Chapter 14
She gave Vincent directions to the restaurant, and as they drove through Jersey City, it left her feeling a terrible nostalgia. It weighed her down as familiar streets, stores, sights, and sounds of the neighborhood triggered memories, good and bad. This place had been her world, where her childhood and married life had been spent. When she’d left three years ago, she’d promised herself she’d never return, because coming back meant embracing uncertainty. It would mean accepting Dante, becoming like her father before her, so she’d run, and put her life and Millie’s on the line to do it. Now, three years later, only the threat to her sister’s life could get her back here, and all this felt like her fault…but it wasn’t. None of it was her fault. It was Dante’s, and somehow, she’d make him pay.
The GPS directed Vincent to pull off the busy city street, onto a side road, then into a nearby Italian restaurant’s parking lot. “Pull into that space,” she said, “back into it.” It gave her full view of the street, and the restaurant’s parking lot.
“Quick getaway?” Vincent arched a brow, smiling. He wasn’t taking this seriously, and, why should he? She’d kept him in the dark, so he didn’t know better, because she wanted him safe, but feared his interference. This was her fault.
“Listen.” She didn’t open the door, just sat in the parked car, peering down the street, scanning passersby’s faces. She was grateful not to see anyone she knew. “Maybe you should stay in the car.” The moment he was seen with her, he’d have a target on his back. “Walking in there exposes you to certain dangers that you can’t understand.” Vincent saw her through the lens of law enforcement, but couldn’t fully understand how the syndicate worked. Not internally. He saw her as the daughter of, or the wife of, when what she really was would curl his hair. There were people in that restaurant that knew who she really was, suspected what she’d done, and more would flood the restaurant once they knew she was there.
“I’m not leaving your side,” he said.
“I won’t run.”
“I never thought you would.” When she grimaced, he shrugged. “I meant from here. The restaurant. I can see you’re nervous. Just know that I’ll protect you in there, Avery.” He tilted her chin up with a finger, and forced her to meet his gaze. “With my life.”
“Because you’re a Fed.” His job.
“Because you’re you.” Then he pressed a gentle kiss to her lips, and she felt it to her toes. When he lifted his head, she felt raw and exposed, and Vincent wasn’t helping, because he seemed equally unnerved by the effect of their kiss. “Are we about to do something stupid, Avery?” She nodded. “But it’s necessary?” She nodded again.
“I’m sorry,” she said. And she was. “I’m sorry you’re messed up in this, and I’m sorry things are so complicated, but… Vincent, I’m doing the best I can.”
He nodded. “Okay. Then let’s get this done.” He kicked up a cheek and winked. “I’ll follow your lead.”
He really was very sweet. “Thanks.” She dropped her forehead to his chest, unable to hold his gaze, because other than Millie, no one had ever given her this level of trust before. He was literally putting his life in her hands, trusting that the risk she took was worth the payout. It was, but maybe not to him. And for that, she was sorry. “I don’t want to see you get hurt.” She pushed off his chest, needing to make him see reason. “I really wish you’d stay in the car. People around me get hurt, Vincent. Yeah, you’re the toughest sonavabitch I’ve ever met, and if ever I wanted someone with me in a tight jam, you’d be it, but….” He was watching her with amused curiosity, as if she was teasing, rather than spilling her heart out to him. Suddenly, she wanted to smack him upside the head, and she was yelling. “Once we step into the restaurant, people will connect you with me. Forever. Somewhere, in some file, there will always be a photo of you, of us, walking into this restaurant. When they can’t find me, they’ll come looking for you, thinking I’m with you. Forever, Vincent.” She searched his gaze, hoping he could comprehend the enormity of that danger.
“Is this how people from Jersey propose?” Vincent’s brows lifted, as he pretended to be surprised. “We step into the restaurant, and we’re together forever?”
He shocked a laugh out of her, or maybe it was a sob. “What am I going to do with you?”
He dropped a kiss on her lips. “Let’s talk about that later, when you don’t have to worry your ex-husband is trying to kill you.”
Was he saying he wanted a future with her? That was impossible. If she survived negotiations with her ex, odds were, she’d still have to run. “Okay.” It was nice to pretend.
His face blossomed into a full-blown smile, and all Avery could think was…damn. She liked him. More than liked him. She pulled him into a kiss, and he took control, dragging her over the console to cradle her in his arms, squeezing and kissing her like he would never let her go. When he broke for air, he pressed his face to her neck, tasting her skin, nipping at her jaw, and her whole body trembled in his arms.
“I am a bad, bad, bad person,” she sighed. If she were good, she’d confess all and trust him to help her, but she’d been burned too badly, and trust was a luxury neither she nor Millie could afford.
He chuckled, his hand cupping her ass. “I like you just the way you are.”
Guilt had her pushing out of his arms, and hurrying from the car. If they were going to do this, they needed to get it over with. The suspense was killing her. Vincent must have been feeling impatient, too, because he beat her to the restaurant’s entryway, grabbing its ornate door knob. He paused to give the equally ornate, carved door the appreciative glance it deserved.
“Pete’s dad carved it back when he lived in Italy,” she said.
“It’s amazing craftsmanship.” Vincent opened the door, indicating with a nod she should enter first, but they walked into the dimly lit, hostess area, nearly attached at the hip. A sparkly, crystal chandelier sent fractals of light across the red carpet, and dark wood wainscoting. All familiar, though the hostess was nowhere to be found. Avery couldn’t remember a time where the hostess’ desk was empty, and it felt a bit shocking. After all, the desk hid a loaded weapon large enough to fell an elephant.
“When they moved their business to the states, Pete’s dad took it off their restaurant there, and brought the door with them,” she said.
Vincent’s hand was on her waist as they waited for the hostess. Soon, a blond, young, woman wearing a tight skirt and feminine, flouncy blouse, waved from the back of the restaurant, and smiled. Avery smiled back, while noting that tables were still lined up in familiar diagonal rows, still draped in white linen, and topped with cloth napkins, stemware, and silverware. Nothing had changed here. Still thirty tables, mostly filled with middle-aged adults. The restaurant wasn’t very large, but it was still bustling. Always had been.
“Who’s Pete?” Vincent whispered, watching the hostess’s slow, hips-swaying approach that Avery ascribed to inordinately high heels.
“Pete’s the owner.” Avery attempted to reacclimate to this place, to breathe through her nerves. She’d never thought she’d come back here, so the smells of sauce and pasta on to boil hit her with a powerful wave of nostalgia. Memories returned of tables brimming with good food, surrounded by family and friends, and sounds of loud, raucous laughter. So many happy moments had happened here. It made her miss her parents, her cousins, her aunts and uncles. So many gone, murdered.
Being back in this restaurant was breaking her heart.
She was risking her life being here, but she needed to speak with Pete. And his cook, Vito? His Shrimp Scampi was to die for.
The hostess finally arrived, out of breath and smiling brightly, and then stepped behind the waist-height, wooden desk. Avery hadn’t see anyone she knew in the dining area, so she felt it safe enough to direct her attention to the hostess. A new girl. Up close, Avery saw the blond came from a bottle, and her skirt showed more leg than allowed at St. Bernadette’s Parochial School down the street. Totally Pete’s type.
Avery reached behind the desk, and wrapped her hand around the familiar weight of a 500 Smith & Wesson revolver. Some things never changed, she thought, hiding the weapon under her leather jacket. The hostess startled, and opened her mouth repeatedly, like a guppy.
“Sweetheart,” Avery said to the blond, “don’t ever use this gun. It will knock you on your ass and the recoil will smash your pretty face. Everyone will get a good laugh, but you’ll be looking through shiners for a month. We’ll seat ourselves. And don’t worry. I’ll return the revolver before we leave.” Avery walked deeper into the restaurant, glad that Vincent stayed close. Things were about to get hairy.
“What are you doing?” he said, sounding more casual than he had to be feeling. A 500 Smith & Wesson had a way of making anyone nervous.
“I announced my arrival,” Avery said, “and stopped anyone from using this to shoot us. It won’t be long now.” Other than a slight elevation of his brows, he seemed calm as she chose a corner booth. It allowed both she and Vincent to sit with their backs to the wall, facing the restaurant’s entrance. Once she was positioned, she put the revolver on her lap for easy access.
“We’re here for a key, right?” he said.
“Yeah.” A dark-haired waitress arrived at the table, her curls in a high ponytail. She was young and unsure, and approached reluctantly. Avery smiled. “Two Shrimp Scampi’s and a pot of coffee.” The girl nodded and then rushed into the kitchen. “You’re going to love the Scampi. Family recipe.”
He smiled, but it didn’t seem authentic. “Family, huh?” She supposed he was referring to the restaurant’s syndicate connection. Well, it wasn’t as if she could deny it, so she let the remark hang in the air between them. “I love Scampi. Will we survive long enough to enjoy it?”
She avoided his gaze. “Too soon to tell.”
“If these people are so dangerous, why would you trust their food? They might poison you.”
“I can think of worse ways to die than by Mama Patron’s recipe for Shrimp Scampi,” she said. “But they’d assume if I had the nerve to come here, it would be sanctioned by Dante. Don’t worry. If we die here, it won’t be by poison.” Her mouth watered thinking about the Scampi. It would be her last chance to taste it. After this meeting, she’d be ostracized, never welcomed again. Or dead.
His cheek kicked up. “Is it strange that I find your assurances comforting?”
Avery lifted the large revolver to the table’s top, and covered it with her napkin, her finger on the trigger just in case bad luck came sooner than even she feared. Some of Dante’s men were in the kitchen. “Be ready. You’ll either taste the best Scampi of your life, or contract killers are about to spill from the kitchen, and we’re about to have a gunfight with people who have never lost.”
Vincent followed her example, slipping his gun from his holster, setting it on the table, and covering it with his cloth napkin. “I vote Scampi.”
Her upper lip broke out into a sweat, and her heart raced as she stared at the kitchen’s swinging doors. “Ah, Vincent? I wanted to thank you.”
He also kept his gaze on the kitchen doors. “Yeah? For what?”
Lips compressed, she knew she should tell him now. They might not have a later. “Last three days. You being there for me. I’m not used to that, and it means a lot.”
He nodded, but kept his eyes fixed on the doors. “Avery?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m making love to you before I die, so we’re not dying. Not today, anyway.”
She smiled and felt her body flush with joy.
Then the kitchen doors opened and she shut that shit down. The key to getting Millie back just walked in the room.
* * * *
People were staring, and normally, Vincent wouldn’t have a problem with that, but he and Avery were hiding guns under napkins on the table. It was awkward. He didn’t know whether to expect sirens, or bullets, and if that wasn’t bad enough, the tiny twitch on Avery’s right eyelid was going batshit crazy.
When their waitress and an older man, about five nine, balding, mid-sixties, wearing a tan suit, burst through the kitchen doors, Vincent heard Avery pull back the hammer on the Smith & Wesson. When more wait staff came through and served them coffee, two plates of Scampi, bread, salad, and dipping sauce, the man held back, watching them watch him. Avery lifted her fork just as he pivoted to the hostess desk, and picked up a phone.
Her moan of pleasure, caught Vincent’s full attention. “How can you eat?” he said.
She licked her lips, and swirled her fork in the pasta using her left hand, the one not clutching a revolver under a napkin. “You’ll never taste a better Scampi.”
He surveilled the room, didn’t see any movement beyond the everyday, so he also ate, using his left hand, like Avery was, which wasn’t easy. But no way was he taking his finger off the trigger. Avery kept her eye on the guy, who now had his back to them.
“Oh, wow.” It was Vincent’s turn to moan. “This has ruined me for other Scampi.”
“Right? I told you. It’s the gravy.” She nodded solemnly, lifting the pasta to her mouth. “Better than sex.” He coughed as food went down the wrong way. “You okay?” she said. Her concern, however, didn’t interrupt her food orgy.
“You’ve been doing it wrong,” he croaked, doing his best to breathe again.
“Hmm?”
“If you think this Scampi is better than sex.” He speared another shrimp. “You’ve been doing it wrong.” He popped it into his mouth, saw the guy hang up the phone, and heard Avery put her fork down. They both had eyes on the guy as he made his way to the table.
After a quick, if self-conscious glance over his shoulder, the man sat across from Avery. “Don’t forget to return my revolver when you leave,” he said. “It has sentimental value.” He placed a smartphone on the table.
“I know who gave it to you.” She waved her fork between Vincent and the man in the tan suit. “Pete, Vincent, Vincent, Pete.” She speared a shrimp. “You won’t mind if I keep eating. It’s been a while.”
“Three years.” He indicated Vincent with a tilt of his head, not looking at him. “Vincent, huh?”
“I’m her bodyguard,” he said.
Pete laughed, as if Vincent had made a joke. “Is he for real?”
Avery grabbed Pete’s phone with her left hand, and had her own laugh when she got the passcode on the first try. “You really need to change your passcode, Pete. Your birth date is too obvious.” Pete slowly lowered his hands to his lap.
Vincent adjusted the napkin to show the muzzle of his gun, aimed at Pete. “Keep your hands where I can see them.” Pete splayed his hands on the tablecloth, revealing a pinky ring like Avery’s.
“Control your bodyguard, Avery.”
“Now where would the fun in that be?” She kept her gaze on his phone. Her thumb worked fast, typing something. “Now pay attention. I’m inputting my number into your contact list. Get it to Dante. I need to speak with him.” Then she tossed the phone back on the table and picked up her fork again. “This is delicious.” She speared the pasta, and twisted her fork. “You should patent the recipe. You’d make millions. Maybe you could finally get that promised place in Boca for your mom. Get her out of that steaming kitchen.” She lifted the pasta to her mouth, and the way she enjoyed it was one of the most sensuous things Vincent had ever seen. Food porn.
“Mom retired last year. Heart attack. She’s in a home nearby.” Pete shrugged. “I visit her every day. That seems to make her happy.”
Vincent looked between Avery and Pete. From all of Avery’s earlier warnings, and their precaution of pointing guns at this man, Vincent had expected more than conversation over Scampi. Where were the nest of contract killers? So far, there’d only been a blond and a rude guy. This meet was more family squabble, then gun fight. Though, as promised, the food was great. He took another bite.
“She wanted Boca, Pete. She earned it,” she said. Yup, sure sounded like a family argument.
“What do you care? You left.” Pete squirmed. “Look. I got things to do. I can’t do what you want.”
She narrowed her eyes. “What?”
Pete shook his head. “Things are different. Mr. Coppola’s circle is smaller now.”
Avery licked her lips, wiped her mouth with her napkin, purposefully revealing the 500 Smith & Wesson. No, her move wasn’t subtle, but it was effective. Pete sat up straighter. “You’ll give him my number.”
Pete grimaced. “Why would Dante want anything to do with you? He has everything he wants. He has Millie. In a few years, that girl will be old enough to marry. She doesn’t have your skills—”
“Shut up, Pete.” Avery blanched.
“But you proved teachable.” He snickered, wiggling his eyebrows in a crass manner, just in case his meaning wasn’t crystal clear. “Millie will make Dante a good wife.” Then he dropped his smile, and grabbed Vincent’s steak knife, lunging for her. “Traitor!”
Avery buried her fork in Pete’s wrist before the knife even got near her, and it flew, skittering toward a neighboring table. Pete didn’t scream, but rather clutched his wrist, closed his eyes and inhaled sharply through his nose. Avery pushed her plate away, as if taking a moment to gather her composure.
Pete pulled the fork from his wrist, and placed it on Avery’s plate.
“Give Dante my message,” she said, her right eye twitching. “And you won’t see me again. Don’t make me come back, Pete. We clear?”
Vincent couldn’t take his eyes off them, and his finger felt heavy on his gun’s trigger. Pete said Dante had Millie, and Avery was anything but surprised.
“Why me?” Pete had grown pale; fear and pain having replaced his arrogance. “Why pick on me?”
Avery produced a smile both kind and sad. “Because, Pete, you have the best Scampi in town.” She scooted from behind the table, gun pointed at Pete. “Put lunch on Dante’s tab. I’m sure he’s good for it.”
Pete bled on the white tablecloth, and he was sweating. “I’ll get the message to him.” The smell of fear and Scampi would forever be linked in Vincent’s mind.
Her gaze hardened. “And move your mom to Boca. She’s earned it.”
Vincent grabbed her elbow and hustled her to the exit. She paused at the hostess desk as Vincent opened the door, peering outside. Emptying the revolver’s cylinder of bullets, she tossed them over her shoulder, then inexplicably replaced the gun back behind the desk.
“It was a present from his mom,” she explained, hurrying outside. “We don’t need it, and it does have a kick, which truthfully,” she scanned the parking lot, “is probably why his mother gave it to him. Pete is a prick, if you hadn’t noticed.”
He was remembering the fork in his wrist. “I noticed a lot of things.” He hurried her toward the car. “Turned me off Scampi for life.”
Her face pinched, and he saw her defensiveness. “He suggested my ten-year-old sister marry Dante. Who do you think put that idea into his head?” She clenched her teeth, shaking her head. “Dante is playing mind games.”
“Are you saying Pete lied? That he does have Coppola’s ear?”
She scoffed, hurrying past cars, moving toward the edge of the lot where he’d parked. “Of course, Pete lied.”
“And Dante has Millie.” She didn’t deny it. “What about the key? For the files?”
She glanced at him. “Pete was the key. And I already told you. There are no files.”
“Dammit, Avery.” All the missing pieces fell into place. All Avery’s weird comments, odd choices, and it doesn’t matters now made sense. This had always been about Millie. It was never about the files. “You should have said something. Why didn’t you say something?” He pulled out his phone, needing to call Benton and tell him Millie had been kidnapped.
Avery held out her hand, avoiding his gaze as he paced next to her. “I have to sit down, or I’ll fall down. Give me the keys,” she said, swaying on her feet. She’d lost all the color in her cheeks, though sweat beaded on her forehead.
“I have to read Benton in.” He handed her the car keys. Benton wouldn’t take this news well, and Vincent wasn’t sure how to control the narrative. There’d be consequences for Avery’s deception.
She opened the car, and slid inside. “I know. Do it.” She slammed the door behind her, leaving him to the chore.
“Shit.” He turned his back, attempting to hide his unease as he dialed. He still wasn’t sure what to say to his team leader. When Benton’s clipped greeting sounded in his ear, Vincent’s stomach clenched as he hesitated to speak.
“Modena?”
The sedan’s engine turned over. Vincent pivoted toward the car, and saw she’d slipped behind the wheel, and was now driving away. Vincent lunged for the door knob. It was locked. He slammed his palm against the side window. “Stop, Avery! Open the door now!”
Eyes forward, she peeled out, showering him with grit and dirt from the parking lot’s gravel surface. Then she was on the road, driving off, him running after her. When he reached the main drag, he slowed his gait, feeling like a fool.
Benton was still on the line, yelling. Vincent pressed the phone to his ear. “She’s gone. Avery played us from the beginning. We came to Jersey because this is where her sister is. Millie was kidnapped by Dante Coppola.”
“Did she give you the files?” Benton said.
Vincent winced. “You’re not hearing me. There are no files. Avery spent two days telling us she didn’t have them, before she flipped her story. Now, she’s saying they don’t exist again. I’m thinking we need to believe her this time. The files are a false lead, Benton. I’m sorry.” Benton swore up a blue streak, and there seemed no end to it, though the jist was he didn’t want to believe Vincent’s conclusion. “Listen, I’m stranded in Jersey City, and she has ten thousand dollars of FBI money in the trunk. She’s not thinking clearly, and I don’t know what she’s going to do. We need to find her and stop her before she does something crazy.”
There was silence on the other end. Then Vincent heard a sigh of disgust. “Go home, Modena. You’re compromised.”
“What? No way. Where are you?”
“Twenty minutes away,” he said.
“Pick me up!” No fucking way this was ending now. Not this way.
“Go home.”
“We get a warrant,” Vincent said. “Who cares how we bring Coppola down, as long as we do it? Coppola kidnapped Millie Toner. Are you listening to me? Last I checked, that’s a federal crime. Avery is waiting for him to contact her for an exchange. Let’s use her phone to track her. Maybe your intel is right. Maybe she’s leveraging the files to get Millie back. One way or the other, we get Coppola on kidnapping charges.”
There was more silence on the line, and just as Vincent took a breath to continue arguing, Benton sighed. “Give me her number.”
He did. “Call me when you get the trace.”
Vincent disconnected the line, slipped his phone back into his pocket, and then started walking. He couldn’t wait here. He had no idea what Pete would do, maybe call in his cavalry, but Vincent didn’t want to wait around to find out.
Dante Coppola kidnapped Avery’s sister. Damn. Looking back, he supposed she’d tried to tell him in so many ways; warning him that Millie had to come first, her erratic behavior after meeting “Fingers” Pinnella. He wished she’d trusted him enough to confide in him. He wished a lot of things, but mostly he wished he didn’t feel so betrayed.