Strictly Need to Know

by MB Austin

  “You look so tired.” Rose reached across and lightly touched Maji’s hand. “Are you sleeping?”

  “Some.” She shrugged and opted for honesty. “Not well.” In truth, the only time she had slept without dreams or hypervigilance was when Rose was wrapped around her. But that was too much honesty for tonight.

  “Well, tomorrow’s going to be a long day, if we have to stay up until the party’s over. I’ve seen this crowd celebrate—they could go all night.” She took her hand back and reached for two of the three pitchers. “Can you take something? Ambien or the like?”

  Maji shook her head. “They gave me something at the hospital, but I tossed the rest. Drugs and I just don’t get along.”

  “Well, I wish I could help.”

  Maji felt her face heat, thinking how welcome some presleep help would be. Rose noticed, and flushed as well. “Me, too,” Maji conceded. “Thanks anyway.”

  When everyone but Dev, who had first watch, was sleeping, Angelo went for a walk. He had only meant to go out by the pool and look at the night sky, but before he knew it, his feet had carried him down to the boathouse. The scene of the crime, as it were. He tried to smile at his own humor, but it didn’t feel funny. It was a good spot, away from the civilians, away from his mother, and Rose, and Nonna. They shouldn’t see. And down here, if the team was careful about their placement, their roles would go undetected.

  Angelo looked out across the smooth black water, glassy in the still night. If it was like this at go time, sound would carry. They’d need to be extra careful, or the FBI or JSOC might pick something up. Last thing he wanted was one of them to burn for this. He shook the thought off. He shouldn’t worry—those three together could pull off anything, especially with Hannah’s help.

  Dev and Tom had put on a great front all evening, acting like they did at crunch time in any mission, full of bad jokes and dark humor. Maji had been quiet, somewhat removed. But then, it was normal for her to pull inward at this point, too. In fact, he was the only one who’d been out of normal form, trying to stay present for his mother and Rose.

  As the back of the house came back into view, Angelo stopped on the dew-damp grass and looked up at the windows of the three women he loved most in this world. He hoped they were all sleeping. God knew, Maji needed to be on her game from here on out. He was counting on her for so many things now.

  As for him, it was time to lie down and run through every moment of the next thirty-six hours. To see it all, step by step, to feel himself there and visualize everything going according to plan. After that, he’d have to make himself get some rest. One last time.

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Maji looked up from the lounge chair by the pool as Dev and Tom stalked out of the house. They wore black caps and bulletproof vests, black pants and boots. Each of them had a sidearm showing, in addition to a rifle. They stopped at attention across from Maji and waited for her to move the pool party indoors.

  Maji leaned over to Jackie, whose eyes were closed as she basked in her bikini on the next lounge chair over. “It’s time to go in. The guys need to leave.”

  Jackie sat up and startled at the sight of them. “Jesus! You’ll melt down there.” Her voice carried easily across the water to them.

  Rose stopped swimming midstroke and righted herself in the water, checking to see what was happening. She stood and pulled her goggles off. “I hope you’re taking water down there,” she said. “I can bring you food, too, if you can’t come up.”

  “Frank will be their runner,” Maji said. Interesting that guns fazed Benedetti women so little, while the prospect of dehydration concerned them so much. “We need to go in now.”

  Rose nodded and pulled herself up the side ladder, leaving wet footprints on the cement as she claimed her towel and wrap. Catching Maji watching, she smiled before covering up.

  Maji felt herself blush. “Have a nice time at the party,” Dev said.

  “I’ll try,” she replied. “Don’t shoot any wiseguys.”

  “What?” Rose asked as she passed by.

  “I’ll be right in,” Maji told her and headed over for a direct word with the guys.

  Rose found Maji applying makeup in the large bathroom with two sinks that connected Angelo’s and Carlo’s rooms. “Mind if I join you? The lighting’s better in here.”

  “Be my guest. In fact, you can help me hit the right note. Style-wise.”

  Rose studied her, fascinated by the transformation under way. “What are you going for? Your original tasteless look, or something more moderate?”

  “Ouch,” Maji responded, her smile belying the hurt tone. “More moderate—like Sienna gave me a makeover.”

  Rose smiled but didn’t laugh. “Poor Sienna. Her tan is sprayed on, and she still thinks you got the natural look from time in the sun.”

  “Hey, now. She’s smarter than that. She knows I fit in with the caterers better than with your family.”

  Rose nodded. “And how her father feels about that. Well, your dress is in good taste, at least.”

  “Thanks. I’m giving you credit for that. Remember our great shopping trip? The one Frank brought all the boxes home from.”

  Rose set her makeup box on the counter, opened it. “Oh, right. Good thing you mentioned it. Where’d we go again?”

  Maji shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. Wherever you shop when you’re on vacation here.”

  “Honestly, I don’t. Most of my clothes are from my mother. We’re the same size, and she goes through outfits in a blink, writes them off as business. Which, in Southern California real estate, may be legit. I cherry-pick to make a lowly professor’s paycheck stretch.”

  “Well, that explains the California casual elegance vibe. It suits you.”

  Rose smiled and took out her foundation lotion. “What about you? You do actually buy yourself clothing, I assume. What do you do when Angelo isn’t dressing you?”

  “When I was on base, I wore fatigues or jeans. That’s about all I own anymore. Bubbles is waiting to take me thrifting. She’s the queen of secondhand fashion.”

  Rose could picture Bubbles clowning around the racks of outfits, showing off unlikely finds. “That sounds like fun.”

  “Soon,” Maji agreed.

  Rose noticed she didn’t say, Why don’t you join us? Bubbles would surely invite her if she asked. But she resolved not to.

  “When did your mother marry this Gerald guy?” Maji asked, looking at herself in the mirror, carefully outlining her lips, rather than Rose.

  Rose blinked at the shift. “When I was ten. They started dating when I was eight. They met through work, of course. Why?”

  “Nonna calls him your father. I just wondered what he’s like.”

  Rose thought briefly. “You know, I believe he’s the only man who has never spoken down to me. Even when I was eight.”

  Maji caught her eye in the mirror. “Sounds like good dad material. Has he been out here?”

  “No. My mother’s never returned. Not even for Grandpa’s funeral.” Which Rose could understand. “Not for Max’s and Carlo’s burials, either.”

  “And that makes you mad?” Maji’s eyes caught Rose’s in the mirror.

  “Yes. Whatever happened, it was a long time ago. Nonna needed her. Jackie needed her.” She sighed. “There I go again. I guess I should respect her decisions, even if I don’t like them.”

  Rose went out and got her dress on, zipping it nearly to the top in back. It caught an inch from the clasp. She swore and went back to the shared bath. Maji was nearly done. The total effect was dramatic. To Rose she looked like a different person. Not Ri the soldier she’d almost gotten used to, but Ri the streetwise moll. Dangerous and, in that dress, attractive in a brassy kind of way. Potent. “Wow.”

  “What?” Maji asked, pulling the thick hair swept to one side into a large rhinestone-studded clasp. “You got an eye problem?”

  Rose laughed at the tone, Maji’s stance. “Now I could see you in Vegas, taking the h
ouse to the cleaners.”

  “Never played there,” Maji said, her speech normal again. The hair slipped out, and she swore, trying to pull the clasp out of her hair. “Ow.”

  Rose came over to help her, started to delicately extract strands of hair from the metal prongs. This close, she could smell Maji’s natural musk. “You should put on a tacky perfume. Otherwise, I may mess up your makeup.”

  “Is that a threat, or a promise?” Maji’s eyes shifted from green to brown, and a hint of Brooklyn came through in the challenge.

  Rose swallowed, and she had a vision of Maji in fatigues, verbally sparring with Iris. No wonder they’d slept together, in the middle of a war zone. Rose was certain she would have, too. She took a step back, releasing her hold on Maji’s hair.

  “You okay? Rose?”

  Rose took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have flirted. I thought I could afford to play a little, with you in Ri mode, but…”

  “But it’s still me.” Maji looked resigned. “I’ve been wearing Ri over my own skin for years. It’s been nice to remember what it feels like to just be me.”

  “Hold still,” Rose said. She worked the clasp out of Maji’s hair and handed it to her. They each held one half, their fingers touching. “You aren’t standard issue Army. I know you can’t tell me, and I don’t need the details. But Iris was right about that much.”

  Maji pulled back, leaving the clasp in Rose’s hand. “She doesn’t even know my name. And if I can help it, she never will.”

  Rose set the clasp down by the sink. “That’s a lot of heat, for someone you really don’t care about anymore.” Maji remained frozen in place, her face a familiar mask of studied blankness, and Rose fought the urge to shake her. “Maji Rios, don’t get me wrong. I love the woman you’ve shown me. And I know there’s much more to you. But if you should want some kind of future with me, get your house in order. Because there will never be room in mine for three.”

  Having finished her pronouncement, Rose kissed Maji lightly on the cheek and left.

  Like shooting fish in a barrel, Angelo thought, looking around the formal dining room. It doubled well as a boardroom, or a conference room at the Hotel Nacional if he wanted to extend the party metaphor that far. Rey’s cleaning crew had pulled back the heavy drapes and put every last leaf into the long, polished table now bouncing sunshine into half the made men’s eyes. Each Family’s capo, consigliere, and head tech guy or accountant filled the table’s extended sides, squinting against the reflected light. Gina Luchetti and Nonna sat at one end, the only women in the room, invited out of respect for their dead husbands.

  “Drop the damn blinds already,” Nonna barked in Ricky’s direction. He looked to Gino for consent before getting up from his seat in the ring of chairs lining both long sides of the room. Angelo knew he aspired to be at the table, not relegated to the outer circle. But he played errand boy without complaint today, and a collective sigh followed the dimming of the room.

  From his spot with Sander at the far end of the room from the old ladies, Angelo could see everyone’s faces except for Yuri’s and Gino’s. As expected, Gino acted solemn, trying to project some gravitas as the meeting’s host and the co-owner of the big product launch. Like he wasn’t the prodigal son, brought back into the fold by Khodorov’s largesse. God knew, Gino believed it enough to sell it, and the others weren’t about to challenge the charade if it would piss Yuri K. off.

  “That’s a lot of Cuban shirts,” Sander whispered to him.

  True, it looked as though a memo had gone out, specifying required party wear. Angelo chuckled softly. “They all shop at the same place, huh?”

  “No—their wives do.”

  Uncle Lupo stood out only for breaking the fashion trend, dressed in a white linen suit. Yuri hadn’t bothered to play dress-up, but why should he? He could have shown up naked, and every guy in the room would have pretended they didn’t see his pale skin covered in prison tattoos. But Angelo thought the capos should have worn suits, like Lupo.

  He whispered his fashion critique to Sander, who replied, “Be happy they didn’t turn up in Bermuda shorts and black ankle socks. The new business casual.”

  They both laughed, and heads turned their way. Well, so what if the guys eyeing them wondered just how close a partnership he’d forged with Sander? Yuri’s fierce protectiveness of his son meant nobody would say anything out of line. At least not today, not here. And after tonight, fuck ’em all. Most of them were no better than Gino, just better trained.

  Yuri looked over his shoulder at them. “Shall we begin?”

  Angelo was pleased to see Gino hold his peace, smart enough to defer to Yuri, who ran the meeting like a board chairman. Later Gino would shine as the party host—man of the house, the lord of the manor.

  Angelo and Sander gave a nice little dog-and-pony show that he could see bored the handful of tech guys in the room. For the others, it spelled out in simple terms what they were buying: a program that would make all of their transactions untraceable, and the ability to license the program to their own clients. Sander’s patience with the Digital Banking 101 questions from the consiglieres started to fray. “Look,” he said, “You just buy in, let your tech guys set things up, and then the computers will do the rest.”

  Angelo could see the older men’s reservations, masked politely. “If it all sounds like voodoo to you,” he said, pausing dramatically to look the capos and their consiglieres in the eye, “try and remember who it is you’re dealing with here.”

  Yuri blinked at being put on the spot, but made a gesture of gracious acknowledgment. “A few weeks ago, I would have believed what we are offering today to be impossible, myself. But my son has tested, even enhanced, the program that our young Benedetti created. I now share with you my complete faith.”

  “As with any partnership my father enters into,” Sander added, “if you are not satisfied, he is not satisfied.”

  “And I am never unhappy alone,” Yuri concurred, managing to make his usual threat sound more like a promise today.

  Gina Lucchetti’s son Arthur, now the head of his family, stood. “If you say it works, I’ll take that to the bank.” He looked to the other capos for agreement.

  They all nodded, faces serious. Bordering on earnest, Angelo thought. Good—they were sold. If Yuri said he was going to melt the polar ice caps with a satellite laser from space, they’d all buy stock in the water.

  Yuri dismissed Angelo and Sander back to their ringside seats and moved on to distribution rights, profit shares, and details well within the comfort zone of all the men at the table. He opened the metal hardcase full of tokens and joked, “Do not give these to your children to play with. Do not take these downstairs to the game room, either. Each one costs you one million dollars and will deliver a hundredfold on your investment, over time.”

  Sander stood and briefly explained how the tokens were controlled via remote server access, and limited to use by one client each. “So think carefully about how many you need, given the distribution agreement we have outlined so far.”

  “And be aware,” Yuri added, “that each transaction, no matter who makes it, will deliver to the program’s creators”—he gestured toward Angelo and Sander—“a very small portion of the transaction fee it generates for you, the distributors.”

  “How small?” Arthur Lucchetti asked. Angelo remembered why he’d always liked Uncle Art. Balls of steel, that guy.

  “One percent of your automatic deduction. As explained earlier, all this is automated. Should you find any variance when you check your accounts, you may see me personally for recourse. Any objections?”

  Angelo would have keeled over if anyone there had raised one.

  The capos dismissed the outer ring, and half the room filed out, led by Ricky and promises of mojitos on the veranda. On determining that only the techs and accountants really needed to stay and collect the tokens, make payment via their offshore accounts, and go over the deployment instruc
tions, the capos and consiglieres began to rise as well, already shifting into a party mood.

  Nonna stopped them with one raised hand. “Before you go and celebrate, I got a few words. After that, nothing more except, Why is your plate empty? I promise.”

  The men chuckled politely and sat back down.

  Nonna stood by her chair, leaning on it. “Gina and I, we’re the last of the women who helped their husbands run the business. When we were young, the Family’s job was to take care of our own. If some people got hurt in the process, that was a price to pay, not a bonus. Stephano could talk to me, because he was never ashamed of the work we did. Some rackets you looked at, you said, let somebody else take that one. How many of you remember him saying, If I wanted to be in the Cosa Nostra, I’d go back to Sicily?”

  Only one of the men, Uncle Lupo’s age, raised his hand. Lupo caught his eye and nodded, his mouth turned up at one corner.

  “These days, your wives don’t want to know what you do. And you don’t tell your kids either. I never made a secret what I think about choosing to do business you can’t explain to your kids—especially your daughters.”

  To their credit, they were a tough audience. Angelo caught not a blink from any of them.

  “So this thing my boy has made for you, it’s sure to make you rich. So rich, even a wiseguy can see it’s enough.”

  They smiled politely at the inside joke. Where is the old lady going with this? Angelo could see them thinking behind their carefully neutral expressions.

  “Tonight you party, and soon you rake in the cash. But take this moment in time to consider why you’re in this business, and whether it’s a way of life you want for your grandkids. Anybody can run the rackets. Now you, with this thing, you could retire and set your kids up to do something different. Something better.”

  They waited politely.

  “That’s it. Have a good time tonight. It’s been a long time since the Benedettis had a celebration in this house. A nostra felicita.”