Now

Evan

IMPATIENTLY TAPPING THE SCREEN of my phone, I wait for Coop to arrive. He’s five minutes late, and I don’t tolerate tardiness. That, among other things, was ingrained in me during my time in the Army. Punctuality was a given, no excuses.

It’s been nearly a month since I put him on Paola Mari and my sister, Anna. Yes, she’s my sister. Everything Paola said in her letter has been verified.

While undercover, Tommie and I used the dark net and learned about my father being involved with a woman connected to the mafia. From what we gathered, it didn’t end well. When we tried to find out the details, we only got so far.

In most cases, people would clam up when we asked too many questions, and that’s saying something, given everyone in there is scum with no scruples and even less fear.

While I couldn’t get all the details, at that point I knew all I needed to about my father. I just wanted out so I could get back to my life. I figured the added time and danger to dig deeper wasn’t worth it. I could guess what happened, and the thought had me hating him even more, if that was even possible.

My imagination didn’t come close to the truth. This time, having more of the details, thanks to Paola, Tommie was able to confirm everything Paola said.

My blood still boils whenever I mull over Tommie’s briefing weeks ago. My father couldn’t possibly be more of a disappointment.

“Van, you want the whole story or just main ideas?” Tommie doesn’t ask that unless she knows I won’t like what she’s found out.

“Give it to me, and Tommie, don’t leave anything out.”

Sitting cross-legged on the couch in my office, she sighs as she wraps up her long hair. It’s her tell. When she gets nervous or uncomfortable, she usually plays with her hair, twisting the long locks into a bun on the top of her head.

My guess is, before we’re done, she’ll have put it up and unraveled it at least half a dozen times. Her posture and her bouncing knee tell me all I need to know.

Tommie knows everything. She’s the only one who was with me every step of the way. I needed her, otherwise I would have done it on my own. I couldn’t have created the Monk and infiltrated the mob like I did, unseen, without her. She was a lifesaver, and I owe her big time, although she’ll say we’re even because of what I did for her.

She also did other things that she hated, but she did them for me, like setting up my eyes and ears on Carys while I was gone. She fought me tooth and nail on it and even threatened to quit, although she never would. We’re more than boss and employee, and she knows it. The one thing she refused to do was put any devices in Carys’s bedroom.

At first it pissed me off, but once Greg was on the scene, I was thankful Tommie hadn’t listened to me. There were several times I destroyed my equipment in a fit of rage when they would go at it in other areas of the apartment, but fortunately, those were few and far between.

The sharp pain is still burrowed in my chest from seeing Carys and Greg together. It’s seared in my brain, and as much as I wish I could, I can’t unsee that shit.

With a deep inhale, she starts, “Okay, Renata Mari was the only child of Franco and Paola Mari. She was young and beautiful and promised to Angelo Gatti. At the time, he was an up and coming soldier, and rumor had it, soon to be a made man. Today, he’s king shit. The Gatti crew is one of the most respected, and he’s one of the highest earners for the Cavallo family.”

“What happened to Renata? How’d she die?”

Swallowing hard, she continues, “This is where it gets tricky and murky because there was some talk, but no one knows for sure. She vanished once they discovered she was pregnant. From what I can tell, your father didn’t know about it, but his involvement with her put him on Gatti’s hit list. That’s why he was murdered. Sure, with his ongoing debt and missing payments, he was headed in that direction, but tainting Renata and ruining Gatti’s nuptials was the real reason.

“We didn’t get this far while you were the Monk because this is one of those things that most people know but no one talks about. Franco has made it known that if you talk about his daughter, so much as say her name, you’ll be lucky if you only lose your tongue. This whole thing is a huge disgrace and also ruined Franco’s plan for building allegiances with other family members.”

“How’d she die?” It’s likely not going to be pretty, but I need to hear it.

“She was alone when she went into labor. Her father banished her to a convent. There were complications and no one was there to help her. She bled out and the baby almost died, too. One of the nuns found her when she came to bring her dinner. It was too late for Renata, but they saved the baby. Then, like Paola said in her letter, the baby ended up with Tina Scorvino, Paola’s sister.”

Scorvino. I know the name—her husband was an enforcer for the Cavallos and was killed in a shootout. That would explain her being able to take the baby.

“Was her husband Ignacio?”

“Yeah. She raised Anna with no interference from Franco and Paola, although he does visit, and from what Paola says, he may see Anna as a means to building a bridge with another family.”

Cutting through my thoughts, Coop slides into the chair across from me. He asked to meet at a coffee shop close to Union Square.

“Hey, Van, sorry.” He’s out of breath. “Don’t look right now, but the woman coming in, that’s Gianna.”

Unable to heed his advice, my head swivels to the door, where a petite woman, so young and small that I want to say girl, but she’s twenty-four, walks into the coffee shop we are in. Her head is down, like she’s fixated on her phone, but she’s stealing furtive glances around her. She’s not daring to look anyone straight on.

Her brown leather tote is slung over her shoulder with books peeking out, and long strands of espresso-colored hair have escaped from the tie around her head. When she lifts her eyes to talk to the barista, I’m able to get a good look at her face.

I suck in a jagged breath and it catches in my throat. Shit, she’s me—well, the female version of me, with the same whiskey eyes and hair color.

“Way to be subtle,” Coop says.

Without taking my eyes off her, my lips curl into a fake snarl.

“She comes here daily, usually grabs a coffee and leaves. She’s enrolled in a few classes at NYU. She doesn’t have a major and she sticks to herself. No friends or boyfriend. She lives by herself at her aunt’s place. Her aunt’s in palliative care.”

His tone is hushed as we both track her movements to the condiment station, where she adds cream and sugar to her coffee. Almost tentatively, she skims the coffee shop quickly, too quickly to properly gauge her surroundings.

Our eyes meet for a fraction of a second before she continues in search of a table. Spotting one in the back, she turns away from us, head bowed, and strolls in that direction.

“Anyone else watching her?”

“Yep. There’s always someone on her. I got Tommie to do some digging. They’re Mari’s guys. She’s aware of being watched. I’ve seen her acknowledge them a couple times. They’re not obvious, but they aren’t discreet either.”

“Any indication you’ve been spotted?”

Taking his elbows off the table, Coop stretches back into the chair and folds his arms over his wide chest. His bright smile slowly takes shape as we eye each other. I like this guy, but sometimes his cocky, self-assured attitude pisses me off.

“Not a chance. I’ve got guys on her in four-hour shifts. Sometimes, if we’ve got the men, it’s two-hour shifts. This is only my third time on her in the past month. Each time, I’ve been sure to not let Mari’s guy spot me, and I’ve never seen today’s guy before.”

Satisfied with his answer, I shift the conversation to another pressing matter.

“And Paola?”

“She’s been a bit trickier. She’s watched by two guys. One usually stays with the car, the other goes everywhere she does. Franco doesn’t take chances.”

Coop picks up the swizzle stick he used to stir his coffee and places it in his mouth like a toothpick. He chews lazily on the plastic as I count to ten. Sensing my patience thinning, he continues.

“But she’s got a routine. Like clockwork, she goes to church three times a week. Always Sunday Mass with her husband and practically the entire mob. Then she goes on her own on Tuesdays and Fridays. Most times, she lights a candle and prays. Sometimes she’ll go to confession or talk to the priest. She’s usually there for about an hour.”

“And her security? The bodyguard?”

“They both stay outside. Her bodyguard checks the church first, then waits outside with the other guy. That’s your best bet. Those are the only times she’s alone. Tommie and I can’t figure out how she just waltzed into The Waters without her husband catching wind of it, but we don’t think he knows.”

I nod and push for more as I plan how I’ll approach her. “Tell me about the church, how I should do it and when.”

We spend the next thirty minutes strategizing for how I’ll approach Paola. All the while, I find myself distracted. My mind and attention are on my sister where she sits alone in the back of the coffee shop.

She’s virtually unnoticeable in the way she’s sitting, hunched over, making herself smaller than she already is. She never looks up or around at anything or anyone. My heart pinches with regret at what I have to do. She’s oblivious to who I am and how I’m about to rock her world.

“Coop, you did good, real good. I think it’s time I pay Mrs. Mari a visit.”