Page 631 of Not Over You

Shawna or Lorna. She was face down on the ground, halfway between the main area of the club and the office, her arm outstretched in a reaching position. She must have been trying to crawl away from whoever had shot her. Or was calling out for help. The other sister was on the floor in the office. She had no wounds that I could see, but her eyes bulged, and her lips were tinged blue. Her neck was bruised. She’d been strangled.

It wasn’t like Gallo to leave proof of death hanging around. Someone would be here soon to clean this up. Nose, probably. He’d been demoted to clean up guy.

A cellphone on the desk started ringing. A scream in the middle of the night. I picked it up but said nothing.

“I know you hear me, Shadow Man,” the voice said. “I know you’re there. Get to the bakery. That’s where all the action is. We’re baking late—the fires already going. It’s so hot, what goes in will come out as ashes. So, bring the proof, or your wife...”

Gallo wanted to bring this full circle. He’d always had it in for Michele for not allowing him inside. That play years ago, when he sat at the table and ate the bread he wasn’t allowed to buy, was letting me know. Even if it was off limits, he still got what he wanted.

He was going to try to destroy all three of us at once. But he wanted the proof first. Whatever Norma had on Gallo was good enough to kill for—and good enough to get killed for. And for whatever reason, they hadn’t found it.

“Lilo!”

The sound of my wife screaming my name in the background twisted my head on a little tighter, even though my thoughts were anything but sane.

“Cigarettes!”

The line went dead.

Cigarettes? Why would Lucila scream that? The proof? Had to be. But the fucking problem here—this was a cigar bar. They sold every brand imaginable of any kind of smoke. I looked down at Lorna or Shawna. She had on the tight uniforms they wore, and a pack of cigarettes would bulge and be noticeable. The other sister wore jeans and a t-shirt.

I checked her back pocket and found a pack of cigarettes. I dissected it, taking them all out. They were all soft, except for one. It was hard, like it was made of plastic. I pulled the top and the bottom apart. A flash drive was connected to the area where a mouth would go to take a drag. But it was smaller than usual. It would need an adapter to plug into a computer.

It was smart. And I realized that Shawna hadn’t given it up because she might have realized that she and her sister were already dead once she decided to walk in and try to negotiate their way out of this. The proof of whatever Gallo had admitted was their only lifeline, but it didn’t matter. If she was dead, and her sisters were dead, they didn’t care about the rest. There’d be no one left to tell. But she must have told Lucila. Determined to get Gallo even in the end.

If she would have trusted me, this could have ended differently. But I also knew how hard it was to trust in this life. Lucila was light, and I trusted in her, but the true colors in this world were always hidden behind fake walls.

But her choices put my wife’s life on the fucking line.

Thoughts I refused to believe circled in my head, while I sped toward the bakery. If I believed the voices, I was already dead with my wife. They could put us both in the furnace and send us off together. Scattering our ashes after, thinking they’d won. But in the end, we’d always find each other. She was the lock and I was the key. One didn’t make sense without the other.

I dialed Michele’s number for the fourth time. Still no answer. I hadn’t been back to my parents’ place since ma left. It didn’t feel like home no more without her in it. That locked snapped shut the moment she closed her eyes. Lucila kept me updated on Michele, though. She said he was struggling. Always drunk. Always one snap away from exploding.

Maybe he drank so much, he’d passed out.

The house was in darkness, and so was the bakery, as I pulled to the side of the curb. The lights highlighted no movement. Even the wind seemed like it was too still. The cigarette-shaped flash drive was wedged between my fingers. It might as well be our forever ticket to Coney Island. I pulled out the compartment on the dash that held the lighter and ashtray. It was spotless, but I sat the cigarette in it. Like a prop. Then I fired off a text to my sister-in-law, who dealt in cryptic every day: You don’t hear from me soon, take a smoke break with Woodie.

The light from the phone faded from my face as I looked out into the darkness. My phone vibrated a second later, but I stuck it in my pocket and stepped out. Before the door was fully closed and I was on the sidewalk, Sebastiano emerged out of the darkness with a gun.

“You can shoot me later,” I said. “But I’m not stopping for anyone. My wife’s in trouble.”

I went to walk inside, and he fired off a warning shot at the sky. I was tempted to look up, because what goes up must come down, but I didn’t want to be looking at it if it rained down on me. I was all my wife had.

“You’re a piece of shit, Lilo,” he said. “You never deserved her. You never deserved this.” He chucked his chin toward the house and the bakery. “You know what I went through as a kid? I was so severely abused that the state was forced to take me from my parents. Then my grandparents took me in. And they were good to me. But it’s not like having your parents. It felt like having nothin’. And then I see the most special girl. She’s sittin’ at the piano with the light falling all around her. Singin’ the prettiest song. A song I felt. For once I felt somethin’ other than emptiness. Then she opens her eyes and looks. Not at Ghetti. Not at me. But fuckin’ you. How’s that fair?”

“You love her so much,” I said, realizing that his train had totally derailed. “I gotta get in the bakery.”

“You did this to her!”

“I did,” I said. “And I’ll pay with my life to save her. What about you?”

He wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “She’s better off. Because men like you never die. You live forever through them. Like a fuckin’ spirit that’s possessed someone. And they’re never the same again.”

“You fucking piece of shit. You want her to die.”

“She’s better off,” he repeated. “You, too.” He raised the gun and I pulled out mine, knowing it was going to be too late. But instead of keeping it trained on my chest, his hand jerked to the side of me. His eyes went wide as his finger pressed the trigger.

I moved just in time.

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