They shake hands. My heart is pounding for no good reason. Dario takes something out of his pocket and gives it to the man.
He’s not dead yet.
They shake hands again. Am I breathing?
The big man gets into the car waiting behind.
With a wave, they drive away. Dario gets into the Skylark and brings it home. The gate slowly swings closed behind him.
My lungs hurt when I finally breathe.
I can’t do this. I can’t be pregnant and safe and keep my eye on him, making sure he’s all right. As I dash back to the garage, I realize that this is how Dario feels with me—and how hard it is for him to agree to let me stay by his side.
Instead of running out to meet him, I wait in the garage, occupying my eyes with my surroundings.
In the space between the tool bench and cabinet, where the floor meets the wall, there’s a ragged, dusty hole the size of a tea saucer. Crusts of plaster gather in the corner. The wall is not new, but the hole is.
A secret hiding place, opened in case of emergency. He’d told me that he and Nico kept things they’d need for escape inside the walls.
I straighten when he pulls the car to the head of the driveway and gets out to wave me over.
“Got a quarter tank in it,” he says. “Otherwise, it’s no worse for wear.”
“Thank you.” I jump into his arms. “Thank you for everything.”
He holds me up, feet off the ground, and buries his face in my shoulder.
“I love you, prima. I love you so much.”
Loosening my arms, I drop to the ground. “You better go get that test.”
“Yeah.” He seems wistful for a guy going to the drugstore.
“And take a run into Manhattan to check for Connor.”
He nods. Again, he won’t make eye contact, but it’s not because he’s overwhelmed. This is different. This is a man who doesn’t know how clearly I see him.
“Go,” I say.
He gets into the BMW and rolls down the window. I lean down.
“There’s an envelope of cash and a phone in the safe. Call if you need to, but not if you don’t. My new number’s on a card under it. I set the security system so you can get out.”
“You’re not going to be gone that long.”
It’s a cruel observation I shouldn’t make, because I know better. He takes me by the back of the neck and kisses me long and hard. I have to grab the top of the car door to stay on my feet.
I know what he intends to do, but I pretend not to.
CHAPTER 32
DARIO
Half a block from Precious Blood, I wait alone with the pregnancy test in a white bag on the passenger seat. The traffic makes my car look like any other, and I melt into the city like just another guy who should have taken the subway into Manhattan.
I can’t take her with me to St. Easy. Not right away. She can follow if she wants to, once we know what we’re walking into.
Once I know.
Now there are three of us, and everything is infinitely more complicated.
Like the apartment we left, the house in Yonkers is an island of buried treasure without a map. Inside the walls, I’ve hidden cash, identification, cell phones, credit cards, and weapons. To a certain extent, I could get back on my feet enough to make calls, buy gas, and prove to a cop I own the car, if one wanted to pull me over. Everyone on my team was expected to manage their own getaway, so I only had treasure for me. Sarah’s fake passport was left behind in her suite. I could go get it, if I knew where to find it, and I don’t have all day to look.
It’s the little frustrations. I can’t leave her in the world with no identification. From the front seat of the car, I call my documents woman and set her up to go to the Yonkers house tomorrow afternoon.
Another thing to the list. I’ll tell Sarah. She’ll understand.
I fidget in the seat. I’ve put car service stickers in the windows. Parking enforcement will let me sit here and wait for a nonexistent client until they don’t, then I’ll go around the corner and come back.
I’ve given up on Connor or Remo showing their faces. Maybe they were never here. Looking from windows at night, through hope-colored glasses… who knows what she saw?
They wouldn’t leave. That’s all I know.
I’m here to see who from the Colonia is in New York, so I can tell if they all took a trip to the Caribbean. They’re not showing up either.
Part of me waits for Massimo or one of his dumb goons to see me here. Are they too busy to notice? Did they take all their men down to the island? Or are they just pocketing the information until after Red Hook? The shadows get long, splitting the street into light and dark at the center line.
Nothing. Wrong time of day. Wrong place. Wrong something.
Circling the block’s a pain in the ass, but I do it. Back entrances have nothing happening. The corner store with the secret entrance in the back is locked up.
A sign. That’s all I need right now. One fucking Colonia goon coming in or out. I can extrapolate something from there.
The sun crosses below the buildings. The church and rectory go dark. None of the lights turn on.
What am I waiting for?
That’s my sign.
Fuck.
They’re gone.
I call Willa. No answer.
I call her boyfriend, Neil. No answer.
The resort’s phones are now cut off completely. The website’s down.
Maybe I’m what’s cut off. Maybe I’m down.
The phone’s already in my hand. It’s too much of a temptation.
I call Sarah. She picks up on the second ring.
“Dario?”
“You got the phone working.”
“It wasn’t hard.” There’s a pause. I hear her breathing, then the tick of her tongue on the roof of her mouth after she swallows. “When are you coming home?”
I don’t have a time in mind. I don’t even have a date.
“Someone will be there tomorrow. A woman. She’ll be alone with two big suitcases.”
“What’s in them?”
A cloud moves over the sun until the whole street is in shadow. I look at the church, hoping to see a car go into the lot or find Massimo at the window, thinking about the toll of leadership. But none of that happens.
“She’s going to make you travel documents. Even a driver’s license if you think you can handle it.”
“Where am I going?”
“Wherever you want.”
Again, I hear her breathe. A deep exhale as if she’s decided to sit before she falls.
“You’re not coming back.”
There’s no accusation in her tone. No hurt or brokenness. Just the facts, ma’am.
“I am.”
“I mean… not tonight.”
“I don’t want a fight.” It doesn’t matter what I want, but I tell her anyway.
“No fight.”
“Thank you. But if I’m not back in three days—”
“How will I know if you’re alive or dead?”
“You won’t. But you should go.”
“What will I tell the baby?”
She’s carrying the only good and decent thing I’ll leave behind in this world. A person with no vengeance, no debts, no broken promises.