Chapter 20

20

JACK

" D on't waste time on this. The cargo needs to be moved tonight," I tell Louie.

"I know that man, but the only way to get it to the drop is across Carbini's docks."

"I've got a call in to Vinny. He's supposed to call me back. His secretary gave me the runaround. Once he gives us the okay to cross his territory, we move," I say.

"What are the odds he's gonna sign off on that?" Lynette asks.

"About sixty-forty. We've been in a truce for what? Almost two years? I don't see him throwing that out to be petty. We keep to our borders and show respect. No point in getting stupid about it. I'm asking his indulgence on this one shipment because the buyer got antsy and wants the drop on the other side of town. He's a businessman like me, and I don't think he's gonna act unreasonable."

I'm not really that confident he'll agree, but I'm not about to let my inner circle know I'm a little nervous about this gamble. The fact is, Vinny Carbini's a real prick and has been since I was a kid. His twins were about my age growing up and one of them ratted me out for chewing gum in church during a funeral and I got my ass whipped over it. Carbini laughed about the whole thing that day, and I'm not confident a guy who thinks that kind of crap is funny will be very reasonable about us moving product across his territory as a courtesy.

"Didn't Carbini send us that shitty fish for a wedding gift?" Lynette asks Louie who shrugs.

"Hell, if I know. I didn't pay attention to that. I was gettin' hitched to the woman of my dreams." Louie says it all syrupy sweet.

She smiles at him. Now I feel like I got an ulcer now because I remember how it felt when Serena used to look at me like that.

"You, okay?" Louie asks me.

"Yeah," I say.

"Not sweating the message from Old Carbini?" he prods.

"Nah, Lou, he's sweating the girl that didn't answer him back when he said he missed her."

"She playin' hard to get?" Louie asks. "No, she just walked out on me."

"The night he got stabbed," Lynette supplies helpfully.

"That's gotta freak her out if she didn't grow up in the life. It's been a minute. Call her up, see if she changed her mind once she calmed down."

I look at him, a frustrating bloom of hope in my chest. I cut my eyes to his wife. She's not giving me encouragement with her look.

"You think I should call her?"

"You think you gotta ask my permission?" she counters, sassy as always.

"You and Serena would've gotten along great. She has a mouth on her too."

"Good for her," Lynette says. "Call her up if you want to. I don't see as how it could make it any worse."

"Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence."

"You're tellin' me you got the cheek to go to Vinny Carbini asking a favor but you don't have the balls to call the girl that stitched me up? She was gone on you, man. No way she's over you. Give it a try," Louie encourages me.

"There's my hype man," I say wryly, but I needed to hear it.

When they leave my office, I make a beeline for my phone and bring up her number. I take a second and just look at the photo I have on her contact information. Something inside my chest softens and warms, and I think how fucked I am if she doesn't reconsider. Because I'm just as crazy about her as I was the day we met. No chance I'm getting over it anytime soon or ever.

I dial her number. It rings a couple of times, and my pulse ratchets up because I'm gonna get voicemail and don't have a message planned out. I steel myself to hit the end button as soon as the voicemail prompt kicks on, but instead of that I get a sleepy, "Hello?"

"It's me," I say, heart pounding so fast because I hear her voice, and I love her voice. I've missed it, missed her so much. "How are you doing?" I ask.

"I'm okay," she mumbles.

"Did I wake you up? It's two in the afternoon." Dismay creeps in my voice. What if she's depressed and can't get out of bed?

"I work nights now. I got off at six or something and then I met Caylee for coffee. Did you need something? Your stitches healing up and everything?"

"Yeah, they are. You did a good job."

"Good. So, why are you calling Jack?"

"I texted you, and you never answered me."

"You didn't ask a question."

"I miss you," I say to her, and the weight of those words nearly chokes off my air. My mouth is dry from the effort of admitting it.

"I know," she says, kindly. "I miss you too. God knows I do. But it wasn't going to work out. I could act like it was all fine and you had a regular job till you show up for pancakes bleeding from the side."

"Are you blaming me for getting stabbed?"

"No, not at all," she says coolly. "I'm blaming you for doing business with people who might stab you. Any chance of that should be an automatic ‘no, we are not doing this deal thank you,'" she says hotly. "I guess I'm not the cool girl, the type that's okay with the danger. But I couldn't just smile and act like it was fine. It scared the hell out of me, Jack." she says.

I hear her voice go high at the end like she's trying not to cry. I want to hold her, to crush her to my chest and make her promises I know I can't keep.

"I'm sorry," she says softly, barely above a breath. "I can't. And I don't think I can talk to you, just say hi like this, check in like we're friends. It hurts too much."

She hangs up on me. Serena just hit the end button without saying goodbye. The wrench of emotions twisting in my chest, the roiling thoughts competing in my brain are overwhelming.

I lean back in my chair, hands clasped behind my head as I stared up at the ceiling without seeing it. She's hurting. She misses me, too. I can't tell if I'm devastated and want to protect her or if I'm elated, victorious that she misses me and couldn't just walk away from us and what we shared as easily as she seemed to.

I stand up and pace the room a few times, take in my million-dollar view and remind myself I'm not a teenager who's going to call Lynette in her office crowing that my ex-girlfriend misses me. There will be no bragging even though I feel like a Roman candle is lit up behind my rib cage. She cares for me enough that there's still a chance. If it's too painful to talk to me and she wants to cut all ties, then I'm not going to crowd her.

I'm just not going to give her enough time and space to forget me. I'll have one of my guys look into it, find out where she works. Maybe I have some business to do with the place, whatever it is.

When I wrap up my next meeting, I check in with my assistant, but there's still no word from Vinny Carbini. I don't want to call again, knowing it looks desperate. He's probably enjoying himself watching me squirm on the hook and knowing I'll owe him a favor in return.

I talk to my logistics supervisor about relations with the buyer. He can't give me a confident response about whether they're going to pull out of the very lucrative deal if we can't move tonight. They're new to the game stateside and a little nervous about being caught. If they get fingered in anything that smells of racketeering or moving illegal goods, their permit to do business in the US is in the garbage.

I'm restless and increasingly pissed off at Carbini over not returning my call. It's disrespectful and makes me want to flick his crappy 90s toupee.

When the business day ends and I've heard nothing from Carbini's office, I give the grim go-ahead to Louie and the boys. We'll have to brazen it out, try to move across rival territory in the most silent and circumspect manner we can. We'll avoid drawing attention to ourselves, make sure to evade surveillance cameras or hack them if necessary. Leave no trace, get to the drop point, do the deed and then scatter.

"No one steps a foot over the Carbini border on the way back. I don't care if you have to call an Uber and go through fuckin' Delaware to get home. We minimize the incursion to their property and get out as quick as we can. If anybody so much as drops a gum wrapper I'm gonna personally see to it that they're living on soup through a straw for six months, you understand?" I tell one of my lieutenants.

"Understood," he says. "We'll do the thing and beat ass out of there, no delay, no change of plans."

"Correct," I say. "Keep Lynette in the loop on your timing, and IT will scrub you if you stray into camera range."

"Thanks. We won't let you down," he says.

As he shuffles away, head down and determined, I wonder if it's worth the risk. The stakes are high in the long term, and I'm a big-picture guy. Sure, it's the first step in what will be an immensely profitable international expansion for the family business. We'll have access to new markets and a ton of opportunities. This job has to be seamless to build the trust they need to have in our organization.

I'll just grit my teeth and ride it out. There's no alternative. They've just made a splash in their first foray into East Coast banking and finance. No hint of wrongdoing can get back to their brand. I understand why they're nervous, but this is a business for the bold. I'm moving ahead with the delivery, permission or no permission to cross rival territory on the way.

I didn't get where I am today by sitting around biting my nails and worrying what can go wrong. My dad, bastard that he was, always claimed it was easier to apologize than wait for permission. I'm taking that advice tonight and damn the consequences.