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“Mio angelo, I want walls and a bed.”

  She giggled. “I can tell.”

  “I love you.”

  Her hand again came to my cheek. “And I love you. Maybe we can find walls and a bed in our house, the one where we now live.”

  It had been too long. “I’d like that. I also love seeing you happy.”

  “I want to be,” she said. “I really do.”

  High above within the skeleton of our home, our lips found each other’s. She tasted sweet, a spearmint indication of the gum she’d been chewing. For a moment, we were rulers of our new world, and I believed in the strength of our foundation. Just like the house being constructed below us, our love was strong. It would prevail.

  Chapter 19

  Watching our home come to life was nearly as rewarding as watching Angelina give it the essential elements. Many times, with Lennox by her side and Testa at the wheel, she would travel from store to store with strips of different paint colors, tile squares, and carpet samples. When I’d return home, she’d excitedly show me what she’d found and the beautiful combinations.

  Each room and color scheme made her eyes sparkle as she’d describe what would be. If it was her wish, I agreed. There was no expense I spared. Finally, the day came, and the movers arrived to Windsor Terrace.

  Though I was at the office, Angelina called to let me know they’d arrived. With Lennox at school, she was devoted to assuring the safe passage of our belongings.

  When my first meeting of the afternoon cancelled, instead of asking Julie, my secretary, to fill the timeslot, I decided to have her clear the rest of the day. It was out of character and felt exhilarating. After all, this move was monumental for our small family.

  There was something about what we were doing that created an overwhelming sense of hope. It was as if there was once again optimism for our future. Not that the expectancy had ever died; it had simply waned. The pressures of everyday life can do that.

  As this rare emotion sprinted through my veins, tingling my skin, I reached a conclusion. Instead of spending my day as I usually did—reading reports, checking expenditures, visiting construction sites, and meeting with people to discuss the same things we always discussed—I wanted to experience our move firsthand.

  My secretary’s head tilted. “Are you sure, Mr. Demetri? You’re going to leave early?”

  “Yes, I am. I am sure, and I am leaving.” The words felt right.

  Besides, I didn’t need to explain myself to her or even to the people she would need to reschedule. They were coming to me, not the other way around. I’d worked long and hard to be in this position, and for once, I was going to take advantage of it.

  “Okay,” Julie mumbled as she scribbled notes on a pad of paper in her hand. “I’ll reschedule. But just so you know, Mr. Salado has been on the schedule for nearly a month. He’s confident you’ll want to hear his proposal.”

  Julie was the most competent secretary I’d had in forever. She’d also been around longer than most. A few years older than me, she was happily married with two children. I’d told myself I mostly hired unmarried women because they were less likely to have family issues. That wasn’t sexist: it was simply fact. However, if I’d been concerned about that with Julie, I’d been wrong.

  Over the time she’s been my executive secretary, I was confident that if the need arose, she could run the entire company. She was quick on her feet and intelligent. She was an excellent problem solver and excelled at time management. The woman could multitask with the best of them. Since she accepted the position, I was rarely faced with a meaningless appointment. She prescreened everyone. If Julie said Mr. Salado’s proposal was worth my time, undoubtedly, it was. However, as far as this afternoon was concerned, my mind was made up.

  “I’m sure I’ll want to hear it, another time.” I looked down at my calendar. “I can stay late on Wednesday or Friday. If early works better, schedule that. Let’s get him in soon.”

  Her concern lessened. “Thank you. I’ll call his assistant right away. May I ask? Is there a problem?”

  My smile grew. “No, there’s no problem. I want to spend the afternoon with my family.”

  Her forehead lifted as surprise filled her eyes. “I see. Well, I’m certain Mrs. Demetri will be happy to hear that.”

  “I hope so. But please don’t call her. We have movers coming today, and I want to surprise her.”

  Julie nodded with a grin. “Your secret is safe with me. I’ll reschedule the afternoon.”

  “Thank you, Julie. Please divert my calls and only contact me if it’s truly an emergency.”

  “Yes, sir. Unless the building is on fire, your afternoon is free.”

  Julie and I had come to a comfortable understanding. My plans for the afternoon weren’t the only secret of mine she possessed. It seemed that many female employees came to my office with expectations. While I was no saint, I’d never slept with any of the women working directly under me. Technically, since I was the CEO of Demetri Enterprises, they all worked under me. Nevertheless, I shied away from women I’d be forced to see the next day and the day after. That didn’t mean that the ones in the past who had made it to my executive office didn’t make their availability known.

  I wasn’t quite sure how it worked in the secretarial pool, but I guessed that like men, women talked. I probably had a reputation. Prior to working for me, Julie had been working in another department. I’d seen her reports and heard positive things about her. I was in need of a new executive secretary, and tired of turnover, I wanted someone competent.

  When she was approached by human resources, she apparently wasn’t sure about applying for the position despite the increase in pay. Reluctantly, she agreed to an interview. During our first meeting, she unequivocally made her marital status known. I assured her that I too was married. With a proud posture and serious expression, she replied, “Yes, Mr. Demetri, but I intend to stay that way.”

  I did too, but nonetheless, her declaration was impressive. At that moment I knew I wanted her to work for me. If this feisty five-foot-three-inch woman could look me—the owner of the company—in the eye and state her case, she could handle anyone. I was right. Julie’s been with me for the last three years. She runs a tight ship, and from a managerial point of view, I couldn’t be happier.

  All of that didn’t mean that since her presence, I hadn’t accepted the attention of other female employees. Julie not only handled Demetri Enterprise business well, but she was outstanding at keeping my indiscretions from crossing the threshold to my office—literally and figuratively. She also took the liberty to remind me of appointments with my wife, send Angelina random gifts, and circle my anniversary with a large red marker on my calendar. Technically, she was only old enough to be my older sister, yet she’d taken on a kind of mother role that for some reason I didn’t mind.

  As a side bonus, Angelina and I had gotten to know her husband, Albert. He was a good man, hard worker, and cared immensely for his family. I was lucky to have Julie working for me, and I knew it. And if I ever forgot, she was capable of reminding me.

  As I gathered my things and was about to leave, I relished the overpowering hopefulness that I felt. When had I been this optimistic for my and Angelina’s future?

  Was it the first time I saw her after college? When I proposed? On our wedding day? Maybe our honeymoon?

  I couldn’t say. Instead, I wanted to revel in it as long as it lasted.

  “Mr. Demetri?” Julie said as I was leaving.

  “Yes?”

  “Don’t forget, she likes colorful daisies.”

  I nodded.

  Hustling through midday traffic, I pulled up near our home, the one where we would no longer live. For a few minutes, I stayed in the car, watching from afar.

  Under the canopy of trees, shaded from the summer sun, a cavernous moving truck had slowly begun to be filled. I grimaced as two big burly men carried furniture down the steps. With a footed loveseat in their grips and sweat drip
ping from their faces and staining their shirts, they moved in sync until the furniture piece was inside the truck. When I opened the car door, even from a few houses down, my wife’s voice came into range. Her tone brought a smile to my face.

  “Be careful with that... That’s fragile... That belonged to my parents...”

  A chuckle escaped my throat as I continued to watch. Only a few steps behind the movers, she followed, giving orders. Her voice was strong and authoritarian despite the discrepancy in her size and theirs. Her dynamic spirit continued to amaze me. It radiated from her. She was a star, and yet there was nothing flashy about her appearance: her hair was in a ponytail and she was wearing a well-fitted T-shirt and a pair of those pants, the ones that weren’t shorts, but weren’t pants. They came to her calves. She’d told me what they were called, but I didn’t remember nor had I cared. Not until now.

  As Angelina continued to bark orders, the woman in my vision was so much more than the sophisticated lady who wowed everyone at Carmine’s parties and more than Lennox’s mother, dressed to meet the teacher. She was my angel. In that instant, my memory flashed back to the nineteen-year-old at NYU, the one who first caught my eye and still owned my heart.

  If sworn under oath, I’d be tempted to testify that somehow my wife had found the secret to eternal youth. She was simply perfect, and I was enamored.

  I chuckled as her voice came in and out of range. Never once did I hear from the men carrying our belongings. Instead, I only saw their heads nod in agreement. She may have been half their size or less, but if I were a gambling man, I’d put my money on my angel.

  Slamming the car’s door, I started down the sidewalk toward our home, a bouquet of multicolored daisies in my hand. Angelina turned my way. For only a moment her head tilted, as if she were seeing a mirage, and then her entire expression blossomed. Hurrying my way, she called, “Oren. What are you doing here?”

  “I live here. Well, technically I still do, but not for long.”

  Her eyes sparkled as she reached for my shoulders. “It’s so exciting. I thought I’d be sad. After all, this was our first home, but I’m more excited than sad.”

  With the bouquet now behind her back, I surrounded her waist and pulled her close. Under the shade of a big tree we kissed, her sweet pink lips pushing against mine as she lifted herself to her toes. When we pulled away, I looked down into her natural beauty. Smiling, I lifted my thumb. With the pad, I rubbed a smudge of dirt from her cheek. “You’re stunning.”

  Her hands flew to her hair and then her cheeks. “I’m a mess. But I swear...those movers have to be watched every second.” Her body twisted. “Did I see flowers?”

  I presented her with the bouquet. “I know the vases are packed, but I wanted to get you something.”

  “Oren, you got me a house.”

  “We did that. It wouldn’t be what it is today without you.”

  She kissed my cheek.

  Our attention was diverted back to our brownstone as two other men exited the front door with chairs, each carrying two piled on top of the other.

  “Oh no.” She handed me back the flowers. “That’s our good dining room...”

  I shook my head, ready to follow yet certain she could handle it, when out of the corner of my eye, I caught a familiar dark stare. Across the street in the shadows was her cousin with his arms folded over his chest, leaning casually against another brownstone.

  I nodded his direction.

  Tossing a toothpick from his lips, Vincent checked both directions on our quiet street and crossed, coming my way.

  “Nice flowers,” he said.

  “In the neighborhood?” I asked, ignoring the flowers.

  “Always...at least usually. Pop wanted to be sure everything was good with the movers.”

  I scoffed. “Everything’s good with Angelina. The movers may have another story.”

  He laughed. “She’s been busting their balls for the last hour. It’s been too good of a show to walk away.”

  “Does she know you’re here?”

  “No. She’s got it handled. I was just checking. You know? Didn’t know you’d be here. She’s family.”

  “Thanks.” I could be offended that he doubted my presence. Then again, I hadn’t decided to be here until recently; therefore, he was justified. I suddenly wondered how many other times he’d checked on Angelina and Lennox when it should have been me.

  “Well, you did it.”

  Vincent’s tone, neither congratulatory nor derogatory, caused my question to disappear. I took a deep breath. We had done it—Angelina and me. Everything was set for our move. The new house was perfect. Using Angelina’s design and talent for the details, together we’d constructed a fortress hidden in plain sight: a safe house concealed inconspicuously in a good neighborhood behind a gate. From the street, it appeared as any other house. Yet the electric fencing, cameras, thicker-than-standard walls, and bulletproof glass made it unique. They made it exactly what I’d wanted for my family.

  And still, in some ways, it seemed too good to be true.

  So close and yet not there.

  Perhaps that was why I chose to come home instead of stay at the office.

  My only response, “I’ll be happy when we’re settled.”

  “You may have started a trend. I’ve been looking too.”

  I turned his way. “At property? Where?”

  “Here and there. Pop doesn’t want us to move...either,” he added. “But he’s watching. He won’t say it, but he admires your drive and ambition. Despite obstacles big and small, you don’t give up.”

  “He said that?”

  “Nah, you know Pop?”

  I did.

  “He talks in pieces,” Vincent said.

  Fucking Costello riddles.

  “He knows,” Vincent went on, “that I’m thinking about moving Bella and the kids. He’s watching you. I’m watching.” He patted my shoulder. “Don’t screw up.”

  “Thanks. No pressure.” I snorted.

  “Ah, we all have pressure. The pot’s boiling. Everything is swirling inside a fucking pressure cooker, and it’s about to blow. It’s been bubbling since Paulie and even before. Now with Sammy talking...”

  Vincent didn’t need to say more. Gotti’s underboss, Sammy Gravano, had spilled his guts to the feds and was scheduled to testify under oath. If the reports of what he’d said were true—and we had reliable inside sources—his testimony confirmed the earlier suspicions: Gotti had called for the assassination of Castellano. Not only called for it, but he’d been in a car with Sammy a few blocks away when it happened. He’d planned the killing of a family boss—broken a steadfast rule—and now Sammy was breaking another by talking.

  He was breaking our Omertà.

  “I guess there’s some reassurance in knowing Paulie was the only target,” I said.

  Vincent shrugged. “He was the only target for the bullets. Seems to me if the bosses had handled it differently, if they’d fought amongst themselves, it could have ignited a full-out war.”

  “Thank God they didn’t.”

  “The feds think they—the bosses—are all stupid criminals. They’re not. We’re not. We only want what’s best for those we care about.”

  I nodded. “The Costello family’s moving in the right direction.” Though I believed that, I also knew things were turbulent.

  My mind slipped back a few years. They say that hindsight is 20/20.

  I hadn’t realized at the time how beneficial Gioconda’s suspicion of me would be. He was right to be cautious. I was new and relatively untested. I’d like to take more credit for helping Angelina’s family through the last few years, but as in most things, the decisions all came down to Carmine. Maybe with the feds’ wiretaps and the rumors of discontent, Carmine didn’t see me as a target of suspicion, but as a safer alternative.

  I doubted I’d ever have a heart-to-heart talk with him to find out exactly what he’d been thinking. No matter the why, Carmine’s instr
uctions for me to keep Demetri Enterprises as clean as possible and use my connections primarily for cleaning family money and spreading the wealth—reinvesting it in many different places—allowed the Costellos to survive the storm that many families were struggling to navigate.

  I’d heard a story that years back the family was struggling financially. If that were ever the case, it wasn’t any longer. Much of their underworld money was now out in the world, growing and even being assessed for taxes. If and when the feds looked, the Costellos had financial records that could withstand scrutiny.

  Admittedly, Carmine’s insistence to keep the family steadfast in old-time racketeering and away from the heroin and cocaine mess also aided in keeping the Costellos further off the radar. The topic of illegal drugs ignited the masses. Giuliani could get on the television and preach that the mobsters were ruining the youth with drugs.

  I agreed with Carmine that as a revenue source, drugs were risky. I also questioned the claim that the families were responsible for the ruination of our city’s youth. From what I’d seen, they were doing a good job of that all by themselves.

  Currently, the city—and beyond—was riveted to their TVs and newspapers for updates of a long ongoing drug trial. To give the feds more ammunition, it revolved around a Queens pizzeria with an alleged connection to Sicilian drugs. Each night, Angelina gave me updates from the prognosticators on the evening news. It was time for everyone to lose interest. The trial had already been going on for a year.

  With the threats from outside and concerns within, it was difficult to stay out of the fray.

  Vincent simply nodded at my earlier reassurance. Finally, he said, “Pop got a subpoena a few days ago. He’s got his guys working on it. With Sammy squealing, they’re hoping for more.”

  “Doesn’t seem like they need more.”

  “Rumor has it that they’re going for the angle that all the bosses knew what was going on—they approved it. Conspiracy or some bullshit allegation.”

  I turned and stared into Vincent’s dark eyes. “He didn’t know.”

  “I know that. If you’re asked, remember that.”