Fifth Avenue

BOOK TWO
SECOND WEEK
FIFTH AYENUE
CHAPTER TWENTY

Swinging out through the big brass and glass doors of Harold’s townhouse on 81st Street, Leana looked up at the buttery morning sun, felt the warmth on her face and decided she would walk to most of her appointments instead of taking a cab. There were a few apartments in the Village she wanted to look at and she had to sell her jewelry to her mother’s jeweler on Park.

She was beginning to feel better about herself. Not only had the bruises on her face faded and the cut on her lip healed, but she was full of resolve and a measure of hope. For the first time in her life, she was doing something productive. Soon, she would have an apartment of her own and enough money to furnish it comfortably. At breakfast, Harold mentioned something about finding her a job.

And Mario was back in her life.

He called earlier that morning and asked her to dinner. He said they needed to talk, that it was important they talk and that they must talk soon. Leana agreed, but under the condition that she pay for the meal. Although a part of her wanted much more than a friendship with Mario, Leana was determined to keep their relationship simple. She would not sleep with Mario while he was married.

But I’ll think about it.

She continued walking until she came upon a crowded newspaper vending machine. The crowd shifted and she was able to glimpse the front page of The

Daily News. A chill went through her. The headline and recent pictures of Eric Parker screamed out at her: EX-REDMAN FINANCIAL CHIEF BEATEN IN APARTMENT

Leana stared at the headline, then at the photos of Eric. One showed him being wheeled out of the building on a stretcher. She studied the fine lines of his face and saw that it was broken.

She remembered the shock of seeing Celina last night. She remembered Mario’s men hurrying her away from the crowd and into a limousine. She remembered the shrill of the ambulance as it raced past them.

She wondered what Celina was thinking this morning and decided she didn’t care. I didn’t do anything to Eric.

Sensing someone standing behind her, she turned and faced a rugged-looking man in a dark suit and dark glasses. His hair was black and cut short. He was looking at the headline as well.

Their eyes met and he shook his head in disgust. “You’re not even safe in your own home anymore,” Vincent Spocatti said.

The man seemed vaguely familiar to her. She had the feeling that she’d seen him before, but couldn’t place where.

She shrugged. “Maybe he deserved it.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I happen to know the man,” Leana said. “And I am serious. He deserved it.”

And she started for the Village, leaving Spocatti intrigued.

She had appointments to see two apartments-one studio and one loft. It was the loft that caught Leana’s eye.

Overlooking Washington Square, her favorite place in New York, the loft was large and sunny and located on the fifth floor of a prewar building. It had promise, and a few issues that could be fixed-it needed fresh paint, two of its windows were cracked and the carpet was worn and in need of updating. Hardwood would work in here, she thought. Maybe polished concrete.

Despite its flaws, the loft had character, a sense of style. Her mind began to picture plants, clean ivory walls, paintings. I could make this place my own.

The owner of the building, a thin woman who hadn’t stopped smiling, was standing in the middle of the living space, making sweeping movements with her arms. Copper bracelets winked and jangled.

“What furniture’s here is yours,” she said, as if that would tip the balance. “The bed, the desk, the table and chairs-all yours. Some freak artist left them and the smell of cat piss behind. If I hadn’t had the carpets cleaned, you wouldn’t be able to stand it in here.” She wrinkled her nose, sniffed, and looked uncertainly at Leana. “You can’t smell the piss, can you?”

“I can smell it,” Leana said. And I can smell your desperation.

She stepped over to a window and watched a group of children run past the empty fountain to a flock of pigeons. The birds took flight in a dizzying cloud of gray and black and white, and the children cheered. Leana thought back to the last day she had been in the park. It was the day the bombs exploded on top of her father’s building.

It was the day the man had followed and harassed her.

The woman was standing behind her. “Beautiful view, isn’t it?”

It was, and Leana said so.

“There was a time, on a clear day, that you could see to the World Trade Center.” The woman actually stopped and genuflected. She kissed her fingers and closed her eyes, as if to pray.

Leana was as sensitive as anyone about that day, the people who died there or were otherwise affected by it, but this was overkill. This was a show. Give me a fucking break.

The woman crossed her arms-jangle, jangle. “So, what do you think? It’s originally $20,000 a month, but you look like a nice girl, one who won’t cause me too many problems, so I’ll let you have it for $18,500-plus deposit.” She snapped a piece of gum and looked up at the ceiling. “That’s $37,000-up front, of course.”

Leana barely had that in her savings account. She knew her financial situation would improve once she sold her jewelry, but she didn’t want to give any more money to this woman than she had to. “That’s too much,” she said. “Especially since your former tenant couldn’t keep his cats in check. My price is $10,000.”

“No way,” the woman said.

“Then let’s get real. You’ve got a problem here-take a whiff. It’s the reason this place isn’t moving. It’s the reason someone like me is going to have to get someone in here and get the smell out. What’s your best price?”

The woman turned and when she did, she breathed in through her nose. “No less than “$15,000.”

“Okay,” Leana said. “So, $12,500 and you’ve got yourself a deal right now. I’ll cut you a check for $25,000 and we’re both happy.” Leana looked around the space. “You also need to agree to repair those windows, pay for half the painting costs, and throw in a couple of fans. Ironically, the air in here would kill a cat.”

The woman tried to look affronted, but Leana saw relief in her eyes.

“Fans, windows and paint I can handle.”

“I thought you could.”

She studied Leana for a moment. “You’re tough. And you’ve got a good business sense, too. I like that in a woman. What did you say your last name was again?”

“I didn’t,” Leana said. “But it’s Redman.”

Something in the woman’s eyes flashed and she lifted her chin. “I thought I recognized you,” she said. “Are you as tough as you father and sister?”

“I’m tougher.”

“So, you are.”

She wrote the woman a check.

Later, at the bank, she followed the assistant manager to a vault that was surrounded by rows of gleaming safe-deposit boxes.

As the man went to the back of the room and stooped to insert a key into one of the boxes, Leana remained in the doorway, thinking of the seven pieces of jewelry she kept here. Although each was a major piece in its own right, nothing compared to the diamond and Mogok ruby necklace. It was this piece that would fetch the highest price when she sold it later that afternoon.

It was this piece that would furnish her new apartment and buy her food.

The manager cleared his throat. Leana looked at him and saw that he was waiting for her to insert her own key. She apologized and crossed to where he was standing. She unlocked her side of the box and carried it to the small table that was at her left. The manager followed.

“I’d like to be alone,” Leana said. The man’s gaze flicked up to hers. Hesitation crossed his face and she sensed he wanted to stay and see what was inside the box. He didn’t move.

“Do you mind?” Leana said. The man bowed slightly and left the room.

Leana watched him go. He went no further than the entrance to the vault, where he crossed his arms and watched her from there.

She turned her back to him and opened the box.

Inside were seven black velvet cases of various sizes. Leana chose one of the cases, opened it and was greeted with a brilliant flash of diamonds. She looked into another case and was rewarded with a glimmer of sapphires. In the third was the diamond and Mogok ruby necklace.

She lifted the necklace from its case and held it to her neck. Its coolness and the sheer weight of the stones warmed her. For awhile, at least, you’re going to give me time to make my mark.

After checking the other cases and tucking them in her oversized straw handbag, she slid the box back into place, locked it and left the bank with an armed guard at her side.

The sun was bright and the heat was oppressive-it rising in waves from the street. Three young boys on rollerblades darted through the crowds on the sidewalk, nearly toppling an elderly woman.

Leana wasted no time leaving. She stepped to the curb, flagged a cab, got one on the fourth try and left for the jeweler on Park.

To be certain he wouldn’t lose her, Vincent Spocatti, who had been waiting for her outside the bank, did the same.

Quimby et Cie Jewelers was an elegant establishment, with a liveried doorman on the outside and two armed guards on the inside. Some of the wealthiest people in the world bought and sold their jewelry here, and they had to have an appointment to do so.

Leana was met at the door by Philip Quimby, the owner and her mother’s good friend. He was a small, impeccably dressed man with short graying hair and blue eyes that were just this side of being unnaturally too blue. She noticed the shop was empty, as it should be. “It’s good to see you, Leana,” he said, in a slightly nasal voice. “Let’s go to my office. We’ll have tea there.”

His office was large and impressive, paneled in dark wood and decorated in quiet good taste. Paintings by the old masters tiled the walls. He offered tea. When Leana declined, he said, “Well, then, at least a martini?”

“Only if you’re having one.”

“As if I’m not,” he said.

He made the drinks, handed one to her and motioned toward the two Queen Anne chairs arranged at the center of the room. They sat. Leana sipped. Few things were better than a cold martini on a hot day.

“So,” he said. “What do you have for me?”

Leana put the martini on a side table, opened her handbag and removed the seven velvet cases. She placed them on the table in front of them. “These,” she said. “All were purchased here.”

“I would hope so.” He had known her since she was a child and winked at her. “I'm sure I'll remember them. They're like children, you know.”

One by one, Philip Quimby opened the cases. Diamonds and emeralds and rubies blazed. “Goodness!” he said. “Heavens!” He brought a hand to his chest and looked sideways at her. “You expect cash for these? Today?”

“If it’s possible.”

“I don’t think so,” he said. “The banks will be closing soon. All those lazy clerks and vice presidents and stupid little bank managers will be going home. But I’ll see what I can do. Naturally.”

“If you want them-and if we come to a price-I’ll need the money today. Could you do me a favor and have someone make a call now and let them know a transaction will be forthcoming?”

“Anything for you.” He lifted a phone and gave the instructions to whoever answered. Then he inserted an eyepiece and removed an enormous canary yellow diamond ring from its case. He held it up to the light and turned it around with his slender fingers.

“Hmmm,” he said, and reached for the diamond and Mogok ruby necklace. He glanced at Leana and studied the rest. When he finished, his face was slightly flushed.

“Is something wrong?” Leana asked.

One magnified eye turned to her. “You purchased these here?”

“You know I did. You sold them all to me.”

“Not these, I didn’t.”

“Excuse me…?”

“They’re fake,” Philip Quimby said. “Nothing but cut glass and cubic zirconium. Every last one of them. And that's not the world I move in.”

She felt the blood drain from her face. “They can't be fake.”

“I’m afraid so, Leana.”

“But there’s more than a million dollars’ worth of jewelry there.”

He plucked a white envelope from his jacket pocket and handed it to her. “Your father sent this to me,” he said. “He called and told me not to open it unless for some reason I should see you. Now, look. I don’t know what’s going on here and I don’t care to know. It’s none of my business. But something tells me you’ll find the answers to your questions in that envelope.”

Leana tore into it. Inside was a note.

Leana:

I told you if you wanted to make it on your own, you’d have to do it on your own and not with my money. The originals, along with the rest of your jewelry, are at home where they-and you-belong. Why don’t you stop this foolishness and come home? You’ve taken this far enough.

— Dad

Leana read the note twice before folding it in half and putting it in her handbag. Her father was convinced she couldn’t make it on her own. Convinced. She felt the beginnings of a spear sinking into her heart. What was it about her that made him think she was such a failure?

She lifted one of the necklaces. “Are these worth anything?”

Quimby’s eyes sparkled with renewed interest.

“They’re excellent counterfeits,” he said. “Only an experienced eye like mine could tell they’re fake. I would have no problem selling them to the Hollywood set. You think what they're wearing on the red carpet is real? Get real. They wear these.”

“How much are you offering?”

He sat poised and ready on the edge of the Queen Anne chair. “Twenty thousand.”

“Make it thirty and you’ve got a deal.”

She ended up with twenty-five.

When Leana returned to Harold’s townhouse later that afternoon, she found him seated alone in his study, leaning back in a chair, flipping through a file on WestTex. She managed a smile when he looked up at her. “I need someone to talk to,” she said. “Do you have a few minutes?”

“Of course.”

He motioned toward the sofa that was in the corner of the room and asked her to sit down. “Tell me everything,” he said, sitting beside her. “Tell me why you’re upset.”

Leana rested her head on his shoulder and told him what had happened.

“But how did George get a key to your safe-deposit box?”

“My father doesn’t need a key, Harold. He’s George Redman.”

“But it’s illegal.”

“He’s George Redman.”

“And you think one of the bank’s assistant manager’s helped him?”

“He probably paid off their mortgage for their trouble.”

“What are you going to do?”

“What can I do?”

“Go and ask your father for the originals. They are yours, after all.”

“And give him the pleasure of seeing me grovel? Forget it. I’ll make my own money.”

“How?”

“This morning you mentioned something about finding me a job. That sounds like a good place to start making money to me.”

“I’ve been having seconds thoughts about that job,” Harold said.

Leana pulled away from him. “Why?”

“I’m not sure it’s right for you.”

“Let me be the judge of that,” she said. “Harold, please, if you’ve found something, anything, you have to let me know what it is. I have to be given a chance.”

“You really are determined to make it, aren’t you?”

“If I accomplish nothing else, I want the world to know that George Redman has another daughter-one who is smarter, tougher and more successful than Celina ever could become.”

“That’s going to be quite an accomplishment,” he said. “You realize that don’t you?”

“I do,” Leana said. “I know Celina’s good. In a way, I almost admire her-she had the chance to learn from Dad. But that doesn’t mean it’s impossible. It doesn’t mean that she’s smarter than me.”

“No,” Harold said. “It certainly doesn’t.” He reached into his jacket pocket and removed a card with an address on it. He handed it to Leana. “If you want the job, be at this address by four this afternoon.”

She was fifteen minutes early for the appointment.

When Leana arrived at the towering office building, she took an elevator to the sixty-seventh floor, gave the secretary her name and was escorted to a reception area that was quiet, cool and sparsely decorated. The walls were steel gray. The long array of windows behind her looked out at Manhattan.

Knowing the impression she gave was critical, she chose a fitted black Dior suit. She wore just enough make-up to cover what was left of the bruising, her hair was pulled away from her face and she wore no perfume.

She felt like a fraud.

From her seat at the rear of the reception area, Leana watched the steady stream of activity in the enormous room beyond. At a desk piled high with papers, one man was typing frantically into a computer while a woman impatiently directed him. Behind them, two secretaries were digging through file cabinets in search of something that seemingly couldn’t be found. At still another table, someone stopped yelling into a phone only long enough to shout, “Quiet!” to a group of people who could care less.

Leana found herself envying them.

At five minutes to four, filled with nervous tension, feelings of insecurity and thoughts of pending failure, she went to the ladies’ room that was across the hall. Each of the three stalls was occupied. As she turned to wash her hands in the marble vanity, she glimpsed herself in the mirror before her. She was very much a young woman whose appearance gave the cool impression of professionalism, but whose eyes revealed a hint of intimidation and fear.

Although Leana hated to admit it, she wished she was at Redman International now and working with her father.

She left the bathroom and returned to her seat in the reception area. At precisely four o’clock, the secretary came for her. “We’re ready, Miss Redman.”

Leana left her seat. Her shoes clicked on the marble-tiled floor as she followed the woman down a long corridor. This isn’t going to work. He’s going to see right through me.

But then she remembered all those years of wanting to prove to her father that she could become a success and neared the office with a feeling of determination. Once, as a child, she overheard George telling Celina that if she worked very hard, the world could be hers. Why can’t that apply to me?

They entered the office. Leana stood behind the secretary and took in the room. A painting of a young couple hung above a fully stocked bar; an elaborate model of a future high-rise was near a Ming vase; through the wall of windows to her right, she could see The Redman International Building, towering like a beacon in the afternoon sun.

Leana’s gaze lingered on her father’s building for a moment before she turned to the man seated across the room at the enormous mahogany table. His back was to her. The secretary said, “Leana Redman to see you, sir.”

Louis Ryan turned in his chair and faced George Redman’s daughter.

Their eyes met. In each other, they saw the future.

Smiling, he stood. “I’m glad you could come, Leana,” he said. “Last night, Harold Baines was kind enough to miss a dinner engagement with your sister so he could tell me about you.” He motioned toward the chair opposite him. “Please sit down?”

Leana did. And the meeting began.

“I don’t believe in wasting time,” Louis said. “So, I’m going to come to the point. You don’t mind, do you?”

“I prefer getting to the point,” Leana said. “It’s why I’m here.”

She watched him move to a window that looked uptown. He pointed at a tall structure cocooned in scaffolding. “Are you familiar with the new hotel I’m building on the corner of Fifth and 53rd? That’s it over there.”

Leana nodded. “Once finished, it’s supposed to be the city’s largest.”

“That’s right,” Louis said. “And I bet it pisses your father off that I’m its owner and not him.”

“I have no idea what my father thinks.”

“Oh, come on,” he said.

“Sorry. I wouldn’t know.”

“Of course, you do. Your father makes it a point to own the biggest and the best of everything in this city. All of New York knows that. He must be furious that soon I’ll be running the largest hotel in Manhattan, not him.”

“What does any of this have to do with me, Mr. Ryan?”

“It’s Louis,” he said. “And I’m getting to that.”

He walked to his desk and sat. He lit a cigarette, exhaled and looked at Leana through the screen of gray-blue smoke. “You don’t get along with your father, do you?”

Leana met his unwavering gaze with her own. “That’s none of your business.”

“Maybe not,” he said. “But it’s not exactly a secret.”

She let a silence pass.

“How old are you, Leana?”

“Twenty-five.”

“And your sister?”

She hesitated. “Twenty-nine.”

“That isn’t much of an age difference.”

“I guess it isn’t.”

“Last night, Harold told me that Celina was just a young girl when your father began taking her to board meetings at Redman International. He neglected to say how old you were.”

“That’s because my father never took me to board meetings at Redman International.”

“Really?” he said. “That’s odd. Certainly you must have worked there at some point.”

“No,” Leana said. “Never.”

“So, you didn’t have interest in the family business?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Then what are you saying?”

She knew he was trying to get her angry, but she didn’t understand why. “I guess I’m saying that my father didn’t want me around.”

“And why is that?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Are you incompetent?”

“Are you serious?”

“Isn’t it true that, in your father’s eyes, you never could quite compare to Celina? That you didn’t measure up? Isn’t that why you were shipped off to Switzerland all those years?” He shrugged. “Isn’t that why you got addicted to cocaine?”

Leana stood. “You can go to hell.”

“I probably will,” Louis said. “But while I’m still on this earth, you’d better let me help you while I can. Now, sit down and cut out the sulking bullshit.”

Leana left for the exit. What was Harold thinking sending me here?

Louis waited for her to cross the room and grasp the door handle before he called out to her. “I could put you on top, you know. I could make you the envy of this town, bigger than your sister Celina ever could hope to become.”

The temptation was great, but Leana opened the door and left the office. She wouldn’t be treated like this by anyone.

She moved down the hall toward the wall of elevators, passing the same groups of men and women she envied earlier but no longer envied now. Some seemed to recognize her along the way and she sensed them staring, as if they were wondering why George Redman’s daughter was here, of all places.

Behind her, a door opened. And then his voice: “Leana.”

She was on the cold rails of her control now, making steady progress toward the elevators.

“Leana.” There was a new note in his voice. “Please come back so we can talk. There was a reason for what I said.”

She turned to him. He was standing just outside his office, smiling a smile that was not sarcastic, but apologetic. What in God’s name do I want this bad?

When she returned to his office, she found him fixing them a drink at the bar. Ice rattled as he poured what looked like vodka into two short glasses. He tried to hand her one of the glasses, but put it on the counter when she refused it.

“I meant what I said, you know. I can-and will-put you on top.” He took a drink. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” He raised a hand. “No need to answer-I can see it in your eyes. You’re angry as hell and I can’t say that I blame you. Your father gave your sister the world and he left you with nothing. It hurts. I get it.”

“Why are you doing this to me?”

“Because I hate your father. He’s fortunate enough to have had two beautiful daughters and stupid enough to have treated only one of them fairly. My father used to treat me the same way your father treats you. My brother was the star-not me. When Harold came last night and told me your story, I decided I wanted to help.”

“If you want to help me so badly, then why did you put me through that?”

“Because I needed to see if you had it in you to stand up to me-which you did.” He looked toward the picture of a woman that rested on his desk. “If I didn’t think you had guts, Leana, I could never offer you the position I’m about to offer you.”

“And what position is that?”

“The new hotel I’m building?” Louis said. “I want you to run it for me.”

Like the waiters who worked there, the restaurant on 56th Street was chic, charming and Italian. When Leana arrived, she checked her watch, saw that she was a few minutes early for her dinner date with Mario and went to the crowded oak bar that was to the right of the lobby.

The buzz of conversation was noticeably louder there and it surrounded her. Leana sat on a wooden stool, ordered a glass of white wine and amused herself by watching the people. She was feeling very, very giddy. I just agreed to run the largest hotel in Manhattan-and I know zip about the hotel business. So, I’m crazy. And so what if I am?

The restaurant was filled with couples. Leana turned and saw people of all ages talking and laughing and smiling. At one of the corner tables, she noticed a young woman speaking to an older man. They resembled each other. The woman was talking quickly and her features were animated.

Leana wondered if they were father and daughter. She wondered what news the woman was sharing and couldn’t help feeling a stab of envy. Although she knew her father loathed Louis Ryan, Leana decided there was nothing more in the world she would like right now than to share with her father her own exciting news.

She looked away from the couple, knowing that day wouldn’t come. While her sister shared a life with her father, Leana had shared only his house.

It was getting late. Mario usually was punctual. She wondered where he was. She had just ordered her second glass of wine when a man in a dark blue suit placed a hand on the stool beside her.

“Is this seat taken?” he asked.

Leana was about to say it was when she noticed it was Michael Archer. She felt an initial start, but stilled it. “Now, this,” she said coolly, “is a surprise.”

Michael smiled. “I could say the same.”

“It’s good to see you,” Leana said. “What brings you here?”

“Good food and a beautiful woman.” She glanced behind him and he added, “Who ultimately stood me up.”

“Oh, please. Who stands you up?”

“It’s true,” he said. “And it always happens with models. Care to offer me some insight?”

“Just let me be clear on this,” she said. “You date models?”

“Sometimes.”

“That’s the saddest thing I’ve heard all day.”

“Maybe a drink will make you feel better?”

Leana lifted her full glass of wine. “Too late,” she said. “But let me buy you one. It will help cheer you up from your model malaise. What would you like? Something without calories?”

He laughed. “Anything cold,” he said. “The heat is murder today.”

He caught the barman’s attention and ordered a beer. When it arrived, he took a long swallow and thanked Leana.

“My pleasure.”

“What brings you here?” he asked. “I’m not interrupting something, am I?”

“You’re not interrupting a thing. I’m supposed to be meeting a friend for dinner, but he’s late. I’m beginning to wonder if I’ve been stood up, too.”

“How late is late?”

“Thirty minutes late.”

Michael lifted an eyebrow. “You’ve got that kind of patience? I was leaving after waiting only twenty minutes.”

“Oh, you novelists,” she said. “Oh, you movie stars. So busy. So little time.”

He couldn’t help a smile. “Have you given him a call?”

“No,” Leana said. “But that isn’t a bad idea.”

She excused herself to use her cell phone at a quiet area of the restaurant. She was reaching into her purse for it when a waiter tapped her on the shoulder. “Leana Redman?”

Leana looked at the man. “Yes?”

“Message for you.” He handed her a slip of paper and left.

Leana knew the note was from Mario before she opened it.

Leana:

I tried calling you at Harold’s but you were out. I’m not going to be able to make dinner tonight. I forgot it’s Lucia’s birthday and I need to spend it with her and the kids. Especially because of the kids. I swear I’ll make this up to you. Try not to be angry. I’ll explain everything when I get in touch with you.

— Mario

Leana crumpled the note and dropped it in an ashtray. So, now he was lying to her. She knew Lucia’s birthday was only a week after her own-and that wasn’t for another five months.

She tried to still a twinge of anger, but couldn’t. She should have known that he would let her down. Sooner or later, most men did. She wondered why she thought she could trust him in the first place. He’s married, she thought. When am I going to get it? Married men and Leana Redman equals poison. Time to move on.

When she returned to the bar, Michael was signing the back of a cocktail napkin for one of the waitresses. Leana watched him. He seemed comfortable with his celebrity, at ease and unaffected by it. She knew he was attracted to her. She sensed that the night of the party. But she was attracted to him, too.

She waited for the waitress to leave before approaching him.

“Can I also have your autograph?” she asked. “It would mean the world to me, Mr. Archer. I’d do anything to get it.”

“Where do you want it.”

She waved a hand, sat down and reached for her glass of wine. “Since my ass obviously is a target tonight, you could put it there.”

“What does that mean.”

“Apparently, I’ve been stood up, too, which is a shame because I’m starving. So, how about me buying you dinner?”

“You already bought me a drink. My turn.”

“No,” she said as they slid off their barstools. “I asked first. But please, do me a favor and order off the children’s menu.” She placed a hand on his shoulder. “Money got a little tight today.”

Vincent Spocatti waited for them to be seated before leaving his table in the corner of the restaurant. They were now at the opposite end of the crowded room. He moved so she couldn't see him, slipped outside and phoned Louis Ryan, who answered on the second ring. “This is Ryan.”

“They’re ordering dinner.”

“Good,” Louis said. “And I assume Mr. De Cicco won’t be bothering them during their meal?”

“I doubt it,” Spocatti said. “Not after the package I sent his wife.”

Spocatti was full of surprises. “What was in it?”

“Three dozen black roses and a note saying if she’d like to join her mother in hell, please feel free to step out of her home. Obviously, Mario is keeping an eye on his wife as we speak.”

“How did Leana react?”

“How do you think she reacted? She is having dinner with Michael, Louis.”

“Let’s hope sparks fly,” Louis said. “Because if they don’t and if I don’t hear wedding bells soon, I’m not paying Santiago a dime and my son can go to hell.”