Need You Now

“What has the world come to? Not even the Mafia plays by the old code of conduct.” It was an unusual bit of sarcasm from Connie, who normally had the optimism of an Eagle Scout.

I checked my BlackBerry for the time. Almost forty minutes since I’d texted Andie. She was taking her sweet time about getting here.

Connie said, “I don’t want you going anywhere near the Santucci family.”

“I’m not going to join them, if that’s what you mean.” Sarcasm came more naturally to me.

“No, smart ass. I understand what you were saying earlier in the van. I agree it would be nice if you could convince them that Dad is dead. That might put an end to all this. But it’s too dangerous to make any contact with them for any reason.”

“Connie, you must not have been listening. Let me say it again: the Santucci family is the bogeyman. Operation Clean House reduced them to almost nothing.”

“Never underestimate a convicted mobster who wants revenge and finally gets paroled.”

“I just don’t believe it’s the Santucci family who roughed me up in the park last night.”

“How can you say that? Lilly called me this morning and said you might be dead before breakfast if we didn’t get you out of the ER.”

“That’s the whole point: Lilly is mixed up with something else entirely. Something big enough to get her fired from the bank. I think it’s tied to a guy named Manu Robledo, who heads up a phony-sounding church downtown that has to be a front for something. It could be a cult. I’m not sure.”

“How much does Lilly know about the Santucci family?”

“I don’t know. When you told her my real name is Peter Mandretti, did you talk about the Santucci family?”

Connie’s expression was one of complete incredulity. “When I told her? Patrick, I didn’t tell her anything.”

“Then how did she find out my real name?”

“Cut the crap. For now I’ll accept the fact that if she hadn’t given me a heads-up to get you out of the ER, something really bad could have happened. But at some point you and I are going to have a talk about how ticked off I am that you told her.”

It took a moment before I could speak, but finally my response came. “I never told Lilly anything about us. From beginning to end I’ve led her to believe that I’m Patrick Lloyd, and that I’ve always been Patrick Lloyd.”

“Oh, come on,” she said.

“I didn’t tell her. I swear.”

We sat in silence, and finally Connie seemed to believe me, but her expression turned to one of grave concern.

“We got a problem, brother. I’m telling it to you straight: Lilly knows. Based on what we talked about on the phone this morning, I’d say she knows the whole story.”

“I don’t understand how she could.”

Connie reached over and put her arm around my shoulder. “I hate to bust your chops, dipshit, but who the heck is this woman?”

I shook my head slowly, focused on nothing in particular in the falling snow. All was a blur.

“Apparently, I have no clue.”

18

L illy entered the church at eleven twenty A.M. The entrance on john street was unlocked, as promised. She was a few minutes early for her meeting with manu robledo.

The heavy oak door closed behind her, and it took a minute for her eyes to adjust to the dim lighting. The old church had a dusty odor, but there were more obvious signs of disuse. All religious artifacts had been removed, and a few indirect spotlights that had once displayed them were the nave’s only illumination. Brass chandeliers hung from the cathedral-style ceiling, spiderwebs clinging to the unlit bulbs. Lilly walked tentatively down the center aisle, the click of her heels echoing on the old stone floor. She took a seat in the third pew on the left, just as Robledo had instructed her to do. A deep breath, followed by another, did nothing to calm her nerves.

Getting his name had been like hitting the jackpot. She had risked everything for it. Just one little peek behind the veil of bank secrecy, she’d thought, would reveal the client Gerry Collins had brought to BOS/Singapore. She could match a name to a numbered account. She would know the source-or at least a crucial link in a hidden chain-of funds she had routed to Abe Cushman’s Ponzi scheme. She would know who had threatened to kill her if she didn’t give it all back. A simple plan, but one that had failed. The bank had fired her before she could get the name Manu Robledo.

A visit from a stranger had been the answer to her prayers.

She started to say another one-she was in church, after all-but her mind was restless. It was cold within these old stone walls, and she started to shiver, not just from the cold, but with a fear that chilled her. It was partly her fear of Robledo. Mostly, it was fear of the stranger who had found her alone in Patrick’s apartment. An all- consuming fear that kept her looking over her shoulder. A fear that she’d relived in her mind over and over. A fear that gripped her again in the darkness of the old church, taking her back to the knock on Patrick’s door that had changed everything.

“W ho is it?” asked Lilly.

“Flower delivery.”

The chain and deadbolt were secure. Lilly peered through the peephole. The man in the hallway was holding a bouquet of red roses.

“Just a minute,” she said.

Flowers. With all that had happened, she, of course, had to consider the possibility that it was a ruse-a clever way for someone to gain access to the apartment.

“Who are they for?” she asked.

“Lilly Scanlon.”

Hmmm. No one knew she was in the apartment except Patrick. It would have been sweet of Patrick to send flowers to make up for running off after last night’s reunion. But a girl who was under threat of death unless she coughed up two billion dollars could never be too careful.

“I’m leaving the chain on the door. Hand the flowers to me through the opening.”

“They’ll get crushed.”

“Then hand me one rose at a time.”

She turned the deadbolt, opened the door, and let it catch on the short length of chain. He handed her the first long-stemmed rose, then another. She had the fifth in hand when he grabbed her wrist and pressed a blade to her veins.

“Scream and you’ll bleed out in two minutes,” he said.

Lilly gasped and swallowed her scream. “What do you want?” she asked, her voice quaking.

“Just listen to me,” he said in a rushed, husky voice. “I know why you got fired. I know why you ran from Singapore. I know why your boyfriend was attacked. I know all those things.”

Lilly closed her eyes, then opened them, but she couldn’t stop the trembling.

The man continued. “There’s only one way for you to get out of this alive, Lilly. But you have to follow my instructions to the letter. If you don’t, they’ll kill you. Do you understand?”

She didn’t. Not in the least. This was all too crazy. “What are you telling me to do?”

“Trust me.”

She could barely form a response. “Trust you?”

“Yes. Here’s my first show of trust: go to the Church of Peace and Prosperity International on John Street. Ask for Manu Robledo. Tell him you know who opened BOS numbered account 507.625 RR. Tell him you know it was him.”

It was almost too much to remember, not because of the quantity, but because of how important it was-if it