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“I wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” Charlotte replies.
The brunette kisses Charlotte on both cheeks, and when she’s done doing that, she moves along to greeting Carlo—her big brother, from what I was told during the drive over here.
“Thank you for bringing Charlotte to us,” the brunette says in the midst of her embrace.
Carlo chuckles. “You would have kicked my ass if I didn’t.”
When the siblings disengage, the brunette smiles warmly at me. “And who’s this handsome hunk of a man?”
Charlotte clears her throat. “Angela, this is my fiancé, Auggie.”
“I was hoping this was him! I’ve heard so much about you from Carlo, Auggie. You’re gonna be an animal doctor?”
“That’s right. Nice to meet you, Angela. Thank you for having me.”
“Welcome to the family.” She hugs me enthusiastically, and when that’s done, she says to Charlotte, “Bella’s gonna be so happy her beloved Auntie Charlotte made it. She got so spoiledwhen you could come by once a month. She’s missed you so much lately.”
“I’ve missed her, too. No more free flights, unfortunately.”
“I heard you lost your job from Carlo. Sorry to hear that, sweetie. I know you’ll find something soon. Something even better. Mr. DiMarco always says you’re the best stewardess he’s ever had.” She snorts at the sexual innuendo and then swats my broad shoulder. “That’s served him on aflight, I mean. If there are other stewardesses he’shadwho’ve maybe impressed him in other ways, I don’t wanna know about it.”
Pretending to laugh, Charlotte holds up the brightly wrapped gift she’s brought for Bella. “Is there a gift table, or?”
“There is, but Bella will want to openyourgift in front of you.” She grabs Charlotte’s free hand. “Come with me, Charlotte Mickey-D.”
I follow the two women into the crowded party, marveling at the swarm of bustling partygoers. It’s nice all these adults have shown up to celebrate a kid’s tenth birthday, but it feels more like an adult’s milestone birthday to me, like a 40th, than a kid’s tenth. I’m sure Bella would much prefer to celebrate her big day with a handful of her besties, maybe at a trampoline park or an ice-skating rink, than with all these adults crammed into her mother’s house. Where are all the kids?
As we make our way through groups of people standing around with cups and paper plates of food, I notice Carlo greeting a beautiful woman and a baby across the party. He kisses the woman on the lips and takes the baby into his arms and proceeds to gleefully pepper the baby’s fat little face with kisses. Damn. It’s bizarre to feel my heart touched by Carlo’s obvious affection for his family, when my brain knows full well he inflicts pain or worse for a living. It’s awfully hard to reconcile the two diametrically opposed things in my head.
“Look who’s here, Bella!” Angela, our hostess, bellows, causing me to jerk my attention toward our apparent destination: a thin little girl in a motorized wheelchair—the kind with a headrest that keeps its occupant’s head firmly in place. This little girl is frail and visibly disabled. Also, absolutely beautiful.
“Happy birthday, my love!” Charlotte says brightly, and the little girl’s dark eyes light up.
Charlotte bends down to hug the girl and kiss her cheek. She strokes her hair and whispers to her softly. And by the time Charlotte straightens up again, the two women and Bella are all crying happy tears. I’m sure I’d be tearing up, as well, or at least fighting tears, if I weren’t so fucking afraid I’m about to get blindsided and turned into hamburger meat and/or fish food.
Charlotte introduces me to Bella, and the little girl greets me in a strained, soft voice.
Charlotte and I pull up chairs next to Bella’s wheelchair, and with Angela looking on, Charlotte holds up the brightly wrapped birthday gift.
“I wonder who this could be for?” Charlotte teases. “Your mother? Carlo? Auggie?Me?” Charlotte giggles at Bella’s excited reaction. “Of course, it’s for you, my love! Should we find out what’s inside?”
Charlotte begins carefully unwrapping the gift, and as she does that, I glance around the party, nervously, hoping I won’t see Paolo’s face anywhere. If that dude shows his face here today, that’d be a very bad sign. For Carlo, certainly, and probably for Charlotte and me, too. Maybe I’ve seenGoodfellastoo many times, but if Paolo feels safe coming here today after taking that money, when heknowsCarlo and Mr. DiMarco will both be here, I’d have to think that would indicate he's being protected by someone higher up in the organization than Carlo.
Did Mr. DiMarco himself send Paolo to get that money from us in Seattle? Perhaps he didn’t trust Carlo anymore. Perhaps he wanted to see what we’d confirm about Carlo’s role in Charlotte’s crime. If so, did we give Paolo everything he needed to prove Carlo’s disloyalty and ultimately put Charlotte and me in grave danger? I’m practically jumping out of my skin at all the hair-raising possibilities.
Suddenly, there’s a palpable shift in the crowd—a collective tittering aimed toward the front of the house. I turn to look toward the source of the commotion, and there he is.Vincent DiMarco. The silver-haired “businessman” I’ve researched endlessly since this whole fiasco began. He’s accompanied by a well-dressed, elegant woman of around his age whose entire vibe screamsWIFE. Two large men in dark suits are trailing immediately behind the couple, and, thankfully, neither of them is Paolo.
“Excuse me,” Angela mutters, before beelining across the room to greet her most honored guests. I can’t hear what Angela is saying from this distance, but her body language makes it clear she’s fawning all over the couple.
While Angela is kissing ass, Carlo appears at his boss’s side and whispers into his ear.
“Charlotte,” I murmur, nudging her leg. When she looks across the party toward Mr. DiMarco, it’s just in time to see his dark eyes hardening in reaction to whatever Carlo’s whispering to him. The change in his demeanor was subtle. The man is probably an expert at maintaining a poker face by now. But it was definitely there, ever so briefly.He’s fucking pissed.
Mr. DiMarco mutters something to Carlo. Four or five words, at most. And in response to that, Carlo nods and marches off toward the front of the house. About five seconds after Carlo disappears, Charlotte abruptly pulls out her phone like it’s just buzzed in her pocket. After swiping her screen, she nudges myleg and tilts the phone toward me. She’s just now received a text from that same unknown number as before—the one Carlo used earlier today:
All’s well. No time to say goodbye. There’s something pressing I need to handle. Travel safe back home and sleep tight. Best to you and A.
Can we reasonably rely on this “all clear” message from Carlo? I don’t think he’dintentionallydeceive us at this point—he’s in this mess, every bit as deep as we are; but what ifMr. DiMarcois deceivingCarlo? What if the big boss sent Carlo to “handle” something just now, but in reality Carlo is walking into a trap at the hands of Paolo? Jesus Christ. This whole situation is turning my brain into a pretzel and my stomach inside-out. If I survive this party, I’m never going to watch a mafia movie again.
