Page 53 of Above ’N’ Beyond

His warning about being late was no joke. There were a hundred different ways the logistics of this plan could go downhill, the first being if another truck arrived early and managed to jump ahead of Steve and Artie or pulled up behind them. Witnesses could get hurt.

As he sat there doing his best to slow his breathing and lower his pulse to below a hundred, images of Bella flitted behind his lids.

No matter how much she tried extricating herself from the Mancuso grip, they would never let her or the Bistro go. Once the Mafia dug their claws into a person or a person’s business, their life would never be their own.

Jamie curled his fingers tighter around the wheel. He couldn’t imagine hurting his own family the way Paola was hurting Bella. Even if by some miracle Paola agreed to divest herself from the Bistro, it was too late. Jenkins said the FBI already knew where Bianco’s Bistro’s bank accounts were located. All it would take was a subpoena to confirm the flow of mob money through the restaurant’s coffers, and Jamie had personally witnessed Paola admitting to depositing funds into the Bistro’s account. That money tainted everything it touched. The account and the Bistro itself.

Soon, the Bistro would be taken from Bella. Worse, it would be his witness testimony that would provide the FBI with the evidence to do it.

“Dammit.” He hated himself for being the cause of Bella’s pain, but that was a foregone conclusion.

Jamie looked up and down the alley, verifying Tony and the others hadn’t arrived yet, then punched in another number, dialing *67 first to block his own number.

“Hello?” his mom answered in a tired voice.

“Mom, it’s me,” Jamie replied, feeling guilty for calling so early, but he might not get the chance to make the call later.

“Oh, Jamie. Thank God. Where have you been? And what number are you calling from? I’ve been trying to reach you for two days.” Fear and panic in his mother’s voice screamed through the phone.

“Mom, what’s wrong?” Jamie held his breath, praying his mother wasn’t about to say the words he dreaded hearing.

That he was too late and his father had already died in prison.

“Jamie,” came his mother’s strangled cry. “Your father is worse. His white blood cell count is very low from the treatments they’ve been giving him, and he has an infection. They don’t have the expertise at Otisville to handle this. He needs to get transferred to Butner soon before he—”

Dies. His mother didn’t have to say it.

Jamie drew in a deep breath, desperately trying not to lose his shit. His mom relied on him and his sister for strength and support, and she needed it now more than anything. Breaking down and bawling like an infant wouldn’t help.

The need to haul ass to Otisville and see his dad in person again was growing stronger with each passing day. The prison was just over an hour northwest of Nyack. But if he broke cover, he could lose his only chance at getting his dad sprung.

“Isn’t there anything you can do to expedite his transfer?” his mother pleaded. “Please, Jamie. He can’t die in there. He just can’t.”

He swallowed the baseball-size lump in his throat. “I’m working on it, Mom. I promise. I’ll do everything I can to get him out of there.” As much as it killed him, he couldn’t give his mother false hope by telling her that if all went well, he’d get his father paroled.

A dark-green Expedition, stolen he assumed, rolled up directly behind him and parked. Through the windshield, he glimpsed Tony in the passenger seat and Marco behind the wheel.

“Mom,” he said gently, using the same tone she’d used on him dozens of times when he was a small boy and he’d needed calming after losing a big game. “I have to go. I’ll call you later.” If he was still alive.

After disconnecting the call, he squeezed his eyes shut, struggling to eradicate from his mind how distraught his mother must be. He had to be laser focused right now and pull off this rip without anyone going to jail or getting slaughtered in the process. Thinking about his dad’s or Bella’s dire predicaments would only hinder his ability to think clearly.

Jamie flipped open the center console, tugged out a ball cap and sunglasses, and put them on. To protect against leaving latent prints behind, the other men wore latex gloves, along with bandanas tied around their necks. Jamie’s role precluded the use of gloves or a bandana to hide his face. The cap and glasses would have to suffice, and they’d do a final sweep in the vehicle to wipe away any prints he’d leave behind. Not that it mattered, really, since his prints were on file in a police employee database. This was all for show, to make the rip look legit.

“Jax.” His dog woke with a snort and sat up. Jamie reached back to clip a leash on his collar. His dog would play a critical role in this operation, one that should prevent any bloodshed.

The key word being should.

“Let’s go, boy.” He and Jax got out of the Tahoe.

Nicky and Paulie had stolen the Expedition last night, then swapped out the vehicle’s tags from another SUV. The plan was to drive like a grandmother to the Peekskill Incinerator, so as not to make them a target for one of the fresh-faced New York State troopers Jamie knew had just graduated from the academy.

After the rip, they’d drive to a storage unit he’d rented in his undercover name, and where Sammy would be waiting to help unload the bags of booze. Then they’d ditch the truck and return to Rockland County where they’d abandon the stolen Expedition. If the owner of that SUV was a late sleeper, they could have this whole job wrapped up before they even realized their vehicle was missing. Once the heat died down, they’d go back for the bottles of booze.

The Expedition was one of the largest SUVs on the market, but it would still be a tight fit for five men and a dog. Jamie unclipped Jax’s leash. When he lifted the rear hatch, Jax leaped in, then sat dutifully while Jamie closed the door and got into the back seat.

Nicky and Paulie took up more than two-thirds of the seat. Both wore warm-up suits. Jamie squeezed in next to Nicky. “Let’s go.”

Marco pulled slowly from the curb and headed in a direction that would take them over the Tappan Zee Bridge, crossing the Hudson River into Westchester. As they approached mid-span on the bridge, Jamie glimpsed a state trooper’s patrol car parked on the shoulder. He held his breath as they drove past, doing only a few miles over the speed limit.