“That’s the one. The keys are taped to the underside of my middle desk drawer. I need you to have all DiSalvo’s files taken out of that room—every last box—and put into a storage facility of your choosing. Somewhere in Jersey. Just leave the information about the location with Trish at Sal’s. I’ll pick it up from her later today.”
“Evan, what are you planning? I mean, I’m getting the general idea that you are going to do something reckless. Don’t. You’ll never be able to practice again. You’ll be disbarred. Ratting on DiSalvo? You’ll be hunted.”
“I’m already hunted. This will turn the game right back around on him. And I have ways of disappearing.”
“This is dangerous.” There was a knocking sound, as if he were bouncing his forehead on his desk again.
“I knew that when I started all this.”
From the day I accepted DiSalvo’s dirty money, some small part of me had known a reckoning was coming, one way or another. Maybe it was my upbringing talking, fire and brimstone and all that, but here it was. I was at the edge of the precipice, looking into the inferno below. I’d been dancing on the edge for years. Of course, I never believed it would blow up in my face this completely. But I wasn’t going to jump into the flames. I was going to push DiSalvo in and listen to him scream. The headache receded and left revenge, the kind served cold, in its place.
I sat up straighter, forcing myself to stop slumping even though no one could see me. “Now, I added you onto the firm accounts a couple of years ago. If you go to the bank or anywhere, you’re listed as an authorized user. Get on my laptop; I have a Word document with all my passwords and accounts listed. The password to get into the sheet is Tybalt. That gives you the keys to the queendom. If anyone asks, I had a mental breakdown and I’m on a long vacation.”
He laughed, though it was a sad sound. “No one would ever believe that you had a mental breakdown. I’ll say you ran away with a smoking hot law clerk and are living out dirty fantasies on a beach somewhere in South America.”
I sniffled. The tears dropped onto Lincoln’s light blue shirt, making dots of royal blue appear here and there.
Vinnie sighed again. “There has to be another way.”
“There isn’t.”
“I don’t know if I can do this without you.”
“You can.” I wasn’t worried for a moment. Vinnie had the chops to pull it off, not to mention I was leaving the firm account pretty flush.
“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.