“Let’s face it, angel—it was mostly you.”
Yes. There had definitely been tension in his body, but I’d put it down to nerves when he said next: “Did you ask Tino about my mom?”
“I did, in a roundabout way. He denied it. Said whoever ordered that hit on your mother never owned up to it, but it wasn’t anyone’s recognizable style at the time.”
“Hm.”
There was something I wanted to tell him; I was bursting with it. Tino had warned me to keep it to myself, but I’d already decided I was going to tell Finch as soon as Tino and Connie left. But before I could speak, Finch offered me a glass.
“Here, drink this.”
I took the glass from him. “More cognac?”
“More cognac. You deserve it. We can toast to our happiness.”
And I’d clinked my glass against his and drunk it. I’d never tasted cognac before last night, but I’d felt so smooth sitting there in my study with Don Augustino Morelli, smoking cigars, drinking that amber liquid, hearing this big bombshell revelation…
I drank the second cognac Finch gave me in the kitchen, and I remember nothing after that.
Marco is still thundering around the townhouse, looking in all the rooms three times, four times over, under beds, in closets.
I lean against the kitchen island, staring at the floor, trying to get my useless brain to work. And then I see my phone on the kitchen floor, screen cracked. But it still lights up under my fingers, and I send up a grateful thanks to Mother Mary.
Outside, just as Frank had said, the night guards are lying piled up against each other, snoring their heads off. They look like a couple of guys who had had a big night and decided to sleep it off the doorway.
Fury rises up in me as I contemplate them. I draw back my foot and kick one of them hard in the gut. He wakes, wheezing and spluttering, and stares up at me with an injured expression, as though I were the one at fault.
“What the fuck do you two think you’re doing?” I ask him calmly.
Frank is hovering around on the doorstep, making distressed noises, but doesn’t intervene. I pull back to kick the guard again, but he scrambles to his feet unsteadily, almost toppling over the balustrade on the stairs that lead up to the front door.
“If anything has happened to Finch, I’ll rip out your fucking heart and make you eat it.”
He goes white. “I swear to God, Mr. D’Amato, we—we were watching—I don’t know what happened—”
“Celia ain’t heard from him,” Frank said, checking a text that pings through.
“Your wife is a liar, Frank.”
Frank goes just as pale as the guard, who’s shaking his dozy friend awake now. Celia’s also still giving Finch drugs, apparently, but I don’t say that. I don’t want the guards to know I’ve been caught out as well, doped by my own husband. Let them stay ignorant for now.
Marco pushes past Frank to give his report. “I’ve checked the whole house, Mr. D’Amato,” he says. “Everywhere. He’s not here.”
Things are starting to become clearer, my head is starting to become clearer, but then my phone begins to vibrate. I grab it up hopefully, but it’s not Finch calling—and how could he, of course, since he doesn’t have a phone, thanks to me.
I can’t beat myself up about that mistake right now, though, because Angelo’s calling. Tino’s bodyguard. It’s too early in the morning for any kind of social call, and besides, I’ve never had any social interaction with Angelo Messina. He’s all business, all the time, just like me. I answer, but before he even gets it out, I know what’s coming.
“D’Amato, listen up,” he says, no time for pleasantries. “Fuscone’s planning an attack. Get to Tino’s right now with all the backup you can. Only bring the men you trust—no one loyal to Fuscone. Understand?”
“I understand.” I end the call, and look at Frank, who’s on tenterhooks. “It’s time.” I’ve been expecting this for so long I couldn’t really call it a surprise. In fact, I’ve been looking forward to it.
But Finch is missing.
Tino has given me a direct order to come to him, and come now, and if I don’t, it’s like declaring my allegiance to Fuscone—or worse. The Family will think I just waited it out. I’ll be branded a coward or a vulture if I don’t go, and go now.
But Finch is missing.
“You three,” I snap at the guards and Marco. “Round up my crew, except for Joey Fuscone, and if you do see him, fucking kill him. I’m serious. And contact the crews on the Lower East Side too, and anyone else you know who hates Sam Fuscone. Then get the fuck over to Tino’s. There’s an attack coming—Fuscone and his allies.”
“What about me, Georgie?” Frank asks. “And…what about you?”
“You and I? We have a little bird to find.”
“But—” Frank starts, and then stops when he sees my face. I know what he’s thinking. What they’re all thinking as they look at me, worried and confused and torn.
But I made a vow to Finch that I would protect him, and I won’t break that vow.
“Georgie,” Frank mutters, and pulls me back inside the house. He knows better than to question my orders in front of anyone else. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”
“It was Finch who drugged me last night, and the guards.”
“No way!”
“Way. With, I might add, your wife’s pills.”
Frank does his best to change the topic of conversation from Celia. “Well, shit, if Finch is part of all this, get hold of him later and teach him a D’Amato lesson. But right now we should get to Tino’s, protect our Boss, and deal with the fallout later.”
I shake my head. “I don’t know exactly why Finch did this, but he’s loyal to me. He is,” I insist at Frank’s skeptical face. “And you know how I know?” Normally I wouldn’t bother explaining my thought process to Frank, but I need him on my side, fast. “Because he’s still wearing his wedding ring. If Celia ever decided to fuck you over, what would she do?”
“She wouldn’t,” he says obstinately. But then, slowly, he nods. “I guess she’d take off her ring and leave it for me to find. But Georgie, you can’t know that for sure.”
“I do know that for sure, because I also know where Finch is right now. I have eyes on him. And here’s the thing, Frankie, he’s sitting pretty at your apartment, paying an early-morning social call to your wife.”
Frank looks confused. “But Celia said…” I just look at him. His mouth turns down. “Dammit,” he sighs. Then, alarmed, “You sure you can trust whoever you got on him? What if he’s actually Fuscone’s guy?”
“It’s not a matter of trust. But we do need to get to them. I want both of them with us while this battle is going down.”
“But Tino…” Frank trails off, torn.
“You really think the two of us are gonna turn the tide in Tino’s favor? Half the Family will be there to protect him.”
“And half won’t,” Frank points out darkly.
Just a few months back, I’d be at Tino’s side in a heartbeat. But the rest of the night has come back to me, including Tino’s bombshell. Even now I half-think I must have dreamed it, but I know it’s true. It makes too much sense.
“If it makes you feel better, Frankie, Tino told me last night my first priority should be Finch. So we have special dispensation. Happy?”
Frank is not happy, but he quits being an obstacle. I know deep down he’s the same as me; his loyalty lies with his own family over the Family. His priorities are me and Celia—and Finch.
When we come back out on the stoop, Marco is still hovering there, although the guards have disappeared.
“I gave you your orders,” I snap at him.
“Boss, I’d rather come with you if you’ll let me. Finch—I mean, Mr. D’Amato—well, he was my responsibility.”
I study his face. “I don’t blame you for this, Marco. You weren’t on shift last night. Besides, Tino ordered all available men to him.”
Marco nods. “I get that. But I’m your man, not Tino’s. I’ll go where you tell me. If you think you could use me—”
“Alright,” I say, cutting him off before he starts getting emotional. “Let’s go.”
I meant what I said—I don’t blame Marco. I might not be sure why Finch did what he did last night, but I have more than an inkling. And if he walked out because he overheard me denying my love for him, I’m the one to blame.
I need to find him. I need to tell him that I do love him, that I’m crazy for him, that I’m sorry I ever thought I should hide it or deny it or try to fight it.
And then I need to protect him.
Chapter Thirty-Six
FINCH
I left the townhouse last night with no real plan. But I’ve gotten so tired of being an emotional punching bag for my whole life: for Pops, for Maggie, now for Luca…
Enough.
It wasn’t hard to dope everyone; I used that handful of pills Celia pushed on me during our shopping spree. They were still in my pocket from that day, if a little dusty.
Luca was especially easy, just throwing back the drink as soon as I offered it. And I’ve been such a model prisoner, I think those night guards might even have let me walk out the front door without putting them out of commission. I’ve been kind to them over the weeks, offering them coffee at night to help keep them awake. Only last night I added a little something extra.
I want Luca to know that despite what he thinks—what they all think—I’m still my own agent. I make my own choices.
I’m certainly not some helpless princess in a tower.
I drugged the whole goddamn lot of them, and I sauntered the few blocks into Central Park and went down to look at the Alice in Wonderland statue, wondering whether it was time to jump down a rabbit hole of my own.
I could disappear. I love this City and I know it in my bones, just like I know my man.
I’m not a man who loves, he’d said.
I’ll admit it stung to hear. But I also knew it was a lie, and I knew then why he told it to his Don, and it just made me so fucking exasperated, I figured I should remind him who he’s dealing with.
So, like I said, I drugged everyone and I bailed.
I knew better than to wander Central Park all night or try to sleep there, so I had to find somewhere else to spend the night. The obvious thing to do was go clubbing, because they’re open all night. I was greeted like a friend by all my old dealers, who quickly lost interest when I told them I wasn’t buying tonight. I spent most of the night holed up in a dark corner, biding my time.
Now the clubs are closed and I’ve made my way via public transportation and my own two feet to the only friend I have left in the world right now. I watch Frank leave—driving like a bat out of hell, so I guess he’s gotten the call about me—give it another fifteen, and then I knock on the door bold as brass.
Celia, still in her dressing gown, only looks a little puzzled to see me. “Finch? Is everything okay?” Her phone pings, and she automatically checks it, frowning. “Oh, Frank’s asking about you—”
“Do me a favor, Cee, and don’t tell him I’m here just yet? Luca and I need some time apart to cool down a little. You know how it is, right?”
“Oh, no, did you guys have a fight? What did that idiot do now?” she asks sympathetically. “Come on in, honey, let me fix you some coffee.”
I follow Celia into the kitchen, which is about a quarter of the size of our master bathroom. Celia is a good little housewife for Frank, but it doesn’t seem fair to me that one brother should be in this tiny apartment while the other is living it up. Especially not considering how much Celia actually deserves; she’s a peach. I wonder if money is the reason they haven’t had kids yet. Although, the big crucifix in the hallway that we just walked past suggests contraception might not be something they’re into.
“Sit down, sit down,” she urges me, and I sit at the tiny kitchen table. Celia’s face is only half-made up for the day, her cheeks overly-rouged and her eyebrows too dark and blocky, as usual. Right now she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. “Do you need, um, something to take the edge off?” she asks. “Frank’s being weird about my medication lately, and I know I’m not supposed to give you—I mean...” She trails off, the pink of her blush overtaken by the flush spreading across the cheeks.
“Forget it,” I tell her easily. “Luca doesn’t want me taking anything anymore, so I’m trying to be a good boy for him.”
She turns on the coffee machine and it gives a loud, complaining rumble before it begins to force water through the filter. “You don’t strike me as the kind to behave.”
“I’m turning over a new leaf.”
“Oh, really?” I think it’s the first time I’ve ever heard Celia being sarcastic, and I have to grin.
“Well, maybe tomorrow I’ll turn that leaf. We had Tino and Connie for dinner last night.” Celia just raises an eyebrow and waits for me to continue as she brings down two old mugs from the overhead cupboard. “It went pretty well, but afterwards I overheard Luca talking to Tino, and he said some shit that I didn’t like. And so, to teach him a lesson, I’m...” I spread my hands,
Celia giggles. “I get it. You’re showing him he needs to mind his manners. Those D’Amato brothers can be a handful. Nothing wrong with teaching them a lesson or two, just like Frank had to learn when I first got my hands on him. It takes a while to train a man, but it’s worth it in the end.”
Oh, Celia. I wish I had her simple view of things.
Her phone begins to buzz, and she looks down at it. It’s Frank again. Celia raises an eyebrow at me. “Should I?”
“I don’t want you get you in trouble, Cee. Well. Not any more trouble.”
She shrugs, lets it go to voicemail, and then we listen to the message on speaker together.
“Celia, this is Luca,” it begins.
“Oh, shit,” Celia breathes. I don’t think I’ve ever heard her swear before.
“I know he’s there with you,” Luca’s voice continues. “So I want you to give him a message from me. Tell him it’s not the time to make a grand gesture of independence. I need both of you safe. Stay there and don’t leave the apartment. Frank and I are on the way. And—and tell Finch I…”
Here, Luca trails off, and I know exactly what he wants to say, but won’t.
“Tell Finch that he knows me.”
The message ends, and Celia looks up at me.
“Well, it was almost an apology,” she says.
So I know Luca, do I? It’s not quite what I wanted to hear from him, but I guess he was leaving the message on Celia’s phone.
“Luca sure is scary sometimes, isn’t he?” Celia says nervously.
“Does it bother you?” I ask.
“Luca?” She frowns.
“No, not Luca. Well, not exactly. I mean all of it. The violence. The blood money. The crime.” Celia truly is a sweet girl, and it surprises me that she got herself mixed up with the Mob.
She can’t meet my eye, staring down at the tabletop and scratching it absently with a fingernail, and that’s when I know. Of course it bothers her. It would bother any decent person, and Celia is nothing if not decent. She deals with it by pretending it doesn’t exist, and when she needs extra help to block it out, she does Good Works for the local church. She avoids the other Wives and she keeps her head down.
“I love Frank,” she says. “You know? I love him. And he’s a good man,” she insists. “He provides for me and takes care of me, and he even stayed with me when we found out…”
I put my hand on hers, my fingers warm from the coffee cup. “You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to.”
Tears come to her eyes, and she shook her head. “If you don’t hear it from me, you’ll hear it from all those other bitchy wives anyway. I can’t have kids. We tried a long time, and then we went to the doctors, and it’s me. I’m the problem. We thought about IVF, but it’s so expensive… I told Fr
ank to leave me, divorce me and get married again, or else take a lover and have a kid with her. I thought maybe God was punishing us for...you know. The business. But Frank stayed with me, the big dumbo. He’s so stupid…”
“He’s smart. He knows what an incredible person you are,” I tell her. I even mean it, which surprises me. “Anyway, I can see how much he loves you, and how much you love him. God can see that, too. He’d understand why you stay.” And about the pill-popping, but I don’t bring that up.
“Maybe,” she says softly. “But no matter how much Frank and I love each other, we’ll never be a real family, not in the eyes of all the other Wives with their thirteen kids.”
A strange anger flares up in me. I just know that one of those horrible Wives said just that to Celia, or more likely, said it loudly behind her back so she heard it but could never respond.
“You don’t need kids to be a family,” I say firmly. “And fuck anyone who tells you different. Besides, I’m your family, and you’re mine. We are outlaws, aren’t we?”
“Outlaws?” She gives a puzzled smile.
“You’re Luca’s sister-in-law, and I’m Frank’s brother-in-law, so that makes us outlaws to each other, doesn’t it?”
She lets out a little laugh. “I don’t know that it works that way, but…I like the sound of that. Still, I don’t think your Boston family would see it the same way. I don’t think your sister likes me very much.”
“That’s because my sister is a mega-bitch.” When Celia looks shocked, I laugh. “Well, it’s true. And she doesn’t like me much, either. Margaret Fincher Donovan is stone cold when she wants to be, just like Luca.”
“Remind me never to get on your bad side, outlaw brother.”
“Never. As long as you promise me not to listen to what those Fuscone women say to you.”
She gives a shy smile. “How did you know it was them?”
I roll my eyes. “Who else? You’d make an amazing mom, Cee, but you’re a straight up amazing woman already. Never forget that.”
It’s time to change the subject. Celia’s eyes are beginning to swim. I take a big swig of my coffee, and then ask, “Another round? I need a lot of caffeine after the night I’ve had.”
Married to the Mobster Page 23
