Maybe I’d been thinking too much like a mom and it took a more dispassionate person to see the bigger picture. Once again, I was impressed with Bobbie’s insight. “That’s an eminently reasonable plan. I also think we should take the cautionary step of having Spider set up personal security for you and the kids until we reconvene. He knows some good people. You probably won’t even realize they’re there.”
“Bodyguards?” Marcy dropped her head into her hands. “I never thought when I married a teacher that I’d need bodyguards.” With a sigh, she looked up. “With Hank alive, there’s no insurance, but I’ll find a way to pay the bill.”
“We’ll work it out,” I told her.
After Marcy left the office, Bobbie called Spider, who promised to have a security team in place at the Wagner home later that day.
I retreated to my desk in the outer office. There was a very slight tremor in my index finger as I punched in the numbers for my family home.
Chapter 20
To a father growing old nothing is dearer than a daughter. — Euripedes
The home I grew up in represented security, love and safety to me. As I parked in the driveway, I realized this was the first time I dreaded coming home, the first time I felt unsure about how Papa would receive what I had to say. Squaring my shoulders, I entered the back door landing, removed my boots, and climbed the three steps up to the kitchen.
Papa sat at the table, a cup of coffee steaming in front of him. “Piccola,” he said, rising to hug me. “Your Aunt Terry is not home this afternoon.”
“I assumed she’d be on her hospital rounds, Papa.” I removed my coat, hat and gloves and placed them on a chair. “I wanted to talk to you alone.” Turning to the counter, I prepared a cup of coffee with Papa’s new Christmas toy, a single cup brewer.
Papa waited for me to seat myself, then gave me a grave look. “So, mia figlia, is there a problem? Money? Or Wukowski? Surely not your health! Of course, I will help in any way I can.”
Mia figlia. My daughter. Would our relationship be the same when this conversation ended? I mentally refocused. “No, Papa, it’s nothing personal. Actually, it’s business.”
“Your agency is in trouble?”
“The agency is fine. Business is good enough for me to be able to offer Bobbie a job, once he passes his licensing examination.” I set my cup on the table. “Papa, I need advice about a business matter that involves the, uh, Mafia.”
With a huff, he leaned back. “That is not something I can talk about with you, Angelina.”
“I’m not asking for information about actual deeds.” I paused to align my thoughts, wanting to be careful about divulging identifying information. "I’d like your input on how an east coast Family interest might react to a situation that involves one of my clients.”
“I see. Go on, then, but”—he shrugged—“I may not be able to help you with that.”
“Understood. First, though, I have to ask for your confidence. This is a delicate situation and I can’t take the chance that my client might be impacted if what I’m going to share got out.”
He straightened a bit and I saw Don Pasquale emerge from Papa’s face and bearing. “I will not divulge anything you tell me, unless keeping silence will harm the organization. Then I am bound by oath to act.” He waited.
I mulled over the facts of Hank’s situation and could find no real threat to the Family, although they might look at it otherwise. I decided to take the chance. Surely Papa wouldn’t betray me! “My client is a woman with three young children. Her husband ran out on her several years ago. Recently, it came to my attention that he is in hiding from another branch of the organization, not because he violated their confidence, but because he chose to leave the business. For many years, he has kept silence—omerta. Is he in danger now, if he resumes a normal life? Can you find out if there is still interest in locating him?” I held my breath, waiting to see if the Don or the papa would respond.
With palms together in prayer fashion, Papa tapped his index fingers against his lips, raised his eyes to the ceiling and thought. After some moments passed, he stood and fixed himself another cup of coffee. While it brewed and I squirmed in silence, he said, “Why did he leave the organization?”
“He wasn’t a soldier.” Papa’s left eyebrow quirked at my use of the terminology. “He held a support role, I guess you could say, but the leadership was increasingly violent. That might have led to his decision. Regardless of his reasons, he disappeared and did nothing to put his former associates in difficulty with the police or others.”
Returning to the table, Papa sipped from his cup. “Why do you wish to help him? Why not let him deal with his own issues?”
“He can’t come out of hiding unless he knows one of two things—that the east coast group is not interested in him any longer, or that they are willing to strike a deal, granting him immunity for his continued silence.”
“When a man joins the Family, it is for life, so the first option is impossible. As for the second, there can be no deal. He already gave his word. Keeping the code of omerta is the least that can be expected from him. He broke faith with the organization which he swore to defend.” His gaze on me was cold. “I find little to admire in this man.”
Over the course of the years in which I searched for Hank, I often felt the same way, for different reasons. For Marcy’s sake, though, I needed to make Papa understand. “He started a new life, in a profession that most consider admirable. He married and became a father. No one, including his
