I nodded to Harry Boy, who was talking to a detective, as I made my way closer to his door. My wife sat on the porch, and when she saw me, she stood. Her face became a mask, but not before I noticed the relief that made it to her eyes before she hardened her resolve.
She could act on a Broadway stage for thousands of people, fooling each and every one, but there was no fucking fooling me. She wanted me here, no matter how much she despised that she did. My theory was further proved right when I took her by the arm, leading her toward the car, and she didn’t put up a fight.
After I opened the door for her, she stared at me, like she had something to say. Or maybe she expected me to say something.
Instead, I lifted my hand, and letting my fingers brush across her skin as I did, I tucked a wild curl behind her ear. Her eyes closed and her hand came over my wrist, her grip tight. We stood that way for a minute or two, until she opened her eyes, shook her head, and got inside of the car.
She slammed the door before I could close it.
25
Cash
Rocco Fausti came to see me the day after Harry Boy’s house was shot up and my wife almost got riddled with bullets.
Which was exactly what should have happened to me if it was Lee Grady or the Scarpones at the country club.
It was hard to pinpoint who ordered the hit, but it didn’t really matter in the end. They were in this war together—until they turned on each other. Someone was going to find someone else dead soon. My bets were on Grady floating up first.
The Scarpone family was known to chew off their own legs to save their hearts, and it would take more than Grady to destroy them.
Ah. Lee Grady. This was his big break, and I watched it go boom right in front of my eyes. He might not chew off his entire leg to save his heart, but he’d drag the leg, still trying to get a hit in on me before his last breath. Especially since Brian lost a digit.
Either way, between Macchiavello and me, we had almost crippled both operations.
Rocco watched me for a moment, taking a sip of his whiskey, grinning. “It wasn’t the night that I expected, but the end is the end, ah? Verdura trucks.” He shook his head.
I leaned forward in my seat some, watching his face. “What is Macchiavello going to want for this? That was a lot of money that went up in flames.”
It was nearly impossible to break the barrier the Scarpones and Grady had put up at the dock. There were too many men crawling around, looking for any excuse to put a bullet in someone, even when they assumed I was the one who’d been blown up in Hoboken as the deal had gone down.
The Scarpones and Lee Grady had made one massive mistake, though—they assumed.
Instead of guarding the trucks, they put all of their manpower at the dock, not on the trucks leaving with millions of dollars worth of drugs.
Even if they would’ve had more security on the trucks, I wasn’t letting them get past a certain point. So I cut them off and blew them up, but I didn’t know what it was going to cost me with Macchiavello.
Rocco took another drink of whiskey and then set it down. He fixed his tie and got more comfortable in his seat. “Nothing. The job is done. However.” He took out another card from his pocket and laid it on the table, pushing it closer to me.
Another favor.
I owed him my life for saving my wife, so I picked it up and said, “Consider it done.”
He nodded. “You have made your point here. You have done what’s needed to be done. Even though Grady is retaliating, he is not as powerful as he used to be. You run Hell’s Kitchen now, just as your father did.”
He watched me for a minute. “I will be in touch when it is time.” He nodded toward the card. “It will be soon. You will need a few of your best men. Men you trust as much as you can. Give very little detail except for this: Their life will be at stake if they do not arrive at the exact time and do exactly what you say.