Page 47 of Above ’N’ Beyond

“Fist.” Tony held up a finger. “There’s one thing we need to talk more about. Cops have guns. They hired a driver to move the booze, but won’t there be an armed escort? We can’t be killing no cops or they’ll never stop searching for us. So how are you gonna keep them from shooting our asses off?”

“My friend said only one cop is gonna be in the truck with the driver.” As prearranged, Steve would be the cop, Artie the driver. “Mainly, he’s there to witness the burn. This is booze, not drugs or guns. They’re not gonna send an entire platoon of cops to protect it. There are a few unknowns, but if we bring the whole crew, there’ll be six of us against one of them.”

This time it was Paola who grunted, although hers was one of interest, not disapproval. “How exactly do you plan to hide the whole truck, and what will you do with it afterward?”

“To steal the truck, we’ll use a diversion. I’ve already scouted out the area, and I think this will work.”

For the next five minutes, Jamie outlined the plan he’d worked out with Steve and Artie. Then he waited for Paola to either give him the green light or shut him down.

Paola strummed her diamond-laden fingers on the table. Eventually, she smiled and nodded. “This is just the kind of thinking I like. We need a big influx of cash, and we need it fast.” Another confirmation that whatever she was planning had to be soon. “I love the idea of stealing from the cops, but Marco’s concerns are valid.” In less than a microsecond, the look in her eyes morphed into an unmistakably deadly glint. She pointed a finger at him. “If you fuck with me”—her voice lowered as she leaned over the corner of the table separating them—“you’re gone.”

Jamie had no illusions that gone meant he’d be kicked to the curb. Her meaning was as clear as the garish diamond on her finger.

Gone meant dead. A very slow, painful death at that.

Chapter Fifteen

“You gotta get over it, Bella.” Tony poured more wine into a glass. “Ma’s never gonna sell you her share of the Bistro.”

His words echoed in the empty dining room. Mondays, the Bistro was closed. Bella had only stopped in because the alternative—stewing around her house—was worse.

“But she promised,” Bella said through gritted teeth. “You know she did, you were there when she said it. She told me it was a loan until I had enough to buy her out.”

“Things change,” Tony said, waving his hand in the air. “The Bistro is part of Ma’s business plan. It’s more important to her now than it ever was.”

“Why?” Bella sat back and crossed her arms. “So she can channel more illegal funds through the Bistro’s account?”

Tony’s eyes flashed with annoyance. “All I can tell you is Ma’s looking to make a name for our family, bring it back to what it once was. To do that, she needs a home base of operations. A place to make it all happen. You’ll see soon enough.”

“Does this have anything to do with the event she booked for next week? And who exactly is coming?” Whoever they were, they had to be important, or her aunt wouldn’t be going to all this trouble and on a day when the Bistro was normally closed. Meaning, she wanted to keep prying eyes away from whatever she was up to.

“To answer your first question, yeah, it does.” Tony nodded. “That’s all I’m gonna say.”

“But this is my place.” She slammed her fist on the table, venting the frustration rising inside her to the boiling point. “I have a right to know who’s going to be in my restaurant. I don’t want any part of whatever you and Paola are doing. I never did.”

“It’s not your place.” Tony’s eyes were as hard and unyielding as Paola’s. “It’s our place. It belongs to the family. We’re your family. I’m starting to think you’ve forgotten that. My mother raised you, took you in when your parents died. How can you act like this? You were a real bitch to Ma yesterday, you know that?”

“I was a bitch?” Bella choked down a sarcastic laugh. “Paola slapped me, not the other way around.”

“Maybe you deserved it.”

“You bastard.” She stood and reached for the glass, intending to throw the wine in his face, but Tony latched on to her wrist, preventing her.

“Some very important people will be here next week.” He released her wrist. “Ma needs you to help impress them. Capiche?”

Bella sat back down and let her head fall into her hands. Yeah, capiche. She couldn’t say the words, and she didn’t have to. Paola would have her feast here next week whether Bella approved or not.

Tony’s chair scraped on the floor. His footsteps receded, then the back door slammed shut. After a few minutes—or was it five, or maybe ten?—her anger bled away. A lump the size of a giant arancini threatened to choke her, and her heart ached so much she thought it would start gushing blood all over the table.

After the “lovely” talk with Paola last night, she didn’t really have any doubts, but this conversation with Tony sealed the deal.

“God, how could I have been so blind?” she whispered to no one but herself.

The signs had all been there. Paola had paid for Bella to fly to Italy and go to culinary school. She’d mistaken her aunt’s grand gesture as coming from a place of love and caring. But in backing Bella’s pursuits, Paola had only been backing herself. All she’d ever been to her was an investment. She’d missed all that because she’d been stupid. Naive. Full of dreams coming to a resounding and pitiful end.

She looked around the dining room she’d so lovingly renovated and decorated. Then she thought of her employees, friends she’d worked with for years. All that she had to lose, and lose it she would.

But what can I do to stop it?