Park Avenue (Book Six in the Fifth Avenue Series)

by Smith, Christopher

  “My brother won’t tell me who he’s invited.”

  “Your safety trumps any surprise he might be planning. Explain it to him. Tell him you need the names, or I will,” Mario said. “Besides, I highly doubt that Michael will get in the way of any of this when he understands why we need those names. That’s not like him.”

  “I’ll ask him when we’re finished here.”

  “Mario and I will talk to Sean.”

  “He’s at lunch now.”

  “Then we’ll talk with him when he returns. You call Michael. Let’s get things moving.”

  She stood. “I’ll call Michael now. Thank you, Marty.”

  “I wish I had answers for you, Leana.”

  “Everything can’t be wrapped in a neat bow,” she said, repeating his earlier statement. “I get it. This isn’t a movie, where everything just magically falls into place because people expect it to. Real life is messier. It isn’t scripted. There might be no happy ending here. I’ve considered that. But I’ve taken as many precautions as possible, and now I need to see this through.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN

  While her team took care of the final preparations for the opening of The Hotel Fifth, Pepper Redman was in a limousine with Gordon Elling. They sat opposite each other on black leather seats and drove down Park. As they passed Leana’s hotel, she saw the activity surrounding it, and her heart raced.

  I’m doing the right thing. I can’t lose my nerve now.

  She looked at Elling, a polished, good-looking man in his fifties with dark hair that was just beginning to gray at the temples, and tried to focus on what he was saying.

  “How did you obtain an invitation?” she asked.

  “There’s very little I can’t obtain. My man is ready to act.”

  “There’s another man on this. He’ll be at my party.”

  “That’s right. When Leana Redman is dead, he’ll be notified by cell. Your interaction with him will be fleeting. He’s just going to squeeze your arm as he passes you in the crowd, and then you’ll know it’s over for her before the press knows. This way, you’ll be prepared for what’s coming. You’ll never see or hear from us again.”

  She studied him. “You seem so calm. I’m not.”

  “Just put your faith in us and let us do our jobs. I think you’ll be pleased with the results, and then you won’t have to worry about her any longer.”

  Which is what I want.

  “How soon will this be over?”

  “When the opportunity presents itself.”

  “You’re being so cryptic.”

  “It’s how we work. Besides, the less you know, the better. Wouldn’t you agree? Especially if for any reason you happen to be questioned?”

  She saw his logic, and nodded.

  “You’ll be attending her funeral by week’s end. News of her death will spread quickly and it will affect your own party. The press will make certain of it. When the news hits, you’ll already know she’s dead, so it’s critical that you appear to be alarmed and in grief over it. You’ll need to become an actress, Miss Redman. You’ll need to deliver the performance of your life.”

  I’ve been giving a performance for years, she thought to herself. From Penelope to Pepper. I can do this.

  “I can do that,” she said.

  “Good. Just behave as if a beloved relation, lover or friend has just been murdered. Tap into those instincts. Use them. Don’t even think that it’s Leana who’s dead. Think of someone you love when you hear the news. Be there for your Uncle George, who will be upset. Comfort him. Do what you can for him. It’s what people will expect of you. You may not like Leana, which is well known. But she nevertheless is your cousin, so behave as if this is the worst news you could have received. People will be watching you. The press will be watching. Be believable, but don’t overdo it. Remember, you will be in shock.”

  “I hear you.”

  “I think you’ll be fine, Pepper.”

  Really? Then why do I feel sick?

  “I appreciate your help,” she said, not knowing what else to say.

  “I appreciate your business. Now. Let’s bring you back to your hotel, so you haven’t been away too long. We’ll drop you off a block away. Then just get back to doing what you need to do for your own opening and be the Pepper everyone knows and loves. Leave the rest to me.”

  “I can be the person everyone knows,” she said. “But loves? When you’re me, that’s difficult to do.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT

  It was late evening when Antonio De Cicco called the meeting at his Hell’s Kitchen office. With him were his sons, Miko and Tony, who would be at the opening of The Park, presumably to support Mario, but really to make certain that Anastassios Fondaras came through with his promise and to make certain that Leana Redman didn’t leave the hotel alive.

  Other family members also were in the room, including several bosses of various ages who had worked for the Family for years. Outside on the street, were other men, who were guarding the building in an effort to protect those who were inside. This was an important meeting, and De Cicco demanded everyone’s presence so they could discuss the next steps that would need to happen if Fondaras didn’t come through.

  If he didn’t, Fondaras and his family would feel the full weight of the De Cicco crime family in ways that would crush them.

  “I talked to Fondaras earlier,” De Cicco said. “Sounded nervous, which is about right. You two ready to go?”

  “We’re ready,” Miko said.

  “You need to watch that son of a bitch. We all know he could have something else planned. Watch him like a motherfuckin’ hawk. If you sense anything ain’t right, pull him aside and get him in line.”

  Miko and Tony nodded, while the other men listened.

  “We do this for Lucia,” Antonio said. “We honor her name. Leana Redman is responsible for Lucia’s death, so we kill her for it and bring Mario back into the Family. It’ll take time, but he’ll come back. Because when she dies, he’ll see that it’s one of Fondaras’ men who kills her, not one of us. He’ll want revenge for that. He’ll come to me for that. This is how I get my son back. Nobody ever says a word of this to him. Not ever. That understood?”

  All agreed.

  * * *

  In the building directly across the street from De Cicco, which was sublet from its current tenants the day before at a price they couldn’t refuse, Sean Scott prepared to act.

  In his hand, was a military-grade M32A1 grenade launcher, which held six rounds of ammunition, the lot of which was enough to severely damage the building into which he watched Antonio De Cicco and others enter earlier. Even with his connections, coming upon such a weapon so quickly had been a challenge.

  But he met it.

  He arrived here three hours ago, after one of his men told him that De Cicco was on the move and headed for Manhattan. Assuming De Cicco and his team were coming here—which was a safe bet since Sean learned that it was here that De Cicco did his business—Sean immediately left The Park and drove to the building alone. He let himself in through the rear entrance and sat in wait until De Cicco arrived, along with other men, some of whom were now guarding the entrance to the building.

  There were obstacles when it came to bringing down someone like Antonio De Cicco. But when Sean was in Afghanistan, fighting a complicated war that found him taking down men far more evil than this man in a country that wasn’t his own, he had seen and done worse.

  He knew this weapon. He’d used one like it before. He knew what it could do when its power was unleashed. The only unknown was where on the fourth floor De Cicco was. Sean’s head of intelligence told him the man had a lease on the entire floor, which was large, but that’s where the intelligence ended. Did they meet at the front of the building? Unlikely. Due to the large windows that faced the street, they’d be too vulnerable there. At the rear of it? Perhaps. In the middle? Most likely. De Cicco would feel shielded that way.

  Scot
t had six grenades at his disposal, but were they enough? He felt they were—he’d seen the damage they could create—but he also knew that nothing was absolute. That’s what unnerved him. His aim was to destroy as much of the fourth floor as possible, to create explosions that not only would take lives, but also create fires. If he was lucky, the explosions would take out one of the brick supporting walls, and the floor itself would collapse. He’d done that before, and if he could do it again, he knew he’d succeed. De Cicco and his threat against Fondaras would be dead and that would end one of two threats against Leana Redman’s life.

  He’d deal with the other one later.

  He put on his night goggles and went quietly to the windows that overlooked De Cicco’s building. He kept low and stealth, aware that the guards below were on high alert. De Cicco would have demanded that of them, and he was right to do so. But Scott didn’t realize how alert they were.

  Two of the men also were wearing night goggles. If they looked up, which they would at some point, they would see him just as he saw them now. He receded from the window. So, what to do? Fire a grenade at the street, take them out, and then lob five other grenades into the building? Would that be enough? He wasn’t sure. Sending six grenades into the building might do the job, but then he’d have to escape from the men on the street, wouldn’t he? He’d have to run down four flights of stairs, and despite his height and bulk, he’d need to escape into the night unseen. It would be a challenge, even if there was a car waiting for him a block away.

  What would the men on the street do when he fired the grenades into the building? Rush in to protect De Cicco, who was their cash cow? The man who paid their bills? The man who put food on their tables, and likely paid for their children’s educations? Or, in their hopes that De Cicco had somehow survived, would they come toward this building—the source of the explosives—and search for whoever fired the grenades in an effort to annihilate them?

  He didn’t know.

  But he was prepared for either situation. His time in Afghanistan taught him plenty. It taught him that you didn’t go in with just one plan. You went in with two or three plans. Tonight, Sean had two. Two were enough.

  He reached into his pocket for his cell, pulled it out, and called his team leader, Erich, who was within a block of De Cicco’s building, along with other men. “This is what you need to do,” he said when Erich answered the phone.

  “Go ahead.”

  He told him.

  “When are you planning to act?”

  “Five minutes. That should give you time to get into position.”

  “Give us ten.”

  “Five. I don’t know how long they’ll be inside.”

  “Then we need to hustle.”

  “Just do what I said. Make certain the bases are covered. No one comes out alive.”

  “Is that possible? If your grenades miss, they’ll pour out of the building. We both saw how many went inside.”

  “We do our best—”

  “Shit!” Erich said.

  “What?”

  “Stand down!” the man hissed into the phone. “Stand down!”

  The line went dead.

  Confused, Sean stared at the phone. He tried to call Erich back, but the line went to voice mail, suggesting he was on his phone. Who was he talking to? His team?

  Sean rushed to the window overlooking the building’s side entrance. Coming down the street were a line of cars and vans. At least a dozen. Though he couldn’t see their markings, instinct told him that, for whatever reason, the police were here and were about to raid Antonio De Cicco’s compound.

  De Cicco’s men on the street saw them, and swiftly moved inside the building. He heard the muffled sound of a metal door clang shut, raised voices, and then absolute silence as the lights went dark on the building’s fourth floor. Transfixed by what was happening, he watched other cars arrive on the street facing the front of the building, which now was surrounded. Nobody could get out, but he knew that eventually people would go in.

  Uniformed men and women rushed out of the cars and vans. They stepped behind the vehicles for shelter, and Sean noted two dogs on leashes—German Shepherds.

  Guns were drawn and aimed at the building’s fourth floor. Stunned, Sean looked down the street and saw the same situation unfolding there. Seconds later, the lights on top of each car and van came to life, bathing the streets and the buildings in rhythms of red and blue.

  His cell phone thrummed to life. It was still clutched in his hand. And though Sean was usually cool under pressure, the vibration startled him. He looked down and was surprised by who was calling. He answered.

  “What’s happening?” he said.

  “Nobody fucks with me.”

  “But we had this settled. I was about to take them out.”

  “Then I got to you in time. Your involvement in this ends now. I’ve gone to the police. They’re taking over.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I told you I was considering another avenue. This was it. But before I could go forward with it, I needed to make certain it was the safest way to go. If it wasn’t, you’d be blowing up that building now.”

  “I’ll repeat. What are you talking about?”

  “Two hours ago, I sent my children and their families away on one of my private jets. Because De Cicco and his men have been watching me, my family had to follow direction, they had to go undercover, which they did, and now everyone is safe. De Cicco will never touch them, because he won’t know where to find them. The moment they were airborne, I went to the police, told them how De Cicco threatened me, and gave them the proof.”

  “What proof?”

  “I recorded our telephone calls,” Anastassios Fondaras said. “Just as I record every call that comes in to me. The police now have enough evidence to put De Cicco and his Family behind bars for years. I’ve given them tangible proof of how De Cicco threatened me, what he did to my daughter, what he was planning to do to Leana Redman, and how he kept the pressure on me to make sure it would happen. All of it’s on tape. Tonight, they’re going to lock away that son of a bitch, as well as everyone who works for him.”

  Sean tried to control his anger, but it was difficult. “I’m in possession of an illegal weapon. Do you understand that? Do you realize the situation you’ve put me in? They’ll lock me away for having it.”

  “They won’t. I’ve taken care of it. Do you really think I’d leave you vulnerable? If you leave the building now, a detective will be there to meet you at the rear exit. Trust me and trust him. They’ve been waiting years to nail De Cicco. This is a boon for them. They’ll dispose of the weapon, you won’t exist to them, and you can go on your way. Leave the building now. De Cicco is either going to give himself up, or he’s going to go down in a hail of bullets. The consensus is that he’ll give himself up and try to fight this with his army of lawyers. Good luck to him. I’ve got enough on that man to burn his ass. The police know it. The D.A. knows it. They’ve been trying for decades to bring him down. Now, they’re certain they can.”

  “Before I go forward, I need to know one thing,” Sean said. “Will Leana be safe? That’s important to me. You know she’s come to mean something to me. I don’t want her harmed.”

  “Leana will be safe. I promise you that. If De Cicco doesn’t fall in line soon, they’ll smoke his ass out with tear gas, he’ll go into custody, and this will end. I’ll forever be grateful for what you’ve done for Leana.” He paused for a moment, and Sean heard footsteps charging forward on the other end of the phone. “They’re going in. Get out of here now. We’ll deal with Gordon Elling tomorrow. We’ll shut him and Pepper Redman down.”

  “Stay out of that,” Sean said. “I’ll take care of them myself.”

  He clicked off the phone, took a final glance out the window, saw the police moving into position, and knew he had to get out of there. He hurried down the four flights of stairs to the rear entrance, but when he opened the door, four armed
policemen met him. Their guns were drawn and trained on him.

  “Hand over your weapon,” one of the men said to him. “Now.”

  “What is this?”

  “Hand over your weapon.”

  “I work for Anastassios Fondaras. He told me to come here. He said you’d be waiting ready for me. I’m Sean Scott.”

  “What you are is under arrest.” A laser beam shot out of the man’s gun and wavered over Sean’s chest. Three other beams followed suit, and the swirl of beams created a gathering of red dots just over the place where his heart pumped furiously. It was so dark outside that he couldn’t see their faces, but as confused as he was, he knew they were cops. They talked like cops. He lowered his weapon to the ground. Rough hands enveloped him, his arms were yanked behind his back, his wrists were cuffed, and for reasons he couldn’t understand, he was pulled away.

  Anastassios Fondaras had betrayed him.

  BOOK THREE

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-NINE

  In his penthouse high above Fifth Avenue in the Redman International Building, George Redman squinted into the morning sun flooding into the kitchen. He finished his coffee, poured himself a glass of orange juice, and looked fleetingly at the newspapers his maid had stacked next to his briefcase on the kitchen counter. But he was in no mood to read them just yet. He was too distracted. Too many things were on his mind, not the least of which was his daughter’s safety.

  The day after he sent Leana an email telling her that he had indeed hired one of Sean Scott’s men to protect her, he had Scott and his team investigated. But the investigator he hired told him last night that Scott’s company was among the best in the business and that his reputation was excellent.

  “We’re sorry, Mr. Redman, but we’re as confused as you. Scott and his team do good work. We found nothing on him. We interviewed former clients who spoke highly of him. I don’t understand why he would deceive you or your daughter. He returned home from Afghanistan to use his skills to help people like your daughter, not to harm them. As far as we’re concerned, he’s clean.”