27
Dominic smacks the headrest of my seat. “Here he comes!”
I spot a figure dressed in dark clothing making his way from the back door of a bar toward where we’re parked across the street. I reach over the driver’s seat of the car Miles got a hold of tonight and fling the door open. Seconds later he plops into the seat, silently shuts the door, and soon we’re cruising down the block, parking in a much more conspicuous location.
Once he shifts the car into park, Miles leans his head against the seat, closes his eyes and allows his breath to return to normal. Dominic and I sit silent waiting for the verdict.
“It’s done,” Miles says and when both Dominic and I let out a yelp of excitement he offers me a tiny grin. “Luckily only a few mice in the crawl space.” I shudder, earning an even bigger smile from Miles. “I planted the bug against the wall behind them. I could hear Bruno from below even before turning anything on so it should work.”
“You really are a spy-in-training,” Dominic says, sounding pretty impressed with our team leader.
“You got the tracker,” Miles reminds him. “Got us started on this job. That’s no small feat.”
“Yeah, yeah. You’re both superstars, now can we listen to the mobsters? I’m missing act two of Hamilton for this.” I open Miles’s laptop and help him get things started up. Soon voices that don’t belong to the three of us fill the car.
“What happens if none of these rug rats wants to pay for that extra shit Hayes and his crew are peddling?”
Goose bumps form all over my arms and neck hearing my dad’s—my family’s—name dropped into the conversation.
“I think that’s Faustino Zanetti,” Miles says. He types something into the FBI database he’s just pulled up, probably to confirm this theory. “Goes by Faust or Fausti. Served nine months for assault. He’s still on probation.”
“What do you think happens?” Bruno says, his Jersey accent now familiar to me. “We bail. Like always. But it’s a pointless question ’cause the money is fucking rollin’ in like a tidal wave.”
About thirty feet in front of us, the sign outside Zanetti’s Fine Italian Cuisine flickers and then turns off, leaving us even more in the dark, just the mobsters’ voices to keep us company.
“No shit,” another guys says. “It’s working out, then?”
“Do you know that guy?” Dominic asks Miles.
Miles shakes his head. “I have a few guesses.”
“Hayes is a fucking genius,” Bruno says. “If he knew how to use a pistol I’d be scared shitless of him.”
Laughter erupts. The sound of clinking glasses follows shortly after.
Tonight, for the first time, I’m seeing Bruno’s chameleon skills. Working with him, he’s humble, open-minded, and very aware of norms in the world of Broadway kids and stage moms. Here he’s all short answers, simplified logic, swearing every other word.
“Okay, then,” the presumed Faust says. “If Hayes and his crew are that good, why the fuck do they need your dumb ass?”
“First off, I go where Bossman tells me to go. You know the drill,” Bruno says. “Second, they need us because we’re legit.” He laughs a cruel sort of laugh. “Those of us who haven’t served time, anyway. Hayes and his crew don’t exist, not like us. No real identity. They can only deal in cash.”
“And those pageant moms are all about the credit,” the unidentified man says.
“Exactly,” Bruno says. “We route the credit card payments through the restaurant accounts. Plus we got dirt on Jojo. He owes us a favor.”
“That’s how you’re getting all them Manhattan offices,” Faust says. “Let me guess, Hayes and his crew dug up the dirt and you—”
“Held the gun to Jojo’s head while we blackmailed him,” Bruno says, earning laughter from his family members.
“They’re coming outside,” Dominic tells us, but his gaze is glued to his phone.
“How do you know?” Miles and I ask at the same time.
“Bruno,” he says simply, and then he smacks the back of the driver’s seat, causing Miles to jump. “Go! We gotta get out of here.”
Without further question, Miles passes off his laptop to me, puts the car in reverse, and then turns it around, avoiding driving in front of the restaurant. Once we’re a good distance away, Miles repeats the question. “How do you know they’re leaving?”
“Bruno sent me a text,” Dominic says. “Said he was done with dinner and heading back to the city.”
I tug my seat belt around me and fasten it before glancing in the back seat to get a good look at Dominic. “Why would he tell you that? And how did he get your number?”
He scratches the back of his head, and even in the dark I can see his cheeks flush. “We, uh…we sort of hung out the other night.”
My mouth falls open. “You hung out with a mobster?”
“I thought it might help,” Dominic argues. “He’s a huge Knicks fan. My family gets box seats every season. Not that we go much.”
“Wait,” I say, trying to catch up. How much has he been doing on his own? “When did you go to a basketball game? How did I not notice?”
“Two nights ago,” he says. “You were doing that assignment with Justice or something.”
“Were you planning to meet up with him tonight?” Miles asks, sounding as stunned as I am. “Is that why he told you he’s heading back to the city? You didn’t think that was worth mentioning before now?”
“I wasn’t sure,” Dominic answers back. “Plus I knew both of you would be all, ‘you’re not experienced enough for this, you’re too stupid for this.’ But yeah, I am planning on meeting up with him now. I just confirmed.”
“No way,” Miles says firmly before I can tell Dominic he’s crazy. “It’s too dangerous.”
I’m still reeling over the fact that they have things in common. I mean the Knicks? That can’t be enough to warrant more this instant friendship. “What are you not telling us? I feel like we’re missing part of this story.”
Dominic can’t make eye contact with me when he says, “Well, my family’s Italian, so…”
“No,” I gasp, putting that together. “You can’t audition for the mob!”
“I agree.” Miles shakes his head. “Like I said, it’s too dangerous.”
“Whatever,” Dominic says. The dark car doesn’t hide his glare. “It’s not like I signed a contract or anything. Neither of us has even dropped the word ‘mobster’ into any conversation. Besides, do I bite your head off every time you tell me something you’ve done? And give me some fucking credit. I might be flunking out of Holden, but I’m not an idiot. I can handle Bruno Zanetti just fine.”
I stare at my classmate, barely recognizing him. “But what if he finds out we’re conning the con man? Your head will be on a mobster platter.”
“And yours won’t?” he snaps.
Miles winces at that but says nothing. He’s focused on speeding along the highway to get from Newark back to the city.
“He’s not gonna find out anything,” Dominic adds. “As far as he knows, you’re clueless about my mobster career goals.”
“We’ll deal with Dominic’s new BFF later,” Miles says, ending that argument. “Stay focused on the intel we just scored. When we get back to my place, we’ll start piecing it together. And I’ll tell you what I know on my end.”
Dominic flops back against his seat. “About time.”
…
Miles opens the door to his apartment before I even have the chance to knock. He ushers me inside and I can already feel the inquisition coming even though I’d only been gone twenty minutes to buy dinner. “Anyone tailing you? Or did you see—”
“No,” I say firmly, my tone giving him no reason to question me further.
Dominic takes the pizza and two liter of soda from my hands and heads toward the kitchen. Miles unzips my jacket, slips it off me, and then holds my hands between his, warming them. “Thanks for getting dinner. We’ll all think better if we’re not starving.”
I lean into him for a second, resting my cold cheek against his much warmer one. Then Dominic coughs loudly, and Miles drops my hands and steps back. I dig through my pocket and hand Dominic his credit card. “Thanks for buying dinner.”
He folds a slice of pizza, stuffs a giant bite into his mouth, and shrugs.
Soon we’ve all got paper plates of pizza. Miles doesn’t have a couch, so I’m seated on the perfectly made bed, leaning against the wall, and both guys are sitting on the floor. Miles has a notebook in front of him, a pencil in one hand, another behind his ear, and two more neatly placed beside the notebook. I smile down at my plate of pizza, remembering a few times when I’d made fun of his pencils. He likes them sharp but doesn’t like to sharpen.
“The only thing I’m left wondering about after listening in on Bruno,” I say, jumping right into discussing the intel from tonight, “is the identity of this Jojo person Bruno said they blackmailed.”
“He’s someone who has the power and means to offer up office space for free,” Miles adds, his pencil already moving across the page.
Dominic stands and heads over to the kitchen counter to refill his glass of soda. “And someone who is vulnerable to blackmail.”
“Everyone is vulnerable to blackmail if you can find their weakness.” I pick a mushroom off my slice of pizza and place it onto the plate before taking a bite. “And no one knows how to uncover a weakness better than my dad.”
My phone buzzes, and when I read the text, I laugh a little too loudly, startling both Miles and Dominic.
JUSTICE: how could u leave in the middle of Hamilton??? For what? A few minutes of fun with Miles? I don’t even know u anymore
“What?” Dominic asks.
I wipe my hands so I can reply. “Justice. She hates me now.”
“For not watching Act Two?” Dominic asks, and I nod. “Yeah, she hates me, too. But it was the perfect place to sneak out. I didn’t hate the first half, though. Thought I would fall asleep but it was pretty good.”
ME: Act 1 was crazy good. I hate myself right now too. Are we past the midnight check-in?
JUSTICE: yep. It’s all good. See u in morning?
ME: I owe u one
I owe her about a hundred, actually. For nearly my entire life I was a taker not a giver. But now I’m constantly fighting this need to keep everything even. Surely there is something that I can help Justice with in the near future. I’ll have to look into that. After we stop the mobsters and the con men.
“Okay,” Dominic says, and the way he sets his plate on the counter and then leans back against it, arms crossed, it’s clear he wants answers from Miles. “How did this happen? You in New York with Ellie’s family?”
“Well, it’s kind of—” Miles starts, but Dominic interrupts.
“I mean, you didn’t know about the Zanettis’ involvement, so obviously you’re not undercover working for them,” he assesses. “And I’m not an expert, but Ellie’s family doesn’t seem like the type to just open up their arms to a new guy with no other attachments. They all watch me like a hawk.”
Miles has abandoned his pizza now, too. He looks right at Dominic, avoiding my gaze. “Clyde.”
“Your uncle?” Dominic says.
“Clyde,” I repeat, sinking back onto the headboard. Now it’s beginning to make sense. Why hadn’t I thought of that? Like me, Miles’s uncle is a reformed criminal, given immunity by the FBI to turn over his boss. He also contracts for the FBI and CIA quite a bit, mostly dealing with check fraud. “If Clyde already had a good rep with my dad, why wouldn’t the FBI put him undercover? Why use his nephew?”
“Clyde’s work with the FBI isn’t a secret.” Miles takes a drink of his soda, and I take note of the fact that he doesn’t look me in the eyes. “Your dad knows his history, thinks it’s a shame that he’s benched. Clyde mentioned that his nephew might be able to help.”
I hear only truth in his voice, but still I narrow my eyes at him. “And that was enough? Just a, ‘Hey, my nephew needs a job and he’s cool with ditching military school and becoming a con man’? My dad actually bought that?”
Especially knowing that Clyde got most of his paychecks from the FBI—the same organization that put my mom in prison.
“Exactly what I thought, too,” Miles says. “It seemed too easy. But now I think I understand. Your dad wanted some heat on his side. Someone who could help out in a jam.”
In a mobster jam. Yeah, I’m not too thrilled about Miles’s purpose on this team. I turn my attention from him to Dominic. He’s standing there staring, processing. Finally he just shakes his head, bewildered. “Damn, that’s messed up. And super weird.”
He bought it. All of it.
They quickly shift to hypothesizing about the third Zanetti family member with Bruno tonight—the one we hadn’t seen—but I tune them out and fake interest in my pizza. Miles seemed like he was telling the truth, but there’s a piece missing, I know there is. It’s all too smooth, too easy. There’s a seed at the beginning of all of this plotting and planning that brought Miles here to New York City. Before this trip, when I saw him last, he had every intention of heading back to school after his winter vacation in Europe. What changed? He says he didn’t even know it was my family he’d be working for. He didn’t know about the Zanettis’ involvement. What did he know?
“I’ll be back in a couple of hours,” Dominic says.
I glance up from my pizza, and he’s already headed for the door. I must have missed something when I zoned out.
“I’ll go with you,” Miles says, getting to his feet.
“And how exactly did we meet?” Dominic rolls his eyes. “How do I explain that?”
“What he really means,” I say, “is that you can’t go because you’re not Italian. They won’t let you join.”
Once I’ve finished my mobster joke, I turn to Dominic, dead serious now. “Seriously, Dominic? You’re an idiot. And you have a death wish.”
“You know what?” He turns to me, a half-hearted glare aimed in my direction. “I’m fucking tired of being the idiot.”
He snatches his coat from the floor and swings the door open before stepping out into the hall.
“Wait.” I slide my plate off my lap and spring to my feet. “Dominic!” I call after him.
“Let him go,” Miles says, stepping in front of the door. He’s got his phone out and he’s punching the keypad swiftly. “I’ve got someone keeping an eye on him.”
I swing my arms back and forth awkwardly. I feel like an asshole. My hand lifts, gesturing at the door. “I didn’t mean to call him an idiot.”
“I know.” Miles stuffs his phone into his pocket and lifts his eyes to meet mine. “What should we do while he’s out?”
My stomach flutters with nerves, though I don’t know why. Maybe because last time we were alone in this apartment I told Miles to be a Boy Scout and prepare for next time. My cheeks heat just thinking about that. Any of that.
I divert my gaze over Miles’s shoulder at the bed. “We should probably get these plates picked up. I’ve heard horror stories about cockroaches in Brooklyn apartments.”
Miles looks like he wants to argue for a second, but then he allows me to step right around him and jumps in to help, gathering glasses and washing them in the sink. But instead of the busywork adding to anticipation of later activities, my thoughts drift back to what Miles told Dominic, about his role in my family’s con, how he’s here to take necessary measures if the mobsters get out of hand. And soon I’m anxious for completely different reasons.
I dry my hands with a dishcloth and turn to Miles, who is standing at the sink only inches from me. My eyes sweep over him, from his dark hair to his fitted long-sleeve shirt, showing off some amazing abs, to the jeans that hug him just right, and then his bare feet sprinkled with drops of water from the faucet.
He catches me staring and one brow arches up. “Now that we’ve prevented infestations, what do you—”
“Do you have a gun?” I blurt out. “Because I need you to teach me how to take it from you.”