I’D MADE THE drive from Westchester County—Rye to Brooklyn—hundreds if not thousands of times. Through the years I’d seen the changes, the improvements. The roads had become highways. The highways expanded. Theoretically it should have lessened the time needed for the commute. That was in theory.

Through the years the traffic had grown, tripled if not quadrupled. It didn’t matter if I took the Throgs Neck or Whitestone Bridge, there were always backups. Always cars. One of the problems were people like me—people who drove alone rather than carpooling. One person. One car. I wasn’t like Lennox—I rarely used a driver. I was more of a solo man. Always had been. Tonight, as my headlights reflected off the wet pavement and the sky spit flakes of snow, I was alone.

Adelaide was doing better by the day, growing stronger.

I’d been proud of her the other night as she spoke to Fitzgerald. I’d heard his responses. Each one reinforced my desire for his demise. It wasn’t like the idea was in need of support. I’d wanted it for nearly fourteen years, since the Christmas party.

The thing I needed to clarify, the reason I made up an excuse to leave Adelaide with Silvia, knowing they were safe and protected, was that Alton Fitzgerald’s demise was my request. When he no longer took a breath—because I knew it would happen—it would be my debt to pay.

That was why I’d again called Vincent, why I’d requested a second audience with him in a single week. That was why as the temperature outside the car dropped, my skin was warm and prickling with anxiety.

Instead of meeting at Vincent’s home, he’d asked me to join him at a little restaurant off the beaten path. It wasn’t the same one where we’d met years ago, but the interior was similar: dark wood-paneled walls with a wooden floor, tables covered in red-and-white checkered tablecloths, and each table lit by a single candle flickering in a red jar. If it hadn’t truly been authentic Italian, it would look like it was trying too hard to be.

The aroma of delicious Italian spices beckoned as I opened the front door.

Places like this didn’t employ young girls to welcome customers. The hostess was closer to my age with eyes that had seen a lot and a quick tongue that would happily send tourists fleeing. The elite clientele served here didn’t play well with outsiders.

“Mr. Demetri, it’s been awhile.”

“Sophia, you’re as beautiful as ever.”

Her sexy but dangerous veneer cracked and her smile blossomed. “The eyesight, they say it’s the first to go.”

I leaned forward and kissed her cheek. “I have a meeting.”

“Yes, Mr. Costello is waiting.”

I looked down at my watch. He’d told me nine o’clock. It wasn’t even 8:30.

Sophia must have seen my concern. “He’s been here with the family. The others left.”

“It’s just Vincent and Luca?”

“No, Luca took Bella, Gabriella, and the baby home. Cute little thing. Not so little,” she said. “He has the cheeks of his grandfather.”

I shook my head. “Poor guy.”

“Your words, not mine.”

She pulled her black sweater over her breasts. Ever since the first time I’d met her, they hadn’t changed, not in thirty years. They were still full and perky and accentuated her small waist. It was amazing the work doctors could do.

“Come with me,” Sophia said with a wink.

Her heels clicked on the wooden floor as we passed tables filled with patrons and those completely empty. That was the way places like this worked. There were always tables available for the regulars, even if that meant turning down others at the door. It wasn’t a restaurant: it was a home, a dining room always available for family.

Delicious scents wafted through the air as I spotted Vincent and Jimmy. As usual, they were seated with their backs against the far wall.

“Your guest,” Sophia said as she gestured toward the table.

“Thank you, Sophia.” I turned to Vincent and placed my hand on the back of an empty chair. “Thank you for seeing me, Vincent. I hope I didn’t disrupt family time.”

Vincent nodded toward the chair, his way of telling me to sit. “No, Carmine was ready to go home. He’s not yet learned to appreciate the finer Italian cuisine.”

“Jimmy,” I nodded, taking the seat. Turning back to Vincent, I unbuttoned my topcoat. “I won’t keep you. I wanted to talk to you about my requests.”

“My men? Is there a problem?”

“No. They’ve been excellent. It’s my other request.”

“Eva. Her father is glad she’s back home.”

“Yes, she’s a remarkable girl.”

“A doctor,” Jimmy corrected.

“Yes, she is. An excellent one. I can never repay what she did. I’m here about the most recent request.”

“Oren, it’s time to cut the apron strings.”

I took a deep breath. “Your men—”

He lifted a hand. “You know how this works. It takes time.”

I did know how it worked. That was what bothered me. “I’m not recanting or asking you to renege.”

“No, why would you? You’ve loved her for many years. It must feel good to have your son make the request you’ve wanted to make. What happened? Did she ask you to spare him?” He waved his hand. “Women, they can be so emotional, even when it’s not warranted.”

We stopped talking as a waitress dressed all in black arrived with a tray holding three glasses of amber liquid. “Straight up?” she asked as she distributed the whiskey.

“Thank you,” I said. I lifted the glass and swirled the liquid. The strong aroma felt good as it burned my nose. It would be the first alcohol I’d even inhaled since moving Adelaide into my house.

When she walked away, I sat the glass down. “You knew. You knew who was at my home and didn’t say anything.”

Vincent shrugged. “I was waiting for you.”

“Chelsea Moore is real. She was there and she’d been injured. Now she’s with Lennox in Savannah.”

He shook his head. “It’s unusual, the whole situation. I agree.” His eyes closed. “Your first.” His eyes opened again, his gaze seemingly seeing the past. “You never forget. Someone else’s first, it means nothing.” He took a drink of his whiskey and grinned. “I almost forgot, but then it came back. The bar. Race fan. It was the surveillance that brought it full circle.”

“I didn’t… I never intended.”

“It happened.”

I lifted the tumbler to my mouth and tipped the glass. Like liquid fire, the heat scorched my lips. Without drinking, I placed the glass back on the table. I wouldn’t do it. I couldn’t.

Taking a deep breath, I confirmed his assessment. “It did come full circle. She did. He was an abusive fuck. You remember the surveillance. It was because her old man finally figured out he’d sold his daughter to the devil. I didn’t know until recently what that meant. I hope now it meant he made a last-minute change to his will. That didn’t spare her the years of degradation.”

“And yet it took Lennox…”

“Alexandria Collins is her daughter, is his daughter… the race fan.” When Vincent didn’t respond, I went on. “None of this is news to you.”

“No, Oren, but it’s good to hear it from your lips.”

“I won’t say it got easier. I will say I never made the mistake of getting to know the families again after my first job.”

Vincent lifted his hand toward the waitress. “Quite a coincidence, your son, her daughter.”

I shrugged. “Guilt combined with hope.”

“Hope?”

I nodded. “Not much. I don’t deserve it, but a small kernel. I took the man who should have helped her. I stole that from her. She’s young and smart.”

“Columbia and Stanford,” Vincent said.

I wasn’t sure why it surprised me. It shouldn’t.

“Yes, but Fitzgerald, he had plans for her. They needed to be stopped. If they weren’t, she’d have been sentenced to the life her mother endured.”

The waitress sat another glass in front of Vincent. After she left he lifted it, like a toast. “Knight in shining armor, you are.”

“No. We both know that isn’t true.”

“Six years.”

I tilted my head.

“It’s been six years. Eight since Angelina’s funeral. You weren’t at Jocelyn’s.”

“You were?”

“Didn’t Lennox tell you?”

“No,” I admitted. “We weren’t talking much at that time.”

“Now you are?”

“Yes. I’ve been honest with him—mostly.”

“And he’s being honest. He’s understanding his family.”

I shook my head. “Angelina and I didn’t want that. She didn’t want that.”

We sat in silence as Vincent finished his current glass of whiskey. Though the air was still strong with the aroma of garlic and oregano, my appetite was gone.

“Jimmy,” Vincent said, “go get the car. Bella is blowing up my pocket.”

I smiled. “I always liked her.”

“She and Angelina were tight. They would cackle like hens in a chicken coop.”

“Luca has become a good man. He’s ready. You made him that way.” I leaned forward. “I thank you for Lennox. He’s a good man too.”

“We miss Angelina,” Vincent said.

“I do too.”

“You love this woman, the race car fan’s wife?”

I huffed. “I do. I’d give her back that man if I could.”

“The other husband?”

“He should have been the one in the car. Even old man Montague figured that out. He just never got the chance to make it known.”

“But he did,” Vincent said as he stood. He moved his head from side to side. “And he didn’t. He contacted me. Left a message and asked to be called back. Times were busy. Business, life, and death. Two days passed until I returned his call. When I did, I couldn’t reach him. He’d passed away. I didn’t pursue it.” He shrugged and grunted as he pulled on his overcoat. “Never even gave it much thought until recently. Lennox’s request reminded me.”

My request, I wanted to repeat, but I didn’t. Instead, I asked, “The message?”

“Asking for a favor.”