any of it.
I drink. I watch. I wait.
Vincenzo loses another hand. He laughs at the ceiling like it’s the funniest thing that’s happened to him all week. Victor Sr. tips his head, almost fond, and rakes the chips across the felt.
Beside me, Lorenzo finishes his drink.
“Smoke break,” he announces.
“Mm.”
“Back in five.” He pushes off the wall. He’s pulling a pack out of his jacket as he goes. “Don’t get into anything, boss. You and I haven’t had a fight in five years, and I’d hate to lose.”
I watch him cross the room.
The combo’s still playing. Vincenzo’s still laughing. Victor Sr.’s hand is on the deck.
I count to fifteen.
Then I follow him.
24
RAFFAELE
Lorenzo’s leaning against the brick by the laundromat’s service door. One foot up against the wall. A cigarette already lit. His lighter’s still in his hand, like he hasn’t decided whether he’s done with it yet.
He doesn’t look surprised when I step out.
“Knew you’d follow.” He takes a long drag. “You’ve got that look. You’ve had it since the lobby.”
I close the door behind me, take three steps into the alley and stop. He’s between me and the only other exit, the chain-link gate at the far end with the dumpsters in front of it. That’s on purpose. He chose where to stand.
So did I.
“How did Antonio know where she lived?”
“Boss.” He sighs, smoke disappearing into the sky.
“How.”
“I don’t know.”
“Try harder.”
“Maybe he had her followed. Maybe he had a guy at her building. Maybe he?—”
“Three people in this city had her new address, Lorenzo. Three. Me. Her. You.”
“And Victor.”
I stop.
Shit.
The fucking gala. I had filed the whole thing undernot a problembecause the gala was three weeks ago and nothing came of it.
Apparently, something came of it.
