“Way,” D’Amato tells me, with unexpected levity. “Guess he must really love you, Bianchi.” I don’t bother to hide my snort at that. “Anyway. Nick and I talked it over, and he’s going to find you a space in one of our safe houses, assign a watch. Only the best, you understand. My personal promise. You’ll be completely untouchable.”
Untouchable byNick, is the message I’m getting. And now that I think about it, my father must have had the same idea. Finch is looking between Luca and me with bemusement. He knows he’s missed something, but he’s not sure what.
“You know,” Aidan says earnestly, “I was in some trouble a little while back, and when Finch insisted I needed protection, I didn’t want to take it either. But…” He flushes and then can’t stop the goober grin that spreads across his face. “Uh, well, I’m really glad I did. They give good protection.”
“Give good head, too,” Finch says casually, and then over Aidan’s embarrassed squeaks, adds, “But seriously, Carlo. If Luca thinks you need protection, plus your dad,plusNick—well, you probably need protection. Don’t die like a chump because of your pride.”
“Okay,” I croak out. “Sure. That sounds…great.”
“Uh huh, and sowhat happened?” Finch asks. “Exactly?”
“Nothing much,” I reply. Luca’s still standing there staring at me. I wish like hell I knew how much Nick told him. Did he spill about Gatti? Or just about us? I feel like there would have been more shouting, probably some gunfire, if Don Morelli was inthismood when he was fully informed. “Someone broke into my apartment,” I add, when Finch and Aidan expect more information, and Luca obviously isn’t going to provide it. “It’s just a precaution. Right?” I look at Luca.
“Right,” he says softly.
“But why is—” Finch begins, with the tenacity of a pig scenting truffles, but the sound of an arrival at the front door forestalls him. “That must be Tara,” he says, and he almost sounds disappointed.
The interruption means I can turn my lawyer mode back on. “Follow my lead during the discussion, okay? Most of these contracts are solid, there’s just one or two more things I want to negotiate on.”
Usually contract law is a job for one of our juniors, or even a paralegal, but given the status of the people involved, my father wanted me looking over everything for Finch and Tara’s All One Family charity. The Morellis wanted me too, even though contract law isn’t my area. But for the Morellis, anything and everything is my area—that’s what Papa said to me once, and every time I complain about it.
Papa. While I’m pressing the flesh with Tara Donovan, her sidekick Conor O’Hara, and their lawyer from Boston, my mind is occupied. My father wassodetermined to get me away from Nick that he did something completely anathema to himself. He really can’t stand losing. I can’t suppress a little grimace of outrage at the sheer hypocrisy of the man just when O’Hara takes my hand to shake it. He relaxes his grip like he thinks he’s hurt me, and I turn fast to my counterpart, the Donovan lawyer, dressed up in a well-tailored suit just like I am, only he looks slightly better rested.
I need to get my head in the game.
* * *
Once the formaldiscussions are done, Finch has booked lunch for everyone at the hottest new restaurant in Manhattan, but I plead off, saying I need to get back to the office and make sure the contracts are corrected and reworked.
Finch boos me—literally boos me—but then shrugs. “You lawyer types are all work and no play. Let me ask Luca who’s supposed to be taking care of you.”
“I’ll get a cab to the office,” I say, but Finch is already gone.
“I hope you’re not having difficulties,” Tara says to me, concern making her eyes widen. “Things are so volatile lately.”
“I’m fine, really,” I reassure her, and I have to remind myself that the woman sitting opposite me isn’tjustFinch’s warm-hearted sister and co-CEO of a new charity. She’s also the Donovan Family matriarch, and she’s outlasted more than one attempt to take her down.
“Once we take care of the IFF it’ll calm down,” O’Hara says. He’s been a jovial but silent watcher over the proceedings today, and when we first met there was something about him that seemed familiar. Then it struck me: he has the same mannerisms as Nick, as Luca, as Teo Vitali—alertness cloaked in ease. He’s a man who’s used to living with danger.
“Your ride’s here,” Finch says, coming back into the room followed by a man I’ve seen around, but never formally met.
“Tramonto,” the guy says, shaking my hand.
“Bianchi,” I reply, trying to hide my disappointment. Bobby Tramonto is one of Nick’s men, I know that much. I guess Nick has better things to do than drive me around, but now I wonder when I’ll ever see him again.
Because it seems more and more likely that Don Morelli has nixed any contact between us. I’m almost overcome with a wave of unexpected rage, at Luca D’Amato, at Nick himself, at theunfairnessof it all. Tramonto eyes me closely and I take a slow breath in through my nose, paste my smile back on, and say my goodbyes to the Morellis and the Donovans.
“Where can I take you?” Tramonto asks me, once we’re in the car. I’m so used to sitting in the back with drivers for Bianchi and Associates that I just made for the same seat automatically, and Tramonto had to jump to open the door for me. So now I look like an entitled douchebag.
“My office,” I say, and then I picture what that would really look like. I’d end up storming into my father’s office and screaming at him, and I just don’t have the time for that right now. “Wait—can you take me to Nick Fontana’s apartment?” I can get in on my own now. I could just go there, wait for him, ask what went down between him and his so-called friend, Luca D’Amato.
“Sorry, Mr. Bianchi,” Tramonto says, looking at me in the rear-view. “No can do. I’m under orders to take you two places and two places only.”
I hold his gaze for a moment and then ask, “If I don’t have any real choice where I go, why bother to pretend I do?”
“You got a choice. Office or safe house.”
“I need to go pack a bag,” I challenge him. “I have no clothes, no—”
