I reach over to grab his wrist and give it a squeeze. “Thank you for saying that.” A weird-but-good moment passes between us; Hudson is sympathetic, and I’m grateful all over again for his puppy-dog eagerness to please. I withdraw my hand, and then I swallow down the lump in my throat with a mouthful of his hot, sweet coffee.
* * *
Frank comes down notlong after, knuckling at his one good eye, and falls on Hudson’s coffee like a vulture. “How’d Georgie sleep?”
“Okay, I guess. I think he was in more pain than he’ll admit to. Not sure if it helped having me there in the bed with him.”
“Course it did,” Frank says gruffly, and wraps an arm around my neck before ruffling up my hair. “You’re the best medicine for him right now,Principessa.”
I wish I could agree. But there’s something standing between Luca and me, some barrier that has never been there before—not even when we were first married and he was keeping me at arm’s length, refusing to interact. I don’t like this wall between us. Ihateit, actually. But I don’t know how to make it go away.
For one crazy moment I almost spill all this to Frank and Hudson, like a goddamn group therapy session or something, but I’m interrupted by the doorbell.
“Must be Nick,” I say. “Bright and early.” He promised he’d come by to let us know about the IFF lead—and to have that private talk with Luca.
Frank peels his lips back, about to say something nasty, but Gio’s sharp, “Heads up!” from the front door carries through to the kitchen and makes us all tense up.
Frank pulls his gun out of the back of his waistband. “What’s the sitch?” he calls back through.
“Gonna need you here,” is Gio’s only reply.
Frank lumbers out of the room with a one-word command to me and Hudson: “Stay.”
A ripple of panic goes through me as I’m transported back to our townhouse on the other side of Central Park, to nighttime instead of day, to the attack that caught us off guard.
“It’ll be okay,” Hudson whispers reassuringly, although his voice wavers. “Gio’s a really good guard. And Mr. Frank’s real tough, too.” He’s trying to convince himself as much as me.
But soon after, Frank reappears in the kitchen doorway. “Better come see,” he says to me, frowning. “Georgie’s got himself a couple of visitors.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
FINCH
“Ican stretch the pancake batter if you need,” Hudson peeps.
He’s a sweet kid, but he was really never going to make a gangster.
I follow Frank back through to the door, where Gio Carlucci is blocking it, hands up on the frame, leaning out a little towards the stoop, holding a conversation.
“Boss is fine,” he’s saying. “And I ain’t going to interrupt his beauty sleep.”
“Don’t try to fucking think, Carlucci,” comes the wheezy reply. “Your Boss don’t pay you to think. We’re here to pay our respects to theCapo dei Capi, so get the fuck outta the way and let us inside.”
“No can do,” Gio says back calmly, just as I arrive and peek under his arm.
Just as I thought, based on the croak, it’s Joe Alessi, and Salvatore Rossi is with him. They’re two very powerful men in their own rights, Bosses of their own New York Families, and I’m pretty damn impressed with Gio standing his ground like he is. I wonder how these two sniffed out Luca’s location—but gossip among the New York mobsters is always rife, and Rossi and Alessi are the closest thing we have to friends among the Families.
“Sal,” I say with a nod, “and Joe. To what do we owe the pleasure?”
“We heard Don Morelli got let out of the hospital,” Sal Rossi says. “We’re here to pay our respects.”
They’re here to see with their own eyes just how close to death Luca really is. And behind them, massing like a mini-army, are their multiple bodyguards. One of them smirks at Gio, who sneers back.
I’m torn.
On the one hand, I don’t want to give these hyenas what they’re looking for. They think the lion’s been brought down and they’ve come to feast on his corpse.
On the other hand, theyareimportant allies to the Morelli Family. Even Frank knows that, which is why he came to getmeto deal with them.
