Strictly Need to Know

by MB Austin

  “Rose says he’s in a coma. We can fly him to somewhere better, make sure the surgery is a success.”

  “There isn’t going to be a surgery. He’s lost the part of his brain that controls autonomic functions. The machines are breathing for him, but he’s gone.”

  “But…”

  “I didn’t know how to tell her. She loved him so much.”

  Sander was on his feet and holding her before she could wipe the tears. “It’s not your fault.”

  Maji pulled back and blew her nose on a pocketful of damp tissues. “I tackled him, when the bullets were flying. He hit his head, and I didn’t even know it. I let him down.”

  “So did I. But then, he loved you. He needed me—but he didn’t love me.”

  Maji hopped to the chair by the sink and lowered herself into it. “Yes, he did. When I got to town, he was all about the money. Cagey about how he was going to get rich, but clear on that part.”

  “Okay. So?”

  “So he changed a couple weeks in. He was still obsessed with that thing you two were cooking up. But he was all about proving his value, so you’d ask him to move to Vienna with you. The way he looked when you finally did—I’ve never seen him look like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “Happy. Dude, he was in the closet since high school. He found guys to break a sweat with, sure, but he was never happy. Then you offered him a real life. Changed everything.”

  Sander sat and took off his glasses, putting his palms against his eyelids. “I am a curse on the men who love me,” he said in Russian.

  “Well, he didn’t feel like that,” Maji replied in English. “For what it’s worth.”

  Chapter Forty

  Maji parked the bike in the shade of a maple at the end of the church parking lot. She pulled off the helmet and gloves, and pulled on the black beret that went with her green Class A uniform. She stood looking across the drive at the open front doors of St. Margaret’s, willing herself to go in. The shiny new black oxfords pinched when she shifted from foot to foot, the starched shirt rubbed as she looked at her watch, and the wool of the beret was beginning to itch in the damp heat of the morning. Maybe she could just stand in the back of the church, in the cool dimness by the doors.

  She stepped forward and stopped, seeing Frank emerge into the sun’s glare wearing a slightly snug but immaculately pressed Marine Corps uniform. Noting the khaki shirt and tie, olive drab slacks, and shiny black shoes, she realized she had never asked his branch of service or rank, and he had never volunteered it. He turned his back to the sun and pulled a solitary cigarette from one trouser pocket, a lighter from the other. Whatever gets you through the day, Frank.

  A taxi pulled to the curb, and a tall, middle-aged man in a dark gray suit got out on the road side, joined the cabbie by the trunk, and took two bags from him. He rolled them to the curb and opened the passenger door, extending a hand down to someone inside. For a second Maji stared at the woman on the sidewalk, wondering why Rose had only now arrived, and from where. Then she realized Frank was staring at the woman, too, his cigarette on the ground and his posture so erect he might snap a salute. The taxi pulled away and Maji could see the woman in black was slightly taller than Rose, slightly fuller in the hips, and her hair brushed her shoulders. Bobbi diStephano. And that must be Gerald.

  Bobbi headed straight for Frank, who looked frozen in place, and took his face in her hands, shaking her head as she spoke to him. Deciding to slip in while they held their reunion, Maji walked quietly past the trio, aiming for the sound of the organ indoors.

  “Rios! Hey.”

  Shit, Frank. She turned halfway back toward Frank. He waved her over, earnest as that first night at the police station. Maji took a breath, straightened up, and walked toward them.

  “Bobbi, this is Sergeant Rios. She’s been looking after Rose this summer, saved her life more than once.”

  Maji extended her hand to Rose’s mother. “Call me Ri, please. And Frank has a tendency to exaggerate.”

  “Bullshit,” Bobbi said, taking Maji’s hand and pulling her into a hug. “Thank you.”

  They stood back from each other then, each a little abashed. “Any chance we can sneak in without anyone noticing?” Bobbi asked.

  Maji shook her head. “Doubt it.”

  “C’mon, then,” Bobbi replied, putting her arm through Maji’s. They walked through the towering doorway together, the two men following behind.

  Rose turned in her seat near the front of the cathedral, between Nonna and Aunt Jackie, for the sixth time. “Where is she?”

  “Your mother’s not been back in thirty years,” Nonna said. “If she don’t show today, don’t blame her.”

  Rose squeezed Nonna’s hand. No point telling her that she didn’t mean her mother—she meant Maji. She’d disappeared from the hospital while Rose was helping Jackie sign papers for the cremation people. And all Bubbles could tell her was that she wasn’t at Hannah’s, or her place either. That Rey had told her that the Army probably took her. That Maji might even be in the brig, pending an internal investigation. Apparently he had been an MP and knew these sorts of things.

  The sound of wheels on the stone floor made Rose turn one more time. The organ swelled to life as she watched Maji walk down the aisle toward her. She looked stunning in her dress uniform, escorting… “Mom,” Rose whispered.

  And behind them, her father. He and Frank made an odd pair, Gerald in a business suit and Frank in uniform. Looking surprisingly sharp, himself, and stoic. Holding himself together for Nonna, for Jackie, for her—so dependable, that way. And alive, thank God.

  Rose caught Maji’s eye and smiled at her, tearing up with relief at the sight of her. Maji didn’t smile back, her eyes haunted above the purple and yellow residue of her bruises. She gave Rose a slow nod and turned to walk back down the aisle to an empty pew. Rose knew she needed to stay where she was and be strong for her grandmother and Aunt Jackie. But she wanted to get up and go comfort Maji. Or perhaps lean into her, and just cry.

  Rose came back to the living room from Nonna’s suite reluctantly. Gerald and her mother were staying back there, ostensibly to watch over Aunt Jackie. Mixing wine and those sedatives was dangerous, of course. But Rose couldn’t help the feeling that her mother was hiding out, too. Unlike Nonna, upright in her black dress in that armchair, the Rose Kennedy of the New York Mafia.

  The men in suits, so much more somber than they’d been just a week ago in this very house, filed by to have a quiet word with Mrs. B. On their way back out, they stopped and shook Gino’s hand gravely, a hand on his shoulder to demonstrate heartfelt support. It was all such a charade, Rose wanted to scream.

  A little stir in the room alerted Rose to Maji’s arrival. Frank appeared beside Maji, and they shared a quiet word. Maji caught her eye and nodded almost imperceptibly, then headed directly for Nonna. With an up-nod to the suited men she passed, Maji limped over to the armchair and knelt on one knee. Rose moved behind the armchair and heard Italian flow between the two women.

  Nonna squeezed Maji’s hands and let her go, saying one last thing in Italian that made Maji almost smile. Maji winced as she started to rise, and Rose came around to offer her a hand. Standing face-to-face by the armchair, surrounded by strangers, Rose didn’t know what to say. “Drink? Whiskey shots are the big thing.”

  Maji shook her head, but moved toward the sideboard laid out with whiskey, shot glasses, and pitchers of water. “Two shots, and there’s no telling who I might deck.”

  Rose smiled and poured her a glass of water. “I know the feeling.” She spotted Sander in the door, looking wound up, his gaze bouncing around the room until it landed on Frank. “Oh, dear.”

  They watched Sander say something to Gino, who looked angry in response and joined him in approaching Frank. Gino said something curt to Frank, and the three of them headed for the kitchen, Sander in the rear with his hand under his jacket. Maji followed them, saying as she went, “Block the door. Nob
ody else comes in.”

  “Got it.” Rose let the door swing shut behind Maji and stood between them and the houseful of guests.

  Sander’s gun was already pointed at Frank. “Somebody let the Feds into your house.” He said to Gino, “Papa could take your whole Family as an example, you know?”

  Gino nodded. “No argument here. Just not in my house again. We got company.”

  Again? Maji thought, realizing why Ricky’s absence still prickled at the back of her mind. Shit. “Hold on,” she said.

  Gino and Sander turned their heads toward her, alerted to her presence. Frank looked relieved that she had spoken up. “What’s this about Feds?” she asked. “Should I be packing a bag?”

  “This don’t concern you,” Gino said. “Walk away.”

  “No,” Sander countermanded. Maji stepped closer, and he spoke to her directly. “Ricky was feeding intel to Sirko. But someone else let the Feds in. The caterers planted bugs all over the house.”

  “Jesus. I helped pick Cuba Libre—they had the best food, and music, too. You’re telling me that was a front?”

  He nodded. “And very well done. Angelo vetted them himself, and they held up. But the day after the party? Poof.”

  “So they must have been setting up the Benedettis for years—that’s how they work. Why blame Frank?” She stepped in front of Sander, and he took a step back. And now the gun pointed at her. By now, she knew, Sander had seen the house video seized by the police, read the statements she’d given about what happened down by the water. “Besides, the Feds didn’t kill Angelo. They don’t sneak up with subs and Spetsnaz frogmen and shit.”

  Sander frowned, but tilted his head in acknowledgment. “Still,” he said, “maybe Sirko had a Fed in his pocket. Maybe that’s why he knew where to have his men.”

  “Or maybe your crew aren’t as loyal as you think. Who was here that night, when we changed the plan? You, me, Ricky, Ang of course. And—”

  “Sergei.”

  “There you go, then. His folks are dead, his wife died, what’s he got to lose?”

  “No way. Sergei’s like family.”

  “So’s Frank. Why would he possibly betray Gino?”

  “Maybe he knows something the cops don’t, about the accident,” Gino said. “Max was his friend.”

  Maji turned so she could see all three men, and any movement of Sander’s gun hand. Gino stood very still, across from her. “I’m not asking what you mean by that. I never poked my nose in Angelo’s business, and I’m not interested in yours.”

  “Smart girl,” Gino said. “But we’d feel better if you’d seal up all the leaks around here.” He left the part threatening her loved ones unspoken, but it hung in the air nonetheless.

  Maji nodded as Sander pressed the gun into her hand. It had been a long shot, trying to talk their way out. At least Frank wasn’t on the ground yet. “Point taken. I’m sorry, Frank. It’s not personal.”

  Frank looked at his feet. “I don’t blame you, Ri.”

  At the door, Gino pulled on Maji’s arm and leaned to her ear to speak so quietly she had to strain to hear. “Keep him close. He could try to run.”

  “I know,” she said. “It’s not my first rodeo.”

  She felt Gino pat her on the back as she went through the door to the patio, her free hand securely on Frank’s elbow.

  Rose moved aside as the kitchen door swung toward her. She expected to see all four of them, but only Sander and Gino came through.

  “How’s Jackie doing?” Gino asked.

  “Resting,” Rose said, irked to be distracted by his bland charm. “Where are Ri and Frank?”

  “Having a chat,” Gino said. “Nothing to worry about.”

  “Just business,” Sander added. His jacket was off now, and the holster by his armpit was empty.

  “No!” Rose roared as she pushed toward the kitchen.

  Gino put an arm out to block her. “Look—”

  “Let me through.” She pushed against his arm, so that he stiffened up and pushed back against her. The amount of muscle in his portly body surprised her. But it tensed as she intended, and he stumbled forward when she released her hold.

  Rose ducked under his flailing arms and ran across the kitchen to the back door, spurred by the sound of running dress shoes smacking the tiles behind her. On the veranda she looked frantically about. “Frank!”

  “Stay away,” his voice replied.

  She ran toward it, and looked down over the parapet. On the grass below, Maji made a shushing motion at her. Frank blew her a kiss and waved her to back up. As what they were saying clicked, Maji yelled out, “Behind you!”

  Rose whirled and faced off with Sander. From below and behind her, a shot rang out. “No!” she screamed.

  Sander dashed to the rail, and Rose caught up with him there. Frank was running toward the front of the house, one hand clasped over the opposite shoulder. Maji chased after him, her bad leg slowing her down. Rose would have sworn she was genuinely trying to catch him.

  Sander must have thought so, too, because he turned and barreled back through the house.

  Rose followed as fast as she could, cursing her heels as she dodged the few men in suits still milling about the living room. Sander stood in the doorway, handing Gino another pistol. Rose palmed Sander’s face, spinning him into the row of guests trying to watch the action.

  As she took his spot in the doorway, Gino took aim at Frank, who had started down the driveway. “Gun!” Rose called out.

  Maji, close on Frank’s heels, dropped and spun, shooting back toward Gino. As he ducked behind an entryway support post, Maji dropped her gun, falling to her knees with her hands laced above her head.

  Rose registered the blue and red flashing lights, the SUVs screeching to a halt only feet from Maji and Frank. Then she saw Gino move, and without thinking she swung her fist down on his arm. The gun clattered to the landing as he swore. She picked it up and pointed it at him, shaking all over.

  “Rose.” Sander appeared in the doorway, his hand extended. “Give me the gun.”

  “Drop the gun, ma’am,” came an amplified voice, as a second SUV spilled forth a team of blue-jacketed agents. She looked at Maji, who was letting herself be cuffed next to Frank. Maji stiffened, looking frightened for her.

  But the adrenaline kept pumping. “You killed him,” Rose said to Gino, her hand shaking so hard, she had to steady it with the other. “I don’t know how, but you did.”

  “Don’t, Rose. He isn’t worth it. Think of Ri,” Sander said, still holding his hand out to her.

  She looked at Maji again, and then at the row of agents with guns trained on her. She lifted her free hand in surrender and let the gun drop. Sander pulled her into his arms as the agents rushed forward.

  Maji watched the agents shepherd everyone into the house, guns drawn and cuffs ready. She couldn’t go in and check on Rose, even once they found her ID on the pat-down. They’d release her somewhere off-site, maybe into Rey’s custody.

  She looked over to Frank, who was docilely submitting to his pat-down. “Hey.”

  “Hey, yourself. Healing up okay?”

  “Yeah. Listen…” She looked at the agent searching him. “Can we get a minute here?”

  The agent looked affronted, but apparently did know who she was. “Two minutes,” he said and went around to open the SUV’s back hatch.

  Maji spoke quietly. “They will set you up with a new life, as promised. But they will try to make you talk about more than Ang asked you to. Don’t let them bluff you.”

  “Don’t matter what they say. I know my script. Nobody’s gonna get pissed at me but Benedetti folks—and they don’t go after the women and kids.”

  “Thanks, Frank.”

  “Nah, it’s me owes you again. But, Ri? Rose really, really likes you. Make her happy, huh? Don’t make me come and find you.”

  Maji tried to smile, failed, and shoulder bumped him instead. “Happy isn’t up to me. But I promise she’ll s
tay safe.” She caught his eye. “You want me to tell her—about you?”

  The agent returned. “Time’s up.”

  “Okay. Thanks,” Maji replied, her eyes still on Frank.

  “Someday, hon. When she’s safe, and over all of this.”

  Rose watched the visitors file out quietly, respecting Gino’s privacy by not looking at him. The teams of FBI agents spread through the house. She wondered if they would wake Jackie. Hopefully Gerald and her mother could help. Welcome home, Mom.

  Asked to submit to handcuffing, Gino lost patience. “I was defending my home.”

  “We’ll review the dash cams later, sir. Now, please put your hands forward and allow me to cuff you. Sir.” The agent pulled a set from her belt, clearly ready to continue with or without his cooperation.

  He put his hands out, grumbling. “You got no warrant to search. You got the shooter out there. Whaddya doing in my home, a day like this? You SOBs should be ashamed of yourselves.”

  The agent began reciting the Miranda rights, stone-faced. “You are under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say may be—”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Gino interrupted. “Tell me when you got charges. Till then, don’t waste my time.”

  She closed the cuffs with a sharp click. “Conspiracy to commit homicide, three counts, for the deaths of Maximillian Benedetti, Carlo Benedetti, and Angelo Benedetti. And fourteen felony counts under RICO—you want me to list them, sir?”

  “Fuck you. None of that’ll stick. DA’s had me on the hook, what, a dozen times? Never one indictment, what’s that tell you? What makes you think anything’ll be different this time?”

  “Evidence,” Nonna said. She pressed herself up out of the armchair, and Rose gave her an arm. Nonna’s grip was tight, and Rose took tiny steps as her grandmother shuffled toward her only surviving son.