He comes down hours later,looking rumpled and pink in the cheeks like a crabby toddler. I stand up from where I’ve been waiting on the couch, watching non-cable TV, unsure what to expect. He doesn’t look any happier than when he went upstairs. But he surprises me by coming over to me and hugging me, one hand in my hair and his other arm tight around me.
“What does this mean?” I ask nervously, once he lets me go. Because my assumption is, he’s done. That we’ll go back to the City tonight and it’ll be easy enough to follow Luca’s orders from now on, because Carlo Bianchi is done with me.
“It means I need to have a conversation with my father.”
“Huh?”
He shakes his head. “I’m still thinking it over. But as far as you and me? I love you and I want you and I’m going to do what I need to do to make that work.” He gives me this serious look. “I’m telling you now, Nicky. I will always protect you to the fullest extent of the law—and beyond it, too.”
“I don’t… What do you mean? Beyond it?”
“What I mean is, fuck my father.” He ends on a grin.
I can’t help smiling a little, too. But the reminder of what’s waiting for us back in New York makes me uneasy. “It’s getting late,” I say quickly. “Maybe we could order pizza for dinner? There’s a landline, and I can pay cash.”
Carlo steps away from me, knuckling at one eye, still coming around from his nap. “Yeah. Sure. Wait—don’t we have to get back tonight?”
We do, but I just don’t care anymore. “Fuck it,” I say. “We’ll leave tomorrow.” I don’t want this to end, being here with him. “Listen…when wedoget back to New York,” I begin.
“Don’t,” he begs, holding up a hand behind him as he wanders off to the kitchen.
I follow him. “We need to figure out exactly what we’re going to do. About your dad. About Luca. We need to—”
“Weneedto order pizza.”
“Harvard,” I try, but he shakes his head.
“We can talk about it tomorrow,” he insists. “I don’t want to spend our last night here worrying about what we’re going to do back in New York. Call the food place. Let’s, you know. Make a night of it?” He starts rummaging in the fridge. “We can eat out on the deck. Look at the moon. Enjoy our last few hours of freedom away from all that mess waiting for us back there.” He comes out of the fridge with another bottle of wine and sets it on the counter. “Well? You gonna call a place?”
I give in. One more night of weakness won’t change anything. “Pizza okay, or you want more seafood?”
“I’m all seafooded out for now. Plus, I have plans to convert you to pineapple.” He stands over me while I call in the order, making sure I get pineapple on both halves. “Now how about you go shower, and then come outside when you’re done.”
“What are you up to?” I ask suspiciously. Why does he want me out of the way?
“I’m decorating.”
* * *
By the timeI get out to the back deck, he’s laid the outdoor table with silverware, plates, an actual candle in a glass jar to protect it from the wind, a few seashells from the decorations inside the beach house, and that goddamn clump of seaweed he took up from the beach this morning, artfully arranged like a wreath around the candle and shells. Carlo gives a smirk when I glare at him.
“I figured I had one more night to get you over your phobia.”
“Not happening. Plus I don’t want to eat with a stinky lump of ocean weed on the table, either. Get rid of it.”
“But—”
We both hear the car at the same time, coming down the road. It’s unusual enough to hear traffic out this way that we both come to the same conclusion. “Pizza guy,” I say, and Carlo nods. “Faster than they said they’d be. Okay—you get rid of the gross stuff, I’ll go pay for the pizza.”
His laugh follows me as I turn on my heel and make my way back inside, and I can’t help grinning, too. I don’t intend to give him up, no matter what happens. IthinkI can convince Luca to my way of thinking, especially with this new leverage. We’ve dealt with the blackmailer, and I have intel that will force Sonny Vegas into line, just like Luca wants, plus keep the Alessis on our side if they want us to keep their secrets about hiding Dellacroce.
Now I just need to figure out who, if anyone, wants Carlo dead. But I’m starting to think it really was all just a coincidence. That he pissed off a drunk hitman who was thirsty for him, that the break-in to his apartmentwasrandom. Soon enough, everyone will have forgotten about Gatti, we’ll deal with Dellacroce, wipe out the Irish, and everything will be sweet.
It takes me a second to find my wallet, but not too long, so when I open the door to see a strange car in the driveway but no pizza delivery guy standing there, I’m confused for a second. But then I see someone in the car.
It’s Matt.
He gets out as soon as he sees me, his face a mask of terror. He shouts something but the rushing in my ears drowns it out, and he gestures wildly to the side of the house. A shot explodes, destroying the peace of the ocean waves, and I take off running like it was just a starter pistol.
