He reaches around to pull one of my hands off his asscheek to the front of his sweatpants, making me feel how hard he’s getting. He breaks off the kiss just as I’m getting into it to say, “See? I need you.”
I squeeze his cock a little harder than I know he likes, and tell him, “So all I’m good for is stress relief?”
Carlo opens his mouth to annoy me further, but I’m saved by the buzzing of the intercom. It’s Jonesy from the lobby. I push Carlo off my lap and leave him laughing while I hurry over to grab up the receiver and say brusquely, “What is it?” I clear my throat and add, “Sorry, Jonesy. I didn’t mean to snap.”
“No problem, Mr. Fontana, no problem. I’m sorry to disturb you….” His voice drops to a whisper. “Only we have a delivery for you here and you asked me to give you a call if-and-when.”
Holy shit. I click my fingers rapidly at Carlo to get his attention. “I’ll come right down. Hold him there if you can. Tell him you need to mark it off on a register or something.Do notlet him leave.”
“You got it, Mr. Fontana.”
“Unless he threatens you.”
“Uh…okay, Mr. Fontana.” Jonesy sounds a lot less sure about it now, but I hang up on him and bang my fist on the elevator button.
“Another delivery,” I tell Carlo, grabbing my sport coat from the hook on the wall near the elevator. It has a .22 in the pocket for instances just like this.
Carlo jogs over, grabbing my arm. “Nicky, what if—”
“This is my part of the job, Bianchi. Stay here. Stay safe.”
“Fuck, no. I’m coming with you.” He bustles into the elevator right after me and before I can stop him. “Do you think—” he starts, but the ride down is too short for him to run his mouth, so I shake my head.
“Don’t know. About to find out. Stay behind me.” I give him a little push, and he scoots fast when the doors open on the lobby.
“Talkingonly,” he hisses quietly just before I step out.
“Here he is now,” Jonesy is saying genially, and I size up the guy at the desk as I walk toward him. I’m big enough to cover Carlo completely if the courier pulls out a gun suddenly, but from the look of him, we’re in no danger. He must be a bike courier; his blinding pink Lycra outfit and sleek black helmet leave no room for a weapon. Still, I’ve known skinny-ass assassins before. I stop a carefully-judged few feet back, staring him down.
“What you got for me?” I demand.
He looks scared. “Uh. Just a letter, I guess? I don’t know, I’m just the courier. You don’t need to sign or—”
I move fast, grabbing his arm as he backs away, and Carlo slides up to Jonesy, who’s beginning to look worried. “Hey, Mr. Jones, I wondered if you could show me the best way across to Riverside Park. Come outside and show me.”
Jonesy is more than willing to oblige. He and Carlo get out of there fast, leaving me with the courier, who I’m more and more convinced is just that—a courier. “Let’s have it,” I snap at him, and he shakily hands me an envelope, my name and building on the front of it. But not my apartment number—just the building. The sender name and address is obviously fake. “Who the fuck sent you?” I ask, tapping it still unopened on the front desk.
His eyes dart from me to the envelope and back again. “I don’t know, dude! I just get given jobs by dispatch and I never know who’s sending them out! You can call my boss if you like—”
“Maybe in a second.” I let him go, but I move around to stand between him and the doorway while I slowly and carefully open the envelope. He stares and trembles, but he doesn’t seem inclined to stop me opening it.
Inside is a thin piece of paper with a photograph printed on it of some pudgy middle-aged man standing next to a Mercedes. Under it is printed a name I don’t recognize and a two-word directive.
Bill Harris
Kill him
Chapter Twenty-Three
Carlo
By the time Jonesy and I are walking back into the lobby, the courier is gone and Nick is staring into space, a strange look on his face.
“Thanks so much, Mr. Jones,” I say to the doorman. He’s given me step-by-step directions from the avenue down to the river, and I went over them three times just so Nick would have enough time with the courier. It took longer than I thought, or that might be my stress talking, making the minutes stretch out. Or maybe Nicky really does just enjoy a chat.
“Please, it’s Jonesy, everyone calls me Jonesy, and it’s no trouble at all, Mr. Bianchi,” he replies. “And if you don’t mind my saying, you seem like a very nice young man.” Approval shines from his face, and it makes me wonder.
I’m not Nicky’s usual type, is that what he means? My belly gives a strange twinge as I contemplate that other men might have been invited up to Nick’s bed, past Jonesy’s knowing eye…unlike me. I had to get myself almost killed before I had the privilege of seeing inside his apartment. Sleeping in his bed.
