Page 16 of The Mafia Assassin's Redemption
Then again, he came about his brother. Word of the shooting traveled fast.
And Lara? God… She should be a long way from here at this point, if she showed up to the address I gave her.
I did what I could to move her to the next stop in her new life.
And now?
And now my thoughts are all over the place. If she went home, I can’t do a thing about it. Or maybe he’s got a replacement in the wings. Some do, some don’t even bother looking for the ones who leave. If the woman’s gone, and their private searches turn up nothing, they have a replacement.
A younger model.
A better one.
A more obedient one.
I take in a breath, trying to calm my racing heart when I stop outside my uncle’s brownstone in Prospect Park. It’s modest, but still has two stories and is big enough for a single man. In a way, I wish I’d grown up here.
The neighborhood’s nice, and I don’t think Uncle Anthony has anything to do with the mafia. I’d have been safe.
A shiver runs through my veins. I want to blame it on the cool wind, but I can’t. Because I know everything that’s happened in the past days drags me back in time where the paranoia of my childhood threatens to crush me.
I pull open the black wrought iron fence that opens to the small courtyard. I walk along the path that leads up the front steps. This place represents safety, like the church. When Uncle Anthony came to Ireland, I was seventeen and he brought me here to New York.
And through my contacts with the church and the school there, I found Father Luigi and that lifeline of helping others.
Because maybe one day I’ll help enough that memories—full memories—will come back.
Although Sister David told me that the missing ones from my past might be in God’s protection.
Maybe she was right. Or maybe I’ll just find release from the ones I have. Maybe I’ll be able to find peace and open the flower shop I’ve dreamed of since I was young. Mom wanted one. I always loved flowers. They always smelled so good and were so bright and cheerful, and even as a young child, I wanted to be surrounded by everything pretty.
Instead, it’s been horror and monsters and helping save women in the small way I do.
Maybe I won’t ever have that shop or find peace or those missing memories.
But I have the church and Father Luigi and my work.
It’s enough. For now, at least.
I ring the bell.
“Uncle Anthony,” I say, pretending the threats and the killing in the alley didn’t happen, pretending I’m fine. I smile and throw my arms around him.
He hugs me back, and there’s only the merest hint of a smile in return. For some reason, my stomach flip-flops.
“Hazel, so good to see you.” He gestures for me to come in.
I trail him down the polished wooden floorboards of the hallway to his living room and blink in surprise.
A tray of nuts and some wine bottles sit on a nearby table. He pours me a white burgundy, my favorite, from an ice bucket and hands it to me. Then he picks up his tumbler of rum.
“Are you expecting guests? I didn’t know it was a dinner party,” I say, ignoring the fact it doesn’t smell like someone’s been cooking or even had catering brought in. And Anthony loves any excuse to cook, so why would theplace smell like lemon cleaner? I take a sip, the wine flat on my tongue. “I didn’t dress for the occasion.”
“Sit, please.”
I settle on the edge of his leather sofa, my knees pressed together. I suddenly realize I still have my coat on.
My consummate host uncle forgot to ask for it, which he always does without fail. Until now.
