But when I thought about how soon things could change—how soon our life on the road could be over—how soon we could be living anactuallife together, instead of simply existing with a mission—I bounced out of bed. We showered fast, packed faster and went outside to Jack’s Pinto with such a cheerful good morning that it made him blink. Jack was going to drive us to the safe house to pick up Greco, then out to a car rental place. After that he would accompany us a few miles out of town—just in case.
“You guys sleep on the same side of the bed or something?” he asked, leaning on his arm out the window. “Cause you both seem to’ve gotten out of the right side of it.”
“What’s not to be happy about?” I countered, throwing my duffel bag into the back seat of the car and offering a fist bump to Jack through the car window. “The sky is blue, we have Greco, and we’re going home.”
Jack gave a half-smile. “When you put it that way, we should all be singing our hearts out.”
The inside of the car smelled heavily of air freshener, and one side of the back seat was still damp from an assiduous cleaning. I sat on the other side. Greco could get his pants wet, since he was the cause of so much trouble.
Angelo got into the front as usual. As he buckled his seat belt, he said conversationally, “If you want to make that move, Jacopo, it’s the right time for it. New York is a safe place to be right now, especially under Morelli protection.”
Jack’s eyes brightened. “Yeah?”
“You’ve been helpful. You’ll need to learn how to follow orders a little better, of course. My Family doesn’t have much use for a lone wolf. But yes, I’d be willing to vouch for you.”
Jack started the engine with a smile of satisfaction. “You know, I might just take you up on that offer. Think I’ve had my fill of the sunshine out here.”
Our lightheartedness infected Jack, and he employed his strange, dry sense of humor most of the way there, making even Angelo smile now and then. As for me, I couldn’t stop staring at Angelo, at the way his hair curled just-too-long at the back of his neck, at his long fingers and well-maintained nails as they rested on his thigh, at the vision I had for our life going forward.
“I’ll get Greco,” Angelo said, when we arrived at the safe house. “You both stay here, keep a look out. The last thing we need is some last-minute ambush.”
The safe house was located in the basement of a regular, empty house, set low down from the road and shielded from prying eyes with bushes and trees out the front. The safe house itself was filled with more luxurious facilities than I thought Donnie Greco really deserved, including a well-stocked liquor cabinet and beer fridge.
I got out of the car, keeping the car door ajar and partly shielding me, and discreetly slid my gun out of my holster as I watched Angelo walk down the steep drive. He was right: if our enemy, whoever they were, wanted to assassinate Greco before he left LA, this would be their last chance.
“Keep the engine running,” I told Jack, as he got out as well.
“Like I told your boyfriend the other day, this ain’t my first rodeo,” he grumbled, and then grinned across the car roof at me. “Must be a nice feeling, knowing your name’ll get cleared soon. An ex-Fed like you—must have been tough living with accusations like that, eh?”
“It wasn’t fun,” I agreed, scanning the road. The false accusationhadbeen hard to take. But being with Angelo had made it bearable.
It was quiet. Rush hour was over, and these back streets were almost empty of traffic, only the occasional car driving by. I tensed up every time, but they never even slowed down. And I was so busy watching for threats that when Angelo came walking back slowly, alone, I didn’t register the look on his face at first.
“Don’t tell me that asshole slept in,” Jack called, getting back into the driver’s seat.
Angelo said nothing until he was right up to the car. “Get in,” he told me quietly. “We need to ghost.”
I was too used to obeying that particular order without question that my body moved before my brain caught up. “What the hell do you mean?” I asked as I got in.
Angelo buckled up his seat belt and didn’t even glance back at the safe house. He looked straight ahead and said, “Drive,” to Jack.
“Wait,” Jack and I said together, and then Jack added, “Where’s your guy?”
Angelo turned to look at Jack, and the cold ferocity in his eyes made me recoil. I hadn’t seen him look that way since the earliest days of our acquaintance. “Angelo,” I said. Pleaded, really.
“Greco’s dead.”
The words hit like punches hard enough to make me see stars. Unfortunately, Jack’s first instinct when he heard them was in conflict with my own;hepulled away from the curb, whileIsimultaneously opened the car door again and half-stumbled out. Jack braked hard, and as soon as I regained my footing, I ran. I could hear Angelo behind me—I knew his footsteps too well to mistake them for anyone else’s—and his hissed orders to stop.
But I had to see. I had to be sure. The front door of the house was still standing open, and I bolted through, heading toward the basement. Maybe Angelo waswrong—
He wasn’t wrong.
Donnie Greco lay there, undeniably dead, wearingmytrack pants andmyFBI hoodie. That stupid hoodie seemed obscene now, a mocking shroud for a dead mobster.
Greco’s face was purple and contorted, and there was coffee and vomit all over the floor. He’d taken out the French press with him as he’d stumbled, though the coffee cup was still sitting on the kitchenette counter where he’d placed it.
Angelo seized my bicep in a grip hard enough to make me flinch. “Are you out of yourmind, Bax?” he demanded. “Move.” He dragged me backward a few feet, but I kept staring at the scene, my mind working.
