Todos os capítulos de The Revenge of the Underboss’s Bride : Capítulo 41 - Capítulo 50

The annex steps were wet from a night rain that had not bothered to finish. Reid stood under the overhang with the thin case against his leg. Julian’s lawyer stood with him like they had practiced the pose. Vincent parked across the street. He did not look at me when he spoke. “You do not go up those steps first. We walk together and we split at the door. Same as last time. Different day.” “If he lifts that case in front of cameras I want my hands on it,” I said. “If you snatch a deputy’s case on a courthouse stair the judge will not need a hearing. She will need a marshal.” Vance was already at the door. He saw the case and his mouth went sour. “Of course he brought a prop,” Vance said. “Do not touch it. Do not speak first. If the judge asks you a question you answer like a person who has read a rule book even if you have not.” Elena had wanted to come. I had left her with Carmine and a guard who did not like speeches. Gina was locked on the third floor with the same in

The wine wall room was set for two. Reid sat with wine he would not drink again. No case this time. Empty hands on the tablecloth, as if that made him honest. I came in from the front. Vincent took the seam. Russo had the alley. The hostess had gone home sick on purpose. Reid looked at my bag. “That is small.” “There is nothing in it you want.” I sat. “Talk.” “You went to Arthur Avenue.” He said it like a compliment. “Grell still smells like yeast. The trust is real. Congratulations. Julian will be sick.” “The trust is not why I am here.” “It is why I am here.” Reid turned the ring. “Carmine’s book is a confession. Your father’s money is a future. Together they make you harder to footnote. I prefer footnotes.” Vincent’s voice came from the shelf crack. “You prefer stealing.” Reid did not turn. “Tell your husband if he comes through the Barolo I will call this an assault on a federal officer in a place with tablecloths. I have had my scene quota this week. I can always

The second van hit the kitchen lights with its high beams. Someone wanted blindness before entry. Vincent dragged Reid behind the heavy table by the ruined sleeve. Reid cursed and stayed conscious, which was inconvenient. “Elena. Pantry. Down,” I said. She went. The pin man with the cut hand was still on the floor trying to decide if he was brave. I kicked his crowbar under the stove with Reid’s gun and left him. Russo took the window left. Gio took the hall. Vincent stayed on the table line with Reid at his feet like a bad bag. The van doors opened. Four. Maybe five. Union pins and one man in a vest that looked federal and was not. “Reid!” one of them shouted. “Say you are walking.” Reid spat red on the tile. “I am not walking. The girl is recording. Use your heads or use the van.” They chose the van. A burst of fire chewed the window frame. Plaster snowed. I was on the floor with Vincent’s knee against my hip, the phone still live, Vance still talking in my pocket

Vance’s people put me in the first car and Vincent in the second. The door seals made the rain sound like it belonged to somebody else. A woman agent sat beside me and did not offer her name. “You will answer at the table,” she said. “Not in this seat. If you need a doctor for the elbow, say it now.” “I need my husband in the same building and a deputy who does not bleed out on purpose.” “That is not a medical request.” “It is the only one I have.” She looked at the window. The transfer estate shrank behind us. Federal lights made the old brick look cheap. My phone was gone. The knife was gone. They had taken both at the threshold like I was a girl who had wandered into the wrong kitchen with the wrong cutlery. At the building they walked me through a side entrance. No cameras I could see. That meant there were more. Vance met me in a room with a table and two chairs and a recorder already running. He looked like a man who had lost an argument with his own night. “Si

The box did not go to the hospital. It did not go to the annex. It went to a residential building in Brooklyn Heights with a doorman who pretended not to see night work if the envelope was thick enough. Russo’s voice was a thread in the car. “Fourth floor. Name on the buzzer is not the lawyer’s. Name is a company. Glass and something. I cannot see the rest.” Vincent parked where the street trees made a mess of the cameras. “Company is a coat. She is inside.” “Vance said we are not first through a door,” I said. “Then we will be first on a sidewalk.” We waited. Waiting made my elbow throb and my mind count Thursday in hours. At 11:40 the lawyer came out with the box reduced to a slim case. Same bones as Reid’s restaurant prop. She walked toward a car service. Vincent got out. I got out. We did not run. Running makes doormen remember. “Counsel,” Vincent said. She stopped. The case hung in her right hand. Her glasses caught the streetlamp. “This is an easy assault