Park Avenue (Book Six in the Fifth Avenue Series) (29 page)

“You know what’s
interesting?
 
When Louis Ryan shot
me,—I believe you were there for the show—Leana never visited me in
the hospital, even though we were only rooms apart.
 
She healed faster than I did and was
released sooner.
 
She and her thug
of a boyfriend left for Europe without stopping by to see me.
 
I didn’t hear from her for
years—had no idea where she was.
 
How do you think that made me feel?”

“So, this is your
retribution?”

“You really are an actor,
aren’t you?
 
It’s all about drama
for you people.”

“How is this drama?
 
You just spelled it out.
 
It’s a petty fact.”

“Is there anything else
you’d like to discuss, Michael?
 
I’ve given you more than enough of my time.
 
I’ve answered your questions.”

“Go and see your
daughter.”

“Lose my number.”

Before
Michael could respond, George severed the connection.
 

CHAPTER
THIRTY-EIGHT

As the days passed and
Leana continued her recovery, Mario returned home late one night to find a
message from his father on the answering machine.
 

“She’s had a few days to
rest now,” he said.
 
“I want to see
her.
 
Call and let me know when
you’re going to the hospital tomorrow.
 
We’ll go together.
 
I want to
talk to her.”

Michael closed his eyes,
listened to a few other messages, most of which were from reporters who somehow
got their private number, and then went into the kitchen to make himself a
sandwich.
 

So, his father wanted to
see Leana.
 
And talk to her.
 
About what?

This could go one of two
ways.
 
He knew his father well
enough to know that it probably wasn’t going to go the way he or Leana liked.

*
 
*
 
*

The next morning at Lenox
Hill, Mario arrived by cab.
 
His
father arrived in a white Bentley.
 
Mario was in jeans and a white shirt.
 
His father was dressed in a blue
business suit, a dark blue tie and brown shoes that gleamed as if they’d just
been shined, which Mario knew was the case.
 

His father was one of the
vainest men he knew, but Mario also knew his vanity came from being poor as a
child.
 
Nobody overcompensated like
Antonio De Cicco.
 
But Mario
understood why.

He hid his skepticism
about his father’s visit with a smile.
 
Best not to engage him.
 
“I’m
glad you came,” he said, walking over and giving his father a hug.
 
“This will mean a lot to her.”

“Think so?
 
We didn’t exactly part on the best of
terms, Mario.”

“She and I have talked
since then.
 
She knows you’ve agreed
to help her and she’s grateful.”

“She should be.
 
The police aren’t going to catch this
son of a bitch.
 
We will.
 
She know I’m here?”

“I was already home late
last night when I got your message.
 
She doesn’t know, but when she finds out, she’s going to want to brush
her hair and freshen up for you.
 
Maybe ten minutes?”

“She had a chunk of glass
in her fuckin’ eye.
 
I expect her to
look like shit.
 
I just want to say
hello and ask her a few questions that might give us an idea of what we’re
lookin’ at here.”

“You know women, Dad.”

“Fine.
 
Women.
 
Ten minutes.”

*
 
*
 
*

“Your father is here?”
Leana said.

“He’s standing outside
the door.”

“Why do I feel sick
again?”

“Because of what happened
between you two in the past.
 
He’s
come to ask you some questions.
 
He
wants to help.”

“What kind of questions?”

“I assume he wants to
hear what’s happening from your perspective.
 
He seems concerned.
 
Obviously, the other day went better
than I thought because the fact that he came here on his own speaks
volumes.
 
He just doesn’t do
that.
 
He’s making an effort.
 
We should honor that.”

“I look like shit,” she
said.

“I told him you’d like a
few minutes to freshen up.”

“No one can freshen up
this face, Mario.
 
Look at me.
 
I look like a wounded pirate.
 
But a brush wouldn’t hurt.”
 
She pointed at the table beside
her.
 
“There’s one in the bottom
drawer, I think.”

He found it, handed it to
her and she started pulling her hair away from her face.
 
“Is there a rubber band in there?”

He looked.
 
“Yeah.
 
Wait a minute.
 
Here.”
 
He handed it to her.

She tied her hair behind
her head in a simple ponytail.
 
There was nothing else she could do.
 
This was as fresh as it got.

“I’m
not even going to bother with a mirror,” she said.
 
“I know what I look like.
 
At least they allowed me to shower
earlier.”
 
She nodded at the door
and took a breath.
 
“Bring him in.”

CHAPTER
THIRTY-NINE

When Antonio De Cicco
entered her room, Leana was reminded of how imposing he was, even at his
age.
 
Or especially at his age.
 
She looked up at him and managed a
smile, though she knew it was a nervous smile and probably came across as such.
 
She was wary of him.
 
She looked over at Sean, who was
standing beside the door, and she knew by the way his focus narrowed on De
Cicco that Sean knew who he was.
 

“Thank you for coming,
Mr. De Cicco,” Leana said.

He stopped to look up at
Sean, nodded at him, and then appraised Leana for a moment.
 
He shook his head as if what he saw
bothered him.
 
“It’s Antonio,
Leana.
 
When you marry my son, it’ll
be Uncle Tony.”

“Antonio, then.
 
There’s a chair on this side of the bed
if you’d like to sit down.”

“I’d like that.
 
My knees are shit.”

He came around the bed
and Leana thought, with his beautifully cut graying hair and tailored suit,
that he could have passed for anyone of legitimate power in this city.
 
Physically, there was nothing about him
that suggested he was born to a family of gangsters.

“How are you?” he asked.

“One look should say it all.”

“You in pain?”

“A bit, but they’re
treating it.”

“You need morphine or
somethin’?”

“No,” she said.
 
“The Tylenol they’re using is actually
helping.”

“Because I can get you
the morphine,” he said.
 
“It’s not a
problem.”

“I appreciate that,
Antonio.
 
But I think I can ride
this out with Tylenol.”

“Whatever.
 
Your choice.
 
Leana, I want to deal with the past and
smooth it over.
 
OK?”

She didn’t want to go
anywhere near their tumultuous past, but she had no choice so she nodded.

“The past is dead to me,”
he said.
 
“We move forward from
here.
 
My son came to visit me the
other day, we talked it out and he told me of his intention to marry you.
 
What I want to know is if you’re going
to be a good mother to his and Lucia’s kids when they’re not away at school.”

“Of course, I will.”

“Because that’s important
to me.
 
That’s key.
 
They’re still traumatized by what
happened to their mother.
 
Probably
always will be.
 
I need to know from
you whether you can love them as if they’re yours.”

“I already do.”

He studied her face and
scrutinized it, and then his own face softened.
 
“Nobody bullshits me,” he said.
 
“And you’re not now.
 
I believe you.”

“I think the world of
them.”

“That’s good to
hear.
 
They’re good kids.
 
Now,” he said, “what’s happening to
you?
 
What’s with this
bullshit?
 
People writing crap about
you on your hotel?
 
People shooting
at you at a Best Buy, of all fuckin’ places?
 
And don’t tell me they weren’t targeting
you, because we all know they were.
 
What’s going on?”

“I don’t know.”
 
She looked over at Mario.
 
“Have you told him about the texts?”

“I haven’t had time.”

“What texts?” Antonio
said.

She told him.

“Deadman and
Deadman1?
 
That says it all.
 
Anything else?”

“Just what they said.”

“What did they say?”

“They plan to chop off my
arms and my legs, and shove them up my ass.”

“You don’t say?”

“That pretty much sums up
my fantastic week, Antonio.”

“Where’s the phone?”

She nodded over at
Sean.
 
“Antonio, this is Sean Scott,
my head of security.
 
Sean gave the
phone to one of his contacts at the FBI to see if they could find out who sent
the texts.”

“You didn’t think to give
it to me?”

“That’s my fault, Dad,”
Mario said.
 
“Sean met us here when
we arrived from the shooting.
 
He
took the phone then.
 
My focus was
on Leana.”

De Cicco looked over at
Sean.
 
“Your contacts coming through
for you?”

“They’re working on it,
sir.”

“If they don’t have
anything in the next day, I’d like that phone.”

Sean looked at
Leana.
 
In his eyes, she could see
his disapproval, but what he didn’t understand is the difficult situation she
was in now.
 
She had to keep the
peace with Antonio, if only for the sake of Mario.
 
She also knew that if Antonio took her
phone, he’d have his own means to find out who sent her those texts.
 
She’d talk to him later about it.
 
She nodded at him.
 

“Of course, sir,” he
said.

“How’s your eye?” Antonio
asked her.

“We’ll know in two
days.
 
That’s when the bandages come
off.”

“I’ll be here for that,”
he said.
 
“I want to be one of the
first people you see.
 
Do you want
me to talk to your doctor?”

And tell her you’ll break
her legs if I’m left with a bum eye?
 
“I appreciate
that.
 
But I think she’s taken such
a beating from me on this,
 
that we
probably should just leave her alone.”

“You went with a woman
doctor?”

“We did.”

“And that doesn’t concern
you?”

Why would it?
 
“She’s considered one of the city’s best.”

Antonio raised an eyebrow
at that.
 
“Your eye must be sealed
shut behind those bandages.
 
Are you
able to see light through them?”

She shook her head.
 

“Not the best sign.”

His words were like a
blow to her because she worried about the same thing.
 
“When the bandage comes off, I should
have a better idea of where we’re at and whether the surgery was successful.”