Bad Behavior(56)

"Where are you going to go? What will you do?"

"I have funds and my small semblance of a plan."

"Care to share it with me, for old time's sake?"

"No can do, Vin. I want you and your little baby safe. If it's a girl, Evangeline is a great name."

"Now you're pushing it."

My laugh overtook the sob that was threatening. "We had a good run, you and me."

"We did, boss. We did."

"One more thing."

"Anything, boss."

"Make sure to give Jena hell. She needs to toughen up if she wants to get anywhere in this life."

"Will do."

"Thank you, Vin, for everything."

The line was silent for a while. I had just given away everything I worked so hard to build. I suppose it deserved a moment or two of silence. Or maybe I just couldn't cope what the enormity of the loss.

Vinnie's voice came through, somewhat choked. "I'll miss you."

He made me smile. Just those words gave me the kick I needed to seal the deal. It was done.

"Take your balls out of your purse and man up. You'll do fine without me. Take care."

I hung up the phone, blinked back the tears as best I could, and started making more calls.


Sal's was already starting to fill, the lunch crowd clamoring to be fed.

I approached the hostess counter, hoping to make quick work of getting the storage-building information from Trish. She cried out and put her hands to her face when she saw me. Some patrons turned to look. I hurried past them and pressed up against the counter, face-to-face with Trish. The dark bruises under my eyes and my disheveled appearance had her yelling for Sal before I could even get a word out.



       
         
       
        

He came barreling through the restaurant, surprising his guests with his bluster.

"Bella! What happened? What are you doing?" He went into a long string of Italian that I couldn't follow.

Trish answered him with a stream of lovely yet unintelligible verbiage and held up an envelope-my letterhead, with Vinnie's handwriting scrawled across the front. It was the storage information. I reached for it, but Sal grabbed it from Trish's hands and tucked it under his arm.

"What's going on?"-indeterminate Italian-"You tell me who did this. Tell me, bella! So help me!"-more Italian.

All the eyes on us were making me feel uncomfortable, exposed. There was no shushing Sal, so I darted around the counter, took Sal's arm, and pulled him toward the back office. Thankfully, Sal followed as Trish regained control of the hostess stand.

I sat as Sal poured me a brimming glass of Italian red.

"Tell me, bella, so I can fix it." His earnest request pulled at my heartstrings, even though there was nothing he could do to fix any of my troubles.

I painted the general picture for him. He flexed his knuckles as I talked about the hit men. The naked woman tattooed on his arm wobbled around on his thin, aged skin, giving me an unnecessary eyeful.

When I was finished, Sal said, "That's it, then. We have to take Leon out. He comes on my turf and threatens one of my girls? No." He punched his fist into his palm for emphasis. The nude woman all but folded over on herself.

I wanted to inform him that the entire island of Manhattan didn't really qualify as his "turf." Any protestations would have gotten me nowhere. Sal wasn't as high up in the ranks as DiSalvo, but he had enough connections and sheer backbone to put a hurting on anyone who crossed him.

I shook my head. The fight was already finished. DiSalvo had won. I couldn't stay in this city. It was a death trap for me now. I wouldn't have Sal going to bat for me-literally or figuratively-and starting a war among the deadlier denizens of New York.

"Don't shake your head at me, bella! Look what they did to your pretty face. Look what you're wearing."

Lincoln's baggy shirt, cinched in at the waist with a belt I'd found in his closet. I was trying to pass it off as a shirtdress. Failing, according to the look on Sal's face.

I put a hand on his shoulder, stooped by time. "Sal, I've already made up my mind about what I have to do."

His eyes, filmed slightly with cataracts, searched my face and lingered on the evidence of my violent night. "Run?"

"Yes, run." It wouldn't be the first time I'd run away from a bad situation, and I could only hope it would be the last. "It's the only option now." 

"He'll find you. Let me find him first. Please, bella."

"He retired in Cuba. You know that. He's untouchable right now."

"No one is untouchable."

I took a long swig from my glass. It was tasty, fuller than a Malbec. Sal's taste was spot-on. Maybe I should have listened to him for all these years.