Respect: An Infidelity series Novel Read online

  “Oren?”

  The car came to a stop at the curb. I held my breath as the driver’s door opened.

  “Demetri,” Jimmy De Niro said with a nod.

  I simply nodded in return, thankful he was one of Carmine’s men. “Wait here,” I whispered to Angelina as I took the few steps to the car.

  “The boss sent me. He wants you now.”

  “Carmine?” I asked, knowing the answer as I looked at my watch. “It’s nearly ten o’clock.”

  “Yeah, he said right away.”

  I tilted my head. “Angelina?”

  “Her aunt’s waiting.”

  I took a deep breath and turned back to my wife. “Home will need to wait.”

  Though she looked disappointed, she didn’t say a word as we loaded our suitcases into the trunk of the car and eased our way into the backseat. From our view, we could only see the back of Jimmy’s head—his large head. I’d become well acquainted with him during my recent Costello crash course. Known as the enforcer, Jimmy had been with the Costello family since he was young. As a teenager, he started his career running numbers, relaying messages, and taking care of cleanup. It wasn’t long before he became more.

  I’d yet to see his handiwork and prayed I never would. However, the word on the street was that if you got a knock on the door in the middle of the night and it was Jimmy, your life insurance better be paid up.

  From a crewman to a capo, he was advancing through the ranks. It seemed that now he was even being entrusted with Carmine’s niece, unless this was the equivalent of a middle-of-the-night interruption—in which case, my gun would be useful.

  My thoughts went to the car phones I’d told Angelina about. It would have been good to hear Carmine’s voice before getting in the car, reassuring us that it was his plan. Everyone knew that Carmine was skeptical of technology. Vincent and I had discussed it numerous times.

  The feds were using technology to hurt the families. Carmine’s trust rested in people, not electronics.

  Jimmy’s eyes occasionally peered into the rearview mirror, looking at me, and then back to the road. Each time he looked, our gazes met. Each look added to my renewed concern.

  “I guess I’ll be able to tell Aunt Rose about the honeymoon sooner rather than later,” Angelina whispered with a forced smile.

  I squeezed her gloved hand and returned the faux grin as questions swirled through my thoughts.

  What was happening?

  Why couldn’t it wait?

  White lights flickered in the trees lining the Brooklyn street. Christmas was only a few weeks away. It would be easy for a lost soul to mistake the quiet neighborhood for one like any other. The only indication that the Costello home was special was the multiple cars on the street. To the unknowing neighbor, it would appear as though there was a party within. Yet I wasn’t getting a celebratory feeling from our driver.

  When Jimmy pulled the sedan close to the curb in front of the Costello brownstone, I stepped out first. Barely a silhouette, I caught a glimpse of Stefano in the shadows. Despite the layer of snow, his dark coat and gloves hid him well. It was the faint mist of his breath hanging in the cold winter’s air and reflecting the lights from the porch and trees that gave him away. If I hadn’t been looking, he’d have been easy to miss.

  I held Angelina’s hand as we climbed the tall steps. Our shoes crunched over the salt and deicer. Once at the top, the door opened from within.

  “Angel,” Bella said, her expression gloomier than her tone.

  “What is it?” Angelina asked.

  Without giving us time to take off our coats, Bella reached for Angelina’s hand. “Come to the kitchen.” She turned briefly to me. “He wants you in his office.”

  Angelina’s eyes opened wide as she stared questioningly over her shoulder at me as her cousin-in-law pulled her toward the back of the house.

  Respectful of Rose’s home, I knocked the snow from my coat and did my best to wipe the frozen mix from my shoes before I made my way down the hallway behind the ladies. The echo of the wood floor faded away as I neared the office. I stood unmoving for a moment, taking in the muffled voices coming from behind the closed door. I couldn’t make out the words, yet the urgency of the tones rippled through the air.

  Taking a deep breath, I rapped upon the hard door. Immediately, it opened. I recognized the soldier though I didn’t know his name.

  “Oren,” Carmine called from within. “Come in.”

  The scene could have been from a movie: men in dark suits, a haze of smoke lingering in the air, and a muted hum as all the eyes turned to me. I didn’t even think to look for the plastic that I’d joked to myself about on the day I’d asked for Angelina’s hand. And yet with the way each man was looking my direction, it should have been on my mind.

  I took a step closer to the center of the circle. Carmine was holding court behind his desk. He’d stood when I entered, but now he was again seated. I knew most of the men in the room, mostly by association. They were an elite group: made men. The man to Carmine’s right was Carl Gioconda, the Costello consigliere. As the chief advisor, he was often with Carmine or near enough to contact. It wasn’t unusual to see him in this house.

  I scanned the other faces. Sets of eyes nodded or blinked, yet no one else greeted me verbally. It was then that I realized that Vincent wasn’t present. However, Bella was in the kitchen with Angelina. Something wasn’t right.

  “Sit,” Carmine said.

  Carl nodded toward me and spoke to Carmine. “In or out?”

  “Both.” Carmine turned to me. “We won’t keep you, Oren. I’m sure you’re tired after your trip.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Fine?” he snorted. “Perhaps that will change.”

  I simply swallowed. There weren’t words coming to mind.

  “I called you here because you need to know what’s happened in your absence.”

  I nodded.

  “After the reception there were words concerning you,” Carmine went on.

  “Me?”

  His hand rose. “Words said in passing. And the way people are, things aren’t always the way they seem. I received a call the morning after the wedding from a friend. Tony Mancini overhead a conversation that occurred. There was some talk. And then last week Frankie Russo was questioned by Peterson. He didn’t spill, but there’re rumors of a grand jury.”

  I was creating a mental checklist. Tony was one of the Costello capos, one also suspiciously absent from this gathering. I recalled that he’d been at the wedding and the reception. I remembered talking to him. If he overheard something, he overheard it at my reception.

  Peterson wasn’t one of the family. He was a prosecutor, always shooting his mouth off on television, known for his work with RICO: the Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations Act. Little more than an inconvenience, he was known to dig for the sake of digging.

  Russo also wasn’t one of the Costellos. He was part of the Luchi family, operating mostly in the Bronx. A few members of the Luchi family had recently been indicted on heroin charges. Their shipments came straight from Sicily. There was a lot of money in that, but thankfully, it was one of Carmine’s hard rules. There was enough to be made in other activities; the Costellos didn’t promote illegal drug sales. It was another line in the sand.

  I nodded. “What did Peterson ask?”

  “It’s more about what Peterson alluded to knowing.”

  I shook my head, wishing for one of the first times that I could recall that I was alone with Carmine or maybe Vincent. With a roomful of eyes on me, I wasn’t feeling open for discussion.

  “You said that this concerns me?”

  “It has been said that it does. I don’t believe it. I said it doesn’t,” Carmine’s voice was final. However, as he spoke, Carl Gioconda shifted in his chair.

  “The questions Peterson asked. No one should know,” Gioconda said.

  “Who did Mancini overhear?”

  “Johnny Bonetti.”<
br />
  I was having trouble keeping up. The Bonettis operated in New Jersey primarily and were also involved with drugs. Narcotics. That was the family whose consigliere, years ago, went over the head of the Bonetti boss and called for the hit on Angelina’s parents, Angelo and Gina Costello.

  “Johnny was talking about you.”

  “About me?”

  “Oren,” Carmine said, interrupting my exchange with Gioconda, “you and Vincent, you both have learned. It was helpful. I need you. Angelina needs you. I want you to work with Vincent, but not so much in plain sight anymore. No more pickups. You did what I wanted. Take Angelina home. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  It was like seeing the head of a pin. There was more stabbing into the depth, yet I couldn’t see any of it without prying the pin from its place. I wasn’t in a position to pry it out. And though I didn’t understand what had just happened, I replied, “Yes, sir.”

  As I started to stand, Carmine spoke again. “Vincent’s at your place.”

  “Why?”

  “I know it wasn’t you. Vincent knows it wasn’t you. Johnny, he was fishing, throwing bait in the water—chum—looking for sharks. It’s better if you lie low. Work on what you do. Vincent is making sure everything is ready for your return.”

  “Is there a concern at our home?” My heart was now pumping at twice its normal rhythm. “Should Angelina stay here?”

  “No. You’re one of us. Vincent set up a crew. For a few days they’ll make sure everything is safe. No need to worry.”

  Right.

  Easier said than done.

  I was worried, but I couldn’t argue with Carmine, especially not in front of everyone. “Yes, sir, I’ll get Angelina.”

  “Jimmy’s waiting. He’ll drive you home.”

  The rest of the room remained quiet until I shut the door behind me. As soon as I was in the hallway, I heard what I was sure was Gioconda’s voice.

  I hadn’t had that much contact with the Costello consigliere over the last six months, yet it seemed that I was not on his approved list of Costello visitors. I needed to find out what Johnny Bonetti said and how it related to me—after I ensured that Angelina was safe.

  Chapter 9

  My throat was dry and my palms moist as I made my way from the office toward the women. Though I knew she was tired from traveling, I liked the tone of Angelina’s voice as her story of the waterfalls rang through the air. Once I stepped through the doorway, our eyes met. It was the first time I’d felt like smiling since seeing Jimmy.

  “Mrs. Demetri,” I said with a tired grin, “let’s go home.”

  “You’re done...with...?” The unfinished question hung in the air.

  “For now.”

  As I waited for Angelina, lifting her wool coat from the back of the chair where she had it draped, Rose stood and placed her hand on my cheek.

  “You’re a good man, Oren Demetri. We know that.”

  “Thank you, Rose.”

  “You love our Angel.”

  My gaze went from Rose to Angelina. “I do.”

  “Go home. We’ll see you in the morning at Mass and then dinner here. That’s what family does.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I answered without first checking if Angelina agreed. I wanted to come back in the morning. I wanted to sit in Carmine’s office with only him and Vincent. Maybe I’d get answers that I wasn’t getting tonight.

  “I don’t know what’s going on,” Angelina whispered as we neared the front door.

  “I don’t either. Hopefully we’ll learn something from Vincent.”

  “Vincent?”

  “Apparently, he’s at our house.”

  “Bella only said he was out. I’m surprised he wasn’t in that meeting or whatever it was.”

  “Whatever is right. I’m not sure what it was either.”

  Angelina just shook her head as we stepped into the cold. Jimmy opened his car door on cue and stepped back to open the one to the backseat as we approached.

  My wife and I didn’t speak during our short ride to our home. I was certain that by what we’d said and her expression she was as confused as I. Discussing any of it in the presence of Jimmy De Niro didn’t seem like a good idea.

  The ride through the slushy streets wasn’t long. Our brownstone was only a few streets over from her family’s home. We’d walked it many times. I hadn’t bought that house because of the proximity to the Costellos, but it was convenient. However, the more I thought about Vinny being in our home uninvited, the more I reconsidered my assessment. Maybe convenient wasn’t the right word.

  The Windsor Terrace area was a good neighborhood in Brooklyn, better than where I’d been raised. Definitely a step up. I’d lived in this borough my entire life. So had Angelina. It was home, and it would be for a while.

  Currently, most of the money Demetri earned went back into the company, buying more, increasing the reach. That didn’t mean that I didn’t have dreams of better, of more. One day, I wanted to move Angelina beyond where we’d been and out of the city. She deserved more.

  It’s a strange almost indescribable sensation, approaching one’s home after being gone for two weeks and finding the windows filled with light. Yet that was exactly what caught my attention as Jimmy eased into an open parking space one house down from ours. Stepping from the car, I looked up. Even coming from the second floor of our brownstone was golden illumination leaking from behind the blinds and new drapes.

  “Vinny?” Angelina asked.

  “Probably. Let me go in first,” I said as I opened the small wrought-iron gate leading to our stairs. I turned and nodded to Jimmy. He was standing beside the car ready, in position to protect Angelina from behind if needed. It was right for me to protect her from the front.

  Reaching into my coat, I eased my gun from the holster and flipped the safety.

  “It’s just Vinny,” Angelina said, this time with more confidence.

  I didn’t respond, hoping she was right. Nevertheless, I couldn’t shake the odd feeling I’d had since Jimmy found us at the airport. Two weeks wasn’t long enough to be away—I’d love to take her back to the security of paradise—and yet at the same time, it was too long. Things could obviously change in an instant.

  I turned the knob or tried to. It didn’t budge. With my free hand, I slid the key into the lock. Turning it, I pushed and opened the door within.

  “Hello?” My voice echoed off the wood as I scanned the foyer.

  Footsteps came closer as I lifted my pistol.

  “Whoa,” Vincent said as he turned the corner, coming face-to-face with the business end of my firearm. “Nice greeting.”

  I lowered my gun. “You alone?”

  “It doesn’t matter.” I’m family. You trust me. He didn’t say the last two phrases, but they were there.

  It did matter if he were alone in our home or if he’d brought strangers with him. None of this was right.

  Angelina came up beside me. Tilting her head toward the street, she said, “Vinny, what a nice surprise.” She lifted her hand in a wave. “Thanks for the ride, Jimmy.”

  Angelina gave Vincent a quick embrace as I turned the safety back on and secured my gun. Pulling our suitcases inside that Jimmy had carried up the steps, I closed and locked the door.

  “Are you alone?” I asked again, wanting an answer.

  “Yes, inside.”

  “What’s happening?” Angelina asked.

  He didn’t respond to her; instead, looking at me, he asked, “Pop told you?”

  “A riddle. He told me a riddle.”

  He looked back at Angelina. “Did you see Bella?”

  “Yes. She seems tired and overly emotional. You should go back and take her home.”

  As we hung our coats on the coat tree, Vinny grinned for the first time since our reunion began. Walking back to the kitchen, he said, “She’s a bundle of hormones.”

  “What? She’s pregnant!” Angelina exclaimed, wrapping her cousin in a hug. “She didn’t tell
me.”

  “Yeah. Just found out. I’m not supposed to say anything. Mom and Pop know and her parents. But...” He nodded at Angelina. “...family. I trust you won’t say nothing.”

  Releasing himself from his cousin’s embrace, Vincent sat at the table and leaned the chair back on two legs.

  Sure. Make yourself at home.

  This was ridiculous. I wanted to spend the evening with my wife in our home for the first time. Instead, Vincent Costello was sitting at my kitchen table with an open beer, undoubtedly from my refrigerator.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “Angel,” Vincent said, “can you give Bella a call? Tell her I’ll be there soon.”

  Her lips flattened into a straight line. “Go ahead, Vinny, just say you don’t want to talk in front of me. That you don’t want me to hear what you have to say. Tell me I don’t need to know.”

  “It’s not your worry.”

  “If it’s my husband’s—”

  She stopped. Her lips came together and neck straightened as she inhaled.

  Angelina hadn’t stopped questioning because I said anything, and I doubt it was because of the look Vincent was giving her. I’d suspect Angelina stopped trying for information because it’s what she knew, what she’d lived all her life. She understood that it was a losing battle. If whatever I learned was something I could share, I would. But neither of us would learn anything if she didn’t leave.

  “Fine,” she said. “Do you really want me to call her?”

  “Yeah, she worries about everything lately. Let her know I won’t be long.”

  “I’ll use the phone in the bedroom.”

  I suddenly recalled the lights I’d noticed coming from the second floor. “Have you walked upstairs?” I asked Vincent.

  “I did. Angel’s really done a lot. Place looks great.”

  I nodded, still not thrilled with his invasion, but happy to know the house was clear.

  Before Angelina disappeared, Vincent called, “Angel, thanks. Bella does like to get updates—to know that I’m good.”

  She smiled with a nod as she disappeared down the hall.

  Once Angelina’s footsteps faded away at the top of the stairs, Vincent leaned forward. All four feet of the chair came to the floor with a thud. “Not that I don’t enjoy our time together, but I’d rather be with Bella, and I suspect you’d like to be upstairs.” Before I could respond, he went on. “So let me cut to the chase. Mancini claimed he overheard a conversation at the wedding reception. He said he heard Johnny Bonetti mention that you’d helped him out of a jam. Took a balloon and cleaned it using the liquor store on Carroll. Bragging how you helped him in a pinch.”