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“Daddy, I am scared. This sounds so ominous.”
“I hate that I’m frightening you, but I need you prepared. I don’t think it’ll come to all that, but in case it does.”
“Please be careful.”
“Always. I have you to come home to. Nothing is more important than that.”
I’m not exaggerating. Finding out who’s fucking with my family is a top priority, but nothing is more important than Chellie.
“You have to go.”
She says what we know, but neither of us moves. Our mouths move together, our kiss starting as equals. But I soon take the lead, and her body goes limp against mine, even as she drives me crazy with her tongue. Then it’s over too soon, and I’m walking out the door, giving David instructions. He knows what I expect. If he moves before one of the men in my family arrives, I’ll kill him.
I head down to the underground garage since I’m going to drive myself. I don’t have time to wait for a chauffeur. It’s nearly driving me nuts knowing I’m leaving before her other guards arrive. David is good, but he’s only one man. As the elevator opens, I consider which car to take. My Range Rover is a tank despite its sleek exterior. It’s got a lot of aftermarket shit to reinforce it. But my Porsche 911 Turbo is the fastest modern-day version of their cars you can get your hands on. I opt for that. I want to get to my family as soon as I can. The sooner I’m there, hopefully the sooner this is done, and the sooner I get back to Chellie.
As I pull out of the garage, I look both ways. Are there any dark sedans or SUVs? Yes. I watch as Luigi and Alonzo get out. I breathe a little easier, but I want someone from my family there. Someone has to be available. If they aren’t, I want our men to take Chellie where someone is available. I keep looking around as I merge onto the street. I see no other cars that look like ours but aren’t.
One of the very many fucked-up things about this world is we all get our cars souped up at the same shop. The guy who owns it is the best, and we all know it. The only way to tell the vehicles apart most of the time is the hubcaps. They’re just as custom as everything else, but they indicate which family they belong to. When shit’s literally blowing up, it’s often the only way we know where to run. That shop is Switzerland. The owner tries to make sure our appointments never overlap, but sometimes we end up there. The deal is we go in peace. The moment someone causes problems is the moment the guy shuts us off.
I don’t take the most direct route to the bridge because I want to see if anyone else is taking the same nonsense route. It wouldn’t be a coincidence. I see no one, so once I enter Queens, I head straight to Uncle Salvatore’s. I catch like every fucking red light. It’s almost enough to make me paranoid and think someone’s slowing me down. I nod to the guards as I pull through the property’s gate. I’ve already gone through the community gate. I passed four fucking Kutsenko houses just to get to my family. They’ve all moved in here. Motherfuckers are taking over.
“Uncle Sal?”
I don’t hear anyone when I enter, which is unusual. The only time it was this quiet was when Pia and Natalia were babies. I head toward my uncle’s office, and I finally hear people. The voices are hushed as though they don’t want to be heard. I see none of the women, so why are they whispering? I don’t knock on his door, just like I didn’t knock on his front door. We all come and go from one another’s houses for the most part. Though that’s not as frequent now that so many of us are married. No one wants to walk in on shit we shouldn’t see. Especially Maria and Matteo since that’s my little sister.
“Enzo, about time.”
“Nice to see you too, Papa. I came as soon as Marco called. The lights weren’t on my side. What the hell did Marco mean that these men might have been involved in Aunt Sylvia’s kidnapping? Does that mean Maks sent those men?”
“No.”
I turn toward Carmine, who’s sitting in an armchair with his computer on his lap. He’s tapping away on the keys, and he didn’t look up when he spoke. I wait, but he offers nothing else. He was a nosey fucker when we were kids, and that led to him heading up our intelligence gathering. I look back to my dad, then my uncle.
“What is going on then?”
It’s Luca who answers.
“We think these are the same men, but someone else sent them when they came after Aunt Sylvia.”
“How do you know they’re the same?”
Uncle Salvatore drums his fingers as he speaks up.
“Because one of those fuckfaces had the balls to call me and brag. I was in the kitchen making dinner with Sylvia. My hands were full, so I told her to answer and put it on speaker. She immediately recognized the voice. She said it was the one who’d ridden in the back of the car and spent more time on his phone than paying attention to her grabbing the gun from the dead man next to her. He hadn’t been prepared for her to shoot the two up front and to bolt from the car. She said she’ll never forget that voice, so I’m certain she’s right.”
“So, they were hired.”
I state the obvious. What we need to know is why. Carmine sits back and looks around the room.
“I think Maks hired these guys to do tonight’s job. The guy who called figured Aunt Sylvia wouldn’t hear him, or he figured she wouldn’t recognize his voice. I don’t think Maks had anything to do with Aunt Sylvia. Whoever hired them before is probably hoping we’ll believe these jackasses did both jobs. They’re probably hoping we think it’s the bratva behind taking Aunt Sylvia and stealing our goods.”
That sounds ridiculous to me, so I say as much.
“Does that mean Maks hired men who don’t know him? That seems highly improbable. Anyone who knows them knows they don’t go after women. They’d know they couldn’t possibly pass the blame for both jobs to the Ivankov bratva.”
Gabriele mutters something under his breath. When no one else speaks up, I do.
“Aleks didn’t go after Sinead directly.”
