Page 98 of Above ’N’ Beyond

There might be a dozen FBI agents in the room Jenkins could order to retrieve those sim cards, but they’d never get past Jamie and his friends. And Jenkins knew it.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Six months later

Blustery January wind buffeted the door. Freezing rain pelted the windows. Bella looked around the restaurant she’d so lovingly created eight years ago, and her mood turned every bit as miserable as the weather.

As expected, the federal government had officially seized the Bistro. The restaurant had been used to commit money laundering and other organized crimes, making it subject to seizure with zero compensation to the owner. Even though Bella had never committed those crimes herself, and had never condoned what Paola was doing, she had no “innocent owner defense.” It hadn’t mattered that Paola owned the majority stake in the Bistro. Bella had known what her aunt was doing. The government didn’t care that she’d been powerless to stop it.

A staff member from the Department of Justice’s Asset Forfeiture Program sat at one of the dining room tables, going over a list of seized property. Two men from a local moving company lifted Big Mama into a specially designed wood crate. Along with the handcrafted wine rack, her beloved espresso machine was one of the few things the government had allowed her to keep.

Peggy Freeman, the asset forfeiture person, looked up. Bella had no doubt Peggy was also there to make sure she didn’t walk off with something that wasn’t in the formal agreement Bella had signed with the U.S. Attorney’s Office.

At her own personal expense, she’d retained an attorney who’d managed to work out a meager agreement that had netted Bella the personal items she’d decorated the Bistro with, along with ten thousand dollars from the Bistro’s accounts, barely enough to pay for the attorney and the movers. Other than that, she was flat broke.

Using an old kitchen towel, she wrapped up a favorite terra cotta urn she’d brought home from Italy. Peggy had gone back to whatever she was doing. Ironically, the woman had chosen Tony’s favorite table. Thoughts of her cousin brought a familiar ache to her heart.

Despite all that had happened, the decision not to attend his funeral had been a difficult one. She wasn’t even certain who had attended, since everyone else had been arrested and was still in jail, either awaiting trial or plea agreements. Including Paola.

Bella picked up a small watercolor and wrapped that in another towel. Since the night of the raid, all her contact with the authorities had been through her attorney. In addition to the Bistro and the restaurant’s bank accounts, the FBI had seized the two hundred grand in the suitcase, along with Paola’s mansion and everything in it. They’d tried talking to Bettina, Paola’s housekeeper, but the woman had disappeared, back to Italy, most likely.

Recently, Bella heard on the news that Paola hadn’t contested the charges against her. While there’d been no word on what happened to Marco Ianetti and the rest of Tony’s crew, Paola was about to sign a plea agreement that would sentence her to the equivalent of life in prison.

Until Bella had seen a news photo on TV of her aunt in the federal courthouse in White Plains, that would have come as a surprise. She’d expected Paola to fight to the bitter end. The woman in that photo was nothing like she remembered. Paola Mancuso was sixty-three years old. Now she looked closer to a hundred. Old and withered, but it was more than that. The woman in the photo was lifeless, every bit of energy sapped dry.

Carefully, Bella placed the wrapped painting and urn in a box on the floor, then taped it shut. She regretted her parting words to Paola. They hadn’t been kind, but in some small way, they were a personal victory. A liberation of sorts, because now she was free. Free to do what, she didn’t know. The restaurant business was her passion, but perhaps that, too, was part of her past. Without any income or much in savings, there was no way to start over. There was barely enough money in her personal account to pay her mortgage for the next few months. Selling her beautiful little house was a distinct and ugly possibility looming on the horizon.

She stood and turned in a slow circle, taking in every bit of detail and committing it to memory. This had been her home for so long now. She spent more time here than at her house. Although she still had dinner occasionally with Sierra and Lou, it wasn’t the same as seeing them every day. And she missed the rest of her staff. They’d all managed to find employment elsewhere but had told her they’d have preferred working for her.

With the Bistro closed for good, her only reason to get up every morning was Gnocchi. The little dog had been, and still was, her savior, giving her the love and companionship she’d so sorely needed to get through the day. With him, she was never alone. Most of her tears had long ago dried up, but Gnocchi instinctively knew whenever her thoughts turned to the one topic that could still make her cry.

Jamie.

Since that fateful night, they hadn’t seen, spoken, or reached out to each other. She stared wistfully at the barstools where they’d sat as he’d helped her with the puppy cams. That night, and so many others, had brought them closer than she ever thought possible. Whatever they’d had—or could have had—was over before it had the chance to grow into something solid. Now it never would. There was far too much between them. Mainly hurt and mistrust.

Speaking of the puppy cams, she had no idea what had happened to them. When she’d had the stomach to return to the Bistro three days after the raid, there’d been documents left on the bar. A copy of a search warrant and a receipt for items seized. The FBI had taken most of what was in her office. Her computer, her hard copy files containing receipts and invoices, an old inventory logbook. The puppy cams and sim cards weren’t on the receipt.

“Peggy,” she said to the woman still poring over documents. “I’m going to my car to get another box. I’ll be back in a minute.” Peggy nodded, practically ignoring her.

Outside, she pulled a large cardboard box from the back of the Mini Cooper. Stupidly, she looked at the spot in the alley where Jamie had always parked his Tahoe. Gnocchi missed Jax. She missed Jax. She missed Jamie.

The pain he’d inflicted had been deep, but he’d taught her to open herself up again to love. Those few moments of bliss when she’d realized just how deeply in love she’d actually fallen had been…wonderful.

Not that she was ready to open herself up again so soon, but Jamie had been one of many changes in her life she’d needed and didn’t even know it. He was the stone dropped into still waters, causing a ripple effect before dissipating, then disappearing entirely.

She laughed softly.

Jamie Pataglio had been more than a gentle ripple in her life. He’d been a force of nature, sweeping into her life like a hurricane, then leaving it just as dramatically. It had taken six months, but this now was the calm after the storm. Ironically, from all the stress, she’d lost twenty-one pounds. It didn’t make her feel different or more beautiful—a testament that there was more to her than her outward appearance. It had been her own false perception of herself, ingrained, in part, due to her aunt’s emotional abuse.

As she went back inside, voices drifted to her from the dining room. Next to the bar, two men stood talking to Peggy. Both were tall, although not quite as tall as Jamie. One was knock-down gorgeous, about the same age as Jamie and with incredible hazel eyes. The other man was much older, gaunt in appearance, but something told her he’d once been an exceedingly handsome man. And he looked familiar.

“My name’s Kade Sampson,” the younger man said to her. “You probably don’t remember me. I was here the night of the raid. I’m sorry about…” He looked around the restaurant. “All this.”

“Thank you,” Bella said, realizing this was the same man who’d killed Tony and saved Jamie’s life.

The other man extended his hand, and when Bella shook it, she had the impression he was ill. “I’m Michael Pataglio. Jamie’s father.”

“Oh.” Her mouth fell open, and she quickly closed it. Now she understood the resemblance. While clearly frail, she could see that, at one time, Michael Pataglio must have been a vibrant, robust version of Jamie. “Would you like to sit down?”