“NO ONE TOLD me we were having a buffet,” Joe said from the dining room entryway.
Dante, who had been lost in conversation with his brother, looked to Joe with a smile. “Yes, well, that wasn’t the plan. My mother likes to cook when she’s nervous, though. Come in and grab a plate. Don’t let it go to waste, Joe.”
“Where’s Lucian?”
Because that’s the only reason why Joe showed up to the old Marcello mansion this afternoon. He’d spent the day before fielding phone calls to make sure Liliana was settled into his place in Chicago, and gathering the last bit of intel he needed on Martin Abraham to make the Chief of Police’s hit successful, and clean.
Joe was not going in on that mark half-cocked.
It would be stupid.
“Lucian took a phone call from Liliana in the next room,” Giovanni said. “Sit, Joe, and tell us what you have. We can pass the message along if he doesn’t get back in time.”
Joe wished it was him taking the call from Liliana. Right now, though, she was just a distraction he couldn’t afford to mess around with. He needed to be as detached as possible from his mark, but especially when he finally went in on the man. That way, there was little chance of his emotions taking over the kill, and fucking up the whole clean aspect he needed to maintain.
They all needed to make it out of this unscathed, after all.
Problem was, should Joe talk to Liliana, he was going to hear her voice. And then he was going to remember the way her voice sounded when she told him how a man had helped to cover up the fact Rich beat her, and then that same man proceeded to threaten her family and father’s freedom to keep her quiet.
And yeah …
Joe didn’t need to be focusing on that right now. He needed to remain disconnected from the reason why he was doing this in the first place, even if that reason had been overtaken by Liliana, and what happened to her.
“Well?” Dante asked.
Joe came into the dining room as he spoke, and grabbed a plate to start filling with food. “Tomorrow—Saturday—Martin will be heading to his vacation home in Long Island. I guess he has a pond, or something where he fishes. Relaxing, I bet.”
“The point?” Giovanni asked.
“Well, he’s not going to make it there, but it’ll look like he was trying.”
Joe didn’t really like giving the details of his plans when it came to the actual murder. Mostly because some men in this business got off on that shit, and he wasn’t killing for the excitement of others. He killed because it was a job that needed to be done more often than people cared to admit, and he was fucking good at doing it.
He’d been damn good at it since his first at fifteen when an enforcer called his aunt, Abriella, a whore, and Joe beat the man to death after luring him into the backyard. The guy hadn’t even seen him coming. Joe didn’t even think about it, really. His uncle, Tommas, hadn’t said very much about it, but he did tell Damian to take Joe to confession.
That was the first time he ever used confession.
He usually went back a couple of times a month, now.
Dante rested back in his chair, and steepled his fingers. “And you’re certain this will be as clean as the hit on the Senator?”
“Cleaner, maybe,” Joe replied. “With that stupid fuck, I had to avoid security cameras and shit. Martin doesn’t even have that in his home, and no security around the perimeter. He’s just a fucking cop—and no different from other cops, despite his title, at the end of the day.”
“His wife—”
“Heading to a breakfast with some friends at the golf club she frequents,” Joe cut in. “I called in a favor, and had a friend hack into their Wi-Fi. That then allowed us into their phones, and their digital calendars. The woman has breakfast with the same three ladies every Saturday unless it’s a holiday, or some other occasion. At least, according to her calendar.”
“Tomorrow could be the day she wakes up sick, and decides not to go,” Giovanni pointed out.
Joe passed the man a look. “You must think I’m a dumbass.”
“No.”
“Then, you must think I’m new to this.”
Giovanni cleared his throat, and passed Dante a look. “I’m not sure how many marks you’ve successfully carried out hits on.”
“One hundred, twenty-two,” Joe said, “since I began at fifteen, anyway. On average, that’s six a year, if you’re curious. To be fair, some were done in small groups of several. Some were brought to me to see what I could gain from them first.”
The man cleared his throat.
Joe figured, Point made.
“I know you think I work only in Chicago because that’s where I live, and whom I work for, but fact is, I go wherever Tommas Rossi sends me to remove someone who might be causing him trouble. He’s got problems making more problems all over the goddamn world. Point is—I’m not new to this.”
Joe fell into a chair at the far end of the table, and a good twenty chairs down from Dante and Giovanni. Really, he was kind of surprised at the large size of the table as he had yet to see the entire family fill it. Although, he knew by the size of the Marcello family that they absolutely could fill the table.
Digging into the food on his plate, Joe enjoyed the moment of comfortable silence that he was afforded by the only other people in the room. Shit, cinnamon and sweetness saturated his tongue with every bite of the French Toast sticks.
Cecelia Marcello was—by far—one of the best cooks Joe had ever gotten the pleasure to sit at their table. He reminded himself to tell the woman exactly that when he saw her the next time. She deserved to be told.
“If the wife doesn’t go to breakfast,” Joe said, finally deciding it was time to bring the conversation back around to the point at hand again, “then I will carry out the hit at the vacation home. She doesn’t go there—not that I’ve found, anyway. Maybe once or twice a year, but not during Martin’s weekend trips.”
“Still just as clean, right?” Dante asked.
“I know you just want to be sure,” Joe murmured, “but it’s offensive when people question my tactics or ability at every turn. Just for the record.”
Dante sighed a little.
Giovanni chuckled.
Joe shoved another bite of food in his mouth, and chewed. Behind him, he heard footsteps enter the room before the man even spoke. And he could tell exactly who it was by the comfortable smiles the two brothers at the other end of the table wore at the sight of him behind Joe.
Lucian.
“How’s Liliana?” Joe asked before Lucian could speak.
The man moved around him, and up the table to take a seat closer to his brothers. “Pretty well, all things considered. She’s got a lot of questions, though, but I’m putting them off for now.”
Joe nodded. “Better to explain after, I suppose.”
“You could say that.”
It was only the ringing of one of two burner phones in Joe’s pocket that took his attention away from the men at the table. He made a move to leave the table for a second to take the call, but Dante and Giovanni stood before he could.
“Stay, and enjoy your food, Joe,” Dante said.
“Give us a call when the hit goes through,” Giovanni added.
Then, the men were gone. That left Joe with Lucian as his phone rang again, but he didn’t mind answering the call with him there. It was the phone designated for his family, anyway. He figured it probably wasn’t sensitive, or about business.
Tugging the phone out, he put it to his ear as he took another bite. “Hello?”
“Are you talking with your mouth full?”
At the sound of his mother’s amused chiding, Joe quickly chewed the bite and swallowed it a little too fast. It half-lodged in his airway, but then scraped its way all the way down to his stomach.
“No,” he croaked.
“Liar,” Lily said, laughing. “When are you coming home? You’re forgetting your manners being away this long, and I don’t like it.”
“Or you miss me, Ma.”
“Yeah, that too. And your father. Cory. Mon.”
“Cory misses pestering my ass.”
“What are little brothers for?”
They had been telling him that his whole life. Thing was, Joe enjoyed the pestering as much as his brother enjoyed handing it over. He just wasn’t going to tell Cory that.
“I don’t know when I’m going to be back, Ma,” he settled on saying.
“Oh.”
“What, Ma?”
“I think your little friend here is missing you, that’s all.”
Joe smiled at the way his mother twisted the word friend. That’s what he’d offered to her when he called to explain what he could about Liliana, and her stay in Chicago. And then his mother pressed and pressed more until he admitted she was a little more than a friend to him.
A hell of a lot more.
His person.
That one person his father talked about—every man had one, Damian liked to tell him. You just have to find her, son.
Well, he had.
And now she was a couple of states away.
“I like her,” Lily added when Joe stayed quiet.
“Do you?”
“She’s wonderful, Joe.”
“I knew you would, Ma.”
“I bet.” Lily sighed. “Well, that’s all I really called to say. Oh, and Cory is planning to go over and keep her company tomorrow morning.”
“Tell him not to be an annoying ass.”
“Call him, and tell him yourself.”
His mother hung up.
Well, damn.
Chuckling, Joe set the phone back to the table, and the food on the plate regained his attention for the moment. His mouth was full of French Toast sticks and a strip of bacon when Lucian cleared his throat down the table, and then began to talk.
Smart man.
Catching Joe when he couldn’t reply.
“Thank you, by the way.”
Joe raised a brow, silently asking, For what?
Lucian smiled faintly. “Well, I could vaguely say all of this, I suppose, but it’s more than that. For sitting here, and eating with us. For indulging my family, and my brothers when it’s clear they get on your nerves because I guess we don’t work the same way you do. Something like that, anyway.”
Just how long had Lucian been listening outside the dining room before he came in?
“Even if it’s just a little bit more than when you first came here,” Lucian added, “you’ve dropped your walls down, Joe. We see more now of you than the blank slate you showed us time and time again, so thank you.”
Joe swallowed his food, and sat straight in the chair. “No offense, but I can’t say that was intentional.”
Lucian shrugged one shoulder, saying, “And yet, here we are.”
Yes.
How had that happened?
And why?
Joe stuffed his hands in his pockets, and puffed on a cigarette that hung from the corner of his mouth. The quiet Queens suburb was barely awake at only a little after seven in the morning. People were just starting to wake up on a Saturday morning with their whole day still ahead of them. Most probably had plans. Unlucky fuckers would head off to work.
Him, though?
Joe had a job to do.
He was one step closer to it, now.
He stopped at the end of a driveway that led up to a quaint beige bungalow with a black roof. The shutters on all the windows matched the roof color, as did the front door with the frosted glass.
Joe didn’t really care about the house. He cared more about the man rolling a tire from the back of his SUV to the front.
Flat tire, it seemed.
The guy was in his late fifties, if Joe had to guess. Although, frankly, he didn’t have to guess at all. A little bit of gray at his temples, but the rest of his thinning hair was still black as tar. His tanned skin spoke of vacations on beaches, and the wrinkles around his eyes and mouth as he squinted and grimaced at his flat tire told Joe he’d lived a long life.
Maybe even a good life.
That life was just about over, now.
“Need help?” Joe called.
Martin Abraham glanced up over the tire he was attempting to fit into the front driver’s side. “Somebody must have left a damn nail in my driveway. Came out to it flat this morning. Fucking kids.”
Kids, right.
Joe sauntered up the drive, and finished his smoke on the way. He made sure to crush the butt of the cigarette, and stuff it into the pocket of his jeans—just in case … He bent down near the tire, and gave the man a smile.
A welcoming smile.
A friendly one, even.
“I don’t mind helping,” Joe said. “New to the neighborhood, and all. The wife keeps saying I should make friends.”
The Chief of Police laughed. “Yeah, wives think a lot of things, don’t they?”
Joe only shrugged.
“I think I’m good,” Martin added.
Nope.
Joe couldn’t let him off that easy. He still needed to make this as clean as possible, after all. “I recognize you—Chief of Police, right?”
Martin grinned.
Proud and pleased.
Hook, line, and sinker.
“I am, young man,” Martin replied, rocking back on his heels. “Proud to be a part of the Blue Line.”
Yeah, Joe bet.
Cops always were a special kind of proud.
To say the least.
“Really, let me handle this,” Joe told him, “and you can finish packing up your gear.”
The man’s gaze narrowed—suspicious in a blink. “My gear?”
Joe nodded toward the porch of the house. “Fishing gear. It’s sitting on the deck. You do that often?”
At the mention of fishing, Martin was fine again.
Pleased again.
Stupid again.
“Every weekend,” the man murmured, pushing up to stand. “Thanks for this, I appreciate it. I swear, these young people nowadays wouldn’t know how to lend a helping hand if their lives depended on it.”
You’re one to talk.
Joe said nothing, only gave the man a nod, and then got to work on replacing the tire. It took him maybe fifteen minutes to get the tire on, and fit all the lug nuts, too. He was done before Martin had even finished hauling all his shit to the back of the car.
That seemed like a hell of a lot of gear for a day—or even two—of just fishing. But who was Joe to say?
Leaning against the back of the SUV, Joe swung the tire iron to and fro with the tips of his fingers. Martin eyed the swinging tool as he came with the last of the bags.
“That was fast,” he said. “Thanks again.”
Joe nodded. “No worries.”
He could have easily swung that tire iron, and killed the man. Probably crushed his fucking skull into bits in the process, too. He would have enjoyed the sight of the blood pooling and splattering, if only because he could imagine this man had seen pictures of what Rich Earl had done to Liliana, and he chose to help hide it.
Monsters were everywhere.
They came in all forms.
Not all were easy to spot.
Instead of hitting the man like his heart screamed to, Joe handed the tire iron over with a smile. “I’ll let my wife know I did what she said, and made a friend. I’m sure it’ll make her day.”
Martin chuckled. “You do that.”
“Maybe you know her.”
The man glanced up from the bag he was pushing into the back of the SUV. “Pardon? Why would I know your wife?”
Joe shrugged. “She does a lot of things—charity, and whatnot. Made her rounds around the block shortly after we moved in, too.”
“Oh, well, maybe.”
“Liliana Marcello—ring any bells?”
Martin stilled.
Joe watched the color drain from the man’s face.
That fear was like a drug to Joe. He soaked it up because for no other reason, that fear was going to keep Martin company on his drive. A drive that would only end in his death.
“Shit,” Joe said, glancing at a watch that wasn’t even on his wrist, “I’ve got to run. Have a good day, Martin.”
Joe didn’t wait for the man to respond. He jogged down the driveway, and headed up the block. He only shot a look over his shoulder just long enough to see Martin fumble with pulling the hatchback down on the SUV, and then scramble to get inside his vehicle behind the wheel. He didn’t waste any time pulling out of his driveway, either.
That was fine.
Joe would follow behind.
He slipped into the black sedan the Marcellos had provided him to use, and pulled out on to the road to tail close behind Martin Abraham. Soon, the two were on the highway, and Joe was feet from the man’s bumper the whole time.
Even when Martin sped up, and glanced in his rearview mirror, Joe smiled and kept driving just as fast. He sped up, too. He took the turns on the exit ramp just as sharply.
Joe made his first call then.
“Nine-One-One, what’s your emergency?”
Joe rattled off the road name, and then quickly added, “There’s a man in a brown SUV driving erratically. I’m concerned he’s drunk or something. He’s been weaving in and out of vehicles, and I know he’s going at least twenty over the speed limit.”
“License plate, Sir?”
Joe gave the number—he was close enough to read it clearly, and if he pushed the gas, he would be so close that his own bumper would actually cover it.
“Thank you, Sir. Could I get you to stay on the line—”
Nope.
Joe hung up the phone.
An exit ramp came up on the right, and apparently, Martin must have thought that if he took it sharply enough, he might lose the vehicle trailing him.
Stupid fucker.
That tire couldn’t take that.
Joe had barely tightened the nuts. Just enough not to make it noticeable while the man was driving, but loose enough that the tire would fly off at too high of speeds, or reckless driving.
And it did.
Spectacularly.
Joe swerved in behind Martin when he took the ramp, and then yanked his wheel to the other side when the tire came off as the SUV entered the sharpest turn on the ramp. At the speed, and the curve the vehicle was turning on the ramp, the SUV was top heavy, and couldn’t take it. It hit the gravel, and then it flew.
Six turns on the pavement.
Over, and over, and over. It crushed the top of the SUV in from the force, and Joe swore he saw Martin’s head snapping back and forth.
That alone was enough to kill a brain, or break a neck.
Joe had hit the brakes, and watched the accident happen. Like slow fucking motion. Kind of beautiful, really.
All of the glass exploded out of the SUV’s windows, while smoke started to puff from under the hood when the SUV finally came to stop on its totally destroyed roof. Other vehicles had come to a stop behind Joe, but he didn’t bother to get out. Someone else did—running over to the SUV, and sticking their arm inside the window.
Checking a pulse, it looked like.
He saw the shake of the man’s head when he turned to the woman who had followed behind him, and the way his face whitened.
Dead.
Joe made his second call as he carefully moved forward, and maneuvered his vehicle around the wreckage and people on their phones. One woman was crying. The man who had checked on Martin was white-faced.
Like he’d seen death.
“Lucian here,” the Marcello said when he picked up Joe’s call.
“Two down,” Joe murmured.
He swore he could see Lucian’s smile when the man replied, “One to go.”
“You called?” Joe asked.
Lucian didn’t bother to look up from the newspaper he was reading. “I did. Sit, Joe.”
Joe took a seat in the high-back leather chair, and realized he could see the whole private bar from this position. “Didn’t expect you to call me somewhere during daylight hours.”
“No one but my brothers know I frequent this place. I find it calming.”
He could see why.
The bar, with its dark wood and rich colors, was a quiet place. The patrons—all well-dressed, and lost in discussions with those around them—couldn’t seem to be bothered with what was going on around them.
It would be the perfect place to get lost.
Maybe.
“What did you need?”
Lucian handed the paper over to Joe, and he took it. “Front page, down toward the bottom.”
Quickly, Joe found what Lucian was talking about. It seemed Martin Abraham’s death was front page news in the New York Times this morning. Shit, it had only been a day.
“Read it,” Lucian said.
Joe already had. “They’re making him out to be some kind of hero for his whole life’s work, or some shit.”
Ignorance was the best kind of bliss.
Or so he had been told.
Lucian sighed. “They did the same thing for the senator. Made sure to list each and every one of his achievements—if you could call them that—in his political career, and even named charities people could donate to in his honor. And then his kids and wife …” Beside him, Lucian’s mouth curled up at the edges in an almost-sneer before he added, “They got on the television and cried for him. It all disgusted me.”
“I get why.”
And he did.
“But,” Lucian said with a wave of his hand, “I resigned myself to the fact they got what was coming to them, and I don’t need the rest of the world to know it, too.” He pointed to his temple, and gave Joe a cold smile. “What matters is that I know it up here, and they knew it before they died. Sometimes, karma isn’t some invisible force, but rather, a man you pay to do the deed.”
All of this was fine and great, but Joe was still wondering why in the hell Lucian had called him here to begin with.
“Do you need something?” Joe asked, figuring it was better to get right to the point. “I was going to head out to Chicago—had a flight booked for tonight, actually.”
The earliest fucking flight he could get.
He still hated flying.
Lucian glanced over at Joe. “Spend time with her before you bring her back, I imagine.”
It wasn’t even a question.
Joe wasn’t in the business of hiding his intentions. “I would like to be able to do that away from all of this. Actually … I don’t know, take her out, and let her have fun.”
Lucian nodded. “I like you, Joe.”
Yeah, he kind of figured that out.
He still wasn’t sure how he felt about it.
“But,” Lucian said, “if you were willing to wait a day or two before getting back to Chicago, and Liliana, then I had an offer for you. I felt it was … appropriate, all things considered.”
Joe cocked a brow. “What kind of offer?”
Because at the moment, nothing was worth to him what Liliana was.
“One last mark,” Lucian murmured. “Rich, I mean. I’m sure he knows by now—he has to; he’s not stupid—that I’m coming for him. So, he’ll be looking for me, Joe. I expect him to be waiting or running from me.”
Ah, Joe was getting it now.
“And if I delivered the stupid fuck, what would you do for me?”
“Well, it won’t be very hard for you to deliver him, mind you. I’ve had someone watching him for a while. But I think he knows the guy is tailing him, too.” Lucian grinned. “I would let you have a little fun with him, and allow you to watch me kill him. Poetic, maybe. Or … maybe I just need a little more God in my life. That’s what my mother would tell me.”
Joe chuckled. “You drive a hard bargain.”
Because yes, Joe wanted to take that offer.
More than anything.
“Counteroffer,” Joe said.
Lucian frowned. “This isn’t that kind of deal, Joe.”
“Fact remains, I am giving you one. I give her the news.”
“Mmm.”
“What?”
“All of it, or just the Rich bit?”
Joe shrugged. “All of it.”
Lucian considered that for a moment, and then nodded. “Better you than me, I think.”
“Why’s that?”
“Well, she already loves me, Joe. And while she may love you, she has to still love all of you, too. Even the parts that scare her. So yes, better you than me.”
“Sounds—”
“Lucian.”
Lucian glanced away from Joe at the Marcello enforcer that approached. “What, Jacob?”
“We have a problem.”
“What kind of a problem?”
“Giovanni called—let me know the boss gave him a shout when the lead he had tailing Rich went to shit this morning.”
Lucian stiffened in the chair. “And what does that mean exactly?”
Jacob swallowed thickly.
Dread colored up his gaze.
“Means we lost him, Lucian.”
For the first time in a long time, Joe felt something he hadn’t experienced in a long while. It felt cold, and heavy. Like strong hands wrapping around his throat, and choking him to death without concern or care.
Fear.
That’s what he felt.
Fear.
“Joe,” Lucian hissed, “there’s no possible way the man knows where Liliana was taken to. We made sure of that—you chose it for that reason.”
Could the man read his thoughts?
Or was his fear that visible?
Maybe it was just because it was her.
And he hid nothing for her.
Still, Lucian continued even through Joe’s haze of anxiety and fear. “I was talking to her an hour ago—she was fine.”
It didn’t matter.
Joe was already pulling out his phone, and dialing the number to his house back in Chicago. She should be there; he kept up with what she had been doing since she got into the city, although he had yet to call her.
He was still trying to keep disconnected.
Detached.
At least, up until now.
“Are you calling her?” he heard Lucian ask.
Joe gave a short nod, but nothing else.
It was all he could give.
“Hello?” Liliana asked when the call connected.
“Hey, Tesoro,” Joe replied.
The relief was sweet.
Too sweet, even.
“Joe?”
“That’s me, ballerina.”
Liliana’s laughter coated his black soul.
Like a shadow meeting the light. He couldn’t hide with her.
She lit up every part of him. Every single dark part.
“Why haven’t you called? I missed you.”
Joe cleared his throat, saying, “Yeah, sorry about that. You’ll see me soon, though. I promise.”
“How soon?”
Beside him, Lucian said, “Are you going to help us track him, or not, Joe?”
Liliana was safe.
At least, for a day or two.
Joe had to finish this fucking business here, so he could get back to his girl. His girl that he waited so fucking long to find.
“Joe?” Liliana asked when he stayed quiet. “How soon?”
“A couple of days, maybe.”
“Oh.”
Her sadness cut him deep.
She didn’t know, though.
This was for her.
“But it’s still soon,” he added.
“Guess I’ll just keep snooping through your stuff, then.”
Joe laughed. “I hope you find something good.”
“I already did, and I didn’t need to be here to find it, Joe.”