Prologue
Lorenzo Parisi struggled to catch his breath as he stood outside the Williamsburg walk-up. He knew the code. It was a gift from Caitlin only a few days ago, should he ever need a place to crash for the night. Ignoring the pain in his side, he keyed in the digits with trembling fingers. As soon as the door swung open, he started inside, reaching back for Michelle’s arm. He sighed with something close to relief and started to pull her up the narrow staircase. His head felt heavier with each step, but he fought through the stairwell spinning around to the point of oblivion, and finally made his way to Valerio’s door. Summoning what little strength he had left, he curled his fingers into a tight fist and knocked three times.
From inside the apartment, Lorenzo could hear the familiar voices of his brother and his friend. He tried to call out when he suddenly thought better of the move. No need to draw any further attention to himself, who knew who could be close by. Michelle whispered something that went in one ear and out the other. Unable to take the time to translate, he fell against the closed door, now straining to hear whatever was happening inside the apartment.
A click?
No doubt it was Val getting his gun at the ready. Now he was more than the man protecting the numbers racket. He had someone on the other side, in his bed, whom he claimed to love in ways that he never thought possible.
Should he call out now? No. Better to trust that Val’s trigger finger would prove steady, and he would not end this night and his days on earth as the final act in some Greek tragedy. Even if Val shot too quickly, Michelle would live to fight another day.
It was Michelle’s voice that next pierced his ear as the door flung open, and Val revealed himself with his gun in hand. “It’s just us, Val!”
Lorenzo held up a weak hand by way of surrender as his knees started to give out. Everything started to grow dark when he sensed two figures dropping to his side.
“Jesus, Enzo!”
That was his brother.
“Why didn’t you just tell me it was you?” Val asked.
To that, Lorenzo had no answer. He felt his eyelids flutter as he met his brother’s gaze, felt Val’s arms and someone else’s helping him back up to his wobbly legs, which would have gone out from under him if not for the support.
“Val… something went wrong.”
He was unable to say anything else as his vision turned darker than any night, but he heard–hoped he heard–the sound of a door closing behind him. Were they safe?
“Enzo? Can you hear me?”
He started to stir and come to in a set of unfamiliar sheets, the mattress firm against his back, the pillows soft against his neck. Lorenzo’s stare slowly came into focus and he was surprised to see Caitlin and her rainbow tresses sitting on the edge of the bed. She bathed his brow and pressed yet another pillow to his side.
“Cait?” he finally asked in a strangled voice.
“Are you okay?” she worriedly asked, dousing a cloth with some bottled water before the cool damp caressed his brow one more.
“I… it was bad,” he managed to choke out.
“Obviously.”
Caitlin set the rag aside and helped him to sit up, bringing the bottled water to his lips and keeping him upright when he started to gag on the liquid.
“Easy,” Caitlin urged. “No one wants you going anywhere. Much less to the end of all things.”
The end of all things…
That was a phrase from the World Lit class that he and Caitlin had attended together, a lifetime ago. Professor Morton never liked to be as frank as “death” or deal in cliches like “the great beyond.” As a result, Beowulf, Ivan Ilyich, and any number of Shakespearean characters always met their fate by heading toward the end of all things. Of course, Caitlin would land on that phrase, given the circumstances.
But was he that close to being so far gone?
“I’m okay, I’m okay!” Lorenzo practically yelled the words as he tried to sit up straighter but had to submit to the pillows once more. His side… when he looked down at the lonely pillow, at the sheets billowing about it, he could make out a crimson stain.
“A knife,” he murmured. “There was a blade.”
“I figured as much.”
Caitlin shushed him as she managed to guide him back to the bed and briefly checked his wound. “I think the bleeding’s stopped,” she finally said. “That’s a lucky break.”
Luck. Fool’s luck. He’d been dealing in that brand of currency since he’d made the decision to stop going to school… when he decided to work with his uncle Adamo, the leader of the Parisi crime family. But somehow, the present moment didn’t quite fit. Wasn’t he supposed to just handle the finances and look after the chef? No rough stuff. Hadn’t Adamo promised that much?
“He… he did,” Lorenzo finally said.
“What was that?” Caitlin asked.
When he was slow to answer, she went back to bathing his brow and telling him to just lie still. But Lorenzo remembered the fight and the explosion. At least one man was dead. Maybe more. He started to stir, feeling a makeshift bandage just left of his abdomen, and he only took comfort in the treatment for a slight second.
Until…
“Michelle!”
Lorenzo called out her name and bolted up in the bed once more.
“Enzo, calm down!” Caitlin urged. “She’s—”
“But where is she?” he protested. “She was with me when I came here. And—”
“And she’s somewhere else now.”
Lorenzo stopped moving under Caitlin’s hands as he saw his brother and his uncle enter the room. Val’s face stayed an indecipherable blank canvas as he extended one arm. Caitlin saw fit to settle her friend back into the sheets before she moved to Val’s side, and he was quick to wind his other arm around his lover’s shoulders.
Lorenzo seemed to grow smaller under the blankets and avoided all eyes as he asked the one question that was still at the forefront of his mind. “Where is Michelle?”
“Your uncle will fill you in,” Cait said gently.
Adamo walked on heavy feet as he gazed down at his nephew. Feeling as if he was no more than four, Lorenzo felt he had no choice but to speak fast.
“Zio, I—”
“Do you realize what happened tonight?” Adamo challenged. “We were keeping the peace.”
“Joey Lupo sure the hell wasn’t,” Lorenzo argued, hating the crack in his voice as Adamo waved one hand in the air.
“Then why not just come to me and explain?”
Might it have made a difference? He had no way of knowing now.
“I… me and Frankie were…”
It all became far too hazy again, and he swallowed hard as he shook his head and tried to make sense of the matter.
“I… yes,” Lorenzo started. “You should’ve been the first call.”
“A little too late for that now,” Adamo said as he smoothed his nephew’s hair. “But we’ll find a way to pick up the pieces.”
He trusted his uncle on that count. Adamo was nothing if not as good as his word. But even if he was safe in his family’s care, he wondered about the fate of Frankie and the sous chef…