“I’m afraid that I can’t help you, Mrs. Vitali,” she said, struggling to keep her composure. She thought about Nick’s words. A few months ago, I would have been happy to hear that. Now I just don’t care anymore. That won’t bring my family back to life.
No, she wouldn’t be able to help either.
Constanzia stood up.
“I don’t mean to pressure you.” She rummaged around in her purse until she found what she was looking for. “This is my phone number. You can reach me at any time.”
Once Sergio’s wife left, Alex sank down to the ground, sobbing and burying her face in her hands. The bitter truth was that she had irrevocably botched her future. Her entire life was ruined.
Sergio stood silently in the penthouse apartment where Alex used to live. She had moved out. The closets were empty, the refrigerator was unplugged, and all of her books and CDs were gone. Sergio felt his insides contract as a wave of disappointment rolled through him; he couldn’t deny how skillfully she had deceived him. She had been acting for the past few days, and he—being somewhat serious with his marriage proposal—had let her lead him by his nose like a little boy. It was an ironic twist of fate that Alex had left him on the same day as Constanzia. He had been so close to trusting her, and now this! This rejection was too humiliating, and at the same time he was overcome with a feeling of emptiness that was foreign and threatening to him.
His first impulse was to call her, but then his reason took hold. He breathed heavily and closed his eyes for a moment. Alex hadn’t gone to the Downeys last Sunday. Natale was right: She had met that bastard Kostidis at the cemetery in Brooklyn. She was the one who saved him. Of all people, it was because of Alex that this miserable son of a bitch was still alive.
“What should we do now, boss?” Luca asked.
“Nothing,” said Sergio, unaffected on the surface. “Remove the microphones and cameras and renovate the apartment. And give me her passport. I’ll return it to her personally.”
He clenched his hands into fists. His disappointment had turned into cold rage.
It was eight fifteen when Frank Cohen entered his boss’s office. Nick Kostidis was behind his desk, staring at a framed picture of his deceased wife, as he had done so many times recently.
“I thought you left already,” Nick said.
“I revised the press release for the planned welfare reform again,” Frank replied, “and jotted down a couple of arguments that could be helpful for your meeting with Paul Inishan of the Coalition for the Homeless.”
“Ah, yes.” Nick removed his reading glasses and rubbed his tired eyes. “I’ll go over it tomorrow morning.”
“Yes, of course.”
“What’s on my schedule for tomorrow?”
“Paul Inishan at nine. Coalition for the Homeless complained about your planned work program. After that, the delegation from Oman from ten until about one. Then you have a meeting with Lucie McMillan of WCBS, who will accompany you to Fresh Kills, broadcast live. You have an appointment in Queens at three to see the new orphanage. Then, there’s the ceremony honoring those firefighters who rescued the kids from that burning house in Morningside Heights last August—at five.”
Frank looked at his boss. Nick appeared exhausted, but it was no wonder. Since his family’s funeral, he’d recklessly thrown himself into his work. He had one appointment after another, from early morning until late at night. Nick rushed through the city, escorted by the police and security guards, and some staff members started complaining that the mayor forgot some people had lives outside of work. Frank wondered how much longer Nick could sustain this tempo. He’d created set an inhuman pace, but there was no one to slow him down. Frank had a feeling that Nick was doing this to escape his loneliness and his thoughts. He seemed just like his old self on the outside. But whenever he found himself alone, he virtually collapsed. On more than one occasion, Frank had caught him staring aimlessly into space or at his wife’s picture.
“Have you thought about what Alex Sontheim told us?” Frank asked carefully.
“I can’t think of anything else,” Nick admitted. “Every day when I speak with these people, I realize how phony and devious they are. It may very well be that corruption has always been the order of the day in New York, but I just can’t believe that even the police commissioner and the US attorney let themselves be bought by a criminal like Vitali.”
“Maybe we can actually do something about it,” Frank said. “How much of this story is true in your opinion?”
“Probably all of it. Why should she make such things up?”
“Then we shouldn’t hesitate any longer. We could pass on that information to the US Attorney’s Office.” Frank sat down at the desk across from Nick. “You finally have the opportunity to hold Vitali accountable for everything he has done!”
“Frank, I’ve told you before,” Nick answered with unusual patience. “My family had to die because I chased after Vitali like a maniac. With his latest attempt, he made it very clear that he still intends to kill me. He’s dead serious. I won’t risk the life of the woman who saved me.”
“Alex Sontheim knows exactly what she’s doing. She gave you this information so you’d something with it.”
“Damn it!” Nick’s voice turned harsh. “I take sleeping pills every night so I can sleep for at least a few hours. I immerse myself in my work to distract myself from these terrible images. My heart is filled with anger and lust for revenge. How could I possibly burden my conscience with even more guilt? Do you think that Vitali would hesitate to kill Alex once he found out what she knows?”
“She was, or still is, his lover after all,” Frank replied. “Can we even be sure she was honest with us?”
Nick took a deep breath.
“I’ve considered that. But somehow I think she’s being honest. Why else would she come to meet me at the cemetery? Why would she risk her life to save mine? That shot could have easily hit her!”
“Maybe it’s all part of a plan so you believe exactly that.”
“You’re distrustful, Frank.”
“I’ve learned that from you, Nick.” Frank smiled mildly. “It was you who always questioned everything a hundred times before you believed it. And often enough you were right.”
“Yes,” Nick sighed bleakly, “I’ve always been proud of my knowledge of human nature, but it apparently leaves much to be desired. I never thought Ray capable of such betrayal.”
“We should talk to Alex again,” Frank suggested, “and ask her for documented evidence.”
“Yes, maybe.” Nick leaned back. Frank Cohen knew his boss well enough to know he didn’t want to delve into this any deeper. Before leaving, he turned around one more time.
“Oh, Nick?”
“What else is there?”
“Have you eaten anything today?”
Nick smiled briefly, and then he nodded.
“I think I had a doughnut for breakfast. Go on, get out of here. Good night.”
“Good night, boss. See you tomorrow.”
Nick waited as his assistant closed the door behind him. Then he opened his desk drawer and took out an old issue of People. He flipped to the story about Alex Sontheim and stared at the large photograph of her. With a pensive smile on his face, he thought about that morning on Montauk Beach when he saw her galloping on that horse. He was suddenly sure that she had been honest with him.
On Tuesday afternoon, Alex had a meeting with Vincent Levy, Michael Friedman, and Hugh Weinberg. The three men were excited about the deal she was working on, in which LMI was to represent Whithers, the computer manufacturer from Texas, in its merger with Database Inc., earning a handsome fee for its services. The deal was as good as closed. The details would be ironed out over the next few weeks, followed by several meetings with the management teams from Whithers and Database.