"This intel keeps you alive. The debt clears when Leone says it clears."
He swallows audibly. "Right. Yeah. Yeah. Okay. I'll call."
I hang up. The verification team is in Philadelphia. They're asking about the house and the restaurant. They don't have a name yet, or a specific address, but they're working the local network the way professionals work a local network, buying drinks, asking casual questions, mapping the geography. Eventually someone is going to point them toward the restaurant with the green awning and the cracked window on Ninth Street.
It’s easy enough to look up online, but there’s a method to scaring out your prey. You want them to know you’re coming.
Through the window, Grace is working the dinner shift. I can see her moving between tables. She's slower tonight. The memories are still processing, her body adjusting to the new weight it's carrying. But she's working. She's functioning. She's Grace and she's Graziella and she's learning to be both at the same time. The most incredible thing is that she's doing it while carrying four plates on her left arm.
If that doesn't tell you everything about this woman, nothing will.
Javi is behind the bar. I can see him from here, shaking a cocktail, leaning over to say something to Grace when she passes. She shakes her head. He grins. The easy rhythm of two people who don't know what's coming.
I watch Javi for a long time. He finishes the cocktail. Wipes the bar. Checks on a customer. Laughs at something someone says. He's good at his job. He's good to Grace.
But he's not safe. He hasn't been safe since I walked into that restaurant, because I brought this with me. The network, the operatives, the Marinos, the handler, the verification team. All of it followed me through the door of a restaurant in South Philadelphia, and every person inside that restaurant is now inside the blast radius, and Javi is closest to the center because Javi is closest to Grace.
I pick up the phone and call Leone.
"The verification team is in Philadelphia," I say. "Two men. Delaware plates. They're asking about the restaurant."
"How close?"
"Close. They'll find it within forty-eight hours."
"Claudio briefed me. He and Matteo are packed. We can be there by morning."
"Come."
"We're coming." He pauses. "The bartender."
"I know."
"If they get to him before you get to them, he's the leverage. They'll use him to get to her."
"I know."
"Then get to them first."
The call ends and I stand at the window. The restaurant closes at eleven. Grace will walk home with Javi. Three blocks. Same route. Same sidewalk, same bodega sign on the corner, same parking meter with the dented head.
Two men from Wilmington are somewhere in this city looking for a restaurant near Ninth Street, and Javi walks Grace home every night and doesn't check the alleys and doesn't look behind him. He has no idea that the woman he's been protecting for three years is the target of an organization that traffics children and drugs them and monitors them and sends armed men when the monitoring stops.
I need to find them first. I need to find Royce's men before they find the restaurant. Delvecchio's contacts are watching. Claudio's monitoring protocol is active. Leone and Matteo are driving through the night.
My knife is in my hand, still. My grip on the handle grounds me.
It’s time to become the Bonaccorso Butcher. To do what I’m trained to do and protect the family.
Only this time, I’m protectingmyfamily.
I look at my knife. This knife has done work and it’s done it well. It's done Delvecchio's fingers and the Marinos' throats and my nails every night at the windowsill. It's a tool that became something more through use, the way any object becomes something more when you carry it long enough. It's not Aurelio's knife. It's mine.
Grace's lights are still on. She's home. Javi walked her, and I watched from the window because I needed to make sure she’s safe.
My phone buzzes. Delvecchio.
The two guys checked into a motel on Columbus. Room 14. Delaware plates confirmed. They're in for the night.
