It’s fucking March, and New York is still a concrete refrigerator.
I pull my coat tighter around me while I wait at the crosswalk, watching a car tread through a pool of icy brown slush.
People crowd around me. I’ve learned in the past few days that Midtown traffic at rush hour behaves more like a liquid than a mass of discrete parts. I clench my fist when someone bumps their shoulder against mine. By the time the light turns green, I’m actually excited to get back to my shoebox apartment, if only to get a bit of personal space.
The studio apartment on 32nd Street is about the size of my closet back in Ibiza. It was the best Orrin could arrange on short notice. A week ago, I called him from Crete as I watched Gemma’s plane take off and told him I needed him to get me back to New York.
He asked me why.
I told him it was none of his business.
He didn’t press it further. He just sighed, told me that at this point I owed him my firstborn, and picked me up on the same cargo plane.
The truth is the location of the shoe box is convenient.
It’s a block away from Gemma’s Pilates studio.
I walk past my building and keep going until I see the familiar neon sign with the name Move On.
I drag my palm over my overgrown beard.
Touché.
I park myself by the window inside the coffee shop across the street and order a cappuccino.
Around ten fifty, the studio’s traffic picks up as women and some men arrive for the eleven a.m. class, but I’m waiting for the black SUV. Gemma’s always surrounded by at least two guards these days, and I know they’ll stay in the car just outside the studio while she does the class. Pietra goes with her to her classes now. They’ve got her on a tight leash.
The car pulls up at ten fifty-five. The door opens, and Gemma emerges in a puffy coat, hair pulled back in a short ponytail, light-green leggings, and a white pair of athletic shoes.
My breath catches. I don’t blink.
I only catch a flash of her face before she turns and quickly disappears inside the studio.
That’s it. Fifteen seconds that are the highlight of my day. It’s all downhill from here.
Since that thought is far too fucking depressing, I get myself a sandwich and decided to wait to see her leave. Drag it out a bit.
I’m like an addict searching for that next hit.
When I got back, my plan was to keep an eye on her in New Jersey, but every time I drove by her house, there were a bunch of cars there, and at least a few guys on lookout.
I couldn’t risk getting caught.
I don’t know what Dem told Messero or Garzolo. Gemma said he was covering for me, but at the time, I wasn’t in any state to clarify what she meant by that. If Dem hasn’t publicly announced that I’m no longer his underboss, and I got caught watching Gemma, he would have another problem to deal with. I don’t want to do that to him.
So I do this instead. I come to this place to catch a glimpse of her.
It’s nothing more than a crumb for a man who wants the whole damn cake. She comes from her house and goes straight back there after she’s done.
She’s been back for a week.
There are four days left till the wedding.
And I have no fucking clue what I’m doing, why I’m stalking her instead of trying to forget her.
I throw my garbage in the bin by the cafe door and start walking back to the apartment.
My phone feels like a heavy weight inside my pocket. I pull it out and check the screen. No messages.
Dem’s silence is particularly loud. There were a dozen missed calls from the day Gemma and I left New York, but nothing since then. I haven’t dared to contact him, not even after Gemma returned, but he must know I’m here. My phone’s been on since I came back. Napoletano could track me down in minutes.
I’m embarrassed, I guess. I went against my oldest friend for a woman who left me after a week. She walked away from me, just like Sara did. I was so focused on making sure she knew she was enough for me, I never thought I might not be enough for her.
A humorless laugh leaves my lungs. The situation might be funnier if I wasn’t still so damn hung up on her.
My phone buzzes.
A bubble of hope expands inside my chest for a brief moment until I see Orrin’s name pop up.
“Hey. You’ve got plans tonight?”
I drag my fingers through my hair. It desperately needs a wash. “Yeah. It involves a bottle of scotch and a greasy pizza from the place below where I’m staying.”
“Christ. I will say, your honesty is refreshing. Well, if you feel like doing something less depressing, something that might get your spirits up, I need an extra man tonight.”
“What’s the plan?”
“Just a few friends of mine bringing gifts from abroad. They’re generous. We could use some help carrying the presents.”
I read between the lines. It’s some kind of a heist. Knowing what I know about Orrin, he’s probably taking imported crap off a truck.
Life is just a nasty fucking cycle, isn’t it? To go from underboss to a damn foot soldier…
Whatever. It’s work, and I could use something to keep my thoughts off Gemma for a few hours.
Rubbing my forehead with the heel of my palm, I mutter, “All right. Tell me when and where.”
Orrin and two of his guys pick me up at midnight in a cargo van and take me to an industrial area on the bank of the Hackensack River. Rows of ugly gray warehouses line the empty street, and when we get out, I press my fist to my nose.
“What the fuck is that smell?” It smells like a rotting carcass.
“Landfill.” Orrin looks to the right. “About a kilometer that way. Don’t worry, this won’t take long.”
There’s a truck being unloaded ahead of us, and I have a feeling that’s what we came here for. Jesus. I haven’t done this kind of shit since… Well, I’ve never done this kind of shit. By the time I linked up with Damiano, he was already running more sophisticated schemes.
“I know the night supervisor,” Orrin explains. “He’ll make sure the cameras are off. Only thing we need to do is get a handle on the driver.”
He turns to his guys. “Fill the van as fast as you can. I’m going to explain the situation to the driver and make sure he understands. We don’t want any trouble tonight, got it?”
“Sure, boss,” the one that goes by “Speedy” says.
“No problem,” the other guy, Chris, adds. “Easy peasy.”
Orrin nods before moving his attention to me. “Ras, you’re on lookout.”
“Sure.”
For the first five minutes, everything goes according to plan. After a small scuffle with the driver, Orrin handcuffs him to the side of the truck and slaps some tape over his mouth. The man makes some noise for a bit before he comes to terms with the situation.
Speedy and Chris load the cargo inside our van. It’s a bunch of high-end computer monitors. I’m doing the math on it in my head when the back of my neck tingles.
My eyes narrow. I’ve learned to trust my gut in these kinds of situations.
A black car turns into the lot, its headlights on full beam. I shield my eyes with my palm, squinting against the light, but it’s hard as fuck to see anything.
“Who is it?” Orrin calls out. “We’re almost done.”
“Pack it up and get in the van,” I yell over my shoulder. Whoever it is, they clearly knew we’d be here, and something tells me it’s not the cops.
The car stops twenty feet away from the truck, and four men spill out of it.
I tighten my hold on my gun, keeping it lowered.
The newcomers block the lights with their bodies, and that’s when I see him.
“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath.
Nunzio breaks off from his friends and walks toward me, his steps slow and cocky. There’s a gun at his side and a smirk on his face that tells me he thinks it’s his lucky day.
He laughs as he stops a few steps away. “Didn’t think you’d be stupid enough to come back here after what you pulled. Did you know your name was on the menu?”
I grit my teeth. Orrin had informed me of that fact when I returned. The menu is a list of names the families sign off on as being fair game. I don’t know the details of how it works, but apparently, I landed on it for a while. Twenty-four hours after Gemma returned, I was off. Maybe Vince and Messero decided I wasn’t worth the effort once they got what they wanted.
“Sounds like you missed your chance,” I say. “It’s not on it now.”
Nunzio sniffs. “Don’t think the boss will be too angry if someone finds your body floating in the river a few days from now. If you were smart, you’d hide in whatever hole you crawled out off.”
Orrin appears at my side. Idiot. He should have stayed in the van. No good will come out of him associating with me.
Nunzio squints. “That you, Petraki?”
“Yeah, it’s me. Want to explain what the fuck this is?”
He shrugs. “Why settle for ten percent when we can get all of it?”
“That’s not how this works, and you know it,” Orrin growls. “Does your capo even know you’re here? Should I give him a call to inform him? This was clearly negotiated and agreed on last month.”
“Last month?” Nunzio snickers. “Fuck, Petraki. That may as well have been last century with how much has happened since. Now, here’s what you’re going to do. Your buddies are going to get out of the van and hand us the keys. You’re going to wait until we’re far away from here before you start walking your ass back to Manhattan. And tomorrow, you’re going to give me a call and tell me what a nice time you had tonight. Got it?”
I scan the three guys standing behind him. “You’re bluffing.”
Nunzio arches a brow. “How’s that?”
“You don’t have clearance to do this. You’re just hoping to pull it off and ask for forgiveness instead of permission.”
It’s only because I’ve spent years deciphering Nunzio’s emotions from the tiny movements in his face that I catch it. A small twitch in the left side of his mouth. It’s always been a tell.
Orrin gives me a barely there bump with his arm, signaling he’s following my lead. Four against four. I’ve dealt with far worse odds before.
“Yeah?” Nunzio asks, his voice low. “You sure know a lot for someone who went from Ras of the Casalesi to working for one of the most insignificant outfits in New York. How’d you end up here if you’re so smart?”
I smirk. “By doing stupid, reckless shit like this.”
The bullet leaves my gun before the last word leaves my mouth, but Nunzio lunges out of the way, and it only grazes his arm.
He hisses in pain and clutches his biceps. His cronies immediately draw their own weapons, but Orrin and his crew have already taken cover behind the van. I duck and roll to the left to join them as another gunshot rings out. It’s followed by the sound of glass shattering, metal clanging against metal, and a muffled groan.
Orrin curses. “Fuck, they hit the truck driver.”
“We need to end this quickly,” I tell him, peeking around the van.
I’ve been in gunfights before, but this one feels different. More personal.
I can hear Nunzio barking orders to his men.
“Now,” I snap.
With a nod from Orrin, Speedy and Chris emerge from behind the van, guns blazing. I follow closely behind, my own weapon steady in my grip. The sound of gunfire echoes in the empty parking lot, bouncing off the walls of the surrounding buildings.
Speedy takes a hit, toppling over, but so do Nunzio’s men. They fall quickly. Nunzio himself is a different story. He’s faster than I expect him to be. He dodges every bullet and manages to make it back around his car.
The air quiets.
“Leave him to me.”
“Hey, don’t be a hero,” Orrin says. “We’ve got this.”
“I said leave him to me.” My voice is laced with steel as I step out from behind the van, gun at the ready.
Nunzio stands on the other side of their car, his own weapon pointed in my direction. He sneers at me, blood trickling down his arm.
“You really think you can take me?” he taunts.
“You’re not worth anyone else’s trouble.”
He laughs, but it’s shaky. “You’ve never won against me, Ras. Not once.”
I don’t reply, just take a deep breath and aim my gun. “Why do you think that is?’
“Because you’re a fucking weak—”
My bullet pierces his skull.
Nunzio’s eyes go wide as he falls to the ground.
The bastard was too arrogant to pull his trigger before he finished his sentence.
Orrin appears beside me, surveying the bodies littering the pavement. He claps me on the back. “Cleanup’s going to be a bitch. I’ll get the boys to drop off the goods and then come back for us with supplies.”
Blood seeps out from under Nunzio’s body, the pool reflecting the moon and a starless sky.
I tuck the gun inside my waistband and stare at his ruined skull. There’s an unsettling emptiness inside my chest. I’ve fantasized about this moment for so many years, and yet I feel…nothing.
No closure, no joy, no relief.
My past has haunted me for so long, but at some point, it became irrelevant.
I scratch the side of my neck. Only one thing haunts me now, and it’s Gemma’s voice.
“Why are you doing this?”
“Because I don’t love you.”
