“No, Mr. D’Amato,” says the staff nurse. “You know we’d let you know right away if anyone came in asking for her.”
I reach out to pat her hand and give her my most grateful smile. She goes pink with pleasure, and I give her a wink over my shoulder as I walk off, Marco an ever-present dog at my heels.
I wish Celia had a Marco, because I don’t like her running around town on her own, an easy target. But we all agreed it would be difficult to keep Cee’s fake pregnancy from a bodyguard who was with her sixteen hours a day or more. And the fewer people who know, the better. Now Hudson is included in that circle.
When I get back to Connie’s room, both Hudson and Celia have red eyes, and they’re sitting either side of Connie like a guard of honor. I stand at the foot of the bed and look down at Connie’s defaced toenails. “Maybe we should get a professional in, if they’re gonna start beautifying her,” I say.
“Turquoise is her favorite color,” Celia and Hudson snap together, both frowning at me.
I hold up my hands and back away from the feet. “Just saying.” Guess I was wrong about Celia not caring all that much about Connie as a person.
The two of them seem to have found their common ground. Celia filled Hudson in on the medical side of things as gently as she could. Because the truth is, Connie is never waking up. But shewillbe passing on her genes, and those of Tino Morelli, to the baby she’s carrying. Tino’s child, and my half-sister. Heir to one half of the Morelli fortune.
I got the other half.
My phone starts buzzing just as Celia begins to ask tentatively where Hudson is staying while he’s in the city. I don’t recognize the number, so I let it go to voice mail. I only pick up for Luca, Cee, Frank or Marco, and I make sure I always know the last four digits of Luca’s current burner. Whoever it was calling, they leave a message. I hear Celia extending an olive branch and asking Hudson to stay with her and Frank (Brother Frank will be delighted to have a strapping young lad like Hudson in close quarters with Celia, I’m sure), as I listen to the message, but all sound dies away as I realize who it is.
My sister.
And not the one who wants me dead.
Howie, it’s me—it’s Tara.
I take a breath as she pauses, my mind racing. Maybe she wants to reconnect? Maggie might hate me, but Tara was always kind. We were closer in age, she the third child and me the fourth. She was so happy at my wedding. One of the few who were, apart from me.
Her voice starts again.
Howie, I just wanted you to know, before you saw it on the news or…I just thought you should know, Pops—well, he’s passed. He died last night.
Chapter Five
Luca
Getting on a private plane reminds me of my honeymoon. Of Finch, practically giving me a lap dance as the plane took off. This journey is far less fun, and not only because of the destination. I’m also trying to digest massive amounts of information from Angelo, who put together actual briefs to help me. One-page summaries of each member of the Commission, along with notes about their affiliations, loyalties, grievances with other Families and syndicates, what percentage of their business relates to what industry, and most importantly, which of them are potential allies, in his personal opinion.
The man should have gone into politics.
We sit at the back of the plane, strategizing, while Frank, Nick Fontana, and Bobby Barone eat peanuts and make loud jokes at the front. None of the three are really necessary, because if Angelo can’t protect me, no one can. But they are important for optics, to show the Commission that I still have men on my side.
“I’d be lost without you, Angelo.”
He waves it off. “I’m just doing my job. I did the same for Tino whenever he met with potential business associates.”
I sit back in the seat and stretch before sampling the espresso and biscotti the steward delivered after take-off. “So you don’t think we’re on a road to nowhere?”
He gives a wry smile. “I can’t be sure of anything. But I don’t think Carmine Vicario would allow a summary execution without sizing you up first. He and Tino were great friends their whole lives. Great allies.”
“So where were those Vicario allies when Sam Fuscone and the Clemenzas were breaking down Tino’s doors?” I say, and then I wish I hadn’t as a broken sorrow passes across Angelo’s face.
He looks down at his hands.
I wasn’t there either, of course. I start to say something, edging up to an apology, but he looks up, fierce eyes burning.
“They were caught unawares. And don’t you apologize for anything. You chose right,” he says. “That’s an end to it.”
When I was initiated into the Morellis, I swore to put the Family before everything: before friends, before blood, before country. Before God Himself.
But when it came down to it, I didn’t.
