by Maria DiRico
The elevator door opened, and a frazzled Teri Fuoco jumped out. Her hair was unkempt, her shirt buttoned wrong. “Hey, hi,” she said, greeting Mia like they were old friends. The reporter panted as she spoke. “My court connections let me know about the time change for your father’s appearance, but I accidentally set my phone alarm for six P.M., not A.M., so I woke up late. Which courtroom are we in?”
Mia stepped into the elevator and pressed the open button. “‘We’ aren’t in any courtroom because case was dis-missed.” She punctuated this with a triumphant finger snap, reveling in the aggrieved look on the reporter’s face as the elevator doors closed.
Rather than take the subway, Mia treated herself to a cab ride to Belle View. She texted her grandmother the arraignment outcome and was rewarded with a screenful of happy emojis. When she got to Belle View, she discovered Guadalupe and Evans were on lunch break and Cammie had never come in at all, so she had the place to herself. Mia welcomed the solitude. She fixed herself a sandwich with cold cuts she found in the catering hall refrigerator, then settled down in her office to eat and scroll through almost two days of e-mails. There was a knock on her door. She opened it and was more pleased than she’d ever admit to see Jamie Boldano standing there.
“Hi. This is a nice surprise. Did I butt-dial a Pick-U-Up ride?” Jamie didn’t crack a smile at her small joke. “I’ve been meaning to call you. It’s been an insane couple of days.” Jamie looked uncomfortable, which made her nervous. “Jamie, why exactly are you here?”
He stepped into the office and closed the door, then stood against it. “You have a problem. A big one.”
Mia paled. “Your father.”
Jamie gave a grave nod. “I came by to give you a heads-up that my dad’s not happy about what’s going on here.”
“How not happy is he?” Mia asked. Jamie stretched his hand high above his head. “Marone.”
“I thought you should know.”
“I appreciate that.”
“I better go,” Jamie said. He turned to leave.
“No,” Mia said. “Don’t. Take me to your father.”
Chapter Eighteen
Mia and Jamie were quickly on their way to Stony Harbor, an affluent community on Long Island’s South Shore. “I really appreciate this,” she said. “You didn’t cut any classes to take me, did you?”
“No, I only had morning classes today. You’ll be making my mom happy. She’s been bugging me to visit for weeks. Between school and driving, I haven’t had time.”
Mia glanced out the window as they drove through Alley Pond Park on the Grand Central Parkway. Jamie dropped down to the Cross Island Parkway, and Queens morphed into Long Island. “You’re such a good person to do this for me.”
“Driving you to a place I need to go anyway doesn’t make me a good person. It’s no big deal.”
“Yeah, it is. You do stuff for other people all the time.”
“You do, too.” Mia gave a derisive snort. “Really, Mia. Look at right now. You’re so willing to help your dad that you’re not afraid to talk to my dad. I would be. You’re way braver than me.”
“He doesn’t scare me. Okay, maybe a little. But we always got along.”
“He loves you. He was so mad about Adam cheating on you like that. He wanted to kill him. Not that he did,” Jamie hastened to add.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. Of course. Kind of.”
The two lapsed into silence for the rest of the ride. Mia had lied to Jamie. While she generally wasn’t scared of Donny Boldano, given the current circumstances, having a heart-to-heart with the mob boss terrified her. For a panicky moment, Mia considered backing out. But she reminded herself of the peril her father faced and summoned up the courage Jamie assumed she had.
Twenty minutes later, Jamie pulled up and parked in front of a nice but not ostentatious white-columned, two-story house on a leafy side street. The only difference between the house and its neighbors was the high brick wall, also painted white, that surrounded the property, and a preponderance of security cameras. Jamie punched a code into the front gate. “Hopefully my dad hasn’t changed it since I was home last. He does that on a pretty regular basis.” The gate swung open, and Mia gave him a thumbs-up.
They entered the property and the gate automatically closed behind them. The front door opened as Mia and Jamie approached. An immaculately dressed woman in her late fifties with strong Roman features stood in the door frame. “Finalemente.”
“Hi, Mom,” Jamie said with an embarrassed grin.
Aurora Boldano came down the front steps and enveloped her son in a hug. “I thought the only way to get a visit out of you was to pretend I died so you’d be forced to come to a visitation.” Aurora let go of Jamie. “And you brought our favorite girl.” She threw her arms around Mia.
“It’s great to see you, Mrs. B,” Mia said.
“Stop that, we’re adults now, it’s Aurora.”
“I’m not good at calling my friends’ parents by their given names.”
“So polite you are.” Aurora let go of Mia and addressed them both. “Are you hungry?”
Mia wondered if there was an Italian household anywhere in the world where that wasn’t the first question out of someone’s mouth. “Not right now, but thank you.”
“She’s here to talk to Dad,” Jamie said. “But I could eat.”
Aurora gave her son an affectionate squeeze. “That’s my baby boy. The mister is out in the gym, Mia.”
Jamie went inside with his mother. Mia, feeling tense, followed a stone path that looped around the side of the house to the backyard. While she trusted Donny wouldn’t harm her father—at least she hoped not—Mia feared he’d wrest Belle View away from him . . . and her, if she was being totally honest. She reached Donny’s gym, which was housed in a pavilion at one end of the Boldano’s Olympic-sized pool. A few wiseguy wannabes, including Jamie’s older brother Donny Junior, were huddled around a table, smoking and checking their cell phones. Mia knew their type all too well; she’d been married to one of them. They were guys who looked like off-brand versions of their Wall Street counterparts, with clothes a little too flashy and hair a little too slick.
Donny Junior waved to her. “Mia, hey.”
“Hi, Donny.”
His companions tore themselves away from their phones to check her out. A couple of them tossed suggestive smiles her way; one even wiggled his eyebrows up and down lasciviously. That was something else she’d learned about the wannabes—they flirted like hoods from a 1950s B movie. The #metoo movement had sailed right over their expensively-coifed heads. “Come join us,” one called out, waving her over. “We could use a little eye candy.”
Donny Junior slapped his hand down. “Eh, shut up. That’s my brother Jamie’s girl.”
“I’m not Jamie’s girl, I’m not anybody’s girl,” Mia threw back at them. “And I know how to shoot.”
This earned a few whoas, followed by laughter. “Burn,” the flirtatious guy teased Donny Junior, who glared at him.
Mia escaped into the gym, where she found Donny Boldano Senior on a treadmill, wearing a track suit that looked a lot like one of Elisabetta’s. He was watching a real estate show on a small TV embedded into the treadmill. “Mia, ciao,” the mob boss said without losing stride. “It’s good to see you.”
“You too, Mr. B. Can we talk?”
He motioned to the treadmill next to him. “Hop on.”
Mia kicked off her heels and got on the treadmill. She began a brisk walk, matching Boldano’s pace. “What are you watching?”
“One of those shows where people buy houses on tropical islands.”
“I love those shows,” Mia said. “They’re all, like, ‘Our budget is four million dollars and we can live in Tahiti because I can run my business from my phone.’”
Donny barked a laugh. “I don’t know what that business is, the one you can run from a phone in Tahiti, but I want in on it.”
“I’m with
you on that.”
“How’s your grandma?”
“Good.”
“She’s a pistol, that one. What do you all call her?”
“Little Mussolini.”
Boldano chortled. “Little Mussolini,” he repeated. “Little Il Duce. I like that. And your mother? How is she?”
Mia got that this question, while framed casually, was a quest for information. Donny Boldano never liked Gia and had helped Ravello get the couple’s marriage annulled. Mia knew Donny, who believed in maintaining a low profile, wouldn’t like what he was about to hear. “The last time we spoke, she told me she was up for a role on a reality show about Italian housewives.”
Boldano pursed his lips. “I’ll have someone talk to her.”
Mia knew the Family had strict rules about applying muscle to women and children, but to be sure, she asked, “Just talk, right?”
“Ma, certo. Now, let’s talk about why you’re here.”
Beads of perspiration formed on Mia’s forehead. She didn’t know whether they were the result of nerves or the mile she’d already tread on the treadmill. She wiped them away with the back of her hand. “You heard what happened at Belle View. And with my dad.” Boldano gave a slight nod but said nothing. “It’s bad luck. Nothing more than that. Yeah, it’s a lot of bad luck, but the judge threw out the case against Dad, so now the press will go away because there’s no story anymore, at least with my dad. I know in my heart the murders will be solved soon and when they are, it’ll be like none of this ever happened.”
Mia grew impassioned as she spoke. “Belle View has so much to offer, Mr. B. It’s got a ‘bella view’ for one thing. The banquet rooms are terrific spaces that can be dressed up for big, fancy affairs, or down for smaller ones. Guadalupe, our chef, can do anything, plus she’s a vet.” Mia threw that in knowing that Boldano, who’d tried to enlist in the Armed Forces as a teenager but was rejected due to a heart murmur, had a soft spot for veterans. “I don’t see Belle View as only a business, though. I see it as a place where we can host Family functions. Weddings, christenings, first Communions, birthdays, anniversaries. All of us coming together to celebrate the most important events in our lives at our very own Family venue.”
She glanced over at Boldano. He had an impassive look on his face. Mia plunged ahead. “Please don’t blame my father for what’s going on.”
“There was a lot of publicity about his arrest. You know I don’t like publicity.”
Mia couldn’t ignore the hint of a threat underlying Boldano’s measured tone. Uneasy, she stepped up her pace on the treadmill, breaking into a full sweat. “Dad is a victim of terrible circumstances. You should see him with potential clients, Mr. B. He’s warm and kind and generous. They love him. All I’m asking is that you give him—us—a chance to make Belle View a place where party dreams come true.”
“Agh,” Boldano said, slapping his forehead.
“What?”
He pointed to the TV. “They picked house number three. It’ll go in the first hurricane. It’s too close to the ocean.”
“That’s a high-class problem I wouldn’t mind having,” Mia said.
Boldano got off the treadmill, which slowed and came to a stop. Mia followed his lead. He picked up two towels and handed one to her. “My sources tell me Belle View needs a lot of work.”
“Not a lot, necessarily. The bones are good. Equipment’s good. I’m not gonna lie; it needs sprucing up. But that’s cosmetic.”
Boldano wiped his face and his armpits. He sat down on a stationary bike and began pedaling. Mia did the same on the bike next to him. “I’ve always been fond of you.”
“And I you, sir.”
“I was very unhappy about that piece of trash you married. I wasn’t sorry to see him disappear. And no, I had nothing to do with that.”
“I wasn’t thinking—”
“Yes, you were.”
“Okay, I was.”
Boldano ruminated as he pedaled. “So, you really think this Belle View place has potential.”
“So much potential.”
The gangster turned up the dial on his bike. Mia did the same, matching his rhythm as sweat dripped into her eyes and stung them. Her heart pounded so loudly she was afraid Donny would hear it and know how jittery she really felt. She swallowed her fear and fought to project strength.
The don dialed down the speed on his bike. “All right then,” he said. “I’ll back off. Which means handling all of this is on you. No more murders, or at least no publicity about them or anyone involved with the place.”
“I am all over it,” Mia said, euphoric about the reprieve.
Boldano cracked a smile. “I bet you are. You got your mother’s looks, your father’s big heart, and your nonna’s moxie. It’s a winner’s combination.”
“God, I hope so.”
The fervent tone in Mia’s voice elicited a loud laugh from Boldano. “Here’s the deal. Once everything’s back to normal, I’ll see if I can find some money to fund upgrades. If we’re gonna hold on to Belle View, it has to be a place I’m proud of. But any money going in or coming out has to be legit. The minute there’s a stink on the place—not counting the current one, which at least isn’t financial, that’s where the feds are breathing down my neck—it’s useless to me. Capisce?”
“Capisco. Grazie, Mr. B. Thank you.”
The mob boss dismounted and stood in front of Mia. “There is one thing I want you to do for me.”
Mia stopped pedaling. “Naturalemente. What?”
“Marry Jamie.”
Chapter Nineteen
Mia stared at Boldano, thrown by his request—no, his order. Then she found her voice. “Mr. B, you know Jamie and I are very close. He’s one of my best friends, if not my best.”
“Which is perfect. Isn’t that what your generation wants these days? Everyone to be their best friend? Parents, lovers, you should pardon the expression.”
“Yes.” Mia stretched out the small word as she searched for the proper response. “I think it’s crucial for a relationship to be based on friendship first. That’s what doomed me and Adam. We were all about attraction, but at the end of the day, didn’t have much to say to each other.”
“That’s why you and Jamie should be together. You got both things going on, the talking and the attraction. Any dummy can see that, which includes Donny Junior.”
Mia dismounted and paced the gym floor. “A relationship has to be a mutual decision. I can’t exactly hurl myself at Jamie.”
“Yes, you can. Hurl! Hurl away.”
Mia clasped her hands to her head. She took a breath. “Mr. B, there’s this thing called the friend zone. It’s where you pass through an attraction and land on friendship. And there’s no going back.”
“Bull crap,” Boldano said, only he didn’t use the word crap. “Mia, bambina, sit.” He took her hand and pulled her down next to him on a bench in front of lockers. “I know Jamie cares about you deeply. I want him to have a happy life. And I don’t think that’s going to happen with his girlfriend.”
Mia suddenly felt like someone had taken a fist to her stomach. “Jamie has a girlfriend?” she asked, aiming for nonchalance.
“You didn’t know?”
“No, but I’m happy for him.”
Donny Boldano glowered. “Don’t be. I don’t like her. She’s not right for him. A city girl.”
“Queens is the city,” Mia said, her voice weaker than she wished. She forced herself to summon up inner strength. “I’m sorry, Mr. B, but Jamie and I can’t be forced into a relationship. I’m still recovering from my horror of a marriage. Jamie already has someone special in his life. It wouldn’t be fair of me to interfere with that.”
“I don’t hear you ruling it out.” Boldano spoke in a low voice, his tone conspiratorial.
Mia stood up. “I better go. Nonna took what happened with my dad hard and I want to make sure she’s okay.”
“There, right there.” Boldano stood up and
pointed at Mia’s heart. “A girl whose heart’s in the right place. A girl with family values. That’s what I want for my son.”
“Addio, Mr. B. Thank you for believing in my dad and me. And Belle View.”
Mia kissed the mobster on both cheeks and left the gym. She made sure she was out of Boldano’s sight line, then bent over, put her hands on her thighs, and gasped for air. She straightened up but was overcome with a wave of dizziness and clutched the side of the house for support. “Jamie has a girlfriend, big deal,” she thought. “Why am I taking this so hard? There’s nothing going on between us. I’m just upset about this day, this week, this freaking year.”
“Mia?”
She heard Jamie calling and pulled herself together. “Yeah, coming.”
She started for the front of the house. He met her halfway. “There you are,” he said with his dimpled smile. “I was afraid you ran off on me.”
“No, no running,” Mia said. She stared past him, afraid eye contact would set her off emotionally. “Just treadmilling with your dad.”
“How’d it go?”
“I’m still here. And he’s giving us more time.”
“Yes!” Jamie fist-pumped and hugged Mia. She stood stiff in his embrace, and he let go. “Mom wants you to stay for dinner. It’s one of her best. Bracciole, homemade manicotti, tiramisu for dessert.”
The thought of food made Mia queasy. Her stomach hadn’t settled from its reaction to Boldano’s revelation about Jamie’s love life. “I’d love to, but I really need to get home. I’m pretty burnt out from the day. But you stay. Have dinner with your family.” And not your girlfriend, a little voice said inside her head, to which another voice responded, Shut up, Mia.
“I’ll drive you home. I’ll get Mom to make us doggy bags.”
“No.” The word came out more forcefully than Mia planned. Jamie looked puzzled and a little hurt. “I already called for a ride,” she lied.