He packed the money back into the bag a lot faster than he had unloaded it. When he was done, I closed the hood and walked him around to the front seat. He didn't utter another word about his debt but whispered a prayer under his breath as we drove to Antonio's house; a gated mansion located in the family-friendly suburb of Dyker Heights.
A crime boss hidden in plain sight.
We were buzzed in at the gate and drove slowly up the cobblestone driveway, leading us straight to the large, Mediterranean-style home. Its exterior terracotta sandstone walls were illuminated by the spotlights hidden in the hedges that bordered the ground floor.
Vince, Antonio’s oversized head of security and right-hand man, was already waiting at the top of the stone porch steps as I pulled Bernardi and the duffle bag from the car. He watched with an amused expression on his rough face while I nudged Bernardi up to the front door, poking him in the spine with the gun.
"What's goin’ on here?" Vince chuckled as we joined him at the top of the stairs. A faded bluish-gray Nordic-style knot tattoo sprawled up the left side of his neck from beneath his suit collar.
I opened my mouth to respond but Bernardi pleaded, "I'm begging you. Give me more time and I'll get your boss the money."
Vince shook his head and tutted as he led the way into the house. When Bernardi refused to walk, shaking his head, I pushed him forward. He stumbled into the house, catching himself before he could face-planted the timber floors inside. His eyes darted and scanned every inch of the place, his breath unsteady, as if he expected to be shot the second he took another step.
I pressed the gun into his shoulder blade and gripped the duffle bag firmly in my other hand. “Walk,” I muttered.
He released a sob but did as he was told.
I didn’t let myself feel sorry for the bastard as we followed Vince through the house and out to the back patio. He brought this on himself.
Antonio was lounging on an outdoor sofa with a cigar between his fingers. His much younger wife was beside him sipping a glass of wine. She was ten years older than me.
Their three Dobermans at their feet each raised a head in curiosity when we stopped several feet away. So did several of his men stationed at random around the patio.
Calm as ever, Antonio placed his cigar in an ashtray on the frosted glass coffee table, feigning ignorance to Bernardi standing, trembling, in front of him as he turned to his wife. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze, smiling softly as he said, “Julia, my darling. Mind going inside for this one? And take the girls with you.”
Julia smiled sweetly, leaning over to kiss his cheek before standing up. She straightened out the creases in her short, white designer dress, brushed her thick, blonde hair from her shoulder, and snapped her fingers. All three dogs immediately got up.
"Try not to make too much of a mess, Tony," she said, sending me a friendly wink as she made her way to the house. I was her favorite, and not in some weird secret lover kind of way. She liked me because I didn’t ogle at her chest or legs like Antonio’s other fighters did when the boss wasn’t around. She never complained about it though, saying it was harmless.
The dogs trotted along at her heels. Each one was an unintentional replacement for Antonio’s three estranged kids to his first wife. Who all lived in Italy and had nothing to do with him anymore. His choice, not theirs after the mess they created.
His kids were deranged, according to Vince. I was happy I never met them.
Bernardi had let out a whimper in response to what Julia said. Once she was inside, I gave him a light nudge forward, but his knees buckled and he dropped to the ground to beg for his life.
Antonio watched the blubbering mess a second longer before looking to me for answers.
“He's short ten grand," I put simply, setting the bag down beside the coffee table.
Antonio sighed, rubbing at his forehead tiredly before dropping his hand to rest on the arm of the chair. “Not surprising, but I’m still a little disappointed...”
Without a second glance at Bernardi, who began looking elsewhere for help, Antonio motioned for me to hand the gun to Vince. I handed it over without hesitation.
Vince was already screwing a silencer onto the barrel when Bernardi began pleading just a little louder.
Antonio made no indication to say I needed to stay (he picked up his cigar and was sipping his glass of wine while admiring a nearby fountain), so I backed off and left via the garden while Vince lifted the gun. As I rounded the corner of the house, ignoring Bernardi’s begging as I followed the path that cut down the narrow side of the property, there was a faint pop and everything was quiet again. Except for the sound of sprinklers spitting water across the front lawn as I walked to my car.
I was numb to the murders Antonio orchestrated. To him, they were just bad business deals. Thinking of them that way made it easier to take. It wasn’t a human being he killed, but another vessel stealing money. Simple.
I lit a cigarette the second I was back in the silence of the Cadillac, taking a moment to inhale the smoke, filling my lungs with it, before I breathed it out with a deep sigh and turned the key over in the ignition.
At 9 PM, I pulled into the packed parking lot of a community center in Bay Ridge. Already scanning the milling crowds around the entrance to the building for a little Italian woman in a wheelchair. Ignoring the fact this was Lily’s suburb, and that her apartment was seven minutes away from Antonio’s mansion in the next one over.
The low rumble of the Cadillac attracted the attention of the bingo players. Most of them were elderly people who either curiously watched it, or smiled as they recognized the vintage make. I didn’t mind, or care, as I found a parking space several spots down from the front doors of the hall.
I buried my hands into the pockets of my jeans and strode along the streetlamp-lit sidewalk, ignoring the people I passed as I aimed for the wheelchair ramp beside the stairs. Usually, Mom would get a ride home with friends, but seeing as I had the rest of the night off, I offered to drive her instead.
She wasn’t outside yet, possibly caught up chatting inside, so I leaned against the handrail and waited. Unnoticed by most until they had to pass. They either smiled politely, hiding their wariness about the all-black clothes and tattoos they could see, or they turned up their noses and gave me a wide berth as they hurried to their cars.
