“Skipping town, huh?”
“Yeah,” I say, dry enough to crack. My own accent, the Long Island that I forced out of me when I went away to college, slips in and out. “I’m skipping town from the mob, and where do I go? New York City.”
Antonio’s smile grows. “And you happened to pick the busiest hotel on the busiest street to…nothide in.”
“I’m not hiding. I’m on my way to court.” I tip my chin at the hotel. “I picked a place with parking. You know how valuable that is here?”
“And lottsa security cameras,” he says lightly.
“Security cameras?” I say, Long Island teasing my voice again. “At the busiest hotel on the busiest street in New York City, you say? It’s a mystery.”
Nico hasn’t said a word yet, still studying me. I nearly bristle under his gaze before he finally speaks. “You look tired.”
I narrow my eyes.
“I look like a person who’s going to be late for court,” I say. “But thanks.”
Antonio’s gaze flicks to my stomach and back so fast I almost miss it. Rage blooms, bright and hot. “Don’t,” I warn, taking a half-step back.
He lifts a palm. “Respectfully.”
I snort. “Right,” I say. “What do you want?”
“Luca would like a word.”
“He has counsel.” I let the steel harden my voice. “He can use it.”
“We’re past that,” Antonio says, a thread of gentleness that I hate sneaking into his tone. “You have to know that.”
“I haven’t made any decisions yet,” I lie.
Something flickers in Nico’s eyes for the first time. “I hope you’ll make the right one.”
“Whatever one I make ismineto make,” I emphasize.
“Not before speaking to him,” Nico warns.
“We’re not here to make trouble,” Antonio says, literally clearing the air with his hands. “Just want to make sure you get back home.”
They’re here to watch me. Make sure I don’t really skip town. And they’ll do it even if I disagree.
So I won’t. At least this way, I’ll be able to make the rules.
“You will not follow me into the courthouse,” I say sternly. “You will not approach my colleagues. You will not linger around the Federal Building. If I see any of your faces the rest of the time I’m here, evidence will make its way to the judge that Luca was in my apartment when his ankle monitor said he was at home. And he’ll have to watch another kid grow up from behind glass. Understood?”
I know it’s harsh, but I’m not ready for this all to blow up in my face just yet.
I need time.
“Understood.” He means it.
“Then we’re done.”
“Almost.” He slides two fingers into his inner pocket and produces a small white card—blank except for ten digits—held between forefinger and middle like a magic trick. “For when you get home.”
I don’t move. Heat seeps from the asphalt through my shoes. I can smell tar and fryer oil from a street vendor. I tell myself to say no. I tell myself to let it fall to the ground and step on it.
My hand is steady when I take it.
