by MB Austin
“Ma! You don’t believe a word of that, do you? You know how I feel about family.”
“Basta!” Nonna reached up and slapped him hard, nearly stumbling forward herself. “Every time you open your mouth, you break my heart.” She took the hearing aid from her ear, pulled out the transmitter pack from her pocket, and handed them both to the agent. “Take the damn thing. I’m sick of listening.”
“Ma!” Gino blanched and wobbled on his feet. A male agent stepped up, putting an arm almost protectively on his back. They turned him toward the door, and the first agent began the Miranda rights from the top as they walked him out.
Rose spied her mother in the far doorway and wordlessly shushed her. Her mother nodded, face etched in worry as she looked at her own mother.
Nonna’s eyes never left Gino’s walk of shame. “We lost all the good ones. And Carlo.”
Rose reached out for her grandmother, and they clung to one another as the door shut behind the last of the Benedetti men.
Chapter Forty-one
Rose drove Aunt Paola’s Mercedes to Hannah’s house. If Paola missed it, let her report it stolen. She flipped on the wipers as drops began to spatter the windshield. Now it can storm, she thought. Let it pour.
Bypassing the white rental sedan out front, Rose pulled into the driveway and stopped short of the motorcycle. She headed for the back porch, stepping lightly toward the screen door. Inside the kitchen, the light was on and two women sat at the table.
“When is Ri coming down?” Iris asked. Impatient as always.
“She’s grieving,” Hannah replied. “Let’s take this time to review the last steps.”
“Right,” Iris said, tapping her fingers on the tabletop. “Stage the articles. The first set are ready—my editor can pull the trigger anytime.”
Rose winced at the wording. She shouldn’t be eavesdropping, but so what?
“The last ones are here. They are key. The first provide context, but these—”
“Tell us why he got himself killed? Great.” Iris paused. “Do we ever get the truth about Ri?”
Rose opened the screen door to Hannah’s kitchen without knocking. She raised an eyebrow at Iris. “You cover mob killings now? Not your usual beat.”
Iris opened her mouth in surprise.
Before she could form a comeback, Rose asked Hannah, “Where is she?”
“Upstairs. Are you all right?”
“Dandy. Nobody died today. Frank got arrested. Gino got arrested. Nonna gave the FBI a wire—she’s been wearing it for months, apparently. And Ri disappeared again.” In the back of an FBI van. But saying that in front of Iris? No.
A flash of lightning filled the kitchen, with a boom so close behind it the windows rattled. Rose jumped.
“Water? Tea?”
“No. I need to see her.”
Hannah inclined her head in agreement. “Very well.”
Iris stood, looking determined.
“Not you,” Hannah said.
Rose took the stairs two at a time, as the skies opened up.
Rose found Maji on the balcony of Ava’s office, stripped down to her underwear and tank top, drenched. Her face to the sky, arms uplifted, Maji didn’t see Rose approach, didn’t seem to hear her step out onto the balcony to wrap around her from behind. But she dropped her arms and hugged Rose to her chilled skin. Rose rested her chin on Maji’s shoulder, her mouth by Maji’s ear. “You left again.”
“It’s what I do,” Maji mumbled, all the muscles of her back tensing against Rose’s front.
Rose wanted to shake and to hold her, both. Instead, she stepped backward, pulling Maji with her into the room. Soaked now herself, she shivered. Maji twisted in her arms, slid her hands up Rose’s front, and cupped the back of her head. And then they were kissing, melted together and pulling dripping clothing off.
As Rose pulled her toward the couch, Maji pulled back, looked at her with aching eyes. “I’m…” She paused. “I should have…” Maji seemed frozen, her face twisted in a knot.
Rose pulled her close again, kissed her eyelids gently. “Hush. Just hush.” She kissed her face, forehead to chin to ears, until Maji finally sought out her lips.
Hannah and Iris both heard thumps from the room above. Iris looked up, alarmed. “Are they okay?”
Hannah tilted her head. “Time will tell.” She stepped into the foyer and returned seconds later with a large manila envelope. “The rest of your story. All that Angelo had time to prepare.”
“Well, that’s it, then,” Iris said. “All but good-bye.” She looked up hopefully.
“It may be a while before they come down,” Hannah said. “Would you like some lunch?”
From above came a sound like keening. Iris flushed. “No,” she said, standing. “I need a smoke.”
* * *
Maji brushed the hair from Rose’s face, luxuriating in the feel of her head against her shoulder. The couch cradled them and kept them close at the same time, Rose’s warm length draped over Maji’s aching body. The throb in her reinjured ankle kept time with her heart, slowing as it thumped against Rose’s ear. Maji tilted her head down to kiss Rose’s damp scalp, and Rose kissed her chest in reply. Maji wished they could lie like that forever, no language but touch between them.
“Thank you for helping Frank,” Rose said.
Maji thought of Frank starting his new life, alone. “Thank you for not killing Gino.”
Rose vibrated with what Maji hoped was laughter and pulled herself tighter against Maji’s hips and chest. She slid one leg over and around Maji’s stretched-out ones. Pinned. And not about to fight it.
“Mom and I are driving Nonna back to California in her car, that horrible old land yacht. Gerald’s staying to help Jackie pack up a few things and deal with the insurance people. I’m not sure which of us pulled the short straw.”
Maji smiled but didn’t speak. She pulled the throw blanket down from the back of the couch. If they stayed on the couch any longer, they’d need to open it into its bed form. But she should be saying good-bye instead.
“You could come with us,” Rose ventured. “If you have any vacation left.” She trailed her hand from Maji’s scalp down to her jawline.
Maji caught it and kissed the fingers, breathed them in, closing her eyes. “I can’t.”
“Okay,” Rose said. “Then come out when you get a few days off.”
Maji struggled for words she couldn’t bring herself to say. “I can’t, Rose.”
“Can’t what?” Rose said, trying to scooch up to look at Maji without disentangling. It didn’t work, so she leaned back instead. Maji supported her with one arm, which began to shake. “Maji?” Rose asked, looking into her eyes.
Maji couldn’t look into those beautiful eyes and hurt her one more minute. “I can’t see you anymore.”
“Dammit!” Rose gasped and twisted to catch herself as gravity took over. Maji sat up and offered her two hands. Rose took them and turned herself around, until she was perched on the edge of the couch, facing Maji. “Look. I know you do work you can’t talk about. But you must have choices.”
“Some.”
Rose pulled the little blanket around her shoulders. “What are you afraid of, Maji? What is it you think you’re protecting me from?”
“Me.” Maji couldn’t take those eyes anymore. She stared at Rose’s shoulder. “I will leave you, and never tell you when I’ll be back.”
“But you’ll come back.”
Maji nodded. “I’d just show up again, and not tell you where I’ve been, or what I’ve done. You can’t live like that. I can’t plan vacations—I can’t even own a pet. We’d make plans with your family or your friends, and you’d have to lie to them when I didn’t show up. I’m not going to put you through that.”
Rose turned away, then stood. “Whoa—back up the U-Haul, soldier. One, I have not named our children yet. And two, don’t you think I get to decide how I can live?”
Maji hung her head. When she lifted i
t, the fight in Rose’s eyes gave her strength. “Bubbles didn’t tell me she’s getting pregnant. Because she knows I won’t be there when she needs me.”
Rose opened her mouth to respond, reaching a hand out.
Maji turned her face toward the window, looking past her. “Don’t. You don’t get it. Ava didn’t tell me she was dying, because she knew I couldn’t come home to say good-bye. Hell, I almost didn’t make it back for Angelo’s funeral.”
Rose put her fingers under Maji’s chin and turned her face gently toward her. “I understand,” she said.
The grief Maji saw reflected in her eyes made her want to punch something. “Understanding and living with it are different. Maybe you could do it. But I don’t think I could live with watching you get hurt, over and over. And blaming myself for that.”
Epilogue
Eight months later
Angelo slowed to a walk, enjoying the colors of the brightening sky over the Mediterranean as he finished his daily run. No wonder Maji called this the magic hour. What he wouldn’t give to be able to share this with her. To share anything with anyone he knew. Well, not anyone. Just the handful that wouldn’t want him dead again.
Inside the marina, he strolled down the dock he called home for now, waving to a few early risers, who greeted him by his new name. And in the cockpit of his little sloop, there was the first of six newspapers he would read today. Three in English, one in Russian, one in Arabic, and one in the new language.
Attorney General Indicts Record Number of Suspects for Wire Fraud, RICO Violations, the front page of the New York Times announced. The article went into some detail about Operation Rolling Thunder, giving the FBI credit for painstakingly setting up the sweep, with dozens of agents working together across federal departments for over a year. The article was light on details about how they had managed to identify the suspects and gather enough evidence to issue indictments, after years of floundering to secure even a few. Typical. Not that it mattered—the Feds got more than they’d hoped for out of his work.
Iris’s series, released every few weeks over the fall and winter, was much more informative. The first article, published just a week after his funeral, capitalized on his death. The tabloids loved mob killings but never asked why the celebrity criminals killed each other. Iris intimated that her law enforcement sources confirmed that he was murdered for a program that improved organized crime’s already pretty sophisticated money laundering techniques. He had to hand it to her—she knew how to throw out a hook. The next story went into some detail about how big an issue electronic laundering had become and pumped up the volume by pointing out how little national governments and commercial banks were doing about it. A nice dose of righteous indignation, for anyone who cared. The third gave average citizens a reason to care, tying money laundering to specific cases of terrorist cell and training camp funding.
By the time the virus kicked in, and trillions of dollars got sucked out of illegal accounts overnight, the public had forgotten about Angelo’s death. Iris’s piece, “NGOs: Surprise Beneficiaries of Untraced Funds,” probably seemed a bit out of place in the series. But it was part of their agreement, and he appreciated the confirmation that the funds he’d worked so hard to remove from Khodorov’s and Sirko’s client lists were winding up where they might do some good. And he had chuckled a little at how flummoxed the banking authories were.
Funds show up with no source information in thousands of NGO accounts. Authorities are asking individuals or organizations who find unexpected electronic deposits to notify their banking institutions. What happens to funds with no known source? “This is an unprecedented situation,” admitted Steven Wright, Chairman of the FDIC. “The Attorney General and OIG are researching the matter. Money which cannot be returned to its sender may lawfully belong to the recipient, once standard protocols are followed.” The FDIC will be issuing a set of protocols for financial institutions to follow, to ensure that identification of the funds’ source has been attempted using all current technology available.
Iris had really come through, he had to admit. She’d kept publishing, even after the first attempt on her life, which she’d turned into a story that sounded likely to earn her a book deal. And the paper had just kept pumping out her articles, syndicating them to news outlets all over the world. Security at the office, and the editors’ houses, must be hellacious.
As much fun as the media was having, speculating about who the Digital Robin Hood had liberated all that money from, it really blew up when Iris outed him. As little as Angelo wanted his old face all over the internet again, it had to be done. She used the statement he had given her, carefully crafted to protect the team while explaining why a Benedetti would give his own life to take on global terrorism. News of Yuri Khodorov’s very public execution followed only days later. Angelo was relieved to hear nothing about Sander. Maybe he’d seen the tidal wave coming and used the last of Papa’s hard currency to buy himself a life raft.
Only the New York papers covered Gino’s indictment, a small matter overshadowed by the gravity of world events. The trial looked to go well, with Frank’s testimony, and Gino having to use a public defender like any other broke criminal.
Angelo reached across the cockpit and grunted when his shoulder screamed at him. Maji hadn’t lied when she said the scar removal process was worse than the burn itself. And his sinuses hurt whenever he leaned forward, thanks to the facial reconstruction. He wasn’t as good-looking anymore, but maybe a good man wouldn’t care so much. Of course, he’d have to master yet another language before then and get the whole life story for his cover ironed out before he could really date.
Where the hell was Sander now? Angelo looked at his shiny new laptop, then decided for the umpteenth time against opening it. He could find out so much, if he just went online. Not knowing how his mother, Maji, and Rose were doing drove him nuts, too. If he started hunting down any of them, he’d get carried away, maybe even leave a trail. No, he’d meant to be buried. And he would respect the risk Maji and the team had taken, against his orders, and stay gone. It was hard to be pissed at them on such a beautiful morning.
Rose sat front row center for Neda Kamiri’s lecture. She’d driven all the way to Berkeley for it, nearly three hours in traffic slowed by March rain. It was worth it. In the wings, stage right, she could see a petite figure in the shadows, fitted out in black from head to toe—black cap, neatly pressed button-down shirt, BDUs, and, of course, running shoes. Under the cap, no doubt, chocolate and caramel hair pulled back into a french braid. She couldn’t make out the look on Maji’s face, just waited for her to pause while scanning the crowd of students and older fans in the front rows. Rose nodded, and got a single nod back.
At the reception, she saw Maji keeping a watchful eye on the room, close enough to her mother to reach her but far enough away to see everyone else. Rose saw Maji speak into a lapel mike, glancing in her direction, and she looked around to see who might be on the other end of the invisible line. No one else in the room stood out. But then, they wouldn’t, would they?
“Hi,” Rose said, offering her hand. “I’m Dr. RoseMarie diStephano, from Bonaventure College. And you are?”
Maji took her hand. Her eyes had their old spark back. “Maji Rios, Paragon Security. Nice of you to drive up. Did you want to meet Dr. Kamiri?”
“May I? I mean, yes, I’d love to. But I’m a little worried I’ll start fangirling and embarrass myself.”
“Just be yourself. I’m sure she’ll appreciate meeting you.”
Rose smiled. “Maybe afterward, you could tell me how I did? Over coffee, or something.”
“Enticing as something sounds,” Maji said, her cheeks dimpling, “coffee’s all I can make time for.”
The café in the student union was a little crowded, but Maji could see all the exits. If they leaned in, they could hear each other fine. She just hadn’t counted on what seeing Rose again would do to her.
“Is this a safe place to
talk?” Rose asked.
Maji made an effort to visibly relax. “Yes. And I’m on radio silent. If I run off…”
“I won’t take it personally.” Rose paused. “So, you’re working for Paragon?”
Maji shook her head. “Couple weeks pro bono. My school break, before I present my thesis.”
“Wow! That’s great. I’m happy for you. And that’s very generous for a student.”
Maji shrugged. “A couple weeks’ wages is enough to send one girl to camp next year. And what do I need it for? I’m getting ready to pay gift tax on five million. Aren’t you?”
“No,” Rose said. “I took the other option. I just couldn’t leave the money in my account, knowing where it might have come from.” She lifted one eyebrow. “And I recall you saying there was nothing you needed.”
“Nothing money will get me. But I thought I might enjoy Robin Hooding a little. Anonymous gifts to strangers, you know.”
“Now, that does sound like you.”
The twinkle in Rose’s eyes made Maji’s chest hurt. “It makes me feel closer to him,” she confessed.
Rose reached out and stroked Maji’s cheek. “Don’t you dare blame yourself. Surely now that we know what he was really up to, you understand why he didn’t tell us. Especially you.”
Maji inclined her head in acknowledgment. “I would have wanted to stop him. But if I did, you would have gotten hurt, for sure—killed. Probably your whole family.”
“That’s too hard a choice to ask anyone you love to make. And he did love you.”
“I know.”
They sat quietly a moment, sipping from the institutional white ceramic mugs. Not a very romantic reunion. But that was a good thing, right? Seeing Rose addled her brain enough, even here. Maji pulled an item from the back of her waistband. “I was going to send you this, but then Bubbles said you might be here, so…”