Page 23 of Assistant to the Mafia

Dante inclined his head. “The valet was never in any danger,” he said. “Filip Tracey was the eighth man.”

Grace went numb, the fork clattering to the plate. “What…?”

Dante unlocked his phone, swiped open an app, and slid the phone across the table. “See for yourself.”

Romeo caught the device and moved it up beside her. On the display was a video, waiting to be played, and it only took a moment for Grace to recognize the exterior of her apartment building. Specifically, it was the covered curbside directly in front of the glass paneled entry, where the valet post was stationed.

Her stomach churned at the prospect of the video.

Romeo indicated her food. “You’re not about to watch anyone die. Eat.”

That was far more reassuring than she was comfortable admitting. Grace shoved a bite of her omelet into her mouth, forgetting her manners, and didn’t reach for the phone until she’d swallowed it down. Then, free hand still shaking, she tapped the screen.

The video was soundless. She didn’t know if that was better or worse. Romeo made no attempt to better his viewpoint, and combined with what he’d already told her, she assumed she was the last to see it. That was actually fine.

What she was rapidly becoming less okay with was what she was watching.

She could clearly recognize the overnight valet, Filip. It wasn’t that she’d known him long or overly well. She was just good at remembering people. Forty-year-old Filip Tracey had a thick build that would have been stocky if he were much shorter than his five-foot-eleven and always looked a little awkward in his work uniform. The blond of his short hair didn’t really come through on camera due to the indecent hour and none of his facial details were visible—not the scruff he seemed to never shave or grow out, or the deep brown shade of his eyes, or the faint scar Grace had once noted that slashed through his eyebrow.

She took another bite of her breakfast as the video played, noting the time stamp in the corner and mentally comparing it to the time she’d been awoken by Sean’s call. At three minutes before the call, Filip stepped out from his little heated cubby and gestured agitatedly toward someone who was only then walking into the frame of the camera.

No. Not someone, a group of people. All dressed in black or colors dark enough that the distinction was lost. A couple of them had backpacks slung over a shoulder, and Grace could clearly make out a weapon in one person’s hand.

The foremost newcomer stepped closer to Filip, Filip jabbed him in the chest with a finger as if they were arguing, and the man shrugged in a blatantly casual manner. He then proceeded to hold out his hand as if he were expecting something. Filip shook his head and pointed toward the closed glass doors, then tapped his wrist, the way someone would if they were concerned about time.

The forward man jerked a thumb over his shoulder, turned, and pulled a handgun from his waistband. He waved it at his companions and strode toward the building’s entrance. As the rest of his gang—the rest of the men who’d come to hurt her—started in his wake, Filip zipped up his overcoat and stepped off the curb. Striding promptly away and out of sight of the camera. Abandoning his post, completely unharmed. No one had pointed a gun at him, or even so much as shaken a fist at him.

The video abruptly stopped, jarring Grace back into the moment. She drew a shaky breath as Romeo took the phone and slid it back to his brother.

“Now you see what I mean,” Dante said. “At no point did Tracey indicate surprise or discomfort by their arrival. They let him go, and he made no effort to contact authorities.”

Grace pulled her coffee cup close, if only to keep her hands from trembling. She wanted to argue that she hadn’t seen anything supremely damning, that it wasn’t like they’d hugged in greeting or Filip had handed over a supply of guns, but she heard Dante’s point. If they’d killed Sean, why would they not have shot Filip? Why would they not have at least threatened him? And Filip hadn’t seemed warm and friendly, which to her mind should have increased his odds of getting hurt. “I still don’t understand … why me?”

There were so many wealthy people in that building. So many people who were themselves important or had significant connections. Why had they targeted a single woman living in one of the middle floors?

“You can’t think of anything you’ve done to personally offend this man?” Dante asked, indicating his phone and video she’d just watched.

Grace shook her head. “No. I’m always polite to the building staff, and I tip my valet every day.” He had access to her car, after all. “Filip always seemed a little gruff. He did his job well, never made me uncomfortable, and I once overheard him mentioning to someone that he was ex-military. It was one of those Army vs Navy conversations, I think. But that’s pretty much all I know about him. We never really talked.” She paused and shrugged. “He hadn’t even been there very long. He only started that job in the second week of November, I think.”

Romeo pulled out his phone while she was talking, thumbs moving rapidly over the screen in a quick text. When he was done, he set the device down quietly.

Dante let out a low hum. “Cris hasn’t had a chance yet to have his conversation with the surviving man from last night, but I don’t believe in coincidence. The assailants were Ink Blots, and either Tracey is, too, or he has some other connection we haven’t made yet.”

“Agreed,” Romeo said.

Grace set her empty mug down. “Ink Blots?” Her brow furrowed. “Isn’t that … a gang?”

“You’ve heard of them?” Romeo asked.

She frowned. “I do pay attention to the local news.” When I have the time.

Dante scowled. “Yes, they’re a local gang. A bunch of pissants. And if we’re right that they’re the ones who came for you, then the reason they came for you is sitting at this table.”

Grace scrunched up her lips, took a moment to polish off her breakfast, and slid the plate far enough back so as to rest her arm on the table. Finally, she said, “With all due respect, Mr. De Salvo, I assumed my connection to you was the most likely explanation.” Technically her sister was an attorney, but Cait was only a divorce attorney, and living in a different state and being so disconnected kind of minimized the likelihood of drawing that sort of target.

Romeo chuckled.

A shadow of a smirk tipped Dante’s lips, just for a second. “Reasonable, but it’s not what you’re thinking, Grace. I am the head of a mafia family with reach and allegiances spanning across the country. The Ink Blots made the mistake of picking a fight with me last fall, then disappeared over the winter to lick their wounds. If it was them who came for you, then they’ve obviously decided to announce their return with a fury.”

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