17. Selfish

SEVENTEEN

Another night at Il Sogno. Another steak dinner while ignoring Lincoln's piss-poor mood. Only this time? He's not the only one eager to get home to his wife.

I can tell almost immediately that he has news for me. Which makes sense. Our next meet wasn't supposed to be until two weeks from now, and it's Devil's turn to host. So when he called me this morning and asked if I could get a reservation at Il Sogno because ‘they made a good steak', I knew there was more to it than just meeting the terms of our truce.

Doesn't mean he's happy to be here. Just means that, if he did what I thought he did, I owe him a debt I'm sure he will be happy to call in one day.

The moment the waiter takes away our plates, and we both wave him off for dessert, Lincoln grabs something he kept tucked under his seat.

Watching me closely, he slides two folders onto the table.

One says Georgia Gayle. The other? Jimmy Winter.

"Which one do you want to look at first?'

Jimmy Winter. As a sign of good faith, when Lincoln arranged this meet, he let me know that Tanner finally came through. After weeks of research, he learned exactly who's running the crew that uses a snowfall as a symbol.

As the head of a Family, I should want to know about the man behind the mysterious snowflake. But, fuck it. I've devoted fifteen years to building my mafia. I've poured blood—mine and others—sweat and tears into this life, and I've put the Dragonflies first time and time and time again. If not the Dragonflies, then the Libellulas.

Just once, why can't I be completely selfish? Do something for me?

I tap Georgia's. "This one."

Lincoln makes a soft noise.

"What?"

"Nothing."

It's not nothing, and we both know it. "Spit it out. I'm sure you have something you want to say."

He shrugs, sliding Winter's back toward him. "Not really. I guess I just figured you'd want to know about the man behind the snowflake more."

Really? Since he has Georgia's folder, I'm willing to bet he's figured out why I asked him to have Tanner look her up. He'd be an awful boss if he didn't read through the folder before he set it down in front of me, and since Tanner is a pro at what he does, there's no doubt in my mind that he hasn't linked Georgia to Savannah if they are—as I suspect—one and the same.

Add that to the sly congratulation Lincoln slipped into the conversation earlier, the Devil of Springfield knows that I, too, am married.

How? Because Judge Callahan decided to take a trip down to the Playground and run his mouth.

I don't care. Let the city know that one of its most eligible bachelors has finally settled down. I'd be proud to show off my murderous wife if I didn't accept that, by doing so, I was putting her in danger.

She's already hiding so much from me. Without knowing what it is, how could I risk someone going after her the way she went after me?

That, at least, won't be in this folder. But what is?

Before I reach for Georgia's folder, I ask Lincoln, "If Ava was hiding things for you, wouldn't you choose her?"

"First of all, even when I was serving my penance, Ava didn't hide shit from me. She might not have none I was out there watching, but the only time I got caught off-guard was when she blew Maglione away and I saw his dragonfly."

He waits to see if I'm going to comment on that. When I don't, he continues. "Second? Fuck, yeah, I'd choose Ava. But I fucking love that woman so she'll always be my first choice in everything. What's your excuse?"

Apart from being irrational obsessed with a woman who makes no qualms in how much she loathes me? I don't have one.

But once I open the folder…

One glimpse. One glimpse at the photo that's placed on top of the half-inch thick pile of paper inside of the folder. A print-out of a driver's license, it lists the woman pictured as Georgia Gayle, with a Springfield address.

It's Savannah, thought. Her hair is a lovely shade of brown with golden streaks, her smile is a lot more innocent, and her features are softer, more rounded… but that's her. That's my wife.

Just like I expected.

I slam the top on the folder.

Lincoln cocks his head at me. "All that work and you just needed a picture? That it, Damien?"

No, but I find that I don't want to explain myself to my old friend right now. "Let's just say I saw what I needed to. I'll go through the rest later." When I'm alone. When I can read it carefully, processing what it says. Sliding the folder away, I look at Lincoln. "Okay. I'm ready. Tell me all about Jimmy Winter…"