“I remember her by a different name,” Burim said. “Afrodita, which is what I called her. Her middle name was Pia, like her mother. She was my daughter.”
Afrodita. The kid had been a pain in the ass almost as much as the mother since she’d inherited her mother’s personality. Drilon had been the only one who got along with her. A miserable little thing, very demanding at a time when Burim had been too busy trying to make the grade in the Rudaj organization. He’d had no time for a kid. After she’d been taken away by city services, Burim told himself that he’d go and get her back when he was legal in the country, but when he got his green card, he decided he was happier as a man without the burden of responsibility. Then he had to drop out of sight as Burim Graziani and he never got around to establishing his new identity beyond getting a driver’s license in case there was ever a traffic stop. He imagined he’d now have to explain all this to Berti Ristani, something that was a bigger issue to him than the fate of his daughter.
“So you think this girl might be your daughter?” Buda asked, not wanting to believe this was happening.
“It’s possible, for sure. It’s hardly a common name, and the age is about right, mid-to-late twenties.” Try as he might, Burim couldn’t remember Afrodita’s birthday-neither the day nor the year.
“What’s the story with the change of the family name?”
Burim related that issue. Since Buda, like all Albanian mafia, knew the details of the Rudaj debacle, he understood. When the FBI came bursting in, lots of people had to go underground.
“So you lost touch with your daughter a long time ago?”
“Yes, you know how it is in this business.”
Having been at the time a gofer in a neighborhood crew that was heavily involved in the drug business didn’t make him ideal parent material. Buda and Burim both understood. Burim didn’t think it was necessary to fill in the details. That the cops had come and taken the kid away and put her in foster care, that he hadn’t bothered to stay in contact, was all understood. Burim went quiet again.
“You think she’d remember you?”
“She was six, I believe, when she went away, and I guess a kid can remember back that far.”
Burim couldn’t help wondering why a man like Buda cared about this woman who might possibly be his daughter. “So how did this Pia Grazdani show up? How did she get involved with you?”
“She’s associated with a job I was asked to do,” Buda said vaguely. “She’s a medical student at Columbia University, doing work with some researcher who had an accident and died.”
Burim was shocked once again. Could his daughter be a medical student? And at such a famous university? It seemed incredible. If pressed, he would have thought the girl would end up on a similar path as her mother, would have been with a guy like him or maybe even out on the street. A medical student? He was surprised to feel something like pride.
“And is she pretty, like Berti said?”
“I haven’t seen her, but I’m told she is quite beautiful. And, er, scrappy.”
“You mean she likes a fight?”
“You could say that.”
“That sounds right,” Burim said ruefully. “Her mother was a tigress. So what is this about?”
“Where are you?” Buda asked. “With this development, we need to talk in person.”
It turned out that Burim was only about fifteen miles from where Buda was parked, near the Lincoln Tunnel exit on the New Jersey Turnpike.
“Do you know the Swiss House Inn?” Burim asked, and Buda did. The restaurant was just off Route 80, convenient for Burim and Buda and not far, as it happened, from Green Pond either.
“I want my brother to come,” Burim said.
“Okay,” Buda said, curious. The two brothers seemed to be like night and day. Why he’d want his moron brother there, Buda couldn’t imagine, but he didn’t care. It was, after all, a family affair.
“I will have an associate with me as well,” Buda said, thinking of Fatos Toptani. If he could get Fatos Toptani to get there in time, he thought.
“About thirty minutes,” Buda said, and rang off. He wasn’t happy that the call had taken so long, but his hand had been forced somewhat. What were the odds that Berti’s guy Burim was this Pia’s father? From that perspective, he was very glad he’d thought to look into the issue. Killing the daughter of a connected man, even a long-lost daughter, even a daughter the father was ambivalent about, would have been a serious matter, especially for a man associated with the Ristani crew. More than any other crew Buda knew, they were addicted to violence. For them it was like a sport.
Buda quickly phoned Berti back and gave him a synopsis of the conversation. “As strange as it may seem, this Pia Grazdani may be Burim’s long-lost daughter.” Berti was as surprised as anyone. “We’re getting together in person,” Buda added.
“Good,” Berti replied. “I appreciate the care you are taking with this. I wouldn’t want anything to come between our organizations.”
“Nor would I,” Buda responded, and meant it.
Buda then made one more call before heading off to the restaurant rendezvous with Burim. He called Prek. It was now more important than ever that Pia be treated with kid gloves. Her fate was going to have to be in Burim’s hands.
59.
GREEN POND, NEW JERSEY MARCH 25, 2011, 9:24 P.M.
Prek’s phone rang again. Again it was Buda, just as he expected. He took the news saying little until Buda had finished. He then reassured Buda that everything was fine at the cottage, and before he rang off, he asked Buda to bring them some takeout if it was convenient. Buda agreed, saying he’d bring it from the Swiss House.
“What is it?” Genti said after Prek had disconnected.
“The Buda is on his way with Fatos to a restaurant not far from here to meet with two of Berti Ristani’s guys who are brothers. It appears likely that the girl is related to them-the daughter of one and niece of the other. If it turns out to be true, my guess is they’re going to talk for a while and figure out how they will vouch for her silence just like we vouched for her safety. Then they’re going to drive here and find out that our promise was worth nothing. Then they’re going to shoot Neri in the head and you in the legs. If you’re lucky.”
Prek indicated first Neri and then Genti. Neri had crammed his body into the corner of the couch. His hands were thrust down between his knees and his body was slumped forward although his head was up and he was looking at Prek. His eye, where Prek had smashed him in the face with the pistol, was a livid red. It would turn into a big black shiner, if he lived that long. Genti was sitting at the other end of the couch. He wanted to be sitting up with Prek, who was perched on the back of the couch opposite with his feet on the seat cushion, but he understood the symbolism. He was in the doghouse almost as much as Neri was.
“You fucking idiot,” Prek said to Genti.
“Hey, I trusted him too,” Genti said.
“I trusted
“Well, you didn’t say, ‘I’m going out to the van now, Genti. You make sure that Neri keeps his pants on.’ You said, ‘The boss says he doesn’t know yet, leave the girl alone,’ and you said it to both of us. I figured he heard it as good as I did.”
“So you went off and took a nap.”
“You were right outside, Prek. If you were so worried about her, why didn’t you stay in here? It’s as much your fault as it is mine.”
“My fault?”
“Okay, Prek, not your fault, but I didn’t touch her. What about this little fucker?” Genti waved his hand in the direction of Neri.
“I never did nothing,” Neri said very quietly.
“What did you say?” Prek said.
