De Lancie felt by turns hot and cold. That goddamned son of a bitch! If only lightning would strike him down. He couldn’t have possibly handled this in a more clever way. Kostidis was once again the public hero, the tireless fighter against crime. He had succeeded in portraying Vitali as a ruthless real-estate speculator without explicitly attacking him, and he didn’t even mention that Cesare Vitali was dead. Things had gone from bad to worse. De Lancie felt sick, and a stomach ulcer caused him stabbing pain.
“Isn’t this great news?” his assistant asked. “It looks like we finally caught hold of solid evidence against Vitali!”
For decades, Sergio Vitali had been considered the archenemy of the US Attorney’s Office, with mountains of files piled up in its basement.
“Don’t you have anything better to do than stand around here,” de Lancie snarled at her. His assistant threw him a surprised look. She’d assumed that her boss would be happy, but the exact opposite appeared to be the case.
“Get out of here!” De Lancie pressed his hand against his abdomen. After she closed the door behind her, he staggered over to his desk and sank into his chair. These goddamn stomach pains were going to tear him apart. The telephone rang. John de Lancie picked it up with a sigh.
“That’s your idea of help?” The sound of Massimo Vitali’s cold voice reverberated in his ear. “You were really great. The only thing I can say is that my father made a bad investment in you.”
“Listen!” de Lancie yelled. “I’m sorry. Kostidis was already there when I arrived. There was nothing I could do. I tried everything, but—”
“You screwed up,” Massimo Vitali interrupted him coolly. “I only hope that you know what you have to do now. There could be unpleasant consequences for you if you don’t at least control the damage you caused.”
“But—”
The line was dead. This arrogant bastard had just hung up on him! De Lancie buried his face in his hands. He understood the threat all too well. Once it became public knowledge that he’d accepted money from Vitali, he would be finished forever. He would have no choice but to put a revolver in his mouth and pull the trigger. What demon had possessed him—who had never before had any trouble with the law—to get involved with Sergio Vitali? He had risked everything he had worked so hard for.
He raised his head and stared into the mayor’s face on the screen. What could he even do with this situation? Kostidis made the headlines of the day, and as the US attorney, he could hardly side with a man who had been chased by his own agency for years. Above all, de Lancie couldn’t afford to raise any suspicions with his staff. He needed to play the role that everyone expected of him, whether he liked it or not—a role into which Nick Kostidis had forced him. Had the mayor really seen right through him last night? Sometimes I wonder which side you’re on…
How could he let his guard down in front of Kostidis, of all people! He was in a tight spot now. He had to help Vitali or he was finished. But this help mustn’t be too obvious. There had to be a way to save face and still do Vitali a favor. Vitali was not his biggest problem. It was Nick Kostidis—the mayor of New York.
Alex also had a sleepless night. She had been pacing the halls of her apartment ever since Sergio’s driver dropped her off at home. Her whole body trembled, and she only managed to calm down somewhat after three glasses of straight vodka. She wasn’t shocked by the gunshots fired in her direction from the moving car, but rather the crystal-clear realization that she had gotten herself into a situation she couldn’t get out of. If she went to Kostidis to tell him what he wanted to know, Sergio would find out and have her killed just as he did with David Zuckerman. Quitting her job and leaving the country seemed like the only solution. Maybe she could find a new job in Singapore or Japan, as far away as possible from Sergio and the menacing men she saw in that dark Brooklyn warehouse. But how could she move on knowing that Sergio was free and ordering others killed with impunity? Wasn’t it her civic duty to try and prevent this? She thought about Kostidis’s words on Christmas Day at the Downeys’ house. I had the impression that you would have the courage to do the right thing…
She flinched as she saw Nick Kostidis come onto the screen. He stood in front of a police station surrounded by reporters, and his dark eyes seemed to being looking directly at her. Pleading. Demanding. Compelling. This man was just as hard to read as Sergio. Alex didn’t trust him. There were so many secrets, and the truth behind these secrets seemed far more complex and dangerous than Alex had ever imagined. Alex was so lost in thought that she didn’t even hear what Kostidis was talking about. Now she turned up the volume. Sergio’s son Cesare had been arrested last night.
“We’ve suspected for a long time that Mr. Vitali was involved in the numerous raids on Bronx apartment buildings,” the mayor said, “and the participation by his son Cesare in last night’s events offers conclusive evidence.”
Alex groped for her pack of cigarettes. When she realized that it was empty, she crumpled it impatiently. One of the reporters asked Kostidis whether he believed that there was a connection between the assassination attempt on Vitali and the drug bust at the Brooklyn port.
“I was informed that Mr. Vitali was apparently involved in a shooting incident last night,” Kostidis said—it seemed to Alex that he was looking straight at her. “Eyewitnesses reported that someone shot at Vitali and his companions from a moving vehicle outside a restaurant on Fifty-First Street. However, we don’t know anything about the perpetrators or their motives. We don’t even know if Vitali was injured or if he is even alive.”
“Oh my God,” Alex murmured, wrapping her arms around her knees. If she hadn’t reacted so fast, Sergio would probably be dead now. Mayor Kostidis certainly wouldn’t be too sad about that.
Nelson and Massimo were waiting outside the clinic room door to speak with Sergio. Anxiety was etched across their faces.
“Doctor, when can I speak to my father?” Massimo asked Dr. Sutton.
“It’ll take a little more time,” the doctor said. “He needs plenty of rest after the operation and his extreme blood loss.”
“I can’t wait!” Massimo struggled to keep his voice down. “My brother killed himself last night. My father is the only person who can tell me what I should do now.”
“Martin,” Nelson van Mieren interjected, “the situation is really very serious.”
The doctor gave in, and Massimo opened the door of the clinic room, with Nelson in tow.
“Papa!” The young man stepped to Sergio’s bed; he was terrified when he saw how bad his father looked. The injury hadn’t looked that serious to him on Saturday night. Now, all the machines and tubes made Massimo even more nervous. Until yesterday he hadn’t the slightest idea what his father actually did all day, and was only vaguely familiar with the fatal consequences of one wrong decision. Massimo had been confident that it would be no big deal if his father were sidelined for a few days. But the events of the last forty-eight hours had proved the young man wrong. He felt like a listless sailor on a ship lost at sea with no captain. His younger brother’s arrest and sudden death had such broad implications that Massimo was frightened. There was public speculation connecting his father with the illegal eviction campaigns and the drug seizure at the port. The reporters were talking about an underworld war with the Colombian drug cartel, and Massimo didn’t know what to do. Three men who worked for his father were shot at the port last night. The situation was spinning out of control.