22

JUMAINE

“I don’t like having to do this,” Rocello said. We were drawing closer to Connors’ place and hadn’t spoken much up until now.

The thing was, I knew what Rock meant. We knew Connors. He’d been on the family’s payroll since before we were even born. Getting information from him would be tough as hell. On the other hand, we’d get that information from a reliable source. If there was one person in this world who knew Roscano’s secrets, it would have to be Brad Connors.

But just because I didn’t like it didn’t mean it wasn’t necessary. “You said it yourself. Connors will know why Roscano put out a hit on Margo. What else can we do? Ask his housekeeper? Or break into his fucking house and look for clues?”

“Emilio used to love Connors, man,” Rocello reminded me of the relationship between those two. “The first money I ever made in the family? Connors gave it to me. It was Emilio’s of course, but it was the first time anyone ever told me they were proud of me.”

Family. Rocello didn’t use that word lightly, because we hadn’t had any as kids. Except for each other. It sounded dumb to outsiders, but in our world, family was everything. Not the one you were born with, the one you worked for. When Emilio was the Don, we were a true family. With Nick in charge, it was more like a toxic workplace.

“I know it sucks to go after Connors. But we’ve got to do this. Margo’s the innocent here, not him. You know I’m right.”

“That’s what I hate the most,” he confessed, turning into the consigliere’s neighborhood. “There’s nothing else we can do, other than speak with Connors.”

“Show time,” I said, as Rock pulled over down the street from the house. The consigliere’s home looked nice and cozy, much like every other property around us. Situated in the middle of a plot, a Victorian-style house was surrounded by four oak trees. It featured a rose garden in the front yard and was separated from other properties by a white picket fence. “What’s the plan? Where do we break in from?”

“Break in,” Rocello scoffed, rolling his eyes at me. “Look at the time—and look fucking around you.”

Damn it…

Rocello was right.

It wasn’t even nine o’clock yet. There were people around. An older couple having drinks on their porch. A man and his son unloading bags from their trunk in a driveway. It wasn’t exactly the right time to be busting in windows.

“We’re not animals—we’ll knock,” Rock said.

Well, sometimes we weren’t animals. Other times, I wasn’t so sure.

We walked up to Connors’ door, my eyes on his living room window to the left. The lights were on, his big-screen TV flashing in the corner.

Rocello rang the bell, with me standing just a foot behind him. Connors’ scrawny figure filled my view moments later. The sixty-eight-year-old couldn’t have weighed more than a hundred fifty pounds. Several inches shorter than me and Rocello, he looked at us like he’d just seen a ghost.

“DeLuca? Knight?” he said our last names, craning his neck over Rocello. “Do you gentlemen have an appointment?”

“It’s urgent,” Rocello said, taking a step forward. Connors had no choice but to move backward into his living room. I clicked the door shut behind me.

“I’m going to cut right to the chase, Mr. Connors.” Rocello made his intentions crystal-clear. “This morning, Don Roscano put a hit out on a woman who’s got no connections with the organization. Her name is Margo Owens—she’s a barmaid at a bar in Brooklyn. What can you tell me about that? Because our boss wouldn’t say much when we asked him.”

Connors had witnessed too much over the years to show his surprise at Rocello’s question. Even though those kinds of questions were highly dangerous in our line of work. “I’m afraid I don’t know,” Connors said in a steady voice. “I’ve never heard of that woman. If you gentlemen will excuse me, my show is about to start.”

“He’s not getting it,” I told Rocello, standing on his left flank.

“Let’s try this again,” Rocello suggested, taking a large step towards the consigliere. “We’ve got no beef with you, Connors. But we also don’t make it a habit to take out innocent young women for no reason. Roscano wants Margo Owens dead. Why? What did she do to him?”

“I can’t tell you,” Connors said, his composure slipping the tiniest bit. I noticed he was no longer claiming he didn’t know.

Rocello’s meaty hand moved to the consigliere’s throat. His grip tightened and a line of swear appeared on the older man’s forehead. “I really didn’t want to do this,” my friend said. It was probably no consolation to Connors that it was true.

Rock lifted the consigliere right off the ground. The older man’s feet thrashed, and he clutched at Rocello’s hands, but he didn’t stand a chance to free himself from that vice-like grip.

“Looks like we’ve got a bit of a time crunch,” Rocello said. “So I’m asking again. Why did Roscano put a hit out on that woman?”

“I don’t know!” Connors chocked out. “You have to believe me!”

“Do we?” I wondered, stepping in the gap between him and Rocello. “Do it,” I urged my friend. “I told you he wasn’t getting it.”

I watched as Rocello banged his fist into the old man’s jaw, his head jerking in the opposite direction. Rock released his grip and Connor dropped to the floor like a bag of rocks. Rubbing his throat, he attempted to sit up. I made sure he stayed down with a foot to his chest.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” I asked, bending down over him. “You think we’re done with you?”

“I’m still waiting,” Rocello reminded him, kneeling beside me. “You can either give us the info, or we’re going to beat it out of you. Your choice.”

“Roscano will kill me if I tell anyone,” Connors croaked.

“And guess who he’s going to give that order to?” I stared down at him. “Us!”

“We won’t hurt you if you tell us.” Rocello’s voice was steady while Connors squirmed underneath my boot. “We’ll get you out of New York—even out of the country.”

“I can’t.” His small hands closed around my ankle.

“You’re really starting to piss me off.” I pressed my boot down into his chest. “A little more of this, and I’m going to bust your ribs. Speak!”

Shit. It really did feel like his ribs were about to give way. That was not what I wanted. To my relief, Connors nodded.

“Okay,” he said. Rocello and I had done this enough that we recognized a genuine surrender when we saw one.

I eased my foot up and off of him. Rocello offered the older man a hand up.

“There’s a will,” Connors rasped when he was sitting in his recliner.

“Wait a minute,” Rocello interjected, furrowing his brow. “Emilio Roscano left a will?”

“Yes,” Connors confirmed, and Rock and I exchanged a puzzled glance. We’d all heard the opposite. “Emilio knew what kind of man his son was. Then again, Emilio was no saint himself.”

I’d never heard Connors say anything against our old boss. Rocello was pissed off, his hand twitching as if he wanted to strike the older man. “Watch what you’re saying about him,” he growled.

Connor held up his hands defensively. “I don’t mean he’s like Nick. I just mean… Emilio liked the ladies, especially when he was younger.”

“Before he was married?” I asked.

Connor looked me in the eye. “Yes. And after. His wife turned a blind eye—she had to. And he kept it discreet, but sometimes, things happened. Like when he got a housekeeper named Sheila pregnant.”

“Go on,” Rocello demanded, leaning a bit forward, but I’d already seen where this was going, and my jaw dropped.

“Sheila Owens,” Connors elaborated.

“Fuck,” Rock hissed, getting it. “Margo is Emilio’s daughter?” He looked as stunned as I was. “But she told me her father left them when she was a girl.”

“Then she lied to you, or more likely, her mother lied to her.”

Rocello was still stunned. “She’s really Emilio’s daughter?”

There was a more pressing issue, however. “Which means she’s also Nick’s half-sister.”

“Later in his life, he felt guilty that he’d never been there for Margo. That he didn’t know her. I think the more he learned about his son, the more he wished he had a relationship with his illegitimate daughter,” Connor said. “Since he didn’t, he tried to rectify that mistake in his will. He left ninety-five percent of his fortune to Margo. The remaining five percent was supposed to go to Nick.”

“This is fucking insane,” Rocello said, staring past the older man’s head. I banged my open palm into my temple, choosing to keep my mouth shut.

“So that bomb that Baxter was taking to the bar, that wasn’t meant to punish us, was it? It was meant to kill Margo.” Rocello’s tone revealed that he already knew the answer.

“Precisely,” Connors affirmed.

“So why’d he hire Baxter instead of sending us?” I asked.

“I don’t know. I suppose it’s possible he thought you might not take the order well.” There was a hint of irony in the older man’s voice. Which meant he was recovering from his ordeal.

Rocello helped him up, he kept a tight grip around his wrist. “One last thing. Has Roscano said anything about that hit to other crews?”

Shit, I hadn’t thought of that. There could be goons heading her way right this moment. Hopefully Slade was doing his fucking job and keeping her safe.

Connors gave an icy smile. “I thought you were a smart man, DeLuca. This is your real punishment for planning to rob that bank in North Haven without your boss’s consent. Don Roscano is well aware of your connection with that girl. Taking her life will shore up his inheritance and it will hurt you. It’s a win-win for the Don.”

“Shit,” Rocello said, and I had to agree. He strode off, but not just to pace. He went to a little bar on the far wall and poured a glass of scotch. “Thanks,” he said when he delivered it to Connors.

For a moment, I was struck by how batshit crazy this all was. In what other job did you nearly choke someone to death and then bring him a drink afterwards?

But this was how the game was placed. I knew it. Rock knew it. Connors knew it.

We were both lost in thought on the drive home. The implications were enormous. Con Roscano funded his entire operation with the money made by his late father—money that wasn’t supposed to be his.

Rock, however, was thinking of Margo. “She is Italian after all,” he said when we were twenty minutes away.

“Huh?”

“I always thought she looked Italian, and she said she wasn’t,” Rock said. “Can you imagine not even knowing something so basic about yourself?”

I sighed. “Looks like there was a lot she didn’t know. Things that her fucking mother should’ve told her.”

“She might have been trying to keep her safe. Emilio, too. We don’t know the whole story.

“I feel like my head is going to fucking explode,” I told Rocello.

“We’ve got bigger fish to fry right now,” he responded, rubbing his jaw. “Breaking the news to Margo. She’s not going to believe it. Any of it.”

“Can you blame her?” I wondered, throwing a quick sideways glance over at him. “Fuck, man. This is like telling her she won the lottery ten times in a row. What are the odds of that happening?”

Rock snorted. “Yeah, a lottery that also comes with a price on your head. It’s a good thing we’re the only ones who know about the hit. It means she’s safe.”

He said it confidently, but I think that deep down, he knew better.

“For now, maybe,” I said. “But if we don’t carry out the job, Roscano will hire more men.”

“I’ve got a place we can stash her away,” he said, making me wonder. When we’d been younger, we’d had a safe house, a place we could go to when shit hit the fan. But now that we were part of the Don’s organization, it wasn’t necessary. Usually.

I didn’t ask any questions as I stared at the road ahead of us. My mind was still fucking reeling. In a matter of weeks, Margo had gone from being the cute girl at our favorite bar to someone important to us.

And that could wind up getting us all killed.