Page 101 of Where Wild Hearts Dance
From the length of Nino’s pause, I know the answer before he opens his mouth. “New York.”
I hang up and call Beppe immediately.
“We need eyes on JFK and Newark,” I bark before he has a chance to speak.
“How many?” he shoots back, reminding me of why I value him so much. He doesn’t ask fucking useless questions—he just gets on with it.
“As many as you can spare.”
“What about the hotel?”
“Covered. I’ll get a few more of Augie’s men here.”
“Who are we looking for?”
I shake my head. “You won’t fucking believe this,” I sigh. “Federico Falconi.”
“Enzo’s kid?” The upward lilt of Beppe’s question only confirms the ridiculousness of the situation—I’m rallying the troops to fend off a teenager. Well, he’s early twenties now I reckon, but still, Beppe’s right—he’s a kid. I might still be in my twenties myself, but I’ve lived a whole life in the underworld. He’s merely a tourist.
“He’s coming back here with a motive. But, it’s not whathe’s capable of that worries me.” I pinch the bridge of my nose between a thumb and forefinger. “He’s in touch with an unknown entity. That’s a risk.”
“Understood,” Beppe replies. “I’ll put a call out now, get a recent photograph and we’ll make sure he doesn’t leave whatever airport he arrives into.”
I’m about to hang up when Beppe says my name, and the way he says it makes clear he’s bearing bad news.
“What is it?”
“Our contact is dead.”
It takes me a second to figure out who he’s talking about. “The Marchesi associate? Bigelow?”
“Yes. Him.”
I scrub a clammy palm down my face. There goes our upper hand. “How?”
“The nephews got to him. Slit his throat, threw his body on a boat and let him bleed out all over it while floating down the Connecticut River.”
“They’re sending a message.”
I can hear Beppe nodding. “We got away with it for a year.”
“And now?”
“We have no idea what they’re planning but I have a bad feeling about this Benito. The nephews have moved fast. They haven’t officially taken over as the leading members of the family, but no one seems to give a shit. They’ve taken the drug bust real personal. My guy didn’t say this outright but he may as well have done: They’re coming after us.”
Not yet, I hope silently. “I need to call Augie and make sure nothing is getting into the Hamptons. You’ll keep me posted on any sightings?”
“I will.”
“And you’ll head over here for the wedding?”
“Absolutely.”
“Thanks Beppe.” I hang up and stare out at the green and blue view, seeing nothing but slit throats, black lashes and parted lips.
I refuse the second refill of wine and cut into the steak. Blood oozes across the plate and I stare at it as I chew. I know if I look up my gaze will be drawn ahead and to the left, to where Contessa Castellano is sitting with her own eyes averted. I find myself yearning for the days when she would glare at me across a table, the hatred spewing forth from beneath a dark brow. She’s doing her best to angle her bare shoulders away from me but the close-knit seating plan is working against her.
“Someone cut off your tongue?”
