Page 140 of Dance of Deception

I don’t.

I can’t.

Nothing in this world matters more than the woman in that bath.

And I don’t give a fuck whom I have to kill to keep it that way.

The dive barin Alphabet City smells like bleach and stale whiskey.

I glance over at the newly painted wall, the repaired chair, and the freshly washed spot on the floor which you would have noidea was where Marcus Chen got his head blown the fuck off last night.

Mikey Lucarelli and his crew are fuckingproswhen it comes to cleanup duty.

They’ve just left after a firm handshake and sizable wad of cash from yours truly, leaving me alone with Marcus’ headless ghost.

The owners of Johnny’s, the bar that Marcus’ brains redecorated not twenty-four hours ago, were very familiar with the Barone name when I spoke to them earlier. They were also more than happy to look the other way, which is whyIwas more than happy to clean Marcus off the walls and give the place a new paint job.

I run my fingers over the edge of the glass in front of me, watching the whisky catch the dim light.

The front door swings open and Nico steps in, shaking the cold from his shoulders before making his way over to drop onto the stool beside me.

“Welcome to Johnny’s,” I deadpan. “We’re self-serve tonight.”

My brother shrugs, reaches over the bar and grabs a glass, then snags the bottle of questionable Scotch I’ve got on the bar top. He pours himself a drink, takes a sip, and makes a face.

“Carmy, you do realize you’re the head of one of the biggest Italian outfits in the country now, yeah?”

“Pretty sure I got that memo, yes.”

He eyes me. “Then why thefuckare you drinking this piss?”

“Because it’s best this shithole has,” I grunt. “Now, you said you had something?”

He chuckles, taking another sip of his drink anyway. Then he sets his phone down on the bar and brings up a series of photos.

Of Vera.

I’ve had Lyra’s mother followed since her freak-out before the wedding, when she was demanding money from Lyra.

What can I say. I don’t trust professional leeches.

Nico swipes through the photos showing Vera at a bar, watching what appears to be horse racing on the TV.

What a shocker.

Then something more interesting pops up. A man enters—clean-cut, cheap but well cared for suit. He sits next to Lyra’s mother, and the next photo shows her pushing a thumb drive his way.

I exhale slowly.

“Your instincts were good,” Nico growls. “This was earlier today." He stops on an image where the man is slipping the thumb drive into his pocket. “Looks like he gave her something in return.” Nico swipes to the next photo where the man is passing Vera a thick envelope. Which, yes, could be anything. Except Vera beingVera, it's no surprise when thenextphotos show her opening it up and thumbing through the cash inside before the man tries to get her to put it away.

I zoom in on the clean-cut motherfucker in the cheap suit.

My jaw tightens.

“Am I the only one who thinks this fuckerscreamsFeds?”

Nico leans back. “That’s what I thought at first, too. Except I had the guy followed after his meeting with Vera.”

---