Deception (Infidelity #3)

Carmine’s eyes widened. “Or are you too busy to take a trip with my son?”

Of course it didn’t go unnoticed. “No, sir, I’d be happy to go to California.”

“I’ve never asked you to help the family before, but, son, I need to know where your loyalties lie. After all, you have been negotiating with others and not with me.”

Loyalties?

“I assure you that my loyalties—”

“Words. It’s all words until I see evidence with my own eyes.”

“May I ask,” I began, “what this job will entail?”

Carmine shrugged. “It isn’t a family connection. It’s a debt—a favor. A man who once helped me asked me for assistance. That’s what we do: we help our friends. Right, son?”

“Yes, of course.”

“This man,” Carmine said, “has a problem and asked that we help him get rid of it.”

My pulse raced. His words between the lines were louder than the ones he spoke. I’d lived around it, even before Angelina. After all, my father worked the docks. I knew the score. I knew what was done, but I’d never participated, not in anything of this magnitude. I’d arranged money laundering, even allowing my reputable business to service those needs. I’d collected debts—financial debts—but never had I participated in murder.

“Son, you want my help. I’m requiring yours in exchange. After the jewelry stores, there will be other businesses, other endeavors. I’d like to offer my allegiance. I need to know it’s reciprocated. Is that a problem?”

The knots in my stomach painfully twisted. “No, sir. No problem.”

“Tomorrow.”

I looked around the office before my eyes settled again on Carmine. “Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow, you and Vincent will help my friend. It’ll look like an accident—quiet and quick. It needs to happen fast. This problem is due back to his home in Savannah in a few days and if he returns, well, let’s just say, my friend won’t be happy.”

“Sir, I’ve never…”

“But this time, Vincent, he’ll teach you. You’ll learn. You’ll witness and participate.” And then you too will be indebted to the Costellos for their silence.

Carmine didn’t need to say the last part. It was more than implied.

“Yes, sir.”

“And,” Carmine said, “when you return, I’ll not only consider your request for the jewelry stores, but I’ll have a gift for my Angelina.”

“A gift?”

“Let’s not ruin the surprise. Go. Come back when it’s done. The future is full of possibilities.” Carmine stood and walked to my side of the desk. With his hand upon my shoulder, he smiled. “Because, son, we’re family.”





I SAT BESIDE Vincent at a table in the hotel bar. Our backs were against the wall as we watched the red-haired Irishman at the bar. He wasn’t drinking alcohol, like the other businessmen around him. Instead, I’d heard him order his meal with a sweet tea. Stupid Southerners. Alcohol could plausibly cause an accident. Not so much sweet tea.

“Go talk to him,” Vinny said with a tilt of his head.

The knots from yesterday’s meeting with Carmine had yet to unwind. If anything they’d grown larger and tighter. My gaze went back to the man. I didn’t want to talk to him, get to know him, or even be associated with him. Why? Why would I want to do that?

I had so many fucking questions that I’d never be able to ask.

Too deep. I’m in too fucking deep.

“Talk to him? Why?” I asked.

“Because an accident needs to look like an accident. Falling from a plane, if the person don’t fly, looks suspicious. We need to know his likes and dislikes.”

“Like a fucking dating service?”

Vincent’s eyes narrowed, reminding me of my wife’s. “Like a job. You’re a negotiator, go talk.”

That fucking word—negotiator. It was Carmine all over again.

“Find out what he likes,” Vincent said, “what will help us. What will work. I’ll be here, waiting.”

I turned my stare from the man at the bar to my cousin-in-law. “I don’t want this for Lennox.”

Vincent’s brow furrowed. “You have balls. I’ll give you that.”

“I mean it. I married Angelina. I made my requests and ambitions known. One day it’ll be you in the large house with the goons at your side. I don’t want this for Lennox.”

“This life is an honor. I’m taking after my father, who took after his. It’s what Luca will do, what he should do. The honorable thing. You don’t want your son to be honorable?”

“I want my son to have choices.”

“Family isn’t a choice,” Vincent said.

“It can be. It’ll be your choice.”

“Then don’t disappoint me or my father. The future isn’t written.”

It wasn’t a written promise, but it was the best I’d get.

Nodding, I took a deep breath and stood. My eyes swept the bar. The barstool to the left of the man was empty. Easing my way across the crowded bar, with an exaggerated breath, I eased onto the stool and nodded in his direction.

When the bartender came close, I flagged him down. “I’ll take a tall of whatever you have on draft.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Rough day?” the red-headed man asked.

“Worse than normal,” I replied.

He looked up from his plate to the television above the bar. Brightly painted cars were circling on a track. There were lights and people in large stands. Wherever the race was occurring, it was nighttime. The sound was muted, but the ticker near the top of the screen ran continually with numbers in order of their laps led. I’d never been much into racing, especially NASCAR. I didn’t have time for such pastimes.

“Who’s leading?” I asked, feigning interest.

“Gordon, but the damn caution just started. I hate when they end under caution.”

I looked back at the television. “You like racing?”

“Yeah, the faster the better. How about you?”

I shrugged. “I’m not much of a fan. Kind of busy these days.”

The man nodded, turned my direction, and extended his hand. “Russell, Russell Collins. What brings you to LA?”

I shook his hand. “Oren. I’m here on business.”

“Yeah, me too. Where’s home?”

“New York. You?”

Russell ran his hand over his hair. “Georgia, for now.”

“For now?” I asked.

“I’m not looking forward to going back.”

“You’re not?” I asked casually, sipping my beer.

“No. Fucking shit’s going to hit the fan. But it’s been a long time in coming.”

I took a longer drink before setting the glass in front of me. “I’m not an expert, but you can talk about it. My wife tells me I need to talk more.”

Russell chuckled. “So you have one of those too?” He looked down at his left hand and then over to mine, assessing our wedding bands.

“Yes, for now,” I confessed. It was the first time I’d said it aloud. It was cathartic and safe. I figured in the grand scheme of life, it wouldn’t matter. This man wasn’t long for this world. Maybe for once I could be honest and say that my marriage was not getting better; it was falling further and further into misery.

“I told mine that it was over,” Russell said. “Let me just say, it was fucking liberating. Saying the words was like loosening a damn vise from my chest.”

I wasn’t sure what it was about the anonymity of conversing with a stranger, but for the next hour or so, both Russell Collins and I took full advantage. We said things that cleansed and relieved. I wasn’t a fucking priest, but maybe, just maybe, I was able to help him, because I knew that come tomorrow, his time for absolution would be over.





AFTER THROWING A suit coat over my shirt and not bothering to change out of my jeans, I made my way down to the bar. The area was large with clusters of tables and plants surrounding a central circular bar glistening with glass columns illuminated in blue light. As I scanned the room, I didn’t see Davis, but many tables were occupied by familiar faces. If Davis had been looking for privacy, this wasn’t the place. Then again, maybe that wasn’t his objective. Maybe it was to have us seen together.

Well, game on.