Page 77 of The Wages of Sin

“How many spares do you want me to cut?” he asked after installing the new deadbolts.

“None.” For the moment, I liked the comfort of knowing that I was the only one who held a key. It meant that Kiera was safe.

Safe enough that when I looked back into the bedroom and saw her still curled up and cozy under the blankets, I decided not to wake her before heading out to confront Russo.

Though I must admit, it wasn’t just the newly installed locks that propelled me out the door without saying goodbye. To be totally honest, it was fear.

Fear that Kiera would look up at me with that same distressed gaze that she’d worn last night at the club when I’d gone to talk to Russo the first time. Fear that she’d plead with me the same way, begging me to promise her that I wasn’t going to hurt anyone.

Right now, that wasn’t a promise I could make.

If Russo had been involved in Giuseppe’s murder, then he would pay. It was justice, plain and simple.

It just so happened that in this world, in this family, I was the hand of justice.

Kiera would simply have to come to terms with that fact. I had no doubt that, in time, she would. She might have come from a world of neat and orderly laws, but she’d survived in the criminal fringes long enough to know that wasn’t the only way.

We might not play by the rules she was used to. We might not have judges and juries, but there was still right and wrong. The only real difference was that in this world, the punishment for being tended to be a lot messier.

But this was the kind of conversation Kiera and I could have after my meeting with Russo. Right after I figured out how deep the man’s connection to Sal ran.

Even this early on a Saturday, a cab ride to Carnegie Hill would have taken longer than cutting across Central Park on foot. But the brisk walk gave me time to think, and only twenty minutes later, I was walking up 91st Street toward the four-story colonial house that I’d called home for a good chunk of my childhood.

I was still half a block away when I noticed the huddle of men on the steps that led to the front door. An uneasy feeling swirled in my stomach as I spotted Gabriel in the center of the group of capos and street soldiers, his expression grim. He broke away from the group as soon as he saw me.

“What’s happened?” The question came out of me in a rush as my chest tightened. I couldn’t help it. The last time I’d witnessed a scene like this was the day we’d discovered Giuseppe’s body. “Where’s Matteo? Is he all right?”

“He’s fine,” Gabriel assured me, clapping a hand over my shoulder. “He’s inside, talking to the lawyers.”

“Lawyers? What the hell happened?”

“A couple of things.” Even though we were several yards away from anyone, he dropped his voice down to a whisper. “Russo was killed.”

Shit.

I bit my tongue and swallowed back the curse. There was nothing to gain by letting my frustration show.

“When? Where?” I asked instead.

“About an hour after we got home from the club last night,” Gabriel answered. “At the bodega on Lexington. They’re saying it was a holdup gone wrong. Two punks came in to rob the place, panicked, and Russo got caught in the crossfire.”

“You believe that?”

“Not sure,” Gabriel said. “On one hand, this is New York. Random shit happens all the time. On the other, the timing strikes me as a little too convenient after your conversation with him last night.”

Convenient was an understatement. “Especially since I was coming here to ask him more questions this morning.”

“About what?”

“I went through the file on papà’s murder again when I got home last night and saw that Russo was working security that night. You want to guess who his partner was?”

“Bonetti?”

I nodded. “Now both of them are dead and unable to talk. Either that’s one hell of a coincidence, or the bodega robbery was planned as a hit.”

Gabriel’s brows pulled down, his dark gaze turning even more flinty than usual. “You think that Sal was behind it?”

“There’s only one way to find out.” My brothers liked to brag that I could make anyone talk. The time had come to put that to the test. “It’s time to sit your uncle down and ask him some questions.”

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