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He coughed, to clear his throat. “Understood.”
“Good. Go.”
He moved like a robot through the kitchen towards the back door, which led onto a patio, and from there, the garage and garbage cans that the voice had described. His grandmother hustled out after him. He could not follow the angry babble that came out of her mouth. His attention was locked onto the screen of his phone. Lily’s bleak eyes.
Across the patio. Over a green, perfect lawn. The breezeway, between the shed and garbage cans. Grandma Pina still haranguing him, pounding at his shoulder. He weaved and lunged drunkenly out of her range, out into the alley. She finally gave up, and just yelled after him as he walked down that alley. He was passing by a dirty white van parked behind one of the neighboring houses. He chose a route right past it and slowed to scrawl surreptitiously in the grime, in loose cursive,
lilyhad to sorry
Twenty more yard took him to the avenue. The bronze BMW was waiting, its motor humming. Bruno opened the door. The driver didn’t even turn his head as he slid inside and shut the door. The car took off, a surge of eager power that shoved him back against the leather seat.
The voice hadn’t told him not to speak in the car, so he hazarded a question to the driver, just for the pure raving hell of it.
“Where are we going?” he said.
The guy turned his head, and looked at Bruno. He smiled.
His face alone was the answer. Sweet Jesus. It sent thrills of dread through him. So much like himself. Younger, though. Like looking through a magic mirror back in time, except that the guy’s hair was several shades lighter, and his eyes were blue. The difference was just enough to be jarring. How he’d look if he’d been dipped in bleach.
“Give me your phone,” Blond Bruno said.
His rational mind fought it as he held out his phone. Alarm bells were clanging on every layer of his consciousness. He thought about the stiffs in the morgue, the ones who were related to him. Petrie hadn’t been shitting him. It was true. But still impossible.
“Oh, Christ,” he whispered. “You’re one of them, right?”
The kid’s full mouth, exactly like his own, stretched in another wide smile, activating the deep dimples. Exactly like his own.
“So are you,” he said.
* * *
“It’s been too long,”Kev said, for the tenth time. “Too damn long.”
“You think Grandma Pina’s got him strung up by his thumbs in there?” Sean said. “I think Bruno can handle a hundred and ten pound woman in her late seventies. You’re just clock-watching, bro. It takes time to go through an old lady’s attic, or basement, or whatever. It’s a good sign that he’s taking so long. Maybe he has half a chance.”
Kev shook his head. Sean was trying to keep it light, but he was wasting his breath. “I don’t care,” he said. “I’m going in.”
“He begged you not to, man,” Sean warned.
“We can’t wait. We have to intercept Zia Rosa before she descends on one of the most brutal mafia bosses on the Eastern seaboard.”
“She won’t have a gun on her, right?” Sean said hopefully.
“Depends on if she checked luggage or not,” Kev said.
“She totes a gun?” Sean looked shocked. “Holy shit!”
“Of course. She’s a Ranieri. She’s Tony’s sister. She has her own guns, plus his whole collection,” Kev said. “She’s a walking armory.”
Sean whistled, impressed, and checked his watch. “Hurry, Bruno. We gotta save the mafia boss from your crazy aunt.”
The front door burst open, and the old lady herself shot out, as if the house had forcibly propelled her. She wore a coat, held a big purse.
“Oh, shit,” Kev snarled. “He’s gone!”
“Gone?” Sean looked around, confused. “Gone where?”
Kev waved his hand towards the old lady. “She would never leave him in her house unsupervised!” He burst out of the car and ran to intercept the woman. “Excuse me? Mrs. Ranieri?”
