It’s the most terrifying thing I’ve ever felt.
Chapter 39
Dutch
It’sbeenfivedayssince I came back to the Waverley Building with Cruz in tow. Tessa, Nate, and Eric arrived safely in Chicago, and according to their last message, have managed to secure a meeting with Ricardo Martinelli. At the last minute, Trey, Rebecca, Susannah, and the twins decided to go with them to visit Susannah’s parents.
With not a lot going on right now, it didn’t seem necessary for them to be here. They’ll only be gone for a week or two anyway, and as much as I’ve enjoyed our girls’ nights, a part of me is relieved. I’m not used to being around so many people, and I’ve missed the solitude I’m used to. Plus, it’s given me more time alone with Cruz, which I won’t complain about.
We’ve settled into a routine of sorts; we have meals together in our apartment, and throughout the day we spend some time in the conference room, doing our part to stay on top of the information coming in. We also take advantage of the gym and spa, and the Charon Group has kindly issued an open invitation to use their communal room.
Since they have all the good stuff, we’ve spent quite a bit of time up there. Cruz has been opening up to the three of them, especially now that he knows none pose a threat to me. In fact, there seems to be a bit of a bromance kindling between him and Ryan, and I’m happy he’s settling in and making friends.
I was worried for a while that he’d just hole himself up in the apartment, but he’s more social than I thought. I suppose when you’re traveling the country, hunting down and murdering people, it doesn’t leave a whole lot of time to kick back with a beer with some friends. Now that the burden’s off his shoulders, he’s free to make friends.
I’m currently standing in the conference room Ryan designated for our intelligence gathering. The room is large, at least thirty feet by twenty-five, with a long table in the middle, able to seat about twenty people.
The huge bulletin boards Ryan gave us now fully surround the glass walls, preventing any nosy eyes from peeking in. I go from board to board, checking and double-checking our information. Now that The Duke and Zach’s teams are fully entrenched, info is coming in regularly. Some of it is useful, most of it is not, but we still keep track of everything. You never know when the slightest clue might lead to something big.
We know that Vincenzo found Dante the day he died, but not until later in the day. His autopsy came back clear, and the funeral is set for three days from now. My father is going all out for the funeral, wanting to impress the masses with his love for his brother.
It makes me want to throw up.
Kian sits at the table going through some of the latest reports, and Jase sits opposite him, busy on his laptop. Maybe doing some work for the company, or investing in stocks, earning the guys another million or two. You never know with him.
I keep thinking about Dante’s funeral. No matter how often I push it aside, I keep coming back to it. There are some things Vincenzo finds sacred, and one of those is funerals. The Gianellis only frequent one church and own a large plot in the cemetery, big enough to bury everyone in my family plus at least fifty more. My great-grandfather wanted to ensure his descendants would all be laid to rest together, and nothing has changed since then.
Leaning back against the table, I cross my arms and stare, unseeing, out of the sliver of window in front of me that the boards don’t cover. And then I come up with an idea. An awful, wonderful, spectacular idea. Excitement runs through me as I think it through, my knee bouncing against the table leg as I run through the logistics. The only problem is that we killed Dante the way we did to keep Vincenzo from coming after us too soon. If we go through with this idea, then—then I robbed Cruz of the kind of revenge he wanted.
Fuck.
As much as I’d love to give Dante the kind of send-off he deserves, and rile my father up at the same time, I can’t do that to Cruz. It wouldn’t be fair. My shoulders slump at the realization, and I turn back to the boards, determined to get my head back in the game. Just then my cell phone pings with a text from an unknown number. When I open the text, the gibberish written in it has a smile pulling at my lips.
Uncle Harris and I created a secret code years ago for when we needed to be discreet. Copying the text, I click on an icon that mimics a popular gaming app. Stuck in a folder with around thirty other games, it functions as a real game. To anyone looking through my phone, all would seem normal. When the app opens, I click on a microscopic dot in one corner, opening up the decryption software. Before my eyes, the text is revealed.
To my darling niece, I hope this message finds you well. Your aunt and I have missed you dearly and wish to invite you to dinner with us and the girls on Friday at the fish restaurant you love so much. I spoke to my brother the other day. Unfortunately, he can’t make it but he wishes you well and hopes to see you soon. Love, H.
Leave it to Harris to code a text that’s already encrypted. Rolling my eyes, I scan through the message, picking out the phrases and piecing them together. Harris isn’t married, nor does he have children. He doesn’t have a brother, either.
Pursing my lips, I can feel a headache coming on. It’s been years since we’ve coded texts like this, and I’m a little ashamed to admit that I’ve forgotten most of it.
Grabbing a notebook and pen, I yank out a chair and sit down, offering Kian a smile when he winks at me before going back to what he was doing.Okay, Dutch, think.This has to be important or Harris wouldn’t risk sending it, coded or not.
The opening is just that, an opening. Inviting me to a fish restaurant stumps me for a moment until I remember that it’s a code for either the docks or a harbor. We’re in fucking New York City. That isn’t exactly helpful. Fuck. Moving on, I focus on “the girls.” Narrowing my eyes, I stare at that sentence, reading it over and over again, before giving up and moving on. The fact he emphasizes that I love the restaurant brings me pause. There is very little I love if you set aside Cruz and the blooming feelings I have for him. But Harris doesn’t know about that, so I push that aside. What do I love? My mother. My bike. Revenge.
My mother is gone. My bike is in the garage, and I can’t imagine Harris sending a coded message about that.
Revenge.
A lightbulb goes off and I excitedly reread the text, its meaning becoming clear.
Dutch, hope you’re well. Vincenzo has a shipment of girls coming in on Friday via the docks. He won’t be there.
The rest of it is filler to throw off anyone that might read it. Fucking hell, he has another shipment coming in … and he won’t be there. Biting my lip, I read it again, then once more. No, not that Vincenzo won’t be there, Harris says “can’t.” Can’t be at the docks to take a shipment—the funeral. All of the Gianellis will be there. Sure, Vincenzo’s goons will still be doing their patrols and keeping an eye on things, but everyone important will be at the church.
Rifling through some reports coming in from Zach’s team, a new plan forms. One far better than my original idea of blowing up Dante’s hearse, sending him off to hell in the flames he’ll be dancing an eternity in.
My legs do a little happy dance under the table, then I stop abruptly, a blush spreading over my cheeks when I spot Jase and Kian eyeing me like I’m one knife short of a set. “I’ve got an idea,” I tell them defensively. Bringing my gaze to Kian, I can feel my face breaking out into a wide smile. “And I’m gonna need my boom bestie to help me pull it off.”
