“For a Morelli law firm?” I can see where she’s going with this, but I want to play dumb for now, get the whole story before I make up my mind how this will end. “But your work has always been—”
“‘Impeccable and impressive,’” she says, quoting my father’s employee appraisal of her. “Yes. Because until I was senior enough to look at files more important than bail applications or fucking olive oil contracts, I had to toe the line. Getting closer to Luca D’Amato was one goal. But it became apparent to me that I was never going to get high enough in this firm to see anything useful, not until you were out of the way. Your father was just too dependent on you.”
I let out a short laugh. “We see things very differently there, Miranda. But alright.” Neither of us have moved, each of us holding steady as we size up the situation. She still has the gun on me, but she hasn’t pulled the trigger. “These Clemenza connections never came up in any of the background checks we did before you were hired? My father is obsessed with reputation. But you slipped by him?”
“The Clemenzas organized deep cover for me. The money was carefully buried. And I was raised and sent to school under my mother’s name. Not everyone gets the benefit of a father’s family name, Carlo. Or a father’s love, for that matter. I didn’t even know mine until I was thirteen, when I tracked him down myself.”
If Miranda thinksIhad the benefit of my father’s love, she deeply misunderstands my relationship with him. But this isn’t therapy hour, so I push on. “And so you asked Louis Clemenza to put a hit on me?”
“He said—he said he had just the man for it. He said it could be a wedding present for him.” For a moment, she almost looks regretful about it. “I found out afterwards that he sent his godson, Ray Gatti. It gave Don Clemenza plausible deniability, since Gatti was a Giuliano, not a Clemenza. But that was a bust. Whateverdidhappen to Gatti, Carlo? Did your boyfriend help you out of a sticky situation?”
She’s admitting too much and asking too much. Either she still means to kill me, or she has some other plan. I stare hard at her. “Gatti met his match, and more,” I tell her, and I see her flinch. “Did you send someone to kill me that day I said I’d be working from home?”
“Yes,” she says, with no hesitation at all. “Don Clemenza wouldn’t try again. He told me I needed to find another way to move higher in the firm, or—or solve my Carlo Bianchi problem myself. So I found someone else through a few lowlife contacts of my father’s, someone willing to carry out a hit. But not a very effective person, in the end.Andhe insisted I pay despite a lack of services rendered.”
“Very poor customer service these days among hitmen.”
She lets out a little sob-laugh. “Very.”
“Miranda—”
But we’re interrupted by footsteps in the hallway outside. “Hello there? Mr. Bianchi? Ms. Winter?”
It’s the guard. We can hear him coming closer and closer as Miranda and I stare at each other. At the last second, she puts her hands, and the gun, behind her back.
“Oh, there you are,” the guard says, appearing in the doorway with a worried look on his face. “Mr. Bianchi, I need you to come with me, please. Right away. Your father wanted to make sure you’re safe, there’s been—”
Miranda lets out a sharp cackle of disbelief.
“Give us a moment,” I tell the guard, who seems nonplussed by Miranda’s reaction.
“But there’s a man waiting to take you—”
“Give us amoment,” I snap.
The guard’s face darkens, but he gives a curt nod. “Yes, sir, Mr. Bianchi. I’ll wait in reception for you.”
We both wait until his footsteps fade again, and I half expect Miranda to pull the gun out again, but she keeps her hands by her side, the gun in one and the other curled into a loose fist. Then she looks down at that gun in her hand and Iseewhat she’s thinking: that if she doesn’t kill me now, she might as well swallow a bullet herself. Don Clemenza is not the forgiving type.
“Don’t,” I say. “I told you before. We can both walk out of here.”
She raises one eyebrow. “That’s nonsense and we both know it. After tonight, I’m no use to Don Clemenza anymore. He already told me I was on my last chance after that break-in. He said I wasendangeringhim, making too much noise. He’s a coward, really, but a cornered dog is at its most dangerous. Anyway, ifhedoesn’t kill me, your boyfriend certainly will.”
“Nick has more important things to worry about.” So do I. What exactly is going on that’s made my father call in to check on my safety, and who’s waiting downstairs? As far as I know, no oneelseis trying to kill me. And I’m starting to worry about Nicky. I haven’t heard from him, and the meetingmustbe over by now.
If both my father and Miranda knew about us, other people might have as well. Including Don Morelli, who gave Nick a direct order against it. Don Morelli, who called a special meeting tonight. And now myfatheris calling around again, scaring up people to find me? He wouldn’t overreact again, not after the last time.
“So now what?” Miranda asks, almost impatient.
“It’s a dangerous play, taking on the Mob, Winter. But you know that, and you’re a clever woman. I think you probably have a contingency plan. Am I right?”
For maybe the first time tonight I see respect flicker in her eyes. But she says nothing.
“And does that plan include getting the hell out of New York?” She gives me a mock-impressed look but again, says nothing. “Because you know if you come back here…it won’t end well.”
She shifts on her feet, tucks her hair behind her ear, and then she speaks, quickly and decisively. “You won’t see me again. I can promise you that.”
“Okay, then.”
