“So what did the Camorra do to them?”
“Nothing so far as I can tell,” I said honestly. “I’m wondering if you can look into that too? See why they’ve targeted this Family first. I think they have plans to take it all eventually, but there must be something personal there.”
“Yeah, I’m inclined to agree.” He had that look on his face he got when a good case landed in his lap, all quivering, animal excitement like a hound whose caught a scent. “I’ll get going, got some leads I want to hit up before it gets too late.”
He stood up to go so I did too, initiating the cheek kisses for the first time in our friendship. When I finished, I kept hold of his shoulders and gave them a squeeze.
“Thank you, Ric. This means a lot to me.”
He grinned at me, knocking my chin lightly with his fist. “Don’t mention. I’m only too happy to help the female gladiator at Fields, Harding & Griffith.”
I laughed. “I could lose my licence for marrying Dante.”
He knew how much being a lawyer meant to me so he frowned. “Worth it?”
My hand went to Dante’s cross beneath my bulky knit sweater. “Worth it.”
My next stop was to visit my old idol and current nemesis. The Winthrop Gun Club was an exclusive, members only brick building in the Flatiron District. It was where decorated policemen, wealthy gun enthusiasts, and right-wing politicians spent their time schmoozing and rubbing elbows with the right crowd.
Happily, my woman’s doctor, Monica Taylor, and her husband were members and she was able to secure a visitor’s pass for my partner and I to tour the facilities in case we wanted to join too.
Frankie, my fake husband in Italy, once again donned the faux boyfriend role as we signed into the reception and were taken on a tour of the extensive building with all its amenities.
“You would have to sign an NDA if you wanted to go through with the application,” the guide was explaining as we moved by the viewing windows overlooking the handgun bays. “We have many important members who value their privacy.”
“Of course,” I demurred. “We feel the same way.”
Ric had called half an hour after our meeting to tell me Dennis could be found at the WGC every Tuesday and Thursday evening for a few practice rounds and a follow-up pint with friends at the bar across the street.
Still, the sight of him after so long, knowing that he was going to use Dante as a means to his own ends, lit me up with fury like a fucking Christmas tree.
“Would it be possible at all to try one of the bays while we’re here?” I asked sweetly, clutching Frankie’s hand. “My husband is such a crack shot, but sometimes the bays are so narrow, he can barely move his arms!”
The woman nodded sagely. “I completely understand. If you’ll wait here, I’ll grab a key. I have the copy of your gun license, should I grab the gun you checked in or will you need to borrow one?”
“The one we checked in.”
She scuttled away.
Immediately, I strode across the hall to the bay I spotted Dennis behind, recognizable for his thick brown hair and customary blue suit even in his protective earwear and glasses.
I rang the doorbell and waited.
He turned, frowning, his mouth already open to reprimand whoever was bothering him, but his eyes widened when he saw me through the small, square window in the door.
After a moment of deliberation, he took off his earmuffs and opened the door for us.
“Hello Dennis,” I said coolly as Frankie followed me and lingered near the closed door.
“Ms. Lombardi,” he returned smoothly, as if we met here all the time. “You’re looking remarkably well given your client is behind bars.”
I laughed lightly as I surveyed the four guns he had laid out on the table. Three handguns and a pistol. I picked up the smallest, a 9mm Glock, and tested the weight in my hands.
“He’s no longer my client.”
Dennis’ eyebrows raised into his thick hairline. “Oh? Have you finally realized the error of your ways? Don’t tell me you’ve come to beg my forgiveness.”
“Dante Salvatore isn’t my client anymore, because he is now my husband,” I explained calmly as I raised the gun and aimed at the target down the range. “And I didn’t come to beg forgiveness from a hypocritical stronzo, I came to warn you.”
I sucked in a quiet breath and pulled the trigger.
Bang!
“…If you keep coming for my husband…”
Bang!
“…I’ll come for you…”
Bang! Bang!
“…And if you thought my father could be cruel, you should see what kind of monster he made of his daughter.”
Bang!
The paper outline of a human was riddled with puncture wounds, most of them concentrated around the head because I’d become a shockingly good shot. The gun smoked lightly in my hands as I emptied the chamber and clicked the safety.