Double Blind (15 page)

“What?” I snap, grabbing the glass of wine and draining it.

“I think you should leave the girl alone.”

“Oh, so now who I fuck is your business?”

I don’t care if he’s the boss.

“I’m just saying, you might regret it.”

What the fuck is that supposed to mean?

My jacket pocket buzzes and my hand dives into my pocket. I glance at the black screen and a small shock runs through me.

Maria.

Adriana’s roommate. What does she want? I jam it against my ear.

“What?”

“Hi Vince, it’s Maria. You know—”

“I know who you are. Why are you calling me?”

“Well, it’s about Adriana.”

My fingers bite into the phone. “Adriana and I broke up, Maria.”

She chooses to ignore that fact. “Vince, she’s in pretty bad shape. She’s been drinking nonstop and she dropped all her classes.”

My chest tightens. She dropped her classes? Jesus.

I don’t care, I don’t care. I repeat it like a mantra in my head, but it doesn’t make a fucking difference. I do care. Even if she’s a fucking bitch and a liar. There’s also the fact that Carmine and her make no sense together.

 “I don’t see how any of that is my problem anymore.”

Her voice grows impatient. “Oh, come on, Vincent. I know you guys are going through a rough patch—”

Rough patch?

“She is fucking someone else, Maria. I want nothing to do with her anymore.”

“No, she’s not! I don’t think she’s dating him, Vince. She hasn’t spent a night away from here. Something is wrong with her. Something’s not right.”

I try to ignore the glee soaring in my chest.

“Tell somebody who cares.”

“Vince, you’re all she has. She doesn’t have any family—”

I slam the phone on the table, ending the conversation.

Jack’s eyes narrow at me. “Who was that?”

“Her bitch friend trying to get me to help Adriana with her drinking problem. Like I give a fuck.”

But my heart pounds with the possibility that maybe, maybe Maria is right. I know deep down that I’m still in love with her. I can’t rip it out of my chest, as much as I want to.

You’re acting like a fucking jerk-off. Fuck Blondie and forget about that bitch.

Adriana’s body lays on the floor, her eyes glazed as her hands curl around a bottle, choking on her own vomit. A chill grips my spine like icy fingers running down my back. Whatever my feelings are for her, I don’t want that to happen.

And it’s my fault that she no longer has a mother. I remember the promise I made to her. To take care of her.

But she’s not mine anymore.

I glance down at my plate at the half-finished
stracatto
, but my appetite is long gone.

Why did she have to fucking call me?

There is a loud bang at the entrance and low, male yells. All thoughts of Adriana vanish as male choruses of “Freeze!” make me sit up straight.

I’m already grabbing the piece strapped to my ankle. Truth be told, I never really got over the whole restaurant shooting. I feel like I’m trapped in one of my nightmares. Fuck, not again.
No
—

“Put it down, Vince,” Jack says. “We’re being raided.”

Men in business suits flash their badges as men in FBI vests prowl through the restaurant, weapons drawn.

Oh, fuck.

Shaking, I stand up with Jack and we make a beeline for the kitchens.

Don’t run. Just walk calmly. We need to get the fuck out of there before they get us.

We enter the steam filled kitchens, my eyes focusing on the glowing, red EXIT sign. The kitchen staff look up as we enter.

“Mr. Cesare—Vincent!” A gruff voice yells out my name from behind.

Fuck.

I watch hopelessly as Jack hurries through the back of the restaurant. I turn around. A balding FBI agent flashes his badge to me.

“You’re under arrest.”

* * *

Tax fraud.

Money laundering.

I fume as I sit behind a solid table, cameras pointed in my direction as I stare into the two-way mirrors. Bright lights blast me overhead. I guess that it’s supposed to bother me. I grin into the mirrors and flash those cocksuckers the bird.

The balding prick sits across from me. He tries to scare me into talking by throwing out how many years I’ll get in prison if I don’t cooperate. “Their sources” led them to my arrest. If convicted, I’ll spend a minimum of thirty-five years in jail. The lies pour from his mouth as another prick leans over me, his tie almost touching my face. I guess he’s trying to intimidate me.

Are you fucking kidding me?
I could snap him in half if I wanted to.

A smile spreads over my face as he gives me what I’m sure he thinks is a threatening leer. “You’re wasting your time. I’m not going to talk.”

“You’re not thinking straight. We’ve had agents at that restaurant for weeks. We know you use it as a front.”

No fucking way that’s possible. All lies. Only a few people know. The manager of the restaurant, whose pockets are lined so deeply there’s no way he’ll talk, Jack, me, and maybe a few others in my crew.

The blood drains from my head. I feel weak.

The rat. The informant, whoever he is, telling my business to the feds. Only me. Why? Why haven’t the others been targeted?

“I don’t know anything about that. I’d like to speak to my lawyer.”

I’ve said that phrase so many times that it’s practically burned in my brain. It could be the manager. Someone might have squeezed him to give up documentation that would prove all this shit. I’ll have a fucking talk with him.

Who the fuck would be so stupid?

Whoever they are, they’ll know that I know by now.

“We’re willing to take information about the Rizzo Crime Family. We know that there’s been friction, despite the truce you managed to forge.”

The more he talks, the harder my heart pounds. I’m going to find this rat fuck, and when I do, I’ll cut off his balls and feed them to the dogs. Never in a million years would I rat on them, even though I hate Tony. I swore an oath. We don’t talk to the police, even about our enemies.

I swallow a lump in my throat. “I’d like to speak to my lawyer.”

“I told you it was a waste of time.” The asshole leaning over my chair finally walks away, adjusting his tie.

Agent Palmer gathers the manila folder in his hands and fixes me with a heavy stare. “He might not want to talk, but maybe your soldiers will. Maybe that short-tempered guy. What’s his name? Oh yeah, Nicky Santoro. He already has a grudge against you for not making captain.”

How. The. Fuck. Does. He. Know. That.

I focus on keeping my face smooth. Blank. Don’t let them on to anything.

The balding, humorless prick leaves me in the interrogation room as two cops in plainclothes grab my arms, shoving me roughly. My shoulder jams into the doorframe.

“Hey, at least buy me dinner first.” I give him a wicked grin that he doesn’t return.

Cops are all the same. Egomaniac assholes with a lust for power. The higher up they are, the worse they get.

“Fucking waste of space
guido
.”

He just wants me to rise to the bait.

The cop grabs my arm and leads me down the hall, back to the holding cell.

“If I didn’t do my job, you assholes wouldn’t have one. You’re welcome.”

“Are you done running your mouth?”

“Are you done jerkin’ off?”

He unlocks the holding cell and I wink at him before he shoves me inside.

“Don’t go anywhere.”

* * *

Jack’s veined hands drum in front of me restlessly over the washing machine as he watches me, waiting for me to tell him what I know. That there’s an informant in our crew. He’s still dressed in his exercise clothes. Tracksuit and tank top. He still intimidates me. I know he can have me killed in a blink of an eye and that I’d probably never see it coming.

That’s why I’m so nervous to tell him that there’s a rat.

It took hours to bail out of my holding cell, then I met with my lawyer, and then I drove straight to Long Island to Jack’s house. I can’t keep it from him any longer. Doing so risks my life, and the lives of everyone in the family.

Sorry, Adriana. I can’t protect you anymore.

“When’s your court date?”

“In a few weeks.” My hands run over my suit, flattening it over and over again. “I’ve got to tell you something.”

Jack sighs, knowing that my reluctance to speak is code for, “I fucked up.”

“The feds picked up Adriana a few months ago. They didn’t charge her, they just wanted information. She didn’t talk.”

I wait for the explosion of rage, for his hands to wrap around my throat and slam me against the wall, but none of it happens.

He just stands there, watching me.

I guess I’ll keep talking.

“Ever since then, I knew there was a rat in my crew. They know about the—what happened at one of my games. They knew Adriana was working for me. I didn’t want to tell you because I knew you didn’t trust her.”

And I knew you would want her dead.

Still, he doesn’t move a muscle. He doesn’t look at all surprised. “Any leads?”

I shake my head, balling my fist against my leg.

“It just so happens that Tony let me know about his concern that there might be an informant in his crew. It’s possible that rat could be double-dealing with the police department, giving up information on both our crews.”

I rake my fingers through my hair. “Jesus.”

His lip curls. “That still doesn’t change the fact that you should have told me the
second
you knew Adriana was picked up by them. I ought to bash your fucking face in.”

The basement rings with Jack’s cruel voice. When I speak, my tone is much lower.

“You would have killed her, and I was in love. What do you want me to say, Jack?” My voice trembles. “She turned out to be a fucking liar. Hell, maybe she did talk.”

“No, she didn’t.”

The conviction in which he says it stuns me. Why is he suddenly on her side? What am I missing? He never trusted her. Jack let me know every fucking day that he didn’t approve.

“How are you so sure?”

“She wouldn’t do that to you.”

Now that we’re broken up, she’s a saint?

“She’s fucking—”

Jack loses his patience. “Jesus Christ, you are so fucking stupid!”

For the first time, Jack’s voice raises to the ceiling. He even smashes his fist against the washing machine, which vibrates like a gong.

I can’t even begin to understand what the fuck is going on.

“I’m going to go.” I don’t think I can take much more of this. Jack’s strange unconcern with the rat alarms me much more than his statements about Adriana.

“Where the hell are you going?”

“To your strip club. Nicky’s there.”

“Don’t do anything stupid!” he calls out to me as I ascend the staircase.

* * *

Big, fake tits. As far as the eye can see.

Topless girls in G-strings strut on a stage lit up in deep, purple lights. Johns are lined about around the circular perimeter, clutching one dollars bills in one hand and their cocks in the other. In my black suit, I’m bathed in darkness.

Strip clubs were never really my thing, but Nicky spends a lot of time here. At the bar, I see Nicky nursing a drink as he watches the girls on stage. My insides tense up.

Even though I know that FBI fuckhead was wrong, I’m still rattled by what he said. I still keep thinking, what if? What if Nicky really was pissed off enough to do something stupid? It wouldn’t be the first time.

A stripper with balloons for tits notices me as she finishing a lap dance. “Hi, Vince!”

“Hey, sweetie.” I give her a quick, cursory nod. “I gotta go talk to Nicky.”

Nicky sees me approach and slides off the stool, extending a short arm to me. “Oh, he’s back from the dead! How’ve you been?”

His small, round face grins widely. He has no clue what’s been going on.

“My restaurant was raided by those fed cocksuckers. They seized everything.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah. I don’t got enough on my fucking plate?”

He pats my back, looking horrified. “Jesus. Have a drink with me.”

Yeah, I think I will.

I sink into the stool with Nicky, who still watches me, dumbstruck.

“I’ll have a whiskey.”

The glass slides into my hand and as soon as I smell the harsh liquid, I remember Maria’s plea for help. My lips burn when it glides down my throat, adding to the bitterness I’m already choked with.

“You’re still pissed off about Adriana, aren’t you?”

I slam my glass on the table as Nicky’s eyebrows crease. “I can’t believe she’s with that piece of shit, that’s all.”

He laughs. “Yeah, I saw them together the other day. She has no fucking idea what she’s walking into.” He takes another drink.

That’s a weird thing to say.

“What are you talking about?”

Nicky’s small dark eyes suddenly look away. “Are you sure that you want to know?”

I hate these goddamn games. “Just tell me, Nick.”

Nicky shrugs his shoulders, looking flustered. “One of the Rizzo guys told me some stories about him. The man has problems. He beat a stripper to death while he was high on coke.”

Holy fuck.

This is the man she prefers?

“Why?”

He shrugs, suddenly letting out a bizarre laugh. “Who the fuck knows? Maybe she didn’t want to suck his dick. Anyway, he did it right outside of the club. Tony forced him to pay off her family. She was just a whore, but still.”

The empty glass might shatter in my hands, because I’m holding it so hard. “Jesus,” I finally spit out.

“As far as I know, it was only one incident. Maybe it’s not a big deal.” Nicky shrugs.

I stare at him. “I fucking doubt that.”

Sickness coats my stomach and I suddenly feel a crawling, disgusting emptiness. It expands like a sinkhole, and everything collapses inside. I slam the drink on the bar and wipe my hands on my knees.

I need to tell her.

“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me sooner?”

He looks up from his drink, surprised. “I thought—I mean you guys broke up, so it didn’t really matter.”

Still hazy from the whiskey, I stand up.