Chapter 4

CHAPTER

FOUR

Saverio

T he thought of my knife on Anya's pregnant stomach still makes me sick as I leave her apartment building. I could've easily killed her as well as the life she carries. A flick of my wrist is all it would've taken, no more effort than driving a blade through butter. If I hadn't decided her life was mine already, the fact that a baby is growing inside her would've stopped me. I don't pause to examine my reasons too closely. I barrel down the street, checking that the man I summoned to watch her is in place.

He stands on the opposite side of the road, sheltered in an alcove from where he has a view on her street-facing windows. The blue lights of police cars flash from a block farther down. The sirens are quiet now. The forensics team will already be crawling over the crime scene. They won't find prints. They may however be lucky enough to pick up a hair or a flake of skin. Who knows?

The situation isn't ideal. If Anya didn't interrupt us, Giorgio and I would've dumped the body and burned the blood away with acid. But it is what it is. We'll just have to deal with any problems that arise. That's what I'm good at. Solving problems. Removing obstacles. In the most literal sense.

I nod at the man who returns my unspoken message with a tilt of his head. While Anya got dressed, I ordered the new phone and the equipment. Kevin, my driver, brought everything when he met us here to drive us to the doctor. At that hour, the police were focused on the murder scene. I wasn't worried about being seen when I ushered her downstairs and into my car.

I told Kevin to go to the restaurant and bring me the full menu after I'd shut Anya in the back of the car when we left Nicole's consultation room. My newfound treasure needed the energy. I had enough time to install the cameras and the microphones in her apartment while she was in the shower. It's the only reason I insisted she got cleaned up. Stealing more hours of her sleep wasn't good for her or the baby, but I couldn't take the risk of not having eyes and ears on her.

As instructed, Kevin waits in a side street. I get into the car and tell him where to go. The city never sleeps, and even at this hour, it takes us too long to get to Park Slope in Brooklyn.

The Victorian mansion that dates from the late 1800's overlooks Prospect Park. Giorgio opens the door himself. He glances over my shoulder at the street before letting me in. We walk through the entrance into the hallway where family photos take up every inch of wall space. The house looks the same as sixteen years ago. Giorgio didn't change a thing when his father moved to his modern penthouse on Central Park. I'm both glad and apprehensive.

At the end of the long corridor, we enter the study. The only light comes from a stained-glass desk lamp. The familiar whiff of brandy and cigars that hangs in the air brings back a rush of memories, memories of times that used to be pleasant but quickly turned sour.

I embrace that scent, dragging it with a deep breath into my lungs. I own the pain because it makes me stronger. Ignoring it only renders you weaker. It lures you into the comfort of denial. Donning that pain like a battle harness, I fill my chest with the nostalgic air until my ribcage hurts. I don't shy away from the truth. I acknowledge my faults and my defects. Maybe I'm using that persistent ache that beats under my breastbone to punish myself for those flaws. So what if it's like a flogger in my hand? I deserve every lash that cuts into my soul. I'm the one at fault. I'm the failure.

The plush carpet absorbs my steps. My instinct is finely tuned to danger. I sense his presence before I spot the black shape of a man in front of the dark window.

Luigi.

I don't need the stocky build and crooked stance to recognize Giorgio's father. The menace that hangs around him like a shroud and poisons the oxygen in the room is enough. After years of quietly watching and listening, I know him better than he knows himself. I learned to pay attention when it matters, and this counts in my favor, because Luigi is powerful enough to no longer have to pay attention. He has no idea how well I've got him figured out. Even though he has his back turned to us, I know exactly in which mood he is. He wants to chop off a few heads. He probably will. It always makes him feel better. Only, he can't chop off mine. He may hate it, but he needs me. I'm both the muscle and the brain that keeps his business invincible. Without me, Giorgio won't last a day.

Giorgio shuts the door.

"Luigi," I say. "I didn't except to see you here at this hour."

"I called him." Giorgio walks to the wet bar and yanks the decanter with the fifty-year-old brandy off the tray. "He needed to know about the turn of events."

Luigi spins around, his face a mask of scorn in the dim light that leaves deep shadows under his eyes and cheekbones. "The woman who saw you, is she dead?"

Giorgio pours three glasses. He offers one to this father, who takes it without the courtesy of a thank you.

I keep my expression neutral. I also learned to never let Luigi see inside me. As much as I can predict his thoughts, his opinions, and his intentions, as little do I show him what's going on in my head.

"There's been a complication," I say, accepting the glass Giorgio hands me without breaking eye contact with Luigi. "Thank you, Giorgio."

"What complication?" Luigi asks, his nostrils quivering.

"A group of people leaving a bar interrupted us. One of them recognized the woman."

Luigi purses his lips.

"Fuck." Giorgio slams a hand on the bar. "How many?"

My tone is level. "Eleven."

"Fuck," Giorgio says again, grabbing his glass in a white-knuckled grip. "Couldn't you bomb them? We could've made it look like an attack from a fanatical political group."

My smile is patronizing. Giorgio can be a dumb fuck.

Luigi hobbles over, swinging his cripple leg behind him, and slaps Giorgio upside the head. Parroting my thought, he says, "Idiot," through thin lips.

Giorgio turns red. Hatred simmers in his muck-brown eyes as he glares at his father.

"How was he going to blow them up?" Luigi asks. "With a magical fart from his asshole?" He taps his temple. "Think, Giorgio." He utters a crude laugh. "Bombing them. Did you hear that, Sav? Jesus, Giorgio. If I didn't see the DNA test with my own eyes, I would never have believed you're my son. Knifing down a man is one thing, but blowing up a street is another."

Giorgio works his jaw. "What then? We just let eleven witnesses go?"

"They haven't witnessed anything other than seeing us together," I say. "As long as she doesn't talk, that won't be a problem, and she won't talk."

"How can you be so sure?" Luigi asks.

"She knows what's at stake."

Giorgio runs a hand over his mouth. "What's preventing her from going to the cops?"

"The people she cares about." I take a sip of my drink. "She doesn't want them to get hurt."

Luigi considers that for a beat. Rubbing a hand over his chin, he says with a thoughtful air, "We need to make her disappear."

My heart is like a ticking time bomb in my chest. The threat is in no way aimed at me, but for some reason, I take it personally.

The words spill from my mouth before I can stop them, my tone more forceful than I intended. "No one will touch her."

Luigi looks at me quickly. Nobody who values his life will contradict him, let alone disobey a direct order.

I smooth over the mistake with a logical explanation. "She's my alibi. The police already questioned us."

"When?" Giorgio asks.

My tone is dry because it's obvious. "When they did the routine questioning in her apartment building."

If Luigi was a reasonable and more or less sane man, I would've told him Anya is expecting a baby, but he won't hesitate to gun down a pregnant woman. He'll kill children if he must. In his book, all is fair in the name of the business.

"I've got it under control," I say more to pacify Luigi than to reassure Giorgio. "I'm having her watched. She won't step out of line."

"What's your story?" Luigi asks.

"I said that she's my girlfriend and?—"

Giorgio chokes on a sip of brandy. "What?"

"And that I walked her home because she worked late."

"This is a major fuck-up," Giorgio says.

"An unforeseen obstacle," I correct. "It's not unmanageable. On the contrary, it counts in our favor. As it turns out, she works at the Lewis firm."

"Jesus," Giorgio mutters.

"The employees saw us when we paid Lewis a visit. If one of them as well as someone from the bar identify me, it's going to look odd. Now I can say we visited Lewis because my girlfriend recommended him. That eliminates the coincidence. Coincidences never look good."

"I don't like it," Luigi grumbles.

"Trust me. Have I ever failed you?"

He grunts. "Eventually, when the dust settles and the investigation is closed, we'll have to get rid of her. The risk of letting her live is too big."

I grind my teeth. I don't fucking think so. Anya's life belongs to me, and I like the idea of owning it too much to simply give it up.

"I went through the briefcase," Giorgio says. "There was nothing interesting or important inside, so I burned it."

"I want the two of you to go to Boston." Luigi leaves his untouched drink on the desk. "Today still."

"Boston?" Giorgio reels. "What's in Boston?"

The condescending smile that curls Luigi's upper lip is aimed at Giorgio. "What the fuck do you think?"

"The business where Lewis tried to hide the money he stole from us," Giorgio says as his brow smooths out with understanding.

"I want you to take back what's ours and close those motherfuckers down." Luigi looks at me. "Make sure they never work again. Let the message be clear to anyone who tries to launder money that belongs to us."

The timing isn't ideal. I prefer to keep an eye on Anya myself, but I trust the men I ordered to watch her. I handpicked them. I already defied Luigi once and got away with my life. I won't be so lucky twice.

"I'll take care of the arrangements," I say.

A little too much excitement sparks in Luigi's viper-green eyes. "Make a good example of them."

Meaning make them suffer before they blow out their last breaths.

"Don't worry." Giorgio grins. "We'll make those cocksuckers scream for their mommies."

Like his father, Giorgio is a sadistic bastard who derives pleasure from making people suffer. Torturing people doesn't turn me on, but it doesn't bother me either. I look at it scientifically, as using the most efficient and fastest means to achieve an end. I do whatever is necessary in a cold and clinical manner. It doesn't touch me one way or another.

Many people think we're lawless. The contrary is true. To hold the power, order must be maintained. We have our own laws and rules of conduct, and if we can't enforce those rules, our days will fast be numbered.

Me? I became an expert at bending people to my will. I know how to force obedience. When I'm done with my beautiful treasure, she'll be only too happy to kneel.