“You make it sound so sexy, Lisa.”
“Two hours, Patrick.”
“Where at?”
“The gazebo, Westerleigh Park on Staten Island.”
“Why the fuck would I want to go to Staten Island?”
“Because that’s how everybody feels. It’s the least likely place anybody’s looking for either of us.”
It’s known as the “borough of parks,” so there are plenty of places for me to pick.
“Fine but make it three hours.”
“What, you in the middle of getting a mani-pedi, Patrick? You just want me to dance to your tune.”
“Whatever my reason is my reason. Three hours, Lisa.”
“Fine.”
We hang up, and I count my blessings he’s giving me more time than I thought he would. I still have somewhere else to go before I can meet him, and it’ll take me an hour to get to the park. I pull back onto the street and wind my way through the outer borough until I approach a neighborhood that’ll take all my skill to get into.
I park three streets over before leaving the car and scouting my surroundings. It’s a massive neighborhood that’s expanded to merge with an adjacent one. I take fifteen minutes before I find a spot where I can get over the community wall without landing in the wrong backyard.
It’s another five minutes of sitting in a tree waiting for my chance to drop into the backyard I want, praying the fence isn’t electrified. It takes every bit of cat burglar skill I have to get over the fence without triggering the alarm or catching any of the patrolling guards’ eyes. I recognize the type of wall around this property. It’s the kind that has sensors on the top that’ll go off if anything heavier than a pigeon lands on it.
Before I got out of Alejandro’s car, I checked his glove compartment and found a lock-picking kit. Christmas came early. I stick to the shadows, moving in between the patrols until I can get to a patio door. From there, I’m inside within moments.
I wound up in the family room. I open the door, hoping to slip out and make it to the study, but a gun pointed at my chest greets me.
“Vittoria, you have twenty seconds to tell me what the fuck you’re doing in my house.”
“Buonasera, madrina.” Good evening, Godmother.
Sylvia Mancinelli isn’t exaggerating when she tells me I have twenty seconds. I know her daughters are probably home, but even if they weren’t, she’s still one of the most capable women I’ve ever met. She may have gotten the title by marrying the NYC don, but the woman could run any Mafia without batting an eyelash. The title’s earned as much as it was given.
“Why’s your family trying to kill me?”
She tilts her head to the right as though she’s considering what I asked. She’s one of the most intelligent women I’ve ever met. She’s highly educated from the most elite schools anduniversities. She’s practiced law in France, Italy, and the States. She’s also the most elegant woman I’ve ever seen.
While the Kutsenko brothers’ mother, Galina, is the most breathtaking beauty, no one surpasses Sylvia’s natural sophistication and elegance.
“Why would you think anyone in my family wishes to kill you, Vittoria? Guilty conscience? Paranoia?”
“It could be that,Madrina. Or it could be the kidnapping, two explosions, and two shootouts in the past two days that’re making me nervous. I won’t live to see my next birthday when you give such thoughtful gifts.”
“Do you believe it’s my father or uncles trying to kill you?”
“Either, both? I don’t know for sure. That’s why I came to ask you.”
“Salva.”
She calls out to her husband while her gun’s still leveled at my heart. I’ve known her since I was a toddler. There’s not a doubt in my mind she’ll kill me if I breathe one too many times or I blink for too long.
“Sylvie?”
Don Salvatore rounds a corner, a shocked expression as he takes in the scene.
