“Carlo is dead. Maximo and Primo are dead. I know you didn’t get the satisfaction of killing them. I know you feel like you haven’t gotten your justice, but Massimo isn’t his brother. Why should he pay for his brother’s sins? Where is the justice in that? He’s innocent, Rina. He’s an innocent caught up in all of this like you were.”
I am quiet for several minutes as I contemplate her words. “Massimoisinnocent, and I can’t kill him. Gawd, I so can’t.” I hang my head as I finally accept that reality. “But Gabriele isn’t innocent. Neither is Eleanora. They may not have participated in my torture, but they knew I was held captive for months, and they did nothing. How can I let that go?” I look to the sky, imploring some deity to tell me what I should do. Lowering my head, I stare out at the water. “I can’t forgive them. I can’t let them live. But that will end my marriage and my life because Massimo will never forgive me if I kill his mother and his last remaining brother. He will kill me to avenge them, which brings us full circle—it’s kill or be killed.” I lift my knees and bury my head in them.
“There is another way.”
I raise my head, instantly knowing what she implies. “That isn’t viable.”
“It is.” She swivels around so she’s facing me head on. “You let them live, Rina. The Mazzones too because they are innocent as well. Murder that bastard, Saverio, and take the crown you rightly deserve, but do it your way. The way you like to do everything. With minimal bloodshed and keeping the innocents protected.” She levels me with a solemn look. “Do it with your husband by your side.”
* * *
I am still mulling over Nicolina’s advice later that night as I wait for Anton to show up at our meeting place on the fifth level of a parking lot in Queens. It’s virtually empty at this time of night, and unlike a lot of modern parking lots, there are no cameras here. We are a few minutes early, so I’m sitting in the back seat of my SUV, trawling through the photos my PI sent me an hour ago.
I hired a local man to follow my husband.
He’s got someone tailing me, so it’s only fair.
What I am seeing on the screen is only adding to my torment.
Massimo is keeping secrets.
Big ones, I suspect.
I can’t exactly throw shade at him for that, but it doesn’t encourage me to change plans that have been more than twenty years in the making, no matter how conflicted I am.
I don’t want to hurt my husband, but I don’t see how I can backtrack from my original plan. Not without putting myself in the line of fire and not without jeopardizing everyone who works with me. I have come too far to retract now. I couldn’t even if I wanted to. My actions to this point are enough to justify my death if any don were to uncover the truth.
If I don’t stay the course, I risk my own life and those of my loved ones.
Those are the facts.
I was innocent when I was kidnapped, but no one cared. Not when I was taken or after I was rescued. The burning pain in my heart refuses to extinguish anytime I think of all those people who could have—should have—done better.
Who protected me when I was an innocent?
Does it make it right that I would inflict suffering on other innocents? No. But I aim to keep my casualties to a minimum. That has always been the way I have operated.
Now, Nic—and Massimo by default—has scattered my thoughts, divided my loyalties, and has me questioning everything.
“Nic says the decoy worked,” Renzo says from beside me, glancing up from his cell and cutting through my depressive inner monologue. “Greco’s PI is sitting outside the restaurant watching her and Dario eat dinner.”
“Of course, it worked. We are the same height and similar builds. Put Nic in a white dress with a black wig and large shades, and she will pass for me, provided no one examines her face too closely.”
“Dario knows to shield her face from view anytime we need to do this.”
“Did the wire transfer go through on the building downtown?” I ask as I scroll through the photos of a large waterfront property on Staten Island with growing interest.
“Yes. I will collect the keys in the morning and meet Nic there with the interior designer.”
“We don’t need anything fancy,” I say, knowing Nic will go all out with our new secret office space. “It just needs to be functional, and we need it operational ASAP. As soon as we take the Mexicans and The Triad out, we move on to the next phase.”
“Have you heard from O’Hara today?”
I nod. “He called me earlier. He is playing the Mexicans and Chinese off against one another to buy us time to put our plan into motion. We should be good to go on Sunday, provided The Commission approves.”
“I hate being answerable to those fuckers.” Renzo peers over my shoulder with a frown. “What are they up to?” He squints as he stares at the photo of Fiero and Massimo climbing into a helicopter at the top of the modern building that is still under construction on Staten Island.
“I would like to know too.” I click out of the image file, opening up the one-page summary report. “Initial research shows that the building is owned by a company called Rinascita. They are a big conglomerate with diverse interests, but their two core businesses appear to be real estate and import and export of speciality Italian foods.”
