“Yes.”
Listening, Flavia bowed her head, shaking it slowly back and forth, but she said nothing. Mary noticed Machiavelli glance at his mother, betraying just the slightest microexpression of regret.
Mary asked Machiavelli again, “You sent Stretch to kill John that night in his apartment, didn’t you?”
“Asked and answered.”
“Stretch walked in the front, wearing a suit, maybe even said he was from your office, to talk about the reverse-discrimination suit. He knew he would kill John in the end, so he didn’t worry about a witness.”
“No.”
“And they went upstairs to John’s apartment, where Stretch killed him with a lamp base and then left by the fire escape.”
“No.” Machiavelli shook his head. “I didn’t do any of that. Neither did he.”
“Where was Stretch the night of the murder?”
“With me.”
“Where were you?”
“At the office. I was working. He stays until I go.”
“Were you with anyone else beside him, who could prove it?”
“No.”
“No security guards around?”
“Stretch is security. I was working late.”
“Any cameras?”
Machiavelli rolled his eyes. “I don’t surveil my own offices.”
“Then you have no proof, and no alibi.” Mary didn’t believe a word Machiavelli said about his involvement in John’s murder, no matter whether Flavia did or not.
“Mary, I don’t know what to tell you.” Machiavelli looked at her evenly, his brown eyes frank. “I didn’t kill John Foxman. Neither did Stretch. I had nothing to do with it. I would never do that.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Suddenly Flavia moaned, and Machiavelli leaned over, putting his hand on her arm.
“Ma, are you all right?”
“Flavia, are you okay?” Mary asked, worried. She didn’t want to give Flavia a heart attack.
“I’m fine,” Flavia answered, clearing her throat. “Nicky, I believe you didn’t kill John. I believe Stretch didn’t kill John. I don’t think you could ever do a murder, but that doesn’t excuse the other terrible things you did.”
“I know, I’m sorry, Ma.”
“No, that’s not good enough. You have gone too far, for too long. I should have stepped in, years ago. Now, you have to make everything right.” Flavia turned to Mary, her face drained. “Mary, what can he do to make this right? Can he make this right?”
Mary felt sick to her stomach. “John was killed, Flavia. How can you make murder right? Only by going to the police and confessing.”
“He didn’t do it.”
“I didn’t do it,” Machiavelli repeated.
Flavia touched Mary’s hand, squeezing it. “Mare, I know you’re sad about your friend, you miss him and you want to see his killer go to jail. But can you put that aside, for just a minute?”
“No, I can’t put it aside,” Mary answered, barely able to suppress her anger. She couldn’t stand to see Machiavelli slip through her fingers. She hadn’t come this far to come this far. “I don’t believe him, and it’s murder. You can’t put murder aside.”
“Just for a minute.” Flavia shook it off, jittery. “What about the cases you talked about? Did he commit crimes? Were they crimes?”
“No, they were civil wrongs.”
“So he doesn’t go to jail for them?”
“Not for them, no. But for murder, or conspiracy to murder, he sure does, and that’s what I want.” Mary’s chest tightened. “That crime matters more than everything, Flavia. To me, and to everybody else. And it should to you, too.”
“What if he takes away the lawsuit against you and your law firm?”
“He could do that. He should do that. You just heard him, he made the whole thing up!”
“He will do that.” Flavia turned to Machiavelli. “Nicky, you’ll do that, right?”
“Fine.” Machiavelli folded his arms, with an unhappy frown.
Flavia returned her attention to Mary, her expression pleading. “What about what you said he stole? The computer? What if he gave it back?”
“He should give back the London Technologies software, plus the documents and any copies he made of those things.”
Flavia nodded. “He’ll do that too. Anything else? Wasn’t there another case? The big one? I’m not a lawyer, but my husband was a lawyer and he settled cases when his clients did wrong. Can’t Nicky settle that case?”
“Flavia, really?” Mary had an obligation to London Technologies to answer, but she felt as if she were bargaining over John’s body. “Yes, he should negotiate a reasonable settlement with London Technologies because he just admitted that his companies did everything we alleged, and if he does that, we will end the litigation.”
Flavia nodded again. “He’ll settle then, too. How much do you want?”
“Flavia, are you brokering this deal now? I can’t begin to answer that because I don’t know. It would be up to my partners, Bennie and Anne.”
Machiavelli grimaced. “Ma, no, wait, there’s millions at stake—”
“So what?” Flavia whipped her head around to her son. “Nicky, you have enough money. You have plenty of money, more than you can spend in twenty lifetimes! How much do you need? What’s the matter with you? I raised you better than that! Stop it, stop it right now!”
“But Ma—”
“Don’t you dare! Don’t you dare say anything except, ‘I’ll do it.’”
Machiavelli sighed theatrically. “Okay, whatever, I’ll do it.”
Flavia raised an arthritic index finger. “And you’ll pay what they want.”
“I’ll negotiate. She said negotiate.”
Mary leaned forward, looking Machiavelli directly in the eye. “Hold on, let’s be clear. You’re not agreeing to this because your mother is making you. You’re agreeing to this because I got you. You’re not doing me a favor, I’m doing you one. Me and my partners found out what you were doing, and we can prove everything we say in court. We could have you disbarred after what we found out about the antidiscrimination lawsuit. And we would win London Technologies, especially with Paul Patrioca’s testimony. So you’re not giving me anything that I didn’t earn. Your giving it to me because in the end, I’ll get it anyway, and then some. And that’s the power of the law.”
“Whatever.” Machiavelli shrugged, but Mary knew it bothered him.
“And finally, your alleged ancestor, the real Niccolò Machiavelli, said it’s better to be feared than loved. But let me tell you something. It isn’t. Your mother is isolated in this neighborhood because everybody is afraid of you.” Mary pointed at Flavia, whose face fell. “She lives her days alone in this big house, listening to the Patriocas through a wall. She doesn’t have any friends because of you. She doesn’t even have any neighbors because of you. Neither do you, but maybe you don’t notice it or don’t care. But with her, you care. I know you care.”
Machiavelli blinked, his expression darkening just the slightest, and Mary got the impression that he was listening.
“Today, all that changed for her. She’s joining the Rosary Society. They’re going to give her another chance, and you know why? Because love is better than fear.” Mary felt her heart lift, unaccountably. “This whole neighborhood is full of love, everywhere. And love is what gives you a second chance. They’re willing to give her a second chance, and she’s going to take it. If you ask me, you should too. This neighborhood, these people, even me, all of us will forgive you, but you have to change. You just have to change.”
“Right!” Flavia chimed in, frowning at her son. “Nicky, everything Mary said is true, and this thing you have with her has to stop, here and now. You have to get over her. You lost your chance. She married Anthony. She’s having a baby. You don’t get everything you want. Only babies do. Capisce?”
“Yes.” Machiavelli nodded, avoiding Mary’s eye.
“Now, Nicky, say you’re sorry to her.”
“I’m sorry, Mary.”
Mary felt her chest tighten, reaching her limit. “I’m not accepting your apology. You can’t say you’re sorry for murder.”