by Dave Daren
The stranger inspected his hand, which I now realized was bleeding from the knuckles. It appeared he had punched the window in a fit of rage, and my mind went wild with all the possibilities of what had pissed all three men off so badly. I hadn’t decided if I was bold enough to ask my client about the discussion, but the suspense was killing me.
“See you around, Tony,” the other one muttered as they brushed past us to leave the office.
Hank holstered his pistol before he followed the two men all the way out to their cars. I opened my mouth, but Anthony raised his hand to stop me.
“Don’t even ask, Hunter,” he warned.
“You don’t even know what I was going to say,” I argued.
“Well, let’s just assume you were going to ask what the fight was about.” Anthony smirked. “And I don’t want to discuss it with you right now. I’ve got a lot going on.”
“Then when can we talk about this?” I demanded. “That guy could have seriously hurt you or someone else busting out that window. Liz and I were out in the driveway!”
Anthony stopped clenching his fists and looked up to meet my angry glare. I had struck a chord with the tough mobster, and I knew the guy who wanted to go legit was still in there under all that angry bravado. Maybe he wouldn’t take me out today after all.
“Is she okay?” he asked with obvious concern.
“She’s fine,” I muttered. “The point is, I need to make sure you’re safe.”
“You don’t even have your gun on you,” Anthony chuckled. “What would you do if I wasn’t?”
“I can handle a couple of old guys,” I retorted. “I handled Nelson just fine a few weeks ago. Plus, I had Hank for backup.”
“Hank was in front of you.” My client stifled a laugh as my face reddened.
“Only because he decided to open the door before I did,” I insisted. “I was inside the house first.”
Anthony’s snarky response was cut off by a woman’s voice calling up the stairs.
“Tony! Hunter! Dinner’s almost ready!” Gulia yelled from the bottom of the staircase.
“I bet you’re starving after all your cases today,” Anthony said with a grin. “Let’s go eat.”
“Not until you tell me what’s really going on.” I crossed my arms over my chest as I stood in the doorway. “I handled a lot of shit for your associates today, so if something else is about to hit the fan, I need to be ready for it.”
Anthony studied me for a moment before he shook his head.
“Dinner first, business after,” he insisted.
I had a feeling that was the best answer I was going to get for the moment, despite my toeing the line, so I dipped my head in agreement. We headed downstairs just as Hank ushered Liz into the house.
Liz met my eyes and seemed to want to ask what had gone down, but I shook my head and motioned for her to follow Anthony into the dining room. We’d have our own discussion later, but I had to get more out of Anthony in the meantime. Besides, all I knew right now was there had been a disagreement, and one of the men had punched out a window. It wasn’t exactly breaking news, no pun intended.
Gulia and Annie had already started to put food on the table. The delicious aroma of basil and tomatoes filled my nose, and my stomach growled in response. I realized it had been way too long since I was out at the estate for dinner, and I missed Anthony’s mother’s cooking.
Gulia had made a small dish of spaghetti that looked more like an appetizer than I was used to, but the rest of the table was filled with a variety of options. I saw large T-bone steaks with perfectly spaced grill marks, a huge bowl of salad, and at least a dozen stuffed tomatoes. It seriously looked like enough food to feed four families, though only four of us appeared to be eating. I started to take a slice of the crispy focaccia bread from the tray in the middle of the table, but Annie swatted my hand away and pointed to my chair.
Anthony’s youngest sister was the only one who wasn’t married with kids, and she often made regular appearances at the Febbo estate. She was young, carefree, and seemed to genuinely enjoy the freedom of coming and going as she pleased. I didn’t think she had anything to do with the family business, though she was perfectly aware of what her father and brother were involved in. Ella and Cathy, Anthony’s other sisters, were married with multiple children apiece, so they only showed up occasionally.
“I’m hungry,” I whispered to Annie.
“You still have to wait until everyone is sitting,” she hissed. “Mom’s rules.”
Since I wasn’t about to argue with the Febbo matriarch, I sighed as I plopped into my chair and waited for Gulia to finish pouring the wine and finally sit down. Once she was seated, Anthony grabbed the first dish and began to fill his plate. One by one, we each grabbed a platter, filled our plates, and then passed the food on before we accepted the next dish. And finally, it was time to dig in.
I couldn’t decide where to start and slowly chewed on a piece of bread as I looked over the rest of my plate. After my stomach growled again, I finally decided on the steak. The pink-tinted juice that pooled around the edges was too tempting to wait, and I hummed with delight as the first bite hit my tongue. The juicy meat had the perfect combination of mild spices saturated into the flesh, and it nearly melted in my mouth.
“That good, huh?” Liz teased.
“So good,” I groaned softly before I devoured the rest of the T-bone and moved on to the spaghetti.
The buttery noodles combined perfectly with the sweet tomato sauce, and I had to resist the childhood urge to slurp them into my mouth as I cleared the spaghetti from my plate. I sopped up the last of the sauce with some of the focaccia bread before I finally started on the salad. I was fairly certain I wasn’t eating anything in the right order, but my stomach didn’t care. It was all going to the same place, right?
I’d grown accustomed to the traditional Italian meals while at the Febbo estate, though this one was more recognizable than some of the other Italian dishes Gulia had concocted. We’d eaten a number of dishes I couldn’t pronounce, and they’d all been delicious. My mind drifted to my almost always empty refrigerator at my lonely little apartment, and I decided I had to get serious about buying a house in a location where I could actually spend some time there. Maybe I’d learn how to cook if I had a kitchen bigger than a closet.
My mom would be so disappointed if she knew how often I ate takeout. She and my dad had cooked at home nearly every night when I was growing up, but I’d never taken the time to learn anything from them. Maybe I could invite them over once I had a real house. My mom wasn’t a huge fan of my move to New York, but she might be more supportive if she saw my success. I just didn’t think sharing the whole mob lawyer part would be the best idea.
We ate in near silence for a while, and I wasn’t sure if it was because the food was so tasty or because no one knew what to talk about after the drama that had unfolded upstairs. I wasn’t complaining, though, since it left my imagination to run wild with thoughts of my future house and consummating every room with Liz while she was home from London.
We had something of an on-again, off-again relationship, but it worked well for us. We could keep things professional when necessary and very personal when we wanted it. The dating thing never seemed to happen at the right time, so there weren’t any strings to worry about, either.
The Febbos were normally a chatty family, but tonight, everyone seemed content with eating quietly instead of talking. Even Annie, who typically had a hundred different topics to discuss, stared vigilantly at her meal as she ate.
Finally, Gulia broke the silence.
“Sal is almost done with physical therapy,” she announced with a gracious smile. “Only a few sessions left, and the doctors say he’ll be good as new.”
Gulia was in her late fifties but could easily pass for thirty. Her bright gray-green eyes were captivating, and her luscious auburn hair fell around her shoulders in perfectly styled waves. She wore a green blouse with beige s
lacks, and she always seemed to be dressed for an occasion, even though tonight was merely a dinner at home. She was like a character out of a classy movie. A small dimple appeared on her cheek when she smiled at her children, and Anthony and Annie both warmed at the news.
“That’s great, Mother,” Anthony said before a sly smile crept onto his face. “I’m sure the doctors are tired of him by now anyway.”
“When is he coming home, then?” Annie ignored her brother.
“It shouldn’t be much longer,” Gulia replied as her grin widened. “I know he hates it, but once he’s done, he can come home and be with us. He said he misses my cooking.”
I stopped for a moment as I wondered what Salvatore’s return home would mean for the Febbos. I’d been Anthony’s personal attorney for nearly a year now, despite his father making it perfectly clear he preferred the old family attorney, but Anthony was handling a lot more family business than we had expected. In fact, he’d avoided the family business for years, and Sal had made plans to make the business legit, so he could retire and Anthony could escape the life of a Mafia boss. After the shooting, I had no idea what would happen anymore. For a while, it had seemed like Sal wouldn’t even make it, but the tough old bastard had pulled through, and no one knew what the future held for the Febbos now.
Would he return to his seat at the head of the table, so to speak? Or was he truly ready to retire? Either way, I wasn’t sure he would be willing to let go of the attempt to kill him, which meant either he or his son would seek revenge for the brutal attack. If that happened, there was sure to be a bloodbath in the future, and I wasn’t sure how helpful my attorney services would be then.
“I’m sure that will be lovely,” Liz chimed in.
“We should have a party for him!” Annie squealed. “Wouldn’t that be wonderful?”
“I don’t know if your father would enjoy that very much,” Gulia said and furrowed her brow. “He doesn’t like the attention.”
“Well, too bad,” the youngest Febbo insisted. “He deserves to be celebrated for surviving an attempt on his life. And we could order his favorite cake from that bakery in Boston!”
“I think Mother is right,” Anthony argued. “Papa doesn’t like that stuff. He only tolerates your parties because you’re the baby of the family. Always spoiled.”
“That’s not true!” Annie pressed a dramatic hand to her chest. “He loves my parties!”
“I don’t think so,” her brother disagreed. “Remember the post-prom fiasco?”
“Oh, God,” Gulia groaned and put her head in her hands.
“It was never my idea for those guidos to bring alcohol,” Annie pouted. “I didn’t know they would be so stupid. Everyone knew Papa was strict.”
“And you also told them he was gone for work.” Anthony smirked and leaned back in his chair. “They probably thought it was the perfect opportunity.”
“Well, they didn’t ask where he went for work,” she retorted. “They would have known he’d be back the next morning if they had.”
“Annie’s little friends were still draped over all the furniture in various forms of undress when our parents got home the next morning,” Anthony chuckled. “I’ve never heard so many curse words in one sentence.”
“You could have kicked them all out,” Annie insisted. “They were almost as scared of you as they were of Papa.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” he asked with a mischievous grin.
“Maybe a small family party wouldn’t be too much for him,” Gulia offered before Annie could respond. “We could invite your sisters and the grandchildren. He would enjoy that.”
“The grandchildren make messes,” Annie said and scrunched up her nose. “I know he doesn’t like that.”
“But he loves them all the same,” her mother huffed. “And you should, too. You can both get over the messes. I’ll handle the cleanup.”
“Yay!” Annie cheered. “Now, let’s figure out a theme.”
I set my fork down on my empty plate with a grimace. Party-planning, especially for a guy like Salvatore Febbo, was not in my job description, and I wasn’t about to join in now. I was searching for an escape route when Anthony rose from the table and tossed his napkin into the seat.
“Thank you for dinner, Mother,” he said as he pecked her on the cheek. “It was phenomenal, as usual.”
“Thank you,” Gulia replied as her smile twisted into a doubtful frown. “Where are you going?”
“Hunter and I need to have a private meeting,” Anthony replied easily. “I suppose we can go back to the office, though I’d like to get a window repair done first thing tomorrow.”
“I’ll have Katarina make the call,” his mother replied and waved her hand. “Now, go on and get your business done. I’ve got gelato in the freezer once you’re finished.”
“We’ll make it quick,” Anthony chuckled. “Come on, Hunter.”
“Can we include Liz?” I asked carefully. “She has some information for you as well.”
“Ah, right, of course,” he said with a nod.
Our client turned on his heels and marched toward the staircase. Liz scooted out of her chair, and we hustled along behind him into the now breezy office. She gave me a look of annoyance at being dragged into the conversation, but I knew our client wanted an update on the Micci case, and she could back me up when I explained my conversation with the feds. Liz had known me for years, and she knew I’d never betray Anthony’s trust.
Anthony sat down behind the large emerald desk and grabbed a glass and bottle of whiskey from the drawer. Then he pulled out two more glasses and poured us each a drink without saying a word.
Liz and I gratefully accepted, and we sipped the whiskey in silence as we waited for our client to start the meeting. I silently prepared to take an ass chewing from the Mafia boss, but I tried to keep my expression cool and calm. If I didn’t look terrified, maybe he would realize I hadn’t done anything wrong. I knew I’d done right by him, but I also knew he could be incredibly brutal if he needed to be. I had no desire to be the one who took one of his angry moods.
“Alright, spill it,” he finally said as he furrowed his brow toward me. “Do I need to worry about the feds?”
Well, that changed things.
Anthony thought they were coming after him and that I was keeping it to myself. This would be easier to clear up than I’d thought, though I imagined getting information from him about the fight would be a whole other ball game.
“What?” I almost laughed before I cleared my throat. “No, they didn’t even ask about you. Well, not your business anyway. They’re investigating corruption in the city.”
“Why didn’t you just say that before?” he grumbled. “You had me stressed out all afternoon.”
“I planned to tell you everything in person,” I explained. “I didn’t know Hank would call you first. Anyway, they’re looking into Chatel and Webber, but I didn’t give them anything more to go on. I was pretty sure the information I had wasn’t legally obtained, so I didn’t think sharing was the best option. I didn’t want to have to explain where it came from, which definitely would lead their investigation back to you.”
“Well, what do they know?” Anthony pressed.
“They know Chatel’s ties to the Serbs are legit,” I answered. “And they know Nelson went after me in the alley after Chatel’s little party. They also suspect the Serbs went after you that night, but you defended yourself, and they don’t seem interested in pursuing much of that. And they know I helped Alessia get into office, but they didn’t make anything of it except that I was involved with her.”
“Pizzano?” Liz asked with a quirked eyebrow. “You helped her get the DA vote, so you could sleep with her? You probably could’ve accomplished that back in law school if you’d wanted to.”
“I ran some errands and booked a few events,” I chuckled. “And no, she made the first move before she even announced she was running. Plus, Brooklyn needed someone solid in the
DA’s office. There were too many cases getting railroaded through because Jordan wouldn’t tell the Chief or the Mayor to hit the road. Anyway, you made a good point earlier. It makes sense the feds are trying to get some usable intel from me, so they can file for a subpoena on one of their suspects.”
“They must think you know something important.” Anthony frowned and ran his fingers through his hair. “What do you think that would be?”
His tone didn’t change, so I no longer worried he was suspicious of me or the federal investigation. We had to brainstorm to figure out what the agents’ goal was in approaching me, especially in a clandestine alley outside the courthouse.
“Maybe Chatel’s Serbian connection’s name?” I suggested. “Or even if I just reported the assault by Sergeant Nelson, that would give them some room to work.”
“True, a report of brutality and assault by an officer would certainly turn a few judges’ heads,” Liz agreed.
“So, you don’t think they’re using you to get to me?” His eyes suddenly darkened as he watched for my response, as though he was checking me for the truth.
“If they tried, I would have turned that down, too,” I said honestly. “Not only do I value my job, but I also value my integrity. I take attorney-client privilege seriously. I wouldn’t risk that to tell them about you. I didn’t even risk it to tell them something that would help their investigation.”
“I liked your original plan to stay out of it,” Anthony mused with a satisfied look as he swirled the remaining whiskey in his glass. “What about the cases you worked today? Any thoughts on why so many of my people are getting picked up?”
I breathed a sigh of relief. I knew I was innocent of making any deals with the federal agents, but Anthony wasn’t keen on trusting people easily, so I had to prove myself over and over. Because of his business, I understood, and I didn’t want to be on the receiving end of one of his rages. I was more than willing to take the time to figure it out with him, rather than worry about him thinking I was some double-agent. I knew I’d never betray my client, but he had to know that, too. Eventually.
