Shock Waves(30)

A ringing silence settled in above the battlefield, the stillness almost suffocating in the aftermath of violent death. It took a moment for the street sounds to return, and with them came the sounds of moaning, weeping, someone mumbling a childhood prayer.

D'Antoni used a high-backed chair to pull himself upright, keeping well clear of the window as he made it to his feet. He deliberately avoided looking at Marcellino, slumped across the table where he had been arguing effusively just moments earlier. The consigliere's voice was still now, his throat spread out across the conference table, blood soaking through the carpeting.

Two others dead, one slightly wounded there, at least one other outside the door.

The sniper knew what he was doing and Bob D'Antoni had already missed his chance to bag him. He would be long gone by now.

But there was time to send the message back. Repay the debt with interest — if he only knew precisely who the sender was.

One way to find out would be to keep his date with Don Minelli. Show up at the sit-down right on schedule and pretend that nothing strange and lethal had gone on in his own damned home.

D'Antoni would be keeping his appointment, but he would travel with a full security detachment, and never mind appearances. If someone thought that he was being rude, displaying lack of trust, then they could take a look at Joe Marcellino, make up their minds for themselves.

And if it turned out that Minelli had a hand in this, if he was making moves across the river, to complement his earlier expansion in New York, then he was biting off a mouthful that would choke him.

The capo of New Jersey wasn't feeling generous this morning, and he wasn't giving anything away, not one thin dime or one square inch of territory to those hungry bastards in Manhattan.

They could have what they could take.

And anything they took from here on out would be across D'Antoni's dead body.

* * *

Giuseppe Reina was worried. It did not show beneath his calm exterior, the sunlamp tan and cultivated smile, but on the inside, Reina felt like he was going to explode.

The town was going up in smoke around him, and no one he talked to seemed to have the first idea of what was going on. There had been hits already on Aguirre, Bonadonna, Gregorio... and the city was holding its breath, anxiously waiting to see who was next.

So far, at least a dozen lives had been snuffed out, and Reina drew no consolation from the fact that they were all low-ranking buttons so far.

Sooner or later, the hit team's aim was likely to improve, and he did not intend to be standing around like a human target when that happened.

Reina was expected at Minelli's for the sit-down... was already late, in fact... but caution was his trademark when it came to dangerous situations. Let the soldiers take the risks, as they were paid to do. The capo's job, as an executive, was to protect himself at all times and keep the family running smoothly.

Minelli would be waiting for him.

So let him wait.

Survival was the top priority, and Joe Reina was a born survivor. He had come up from the streets, the hard way, having nothing handed to him like some other capos he could mention, who inherited their thrones and never knew what it was like to work for a living.

No matter what was coming down, he would be ready when the shit storm reached his doorstep.

Preparedness, he knew, was half the battle.

Downstairs, half a dozen of his soldiers would be finished bringing up the cars, securing the sidewalk for his speedy exit from the high rise. He would be exposed for only seconds, but he was not taking any chances. Four tall bodycocks would flank him, two of them with stout umbrellas raised... in case some smart-ass with a rifle might decide to bag himself a capo from the rooftops.

Once he reached the cars, it would be milk and honey all the way to Don Minelli's hideaway, and they would all be safer there.

Or would they?

A frown creased Reina's brow, his mind returning to the problem that had plagued him through the morning, as the battlefield reports came in from every corner of the city.

What was Don Minelli doing all this time, while his amici were taking it in the teeth? Presumably, he would be making ready for the sit-down, welcoming out-of-town guests at his home, but then again...

The Mafia mentality could not resist the obvious suspicion, putting two and two together in some new and unexpected ways. Was Don Minelli's meeting somehow linked to all the recent trouble?

And if not, then who?

There was a lengthy list of possibles, and Reina could be certain only of his personal innocence. It could be an aggressive move by troops from out of state or even by another of the New York capos.

Except that all of them had been hit so far.

Except Minelli. And Reina.

The process of elimination was a simple one. Reina knew that he was not involved; that left Minelli, or...