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I leaned back in my chair. He was so far off base it was almost laughable, but I wouldn’t set him straight. Whatever rabbit trails he wanted to chase were fine as long as they were nowhere near the truth.
“For the last time, get out of my house.”
He reached in the front breast of his pocket and laid a piece of paper in front of me. I made no move and he unfolded it, smoothing down the crease.
“Who is this?” I asked, though I knew exactly who was in the photograph.
“Head of the FBI New York division.”
“Never pictured you as sentimental. He the one that put you away?”
“He owes me.” Angelone stabbed at the photograph with his index finger. “I can make Salvatore’s problem vanish like that.” He snapped his fingers in front of my face.
I sniffed, my brows pinched together. “You can tell me anyone owes you. Doesn’t make it true.”
“It’s true,” he insisted.
“If it were, I’d think you’d want to save that trump card for yourself.”
Angelone shrugged. My head spun. Who the hell was in control of the feds? The good guys or the bad?
“I wish I could say it’s been a pleasure getting reacquainted, but I’ve never been much of a liar.”
“You’re a fool,” Angelone spat at me.
“And you’re a desperate, desperate man.”
He shook his fist at me. “I’m sending you straight to hell, Elliott.”
“I’m already there,” I said honestly.
With a final glare, he shoved off the desk and stalked to the exit. I watched the monitors to make sure he left. Then I leaned back in my chair, relishing the feel of holding power over someone else, though it was hollow. Perhaps I shouldn’t have provoked him, but he’d enjoyed every second of fucking with me when I was fifteen. I was more than happy to return the favor.
My phone danced across my desk. Damn me for hoping it was Vivian again.
“It’s tomorrow. My inside guy can’t stop it.”
“What do you need from me?” I asked, my stomach clenching at Donato’s news. I rummaged in my desk for an antacid, though I knew it was useless.
“He tried to get the charges lessened, but it’s felony murder.” Donato’s inflection was no different than any other time he spoke. His calm did nothing to settle me.
“I thought there’d be more time,” I mused, more to myself than him.
“Valentina will have something for you. Come by tomorrow,” he commanded.
“How’s she taking it?”
“Prison is a possibility that’s always on the table.” In other words, his wife was handling it just as he was. Tough and with dignity.
“I’ll come by,” I promised. “If I come up with something to get you off, who do I need to call?”
“Stay away from this, Daniel,” he warned. “Don’t come see me. I won’t have you anywhere near this.”
“I’m not going to sit here and do nothing while you rot on my behalf,” I grated out.
“Not your decision,” he replied stubbornly.
“I need a name.”
