Once Vince closed the door, I quickly pulled my phone out, keeping an eye on him as he climbed into the front seat, started the car, and pulled into the traffic. Antonio hadn't specified that I couldn’t use my phone, but it felt like I wasn’t supposed to be so I kept it in my bag. Only glancing at the screen when I was certain Vince wouldn’t look into the rearview mirror.
Me: Vince is taking me to Antonio.
His reply was instant.
Dean: Where?
Me: I don't know yet.
The typing bubble beside his name popped up and then disappeared twice before I looked out the window for any indication as to where we were going. We were traveling further into Bay Ridge instead of out toward The Den, and everything was beginning to look familiar.
Me: His wife's new house.
Dean read it but didn’t respond, and I hoped that meant he was on his way. Except he was coming from Bensonhurst, and rush hour was looming. Traffic was bound to slow him down.
Hopefully, it would slow Vince down too.
I breathed in deeply and tucked my phone away. I needed to get my head straight, to focus on what I was going to say to Antonio if he brought up anything about my father. But I couldn’t even focus on reading a street sign let alone think of an excuse to give a crime boss. My head was spinning with a million things at once again, all ending in me coming to some gruesome end.
Suddenly my life felt too short, and I wished I had done everything I had ever procrastinated over or put off. I should’ve studied something in the arts. I should’ve tried for my driver’s license one more time. I should’ve told my parents no more. I should’ve kissed Dean sooner.
My chest tightened uncomfortably as the all-too-familiar sensation of a panic attack settled into my chest, shortening my breath as it choked my lungs and filled my head with even more intrusive thoughts. Including ideas of news headlines of how my body might be found. Or how Dean might react if he learned he didn’t get there in time.
Vince pulled the car into a white, gravel driveway and idled at a pair of large gates. Beyond the gaps in the iron bars, I could just make out the white mansion Mom recently sold to Antonio’s wife, Julia, sitting at the end of a short hedge-bordered driveway. They had installed electronic gates and a speaker at the driveway’s entrance and hired a gardener to tend the gardens. He watched as we drove up slowly to the front of the house, parked beneath the drive-thru carport on the front of the house, and then returned to his pruning.
There was only one other car parked nearby: a sleek, black Aston Martin. It looked familiar but I didn’t have time to linger on the thought as Vince climbed out of the car and opened the back door for me.
My eyes dropped to the gun on his hip, and I swallowed dryly. Then hesitantly climbed out, clutching the strap of my bag as if my life depended on it. I glanced up at the mansion, looking at its many windows, and flinched when Vince closed the car door before gently taking my elbow in his hand. He steered me over to the front door in silence.
I wondered how often he did this for Antonio — how often he collected people to discuss their untimely deaths.
A shudder ran down my spine.
I’m not dying. He just wants to talk.
As Vince pulled the front door open, I glanced over my shoulder to look at the driveway one last time before I was guided into the house. The outside world soon shut out as Vince clicked the door shut and walked me through the foyer, past the spiral staircase I once admired.
I knew the layout of this mansion, but still followed Vince’s silent instructions as he led the way down a hall to the right, passing several open moving boxes and heading straight for the double doors at the other end of the hall. I remembered the room ahead was listed as an office in the property report. I took photos of it and could vaguely remember how it looked inside.
Natural, soft light reflected off the eggshell walls and built-in bookshelves and there was a second door in the left corner of the room that exited to the kitchen. On the opposite side of the office were windows that looked over the front garden. Everything about the space was in stark contrast to the dark world Antonio worked in but it didn't come as a surprise. He was a man who seemed to enjoy doing illegal things in plain sight.
Vince pushed the double doors open, revealing the room exactly how I recalled it. Only now there was a large, glass desk in the center and Antonio was sitting behind it dressed in a black, tailored suit. His fingers were steepled with his elbows resting on the arms of his high back, maroon leather seat.
He smiled warmly, as I stepped into the room, and gestured for me to take the seat opposite him. But my eyes drifted to the woman standing by the front window.
Roxy.
Leaning against a wall table as she looked at her red nails, she smirked to herself before lifting her dark eyes to me. Her long legs were clad in leather pants while she wore a black turtleneck T-shirt.
It was her Aston Martin outside.
When I hesitated, Vince gave my back a nudge before I crossed to the white upholstered chair opposite Antonio, and sat down.
Antonio watched my every move but didn’t say anything for what felt like forever when really it had just been a few seconds.
He smiled a little wider as he gestured to the room around us. “What do you think?”
“Of the house?” I shifted in my seat, glancing nervously around the room for a second, and then back to him. “It’s beautiful.”
