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We’ve heard murmurs they’re involved somehow, but I don’t know if they are, how, or to what extent.
“What about them? I don’t know who that is. I didn’t know there was a Polish Mob. Don’t they all just work for the bratva?”
“Uh, no. Learn your Eastern European politics.”
I don’t need to say anything beyond that. Russian relations with the rest of Eastern Europe, especially the former Soviet Bloc are— complicated. That may be my least favorite most frequently used word these days. The same is true for Eastern Europeans here. Though the New York bratva does a shit ton better working with their motherland neighbors than anyone would expect. The Kutsenkos rule with an iron fist, but they offer positive and negative incentives. It keeps would-be enemies under their control and on good terms.
Since there’s nothing left to learn, it’s time to finish.
“You’ve received your punishment. Now you’re going to get a reminder to stay the fuck away from Sinead, me, my family, our business. Anything to do with us.”
I take the butcher knife and slice a diagonal line across the bottom of his nut sack. Then I carve a semicircle around the base of his dick. I’m quick to do it, so I can put the diaper back in place. With so many veins down there, these will bleed fast. The diaper keeps my workstation clean. I ball my fist and drive it into his junk. He wails like a little bitch, then passes out. It’s Marco’s and my turn to strip. We take everything off by the deep sink. We have soap and hand towels in that toolkit. We wash every inch of ourselves before putting on fresh clothes. We’ve already put our old clothes in a bag to be destroyed. Once we’re dressed again, we turn back to where three of our guys are redressing him.
“Drop him in Camden.”
It’s the most dangerous city in New Jersey. Whatever happens, happens there. They’ll make it look like he got carjacked. They’ll steal the stereo, his laptop if he has it in there, and they’ll strip the hubcaps. He’ll be out for a while, so they’ll dump his body next to his car. It’ll look like he either tried to fight back or the carjackers roughed him up for the hell of it. He’s an investigative reporter. He could have been there for a story for all anyone knows.
Marco and I get into the car Pauly’s driving and head back to Auntie Paola’s first. Pauly’ll drop Marco off in Manhattan afterwards. The privacy glass is up as we talk.
“You did that purely out of spite.”
“Yup. And it felt vindicating.”
“But you learned nothing new.”
“True. We still have no idea who bugged Sinead’s place or hotel room. It could be Bartlomiej or Jacek. We need to know more about them.”
“There’s a guy who likes Paradise. He’s there more nights than not. He works for Bartlomiej on the side. He might know something. He’s a sloppy drunk. If something happened to him, it would surprise no one.”
“Pick him up and take him to the garage. He can be a guest for the weekend.”
ChapterSeventeen
Sinead
I spent the rest of the week and weekend recuperating at Paola’s, and I feel world’s better than I did. Gabriele and I came close to a stand-off last night over me continuing to stay at Paola’s instead of going home. Not once did Paola make me feel like I wore out my welcome. But I wanted privacy. I wanted my things in my place. Turns out, not only is Gabriele an attorney, he owns several hardware stores. I never guessed. He’d already sent men over to repair my door, but he also had one of those camera doorbells installed. I think he would have gutted the place and started over from the studs if I let him. I think it had nothing to do with my place so much as loathing the idea of me returning to an apartment where an unknown intruder violated my space.
It angered him when I dug my heels in, but I know he understood. We compromised when he offered, and I agreed to a car parked outside my place with two guys in it. He also insisted on an additional guy in a car at each end of my block and one on the street behind my place. I think it’s excessive, but if it lets him feel in control of an uncertain situation, then I can accept it. I’ll admit I feel better for it.
Control. That’s something I’ve already realized Gabriele craves. I think a shit ton is beyond his control within his world, so the little he can have, he clings to. He has such an air of command no one could ever imagine him not being fully in control. I see glimpses of him through what must be at least partially a facade. But I’m positive that’s only because he lets me see it. If he wanted to shut me out entirely, he would. I wouldn’t have a clue what he’s thinking or feeling. That’ll be good in court, but I don’t know that it bodes well for a romantic relationship.
A romantic relationship is practically all I could think about over the weekend. I had the time to let my mind wander while I watched TV in my room. When I wasn’t dozing, I was bingeing my shows. I have a secret addiction to the reality TV shows about the crews sailing around the world and the wealthy women who drink too much and fight all the time. Sometimes, I just need to not have to think very hard. It’s why I don’t get people who listen to public radio in the car. I don’t need to be bombarded by the news everywhere I go. I want to just chill out and listen to music when I’m driving. Gabriele admitted he feels the same way. At least about the music. I still can’t get over the fact he doesn’t have a TV. Not needing a boob-tube either makes him the most cultured person I know, or the biggest heathen in custom-tailored suits. I’m undecided.
He came back to Paola’s during the week. He went to work while I telecommuted. I figured he was at the businesses he owns. I had the time to think about us over the weekend because I didn’t see him at all until Sunday night when we had our showdown. He said it was his turn on a rotation that I assumed meant guarding a family member. He said he wouldn’t be available to talk since Salvatore expects him not to be distracted. I wonder if he was guarding Salvatore’s daughters. I sent him a text late Saturday night, thinking he’d respond since he was probably at his place by eleven. But I got no answer. I didn’t push it.
The more time I spend with him, the more time I crave. Paola invited Carmine and his wife, Serafina, over for dinner on Sunday. Apparently, the entire family usually gets together for Sunday dinner. There’s like twenty-something of them who go to Salvatore’s. But Gabriele wasn’t the only one working, so Paola had her son and daughter-in-law over. I helped Paola cook, and Serafina brought the most delicious cinnamon and rhubarb pie with a flaky crust I’ve ever tasted. Paola teases Carmine mercilessly, and it’s one of the sweetest things I’ve ever seen. The guy is huge. Not quite as big as Gabriele, but I wouldn’t want to find him at the end of a dark alley. The man is terrified of his mother. She’s lovely and kind, but she looks in her son’s direction, and he’s asking how high he should jump.
They also told me about some things Gabriele and Carmine got up to when they were kids. Most of the stories also involved the other cousins, but Carmine and Gabriele were the focus. It seems like Carmine was the instigator, and Gabriele kept him from being throttled by all the adults in their family. I deduced he was a gentle giant as a kid, head and shoulders taller than his classmates until high school. I still see that in him. The way he touches me speaks of tenderness that I doubt has much of an outlet these days. Even when he’s insistent about something, he doesn’t intimidate me or come across as forcing his will upon me. It’s always reasoned out and with my best interests at heart. When I think about it, it makes me all gooey inside.
What doesn’t make me gooey is walking into court this morning. The Cohenour trial begins today. I spot my client and walk over to him.
“Good morning.”
He barely glances at me when he returns the greeting.
“Hi.”
He’s antsy as fuck.
