“You’re a dangerous woman, you know that?”
I wait for her to answer, but she doesn’t wake up enough to admit it.
When I’m sure she’s deeply asleep, I slip out of bed to continue the work of surviving long enough to join her in paradise.
I make a call while I get in the car. Connor finally picks up.
“Boss?” The music behind him says he’s at a party or club. Lucky guy, but I’m luckier.
“I need to get a signal to Massimo. Do we have an open channel?”
“Yeah. Live one though. Face to face. It’s dangerous.”
“Remo’s got cheeks like a baby. They won’t hurt him.”
“What message do you want him to deliver?”
“Peace.” I start the car and head down the drive.
“Peace?”
“I’m thinking about peace. Meet me in an hour and I’ll tell you about the war that we’ll fight before it.”
Since the Hell’s Kitchen headquarters is permanently soiled, we’ve moved operations to a vacant restaurant in Washington Heights. Our equipment is less corporate now. There are no conference tables or filing cabinets. My team has lined the stainless steel surfaces of the kitchen with guns, and the shelves are stacked with ammunition.
They’re all watching me intently, waiting for the details.
“I put out an offer for peace negotiations.” Someone sucks in a breath. Someone else clears his throat. “It went to Massimo. Asked him to keep it quiet. Kid’s a soft touch. No?”
They all nod. Good.
“He’ll meet me. He won’t keep it quiet, and he won’t be alone. But while half his guys are watching us—”
“And trying to kill you,” Oliver says.
I nod to his concerns but continue. “Connor’s team is going to slip into Precious Blood and get us the keys to the kingdom. The interior access points. Possibly Peter Colonia’s apartment.”
There are some nods, but enough bafflement that I know someone’s seen the hole in the plan.
“The building parking lot under Precious Blood has biometric authentication,” one of the older guys says. “Ever since the wedding, it’s locked up. Unless we want to blow off the doors?”
Good man.
“There’s a soft spot on the roof and a clear line to custodial. What I’m looking for is the keys to Peter Colonia’s life. His bathroom. His car. Anything. Once we have them, we’ll know how to finish him.”
Remo, the youngest of the DiLustro loaners, runs in, panting.
“He said… he said…” He leans on the table to keep from collapsing after his lungs burst.
“Take it easy, kid,” Connor says.
“Massimo,” Remo says after he gets a slap on the back. “He said yes. He’ll meet you on the north platform of St. Nicholas. Three hours.”
I laugh. That’s three in the morning.
“If he wants to meet that far past his bedtime, I’ll be there.”
On any New York City sidewalk, a person may walk over thick, silver-dollar-sized glass disks embedded in the concrete. Under those disks are passages where deliveries flow from business to business, keeping trucks from blocking the main roads.
Behind papered windows and padlocked doors, down creaky wooden steps and past an open, walk-in refrigerator, Connor points a flashlight down one of those tunnels.
“St. Nicholas Station is three lefts and two rights. Not in that order,” Connor jokes. I know the way. “We’ll have it cleared from the north platform. Just don’t let him follow you back.”
I trust it’ll be cleared, but I walk it with him anyway.
“You okay to get the keys?” I ask.
“Just keep the little prince occupied.”
“Then Monday. That’s the big job.”
“Been chomping at the bit to get this started for a long time now.”
“Things can go really fucking sideways.”
“That’s what they say.”
We turn a corner and step through a broken wall. The graffiti on the walls of this tiny room is twenty years old. The smell of humanity is long gone.
“Listen.” I take Connor’s arm to stop him. “After this, no matter how it goes, I’m out.”
“Out?”
“I’m leaving with Sarah. Going to the island.”
“You can’t.” He’s two heartbeats from pissed off. “Not until every last one of them is dead.”
“I have to. I can’t protect Sarah here, and I can’t leave her. She’s the priority and—” He starts to cut me off, but I hold my hand up to buy another few words. “And you need to take over. Do it any way you want.”
“Come on, mate. There’s no way.”
“I’ll leave you everything you need. The property’s yours to use. The money’s in the bank. Everyone will fall into line behind you.”
He looks away, into his own mind and his own potential.
“I don’t like it,” he says. “You’re putting the mozz on this whole thing.”
“Do I have to ask what that means?”
“No.” He opens a steel door that leads to another dark tunnel. “Just don’t cark it when you meet with Massimo.”
I know what cark it means, and I have no intention of dying before Sarah and I fly the fuck out of here.
CHAPTER 32
SARAH
Dario and I lie on train tracks between the two rails. Shoulder to shoulder. I face him, but he’s faced forward, nose to the ground. The train is coming. I hear its shattering clatter. I call his name. It’s me. I’m over here. He does not turn. Here. Here. Here. Come to me here. The train comes as he starts to face me, and I wake with the deep sense that I didn’t just have a dream, but a memory.
The early morning light is muted by thick, dark clouds. It’s still raining, and a new round of thunder rolls.
Before he left, he gave me a new phone. It’s so much sleeker and flatter than my old one, that when it’s in my back pocket—not ringing—I almost forget it’s there.
He warned me that he wouldn’t call until he knew it was safe to do so. He was clear that I shouldn’t call him unless it was an emergency. I needed to be patient and I needed to get ready.
I said I could and promised I would.
My rolling suitcase—rescued from the irrelevance of the closet—is spread open on the bed, a wide, empty mouth with rows of zipper teeth.
Part of me doesn’t believe we’re going away together. He’s lied before. He could be lying now just to get me to go. The moon could be made of green cheese.
There’s no harm in being ready, so I pack.
I don’t have much to put in there.
Before I met Dario, I’d never needed a packed bag in my life, and I’ve now had two in… how long has it been? A full month? How long ago was a lifetime?
I have one valuable thing. My pencil box. I pack that.
When it’s nestled against my pajamas, I remember the rings on my fingers. A snowflake on the right and a solitaire on the left.