C
HAPTER
41
W
hen we got home, Colin exchanged nods with the guy standing outside the screened porch and followed me in.
“There’s one out front, too,” he said, anticipating my questions. “For the foreseeable future.”
I’d felt trapped by Colin at first, I reminded myself. Then we’d become friends, and what had been claustrophobic turned companionable. Somehow, I didn’t see that happening with the new guys.
“Mom?”
The kitchen gleamed. Every light was turned on, and every surface—the faucet, the refrigerator handle, the windowsills, the worn linoleum floor—was obsessively clean, polished beyond perfection. “Shoes,” I hissed, and Colin bent to remove his work boots while I toed off my ballet flats, ruined by the snow.
The rest of the house was in the same state. In the living room, the bookshelves were completely dust free, the spines of the books all lined up perfectly. Even the African violets looked like they’d been tidied. My heart twisted at the sight, evidence of how desperately my mom was trying to grab hold of some order. “Mom?”
“Upstairs!” she called. I found her dusting light fixtures in the bathroom.
“Did you see it?” she asked, her eyes red from crying, her hands nearly raw from all the cleaning she’d done.
“I’m so sorry.”
She wiped at her eyes. “This wasn’t your fault. I just wish you’d been able to see Daddy.”
“It’s okay.” The guilt of lying to her sat uncomfortably in my stomach. I didn’t need to see my dad. The fire had revealed everything. Whatever my uncle had done in the past, whatever his dealings with the Forelli family, it had to be better than the Russians. I patted her hand. “We’ll go another time.”
She smiled weakly. “That would be nice. You look tired, sweetheart. I’ll fix cocoa.”
“Let me. I’ll bring you a cup.”
She hugged me again, cupped my face in her hands. “You are such a good girl.”
Quickly, I changed out of my damp clothes into pajamas and then toweled off my hair, sighing as it sprang into unruly curls.
“How is she?” Colin asked when I came downstairs, headed for the kitchen.
“You could perform major surgery on any surface of this house.” I pulled out a saucepan and a box of cocoa. “It’s her coping mechanism. Grab the milk, please.”
The familiar way he moved around the kitchen made me feel even more secure. “Does that mean she’s coping?”
“I think so. But she wouldn’t tell me otherwise. She wants to protect me.”
He touched my still-damp hair. “I know the feeling.”
I watched as the milk started to steam, then whisked in cocoa and sugar from the canister on the counter. “Did you want some?”
“Sure.” He watched me fill the mugs.
“I need to run this upstairs,” I said, going up on tiptoe to kiss him. His arms came around my waist, pressing me close before shoving me gently toward the stairs.
I dropped off the cocoa with my mom, convincing her to take a break. As I headed back to see Colin, my phone chimed. I dug it out of my coat pocket, checking the text. It was Jenny Kowalski. we need 2 talk
I couldn’t help my uncle deal with Ekomov if I was working with Jenny. And Billy hadn’t killed Kowalski, no matter what she thought. If war was coming, it was time to pick sides—and what kind of person would I be if I didn’t choose my family? sorry, I typed. deal is off
The response was almost immediate.
no comment won’t work 4ever
The answer to the mystery of Jenny’s source suddenly became clear, the tumblers of a lock lining up with a click. Nick Petros was the one feeding her information. He’d visited my classroom and invited me to his office, any time I wanted to chat. He’d reported on my dad’s trial. He’d written a column about Kowalski’s death. He’d practically told me, that day—what he knew and what he could prove were two different things. He wanted me to bring him proof.
I put away the phone, weary and resolute. There was nothing more to say.
C
HAPTER
42
L
ena met me at the front steps of the school Wednesday morning. “I heard! Are you okay?”
“I wasn’t even there.” I shoved my hair back, my arms heavy with fatigue. “By the time we got to the restaurant, the fire was out.”
“Is your mom totally devastated?”
I thought back to the scene in our kitchen an hour ago, the mounds of eggs and sausage and potatoes she’d cooked up for me, Colin, and the two guys on guard duty. “She’s losing it a little bit.”
It was a clear, cold day, hovering just above freezing, and I dragged in lungfuls of crisp air. Nothing could displace the lingering smell of burned plastic and charred brick.
For once, I was early enough that we didn’t have to rush in, but I was in no hurry to face my classmates’ questions and stares. Lena seemed to understand, and we paused near the steps, waiting for the bell. Colin probably wasn’t thrilled about me staying out in the open, but he had a clear view of the courtyard.
“How was your dad?”
“We never made it. My uncle called about the fire and we came straight home. I got to the restaurant as the firefighters were finishing up. I spent yesterday at home with my mom.”
“You left Monday morning, but you came back Tuesday?” she asked, working it out. “You stayed overnight. With Colin?”
“There was a problem with the truck. By the time it was fixed, visiting hours were over.”
Not a lie, I reminded myself. I just didn’t mention it was a magical problem, or the disaster that had come after. “We figured we’d go Tuesday, but when my uncle called ... everything changed.”
She smirked. “You spent the night with him? I’m betting things changed.”
I felt the traitorous spots of color blooming on my cheeks. “We didn’t ...”
“Oh, please. If you didn’t, it wasn’t because you didn’t want to.” She peered over my shoulder, in the direction of the truck. “Him either. What’s next?”
I didn’t know, so I fell back on the only familiar thing I had going. “First period,” I replied, and we made our way inside.
The day went exactly as expected. People offered sympathy, asked not-very-subtle questions, passed around increasingly outrageous stories. By the time the last bell rang, Lena informed me that The Slice had been blown up by IRA gunrunners in league with the Outfit, who were trying to manufacture C-4 in the supply closet. Even Jill McAllister got in on the action during AP Chem, asking sweetly—and loudly—if my mom would be able to afford tuition for St. Brigid’s, much less college, now that the restaurant was gone. She’d heard that community college was very affordable, she informed me. I didn’t have the energy to trip her.
“No aliens?” I asked Lena as we trudged toward the front doors. “I think the story needs aliens in there somewhere.”
“Totally. Extraterrestrial involvement would be the cherry on top.”
“If it were a sundae made of suck.”
As we came outside, someone cut me off. I skidded on the wet steps and barely managed to stay upright.
“Oops.” Jenny Kowalski stood in front of me, wearing a blue plaid skirt that almost—but not quite—matched our uniforms. It was just similar enough that she blended into the crowd of girls. “I heard about the restaurant. Do you guys have insurance?”
I gaped at her.
“Do I know you?” Lena asked.
“No. We should talk,” Jenny said to me.
“I don’t think so,” I said. “Things have changed.”
She shook her head. “Not as much as you’d think. Here.” She handed me a manila envelope. I tried to shove it back at her, but she refused to take it.
“I’m not interested,” I said.
“You will be. Ask yourself who benefits the most from The Slice being gone. It’s basic police work.” She lifted a hand in farewell, her eyes boring into mine. “I hope they catch the person responsible, Mo. I really do.”
She strode away, around the side of the building, and Lena watched her go.
“What was that all about?”
“Families,” I said, tightening my grip on the envelope. “I think.”
“What’s in the envelope?”
“Let’s find out.” We ducked back inside and found an empty classroom. I opened the envelope, spreading the papers out on a back table.
“It’s an arrest report,” I said.
Lena pointed at the date stamp. “That’s from the night of the break-in. Didn’t Colin say no police?”
“We didn’t file this.” The paper detailed a traffic stop that had turned into a weapons violation—three men, four or five blocks from our house, stopped for speeding. When the cop ran the license of the driver, he’d discovered all three occupants had arrest records, searched the vehicle, and found two guns—unloaded, but still in clear violation of the city’s handgun ban.
“They must have been the guys who came to your house.” She leaned over the table. “Look, they were heading the opposite direction, away from the neighborhood. And it was right after the break-in. What are the other pages?”
“Their rap sheets.” All three were known associates of Marco Forelli.
“I’ve heard of him,” Lena said. “During the last Family Secrets trial. He’s the one who walked. A bunch of the witnesses recanted.”
“You pay attention to that stuff?” I asked, surprised. “I always tune it out.”
“I pay attention to everything,” she said. “If the guys who came to your house work for Marco Forelli, they weren’t Russian.”
“They were Mafia.” I sat down hard, fitting together more and more pieces in my mind.
“Why would your uncle’s guys threaten you? They want you on their side. Doesn’t this defeat the purpose?”
“Misdirection,” I said, and the last few pieces snapped into place. I stuffed the papers in my bag. “I have to go. Lena, please, don’t tell anyone about this.”
She looked offended. “I never do.”
Colin was pacing in the courtyard.
“What was that all about?” he asked. “School’s been out for twenty minutes.”
“I need to go to The Slice.”
“Why?”
I wanted to tell him, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it, not without proof. It sounded crazy, that Billy and Forelli were behind the break-in and the fire, that they’d do all this to manipulate me. But Yuri Ekomov had never seen me as a threat, only a potential ally.
To my uncle, I’d been a danger—unpredictable and angry. He needed to keep me in line, so why not try fear, especially if he could use me against his enemies?
“I need some paperwork out of the office, if it’s still standing.”
He watched me closely. “Everything okay?”
“It’s getting there.” He didn’t know. He couldn’t possibly know, or he wouldn’t have been so worried the night of the break-in. He’d been just as surprised as I was about the fire. Tess might ensure he was loyal to Billy, but Colin would never lie about something so huge. We were better than that now. Stronger. Billy must have kept it from Colin, too, and the realization sent a chill through me, for reasons I couldn’t quite name.
At The Slice, I picked my way through the rubble. There was no logic to what had survived the fire and what hadn’t. The big stand mixer my mom used for pie crusts had melted into slag, but a few feet away, a shelf of coffee cups was virtually untouched. The door to the office was blackened, but otherwise okay. I turned the handle tentatively and made my way in. Inside, everything looked almost normal. Water pooled on the floor, the face of the time clock was cracked, and there was an awful smell of stale smoke and wet paper, but the file cabinet seemed fine. I yanked on the top drawer. It stuck, like it always did, before giving way with a screech.
“What are you looking for?” Colin asked.
“Background.” My mom kept all the important documents in a safe deposit box at the bank, but there had to be copies of the insurance policy. I rummaged through the drawer, feeling a surge of triumph when my fingers landed on the one labeled “National Insurance Co.” I didn’t understand most of the policy, but clear enough, The Slice was insured to the hilt—both the building and the business. Everything was covered.
Already, the Dumpsters behind the building were filling up as my uncle’s construction company cleared away the debris. Morgan’s would be closed for at least a week while they repaired the smoke damage and cleaned up after the firefighters. I was willing to bet Billy had insurance, too. The insurance company would pay my uncle’s construction business to repair his bar, no doubt at an inflated rate. He’d make a mint. I felt sick at how easily I’d been manipulated.
“Have the police said who’s responsible? Do they have any leads?” I asked Colin.
“Right now, they’re looking at Ekomov. Fits his pattern, and it’s no secret he’s trying to move in.”
“They don’t think it could be Billy?”
He frowned. “Why would he torch The Slice? He’s not hard up for money, and the insurance would go to your mom. I told you, it’s an escalation.”
“It’s a con.” I stuffed the insurance papers in my bag. “Billy wants to take the Russians down, right?”’
“Framing them for arson isn’t going to do that.”
“No. But it would help, same as framing them for Verity’s murder. He gets the insurance payout. He launders money through the construction company while he rebuilds. And he gets me, pissed off and willing to help him out with the Russians.”
“But to burn down your mom’s restaurant ...” He unfolded himself from the doorway. “That’s a big accusation. He’d never hurt you.”
“He doesn’t need to hurt me. Just scare me.” I slammed the drawer shut. “I’m going over there.”
His hand clamped on my arm. “Somebody’s outside. Stay put.”
He slipped out, hand on the holster at his back, and eased the door shut behind him.
Waiting was not my strong suit anymore. After about fifteen seconds, I crept to the door and listened, but the voices were muffled.
I cracked the door a bit farther and squeezed through, tiptoeing to the corner.
“Your timing really sucks, you know that?” Colin said.
“Ain’t my timetable,” Luc replied.
Determined not to let him shake me, I stepped into view. “What are you doing here?”
“Needed to see you.” He surveyed the remains of The Slice. “Wasn’t quite what I expected.”
“The day’s been full of surprises.”
He poked at a pile of rubble with his toe. “Pretty bad. Wasn’t natural, either.”
“I’m aware.”
“Set there,” he said, pointing to a spot near the front counter. “And there ...” The cash register. “Back here.” The kitchen island, where we did most of the prep.
When I raised my eyebrows, he shrugged. “It’s fire, Mouse. Not much I can’t read here.”
“What else can you tell?” Colin demanded.
“Way they set it, fire ran along the outside walls. Left the shared walls intact. Kept it away from the gas lines, so the rest of the building didn’t go. Lot of damage in a short time, but very targeted.”
He touched a charred tabletop, rubbed the soot between his fingers. “Speaking of damage, we need to go control some.”
“I’m busy.”
“You want to be pissed at me? Go right ahead. But the magic is failing. By the end of the day, there’ll hardly be any left. If you don’t come with now, and fix it, the Quartoren will say you’ve broken the Covenant. You’ll be dead.”
I folded my arms and stared at him. “If they kill me, I can’t fix the magic.”
“You will be dead,”
he repeated. “And who will help Constance? That is a girl in need of help, whether we succeed or not.”
I felt my resolve start to crumble, and glanced at Colin, who glowered, jamming his hands in his pockets.
“You’re taking me along,” he said.
I sighed. “We’ve talked about this.”
“You told me you were never going to be free of these people. That’s what you said. But you can’t expect me to sit at home while you risk your life for them.” He curled a hand around the back of my neck. “They’re not the only ones you can’t get free of. Got it?”
“Got it,” I whispered, feeling the corners of my mouth tug up the tiniest bit.
Luc scowled. “He’ll be underfoot.”
Colin shrugged. “You keep her safe, you won’t even know I’m there.”
“This what you want?” Luc asked, and there was no snark in his voice, only hurt and resignation. “Be sure.”
“I am.”
He grasped my wrist. “You know the drill.” I barely had time to grab hold of Colin before he opened a door to Between and wrenched us through.
Dominic frowned as we came through on the marble stage of the Allée. “Stowaway, son?”
“He’s with me,” I slurred, fighting off the blackness closing in. I felt a gentle hand on my shoulder. It was Marguerite, encouraging me to breathe.