Page 9 of Above ’N’ Beyond

If word ever reached Tony Mancuso that the fight had been staged, it would come back to bite Jamie in the ass.

Washington indicated they should sit in the living room. “Let’s get down to business so you can get out of here.”

Which suited him fine. The less time he spent in the company of other cops, the less chance his cover could be blown.

Even though the shades were drawn, Jamie chose an overstuffed armchair that would have been out of the line of sight if they’d been open. Jax lay at his feet, groaning as he rested his head on the tips of Jamie’s boots.

Jenkins and Washington sat on the sofa, then Jenkins pulled out a stack of file folders and handed them to Jamie. “We’ve updated these since you last saw them. I wanted you to look through them before you make first contact at the Bistro.”

Jamie held back a snort. In typical federal government fashion, the FBI’s timetable had been stupid-slow. Jenkins didn’t need to know he’d flushed that timetable down the toilet and not only made first contact but found a place to live.

He flipped open the top folder. Stapled to the inside cover was an enlarged surveillance photo of Paola Mancuso taken in front of Bianco’s Bistro. Hair that had once been dark and was now the color of steel surrounded an elegant face with high cheekbones and few wrinkles for a woman in her early sixties. “Anything new on her since we last spoke?”

Jenkins shook his head. “Other than this recent photo, nothing substantial. But we, uh, don’t have a snitch on the inside anymore.”

Jamie already knew that, but Captain Washington didn’t. When the agent quickly glanced away, Jamie shared a skeptical look with his captain.

Washington narrowed her eyes. “What aren’t you telling us?”

Jenkins licked his lips, then cleared his throat, something Jamie had learned was his tell when he was withholding information or about to relate bad news. “Six months ago, the last snitch we sent in wound up dead with a bullet in the back of his head.”

Jamie ground his teeth. Regardless of the fact he’d known this before Jenkins had said anything, it was a critical piece of information that should have been relayed to him before he went into Sing Sing. For all the importance Jenkins gave it, he might as well have been discussing the weather.

Washington leaned forward, resting her forearms on her knees. “If this happened six months ago, don’t you think you should have told us about it six months ago?”

“He was a low-level drug dealer that got scooped up by the DEA. He was peeling time off his sentence by working for us. With him out of the picture, the only thing we keep hearing on the street is that Paola’s primary goal is to move up the chain in the Mafia ranks, and that she’s planning a ‘big splash.’” Jenkins hooked his fingers into quotation marks. “But we have no idea what that splash is.”

“Bosses in Skirts.” Jamie recalled the articles he’d read about the growing movement in Italy.

In a slew of Mafia raids, Italian authorities had recently rounded up nearly four hundred mobsters. With their husbands and sons either in jail or stuck at home wearing ankle bracelets as they awaited trial, women were rising to command positions within the Mafia. After Paola’s husband, Angelo Mancuso, and her eldest son, Angelo Jr., were killed in an FBI sting operation, she’d taken over the family business. Tony, her younger son, hadn’t been involved in the shootout but was sentenced to three years in Sing Sing for other crimes.

Jenkins nodded. “There are currently no women in positions of power in any US-based Mafia family. Paola wants to be the first. Our snitch, who knew Paola before her husband died, said she was always a tough, controlling woman. Now she’s addicted to power and wants more. She’s smart enough to know in order to make that happen, she’ll have to impress the big boss, Salvatore Palumbo.”

Jamie leaned down to scratch Jax’s ears. The Mancusos were an offshoot of the Palumbos—the most powerful crime syndicate on the east coast. It would take a helluva lot to impress Salvatore Palumbo. “You want me to find out what ‘the splash’ is.”

“Yes. And we have more information on Isabella Bianco, Paola’s niece.” Jenkins handed him another file. “We already confirmed the Bistro is co-owned by Isabella and Paola with both their names on the deed. Recently, we learned both of them have access to the Bistro’s bank accounts. That gives our suspicion Paola is laundering cash through the Bistro some serious meat. That’s another thing we want you to verify—the money laundering. Once you do, we can add the Bistro and the prime Nyack real estate it’s sitting on to our list of property seizures.”

“I thought you said your snitch was dead,” Washington said. “Who’s your source?”

Jamie held up his hand. “I don’t want to know.” If he didn’t know the identity of the FBI’s new snitch, it would keep any conversation he had with the man—or woman—more realistic.

“This person is on the fringes of the Mancuso operation. Not nearly close enough to get the detailed information we need.”

“Does he know about me?” Jamie asked. If Jenkins had told his snitch he was an undercover, Jamie would walk out the door.

“No.” Jenkins shook his head adamantly.

“Keep it that way.” Again, Jamie wondered just how far the FBI would go to make their case. That inmate might not have known Jamie was UC, but he was still a weak link in the chain of Jamie’s anonymity. If he squealed, Jamie would ram his size-thirteen boots straight up Jenkins’s ass. That was if he was still alive to do it.

He stared at the DL and surveillance photos of Isabella “Bella” Bianco. The photos didn’t come close to doing her justice. She was prettier in person. Much prettier.

Jax sat up, then rose to rest his paws on the chair’s arm and push his muzzle into Jamie’s hand. He looked into his dog’s golden-brown eyes and swallowed the lump in his throat. He really had missed the big furry guy.

Captain Washington reached for Bella Bianco’s folder. “Does co-ownership of the Bistro put Paola’s niece on the target list?”

“Probably.” Jenkins nodded. “We know where the Bistro’s bank accounts are, but we still have to firm up her knowledge of the money laundering scheme to charge her. At a minimum, she’ll lose the Bistro.”

Again, Jamie looked at the photo. Didn’t matter how pretty Isabella Bianco was. If she was up to her eyeballs in Paola’s operation, he’d happily slap the cuffs on her wrists himself.