Declan looks at Quinn, who puts his hands in the air and shakes his head.
Declan takes the laptop sitting to one side of the desk and turns it around so the screen is facing us. He hits a button, and a video starts to play. It’s a black-and-white picture of what seems to be the security camera feed at an empty loading dock in a warehouse.
“What am I looking at?”
“Just watch.”
Frowning, I watch a white van back up into the dock. Its rear doors open. From somewhere off camera, seven men emerge. All of them are in identical black uniforms of combat boots, tactical pants and vests, and long-sleeved shirts.
They’re all also wearing black ski masks and carrying rifles.
The hair on my arms stands on end.
The men enter the van. The back doors close. The van pulls away from the loading dock.
I glance up to find Declan watching me closely. He says, “Notice the sign over the door in the background.”
I squint at the screen. There’s a door off to one side of where the van pulled up. The sign above it reads, “Caruso Industries. Employees Only.”
Something dark and ugly forms in the pit of my stomach.
I say quietly, “No.”
Declan doesn’t respond. He hits another button. Now I’m looking at a white van racing down a country road. It’s the same van from the video. The view this time is from above.
The screen splits into four different views, all of the same van speeding down roads, driving erratically.
In Scarsdale.
Away from the house.
Declan says, “Traffic cameras. Recognize the area?”
With dawning horror, I whisper, “He wouldn’t. He couldn’t have.”
“Look at the time.”
There’s a time and date stamp on the bottom right side of each picture. All show the day and time of the home invasion.
Declan hits another button. Now I’m listening to a recording of a man’s voice I don’t recognize.
“Mission Charlie Foxtrot. Oscar Mike.”
Declan says, “That’s military slang for the mission was a clusterfuck, I’m on the move.”
“Mission,” I repeat faintly, feeling sick.
“The message was left on your brother’s voicemail five minutes after the time stamps on the traffic cameras.”
“It can’t have been. Gianni has excellent encryption. All his communications, his email, everything is secure…”
I trail off when Declan hits the button again and a new screen shows up. It’s an email, dated two weeks ago. Sent to Gianni from someone named Hangfire. The body of the email says only: Funds received. The balloon has gone up.
“That means trouble is coming,” says Declan, watching my face. “That date at the end is when the op was to go live.”
It’s the same date on the videos of the white van.
The same date the men in black invaded the house.
My heart thudding against my rib cage, I say, “This doesn’t make sense. Why would Gianni set up an attack on his own home?”
Declan’s voice is level when he says, “Why does your brother do anything?”
He’s not asking a rhetorical question. And I don’t have to think very long before I come up with an answer.
I whisper, “Money. Oh God.”
“The plan was to kidnap Lili and hold her for ransom.”
“But he’d be putting up his own cash for ransom!”
“Unless I offered to pay it,” says Quinn quietly. “Which I would have.”
Declan says, “Then that money would’ve gone right back to Gianni. So either he made a calculated guess Spider would put up the money or he didn’t care if he did, because there was a bigger target.”
“What target?”
When Declan only stares at me in silence, I know what the target is.
Or rather, who.
And I’m truly sick now, because I know without a shadow of doubt what Gianni was after.
I close my eyes and try very hard not to scream.
“Enzo had a ten-million-dollar life insurance policy on me. I didn’t know about it until after his death. I kept paying the insurance premiums but changed the beneficiary to Gianni. At the time, Lili wasn’t yet eighteen, or it would’ve been her.”
Quinn says, “Ten million? Why would he go to all that trouble for only ten mil?”
I open my eyes and find Declan staring at me with the answer in his own.
He already knows.
“That was only the cherry on top. The real money is what I inherited on Enzo’s death.”
Declan says softly, “Two hundred and forty million dollars.”
In shock, Quinn turns to me. “What?”
“Aye, lad. Your wife’s rich.”
After a moment of pensive silence, Quinn says, “Except she’s not really my wife, is she?”
I can’t look at him. There’s a note of finality in his voice, as if he’s just now realizing that this non-marriage of ours is skating on very thin ice.
I say, “That doesn’t change anything between us, Quinn.”
Declan says, “What if you were named capo of the Five Families? Would that change anything?”
Stunned, I stare at him with my eyes wide and my heart palpitating. My brain starts to race.
I think of the strange meeting with the heads of the other four families that day in the warehouse, the way I sensed there was something more going on than what they said, and get a tingling feeling all the way down my spine.
I also know I have to tread very carefully here, because I have no way of knowing if this is a trap, if I’m being recorded, or how Declan O’Donnell came to have all this information in his hands.
When it comes right down to it, the Mob and the Mafia are still enemies. Without that marriage license, our relationship doesn’t exist.
I say, “What if is a dangerous question. And here is where I point out that I have no proof any of this information is real. All of it could have been easily manufactured by someone with very little skill.”
Gazing at me with the kind of cool composure that belies nothing, Declan says, “There was a vote this morning, Reyna.”
“Gianni said the vote had been postponed.”
“They told him it had been, but it went on without him.”
“Why?”
“Because they’d already decided he was no longer welcome in the family.”
My voice rising along with my anger, I say, “What the hell does that mean?”
“It means they were provided indisputable proof that Gianni has been funneling money away from the family operations for years, in addition to many other acts of disloyalty.”
I say flatly, “Let me guess. You provided them the proof.”
“Not me.”
“Who, then?”
“An interested third party.”
I can tell that’s all I’ll get there, so I change gears. “I need to speak with my brother about all this.”
After a pause, Declan says quietly, “I’m afraid that’s not possible.”
It sounds like a threat.
The air goes static. My heartbeat surges. Every muscle in my body tenses.
Beside me, Quinn has also tensed, looking back and forth between us with his hands white-knuckled around the arms of his chair. Every cell in his body is ready to spring into action, primed to the crackling stress in the room.
It hits me with a blast like a nuclear explosion.
If Declan tried to harm me, Quinn would kill him.
His boss, his friend, a person he once described as the best man he’s ever known. He’d kill him to protect me.
The emotion I feel is so raw and overpowering, I have to inhale several slow breaths before I can speak again.
“Why not?”
“Because Gianni’s dead.”
When I leap from my chair, Quinn moves at the same time, jumping up to stand in front of me protectively with a blistering snarl and a threatening scowl in Declan’s direction.
Declan regards us with his eyebrows raised and a look of incredulity on his face. “What the bloody hell is wrong with you two?”
Quinn growls, “This woman could be carrying my child. If you want to get to her, you’ve got to go through me first!”
Declan’s laugh is short and astonished. He looks at me as if he’s wondering what kind of spell I’ve put on his friend, then looks back at Quinn. He shakes his head and exhales.
“Sit down, you barmy bastards. I wasn’t threatening anyone. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, I’ve got a mutiny on my hands. I knew today would be shite.”
He reclines back into his big leather captain’s chair with a sigh and waves a hand at us like we’re being ridiculous.
“Sit!”
Quinn looks to me for direction. I nod, and we both carefully take our seats.
Declan says crossly, “For fuck’s sake, lad, don’t be staring at me with such a black glower! Last I heard, I’m still in charge of you, so show some bloody respect!”
Grinding his molars, Quinn grudgingly settles into his chair.
Declan cuts his gaze to me and says accusingly, “What have you done with him? He’s even more strung out than usual!”
“He’s fine. Let’s get back to business, please.”
He mutters to himself, “I need a bloody drink and it’s not even ten o’clock in the bloody morning.” Then, overly dramatic, he says, “Now that we’re all civilized adults again, I’ll continue.”