Maggie looks at me. I know that look. She wants a moment alone.
“Plenty of time,” I sigh, and Maggie just about shoves Celia into the walk-through closet, then shuts the door on her.
“Take your time!” she calls, and then hurries over to me. “Here,” she says, pressing a phone into my hand.
I look down at it.
“It’s encrypted, don’t worry. Pops wants to call you tonight.”
“Why?”
“Why do you think? He wants to hear what intel you’ve dug up.”
“Intel? Jesus, Maggie, I’m not James Bond.”
She gives me a derisive glance. “No, you’re certainly not. But surely you’ve heard some of their plans. You’re in a key position, baby brother. With your help, we could bring the whole Morelli Family down.”
I give her a sharp look. “What do you mean, bring them down?”
Maggie gives me a smug smile. Celia shouts something through from the closet. “Try some of my jewelry too, honey,” Maggie calls back. Then she returns to hissing at me. “Once you’ve got enough evidence, we’ll get you away from D’Amato and take you back to Boston. Then you can testify to the Feds about all the terrible things your darling husband has done.”
“I haven’t seen my darling husband doing any terrible things,” I say. It’s true enough. Even shooting Tommy the Thug on the Maddalena was in my defense. It wasn’t cold-blooded murder or anything, and besides, I haven’t told anyone about that particular incident.
Nor will I.
“Then make shit up,” Maggie says impatiently. “Tell them what they want to hear, and help them get the D’Amato brothers over a barrel. They’ll turn on Morelli, and then it’s all over. And you’ll be free to live your life however you like.”
I stare at her, incredulous. “Who exactly came up with this—and I use the term loosely—plan?”
“Me,” she says coldly. “I told Pops what we should do, and he agreed.”
“Uh huh. Well, listen, I don’t know that you two have really thought this shit through. If the Morelli crime family could be brought down by—”
“Shh,” she whispers harshly, as Celia tries to open the closet door. Maggie slams it shut again.
“It’s a dumb plan, is all,” I say in a normal voice, as Celia tries the door again. Maggie has to let her out this time.
“What’s a dumb plan?” Celia asks, looking between us. She’s squeezed into a horrific sequined minidress.
I wait a beat, just to see my sister sweat, and then I say, “Maggie wants to go out for lunch, when there’s a perfectly good restaurant in the hotel.”
“Ooh, that might be fun!” Celia says, ever-anxious to please. “Um, I think I might be a size up from you, Maggie. I can’t get this dress to zip shut.”
“It’s hideous, anyway,” I tell her. “Sequins are so last year.”
“It’s Chanel,” Maggie snaps. “So fuck you.”
She says no more about the alleged plan, but makes sure I stash the phone in my pocket when Celia’s distracted again by the view over the park.
“Remember,” she says in a low voice. “Tonight. Eight o’clock. Pops will call.”
“Sure, I’ll remember,” I tell Maggie, smiling. “Eight o’clock. Pops will call.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
LUCA
Finch is running his mouth this evening at dinner, talking about what he’s been doing with his time the last few days. He’s so good at acting like we’re some normal couple catching up over a lovingly-prepared dinner (pasta puttanesca leftovers), that I almost let it pass me by when he mentions he saw his sister today.
“What did you say?” I break in.
“I had lunch with Maggie and Celia. Celia was worried you wouldn’t like it, but—”
“I don’t like it.”
“Maggie is my sister, Luca.”
“I told you on our honeymoon: you have a new Family now.”
He puts down his fork and leans back in the chair. “And I told you,” he says softly, “that I’ll always be loyal to you. To you and Brother Frank. And in that vein, I have something to show you.”
He shifts in his seat and for a moment I wonder if he’s about to show me the business end of a gun. But when his hand comes back into view, he has something even more dangerous: a cell phone.
He puts the phone down on the table between us, then picks up his fork again. “Maggie gave it to me,” he says through a full mouth. “Apparently there’s some big plan for me to rat on the Morelli family, and then I get to return to the bosom of the Donovan clan.”
I study his face, looking for signs. Signs of what, though? Regret? Contempt? Hatred?
“Do you really think I’d ever let them take you from me, baby bird?” I ask at last.
“Do you really think I want to go?” he shoots back.
I stand up, walk around the table, and grab a handful of his hair, tipping his head back so I can look into his face. “You’re mine. Until death.” I wrap my fingers around his neck, reminding him that even his death is in my hands.
He swallows, his throat moving under my grip. “I know that,” he says hoarsely. “That’s what I’m saying. I told Maggie I don’t need rescuing.”
I let him go after another moment, and go back to my seat.
“Jesus,” he complains, patting his hair back in place. “You need to work on your trust issues, buddy.”
“What I need to do is have a word with Marco.” My heart is thundering in my ears and I can’t think straight. How did I miss this? How the fuck is this news only coming to me now, that my hostage husband spent the day holed up with his goddamn sister? “You won’t be seeing Celia again, either. When she’s not fucking aiding and abetting your suicide attempts, she’s helping you escape.” I slam my fist down on the
