“Why the hell did you get involved in this, Gina? You know better,” Paulo said.
“I didn’t do anything!” Paulo is my much older cousin. I always seem to revert to fourteen years old when he’s around.
“Passing counterfeit fives.” Paulo waved a hand through the air. “That’s kid’s play. Not worth it.”
My mouth went dry.
Paulo shook his head. Not a hair fell out of place. “At least they were lousy copies. Even the cops could see that. When they tried to say it was family business, I pointed out we would never make anything so lousy. It was a matter of pride.”
He made for the fridge and took out a bottle of water. “They bought it, of course.”
Phew. I turned to Pete. “You picked those up where?”
Not that I didn’t already know.
Pete hadn’t said a word up until now. He just pointed to the counter.
“Crap,” I said. “You weren’t supposed to use those.”
“I was out of cash,” he said dryly. “I took two. Exactly two. For coffee.”
“So I’m guessing here. Sammy?” Paulo leaned back against the counter and took a swig from the bottle. “The Canton connection?”
I nodded.
“Shit. I told him not to go offshore. Everyone’s doin’ it, he said. Gotta get with the times. I told him it was sloppy not to oversee your own operations.” Paulo took another swig. “So how did they end up here?”
I decided to tell the truth. Paulo is a lawyer, after all. He has ways of getting you to fess up. “Mario stole my credit card number again, so Sammy threw me a wad as recompense.”
“Mario stole your credit card?” Pete was puzzled.
“The number. It was a mistake,” I grumbled.
“Shit. He’s got to stop messing up like that,” Paulo said. “Stole mine last month. He’s becoming a liability.”
“Mario’s into identity theft?” Pete’s voice again, more strident this time.
Pete and I looked at each other. He stood tall and broadshouldered and very pissed. His fair hair was somewhat disheveled. His face was hard. Damn. One look at that man always did something to my insides.
“I’m outta here.” Paulo capped the water bottle and pointed to the door. “We never had this conversation.”
We never do.
The door slammed shut.
Pete stared at me. I winced. His hazel eyes were usually warm and soft when they looked at me. Not at the moment.
“Burn it! I was going to burn it all,” I explained, throwing my arms around.
He marched past me into the dining area and went directly to the liquor cabinet. This is usually a bad sign. He never marches past me without grabbing me for a hug.
He grabbed a bottle of single malt, opened it and chugged it straight from the bottle. Another bad sign.
I spent the next ten minutes explaining.
In the end, he was laughing. That’s what I love about Pete (along with a thousand other things). He has a great sense of humor. All right, twisted. You have to be twisted to stay sane in this family.
“Let me get this straight. They’re laundering money with counterfeit bills from China. But first, they launder the bills to make them look old. Did Sammy get them washed in a Chinese laundry?”
Okay, so that’s what he was snickering about.
“Nuts, I know! Importing counterfeit bills from offshore. What is this country coming to? It’s a disgrace, I tell you. A national disgrace.” I had the nerve to smile.
He cocked his head. “So what do we do with this monopoly money now?”
This was a problem. No place to burn it here. We didn’t have a fireplace. You couldn’t stuff it down the condo toilet.
“I’ll give it back to Sammy,” I said. That made perfect sense. Or…I could hide it and give it later to someone I hated. I could think of a few.
At least Pete was mellow now. I decided to continue improving his mood. I plopped down beside him on the sofa.
“What would you say if I told you a poopload of money was coming to me?”
One eyebrow shot up. I snuggled closer to him.
“Real money?”
I swatted him on the thigh.
“Do I want to know where this is coming from?” Pete said, putting an arm around my shoulders.
“Seb left me something in his will.” It was true, I reasoned. He’d left me a painting. With any luck, it would turn into money.
Pete smiled and pushed me down on the sofa. “I don’t need money. I got pure gold right here.”
That was the beginning of a really great lunch.
Sometime later, I thought about food. “You know what I’d really like right now? I’d like a big juicy hamburger.”
Pete grunted.
“What would you like?” I asked.
“You.” He put an arm around me.
I was feeling playful. “So what do you like best about me?”
“You’re never boring,” he said without hesitation.
“That’s what you like best about me?” I sat up in a huff.
“Nope. Can’t choose. I want the whole package.”
He pulled me down again.
SIX
The visitation was held at La Dolce Vita Funeral Home. Yes, we own it. My cousin Enzo runs it.
“I’ve never understood the name of this place,” said Nico, trudging along the sidewalk beside me. “Shouldn’t it be The Sweet Afterlife?”
I grabbed for the door and entered ahead of him. “You think any of us are headed to heaven? In this family?”
He hesitated for a second, then kept up the pace. “You’ve got a point.”
We went in the front entrance. Uncle Vince and most of my uncles would probably go in through the underground entrance at the back. Not all funeral homes have this, but the ones in our family do. Definitely handy for avoiding the media, cops and other disagreeable types who may have grudges.
La Dolce Vita is an Italian funeral home. Probably I should explain this. It has a big party room. Sort of like you would find at a wedding hall. Of course, they don’t call it a party room, because that wouldn’t be respectful. They call it the friends and family room.
The party room is decorated in what Nico likes to call trashy Italian motif. It’s a tad overdone, what with the plaster columns and chubby cherubs. Souvenirs from the Coliseum in Rome may have more class.
The party room was already rocking. No stodgy music here. Seb had been a fan of the big bands. “In the Mood” was playing through the speakers.
“From what Sammy said, Seb was ‘in the mood’ when he had that heart attack,” Nico whispered. He helped me take off my leather jacket.
I slapped his arm.
“Gina! Bella, bella!” Aunt Vera raced up to kiss me on the cheek. First right, then left.
Aunt Grizelda launched herself at me. Then we were surrounded by kissing, hugging, laughing relatives. Uncle Vito was there with Vera. Vince was talking to Paulo in the corner. Sammy and Miriam were in fine form. Pinky, Ben…the whole Steeltown contingent.
Pinky looked like a million bucks in a formfitting black sheath that had to be Versace. Even Aunt Vera and Miriam had new duds for their size-sixteen figures. They must have bought out every black outfit in The Hammer. Because funerals are such solemn occasions in our family and all.
Pinky moved forward to wipe lipstick off my cheek with her thumb. “Heard Seb left you something in his will. Good for him. You go, girl.”
When they finished with me, they moved on to Nico.
After the onslaught, Tiff shuffled over to my right. She had come with her parents. “I’ve never been to a visitation before.”
“No?” I was surprised. We’d had a few over the years. Professional hazard.
Tiff was dressed as Winona Ryder in Beetlejuice. “Mom didn’t think it was suitable for a young girl.” She sounded disgusted.
“No kidding. They’re much too morose.” I watched Uncle Manny demonstrate how to do a cartwheel i
n the center of the floor.
Nico tch-tched.
“Where’s Pete?” said Tiff. She has a thing for Pete, but keeps it under the wire. I just know the signs.
Pete had said he would come separately. I scanned the room. My eyes stopped at a bunch of men in the corner. Pete was standing with my cousins Luca, Anthony, Joey, young Tony and—
“Oh no.” I groaned.
“What?” Nico squinted.
I pointed.
Yup, they were all there. Joey, Bertoni and—wait for it—that ratfaced weasel Carmine. And Pete was standing there, laughing with them. Like they were friends or something.
“Don’t cause a scene, Gina,” Nico warned.
“Who, me? But I’m so good at it.”
“It’s a funeral, Gina. Think of Seb,” Nico called behind me.
Like Seb would care. Knowing him, he was already painting the angels in their birthday suits.
I marched over. By the time I reached the testosterone circle, all eyes were on me. I stared back.
Luca and Tony were my first cousins. I loved them to pieces. They looked suitably gorgeous, in that Italian-stallion way. The other guys were distant cousins. I was fine with keeping them distant.
“Gina.” Joey nodded. “Nice dress.” He stood a few inches taller than Pete’s six foot two and had a good hundred pounds on him.
“Thanks,” I said. “Seb always liked this one.” He liked any dress that showed off curves, of course.
I didn’t hate Joey. He was okay, in a “quiet thug” sort of way. At one time, he had a crush on me and tried to get Aunt Vera to set us up. Not happening. Even so, it’s hard to hate a guy who thinks you’re hot.
But I had no love for the other two bozos from the Bronx.
Bertoni looked suitably greasy for the occasion. I could do without him. Forever. Carmine the Weasel just sniffed. His face was as pointy as I remembered.
All three were in stark black suits. They looked uncomfortable, like penguins at a hot-tub party. Joey kept fingering the collar around his neck.
“You boys leave your heaters at the door?” I said. I practically growled it.
“Behave yourself.” Pete whacked my butt. For some reason, the cousins liked Pete, and vice versa. This was one factor not in his favor.
“Big Sally couldn’t make it,” Joey said. “He was ‘otherwise detained.’” Joey made quotation marks with his fingers.
I gasped. “The hospital or the clinker?”
“Neither. The wife caught him with a hooker.”
Yikes!
Luca shook his head knowingly. “Will he live?”
“She wouldn’t let him die. That’s too easy,” said Joey. “But he won’t be popping the weasel anytime soon.”
Bertoni shivered. Big Sally’s wife was related to Aunt Miriam. Believe me, this was a whole new level of scary. You think the men in our family are dangerous…
“We’re representing the New York branch,” Carmine added. “On account of Seb being well regarded.”
I raised an eyebrow. What had Seb been doing for Big Sally and the New York branch of the family?
“Heard you inherited a bundle,” Joey said to me.
I turned my head to search his eyes. How much did Joey know about the terms of my inheritance? Did he know what would happen if I didn’t come through?
I was about to respond with a question when heads turned. Abruptly, the boys were at attention. Vince? Nope. I had to grin.
“So which of you handsome men will buy me a drink?” Lainy McSwain sashayed up and hung an arm around Joey’s shoulder. She didn’t even have to reach up far. He blushed bright red.
Everyone in the western world has heard of her, of course. She’s the Lainy in Lainy McSwain and the Lonesome Doves, the hottest new country group north of the Mexican border. She’s also six feet tall, stacked like Dolly, and one hell of a nice gal.
Oh, and my best friend.
“Hi, Swainy,” said Carmine, tongue-tied as usual when in her company.
Pete snorted.
“You behaving yourself, honey?” She directed this at Carmine, who nodded vigorously.
She pointed a long manicured fingernail at him. “No more funny business switching good rocks for bad, right?”
Carmine had turned into a bobblehead.
Lainy might make merry, but I was less likely to forgive him. Carmine the rat had nearly cooked my goose when he was babysitting my store a while back. It isn’t nice to swindle my very best customers. I had a heck of a time getting back all the fake gems and replacing them with real ones before anyone noticed. (Hence the Lone Rearranger burglaries of last month.)
Then I had to go to New York and collect the real stones Carmine had taken from me. Aunt Miriam gave me a little help there, in her special way.
I’d recovered the stones. But Carmine would always be a weasel in my eyes. I had yet to dream up a really good plan for revenge.
Gee, I guess that sounds a tad vindictive.
Lainy was clad in a country-singer-meets-Morticia dream of a dress. Draped black jersey clung to every curve. It showed everything and nothing, if you get my drift. It really set off her big red hair. She turned to me.
“Hey, girlfriend,” she said. “When are we hitting the stores for your wedding togs?”
I grinned. “How about Monday?” I said. “After the funeral.”
“Yeah. Nothing like a funeral to put ya in the mood for shopping.” Bertoni snickered.
I kicked him in the shins with my pointy Jimmy Choos.
“Fuck!” he yelled at the top of his lungs.
There was a collective gasp from every woman over forty in the room.
“Shit,” said Carmine. His face went white. “Aunt Miriam is looking this way.”
All of a sudden, my big, brave cousins melted into the crowd.
I immediately turned to Pete. “Why were you being friendly with that rat?” I might as well have called my fiancé a traitor. That’s what I was thinking anyway.
Pete smiled and shrugged. “They invited me to a poker game tonight. After this is over.”
“A poker game. With that lot?” I stared at him, not convinced. He was up to something. I was sure of it.
“Hey, Gina.” Sammy appeared at my side. “Miriam wants to see you about the funeral. In the crying room.”
Of course, it’s not really named the crying room. They call it the quiet room. Rarely, if ever, does it live up to its name.
While I made my way through the crowd, I stopped to corner Paulo.
“Does Joey know the conditions of my inheritance?” I asked him. I had his arm in a death grip.
Paulo has the whitest teeth money can buy. They were all visible in his smile. “Nah. Didn’t want him to sabotage you.”
That was a relief. I didn’t need Joey’s help. I was pretty darn good at sabotaging myself.
“Of course, he’ll know if you don’t pull it off.” His smile turned crafty.
I had a sneaking suspicion Paulo was enjoying this. “Why?”
Paulo shrugged. “Joey will get to see the will. Then everyone will know.”
SEVEN
At nine, Pete left to play cards with the cousins. Nico got a lift home with Tiff and Uncle Manny. I stayed behind with the aunts to help clean up. Which usually meant, to hear the gossip. For once, I tuned it out.
My job was to pack up the leftovers. All the while, I fretted and cursed.
What if I couldn’t pull off the gallery job? Everybody in the family would find out. It would be humiliating. I’d have to move away. Change my name and skip the country. Maybe move to a small town in Tasmania or Bolivia.
Would Pete come? Damn. He had built his career as a sports columnist on his football fame. Pete had been a quarterback in the majors. His career had been cut short due to a catastrophic knee injury. But Pete had been a well-known quarterback with a sterling rep.
No, he wouldn’t want to start over with a brand-new name in a backwater burg. Bugger. And I wa
sn’t about to leave him behind. Guys like Pete didn’t come along every day. Looked like we were staying in The Hammer.
Aunt Grizelda handed me a box of plastic wrap to bundle the leftovers. “You doing that heist for Uncle Seb, Gina? Good girl.”
Jeesh, news travels fast in this burg.
“It’s not really a heist,” I said out loud, trying to convince myself. “Simply doing a teeny switch. Returning something that got out of place, so to speak. To its rightful place.” I nodded several times. When you put it that way, it sounded almost noble.
She handed me a plate of cannoli and nodded. “Seb always felt guilty about that painting. Don’t know why. He made a living forging, so why get all antsy over one painting? He was weird, that one.”
This is true, I thought to myself. A Gallo with a conscience. What a novelty.
I handed her back the wrapped plate.
“Vince told me you had to return it or you don’t get the money,” she said. “That sounds more like Seb.”
Sounds more like a Gallo too.
I could use that inheritance, what with getting married and all. Not only that, I could help out my cousins. Fund Nico to set up his store. Even send Tiff away to school to become a certified gemologist.
The last thing I wanted was the money going to Carmine and the Buffalo side of the family.
I just couldn’t mess this up. And Bertoni and the gang knowing I couldn’t manage a simple switch? I’d never live it down. Some things were more important than money.
I had to get this right.
* * *
That thought followed me all the way home. It haunted me well into the night.
When I woke up the next morning, Pete was sleeping beside me. He’d come in way later than me last night. It was Saturday morning, so he didn’t have to work.
But I did, so I rose quietly from the bed and dressed. In black, of course.
The phone rang. It was Nico.
“Gina, can you come over here? I sort of need your help.” His voice was shaky, and there was a terrible racket in the background.
The Artful Goddaughter Page 3
