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“So…” She tries to piece it all together. I’m certain she does. But she settles on a shrug. “What’s this got to do with anything? Or are you telling me all of this purely to brag about your colorful dating life and rub in the fact that mine… doesn’t exist?”
“Four families,” I press on, “become three. Not because Pastores and Mancinos marry, but because Mancinos topple. Tony dies, and Michelle disappears.”
“Aw man. She didn’t wanna rule an empire and shoutgirl power?”
“No.” She wants me to react. Shewantsme to lose my patience and perhaps blow off a little steam. “She didn’t want to shoutgirl power. In fact, she wanted to disappear so badly, one could say she simply… died.”
“Oh.” Aubree keeps a consistent distance from the back of our transport van all the way to the George Stanley, but somehow manages to look across and study my eyes. “Did she actually die? That’s sad. Her death set mafia equality back a few years.”
“Swear to god,” I grit out. “You frustrate me.”
She only giggles and indicates when it’s time to turn. “But I’m pulling your attention away from how sad you feel. So, really, who’s the fool?”
“You,” I spit out. “Always you. Estefan Cordoza—”
“Wait.” She thrusts out a hand to silence me. “He’s the godfather, right?”
“Aubree!”
“No, seriously,” she laughs. “You’re throwing all these names at me, so I’m trying to create paths of recognition in my mind. Malones are Malones. We know them. Mancino is girl power, but also dead. Pastore are the twats who have Arch and Tim’s brother. Which means Cordoza is the godfather.”
“Sure! Fine. Cordoza is the godfather. Well, it was common knowledge that Estefan Cordoza loved Michelle Mancino. Not in a creepy, old-man-wants-to-bang-her way, but in a genuine affection kind of way. In fact, half the issue with Pastore crushing on Michelle was that Cordoza was basically saying no. He wouldn’t have it.”
“But he got the last say, right? He could just say no and that was that?”
“Well… yes and no. Even a man in his position needs a reasonable explanation for the things he does, or he risks a rebellion.”
“Like President Snow,” she breathes. “Does Cordoza have white hair, too?”
“No! Jesus. Stop interrupting me.”
She clamps her lips shut and holds her breath, lest she burst out laughing. “‘Kay.”
“So although Cordoza didn’t approve of Pastore wanting Michelle, he didn’t throw down a hammer and say no, either. Instead, he would sort of protect Michelle. Keep her close, keep Pastore at a distance. I’m sure if push came to shove and Cordoza wanted to draw a line, he could have. But Michelle had a spine of her own.”
The more I think about it, the larger my smile grows.
“She didn’t want Pastore. So while he kept chasing like a horny tomcat, she stayed away, and when she needed help, Cordoza would add a little backup. Nothing crazy or loud. But a little misdirection often worked wonders.”
“So…” She pulls into the George Stanley driveway and follows the van into the underground parking lot. “What does any of this have to do with the little girl in that van?”
“Nothing! For just a minute, we’re not discussing her. We’re discussing idiot bullies on the playground. We’re discussing the hierarchy in New York, and we’re gonna come up with a plan to get Micah back and bring Arch and Tim home.”
“Oh…” She pulls into a parking space and cuts the engine, while, thirty feet away, the van backs up so we can pull the stretcher out and load it straight onto the elevator. “Sorry, it’s still early, and my mind is on Laramie Fentone.”
“Laramie Fentone is gonna meet his match soon. But in the meantime, we figure out a way to help Archer. That way, we avoid all that nine-millimeter business, and I get my husband back.”
“Okay, so…” she snags the keys and pushes out of the car. When I do the same on my side, I glance across the roof and meet her eyes. “Michelle is dead, no? Or at the very least, not taking anyone’s calls. So how does that help anyone?”
“Because I know where Michelle is.”
Closing my door, I take out my phone and wait for Aubree to grab our things from the trunk. “She goes by a different name now. She lives a completely different life. But maybe I can touch base and see if she has any ideas about how to make this Malone mess go away. Follow our Jane.” I stop in the middle of the parking garage but point toward the van by the elevator. “Stay with her all the way to Autopsy Room One. I’ll be up in a few minutes.”
“Sure. And you’re calling Michelle?”
I shake my head and hit dial. “Can’t. Michelle’s dead, remember?”
Aubree stops and narrows her eyes. In my ear, the call rings, and people somewhere else in the country probably study the screen with suspicion playing through their every thought.
