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“Marco, you’re a goddamn genius,” he exclaims.
I feel a surge of hope, like Christmas has come early. “Oh, my God, you’re right! We might actually have him on camera!”
Angelo’s already pulling out his phone. “I’ll have the footage sent to me immediately for review. And Romero’s in Chicago, digging up intel on Gino’s loyalists.”
He turns to me, his dark eyes gleaming with determination. “Fee, we might just have the leverage we need.”
For the first time since leaving my mother’s house, I feel a genuine smile spreading across my face. “Let’s nail this bastard,” I say, my voice filled with renewed resolve.
As we speed back toward the city, I feel a shift in the air. We’re no longer just reacting to Gino’s moves. Now, we’re on the offensive.
Gino Timpone won’t know what hit him.
Once we get backto Angelo’s home, I realize that Lou has a half-day at school and we will need to pick her up soon.
“Well, let’s go pick her up,” Angelo says as Marco tosses him the keys. “And since she had a shitty day yesterday, let’s go get her a treat, too. What’s her favorite treat?”
“Starbucks,” I respond, thinking of how often Lou begs for one of their beverages.
Angelo makes a face. “Starbucks, really? But their coffee is shit.”
I shrug. “You asked what her favorite treat is.”
He sighs. “I did, didn’t I? No matter, I’ll introduce her to actual good coffee. Not burnt sludge.”
As we approach the Starbucks drive-thru, Angelo leans forward, squinting at the menu board.
“What the hell is a Frappuccino?” he mutters.
I can’t help but chuckle. “It’s Lou’s favorite. Just order a grande caramel Frappuccino.”
Angelo makes a face, then speaks into the intercom with his usual authoritative tone. “I need a… grande caramel Frappuccino.”
The barista’s cheerful voice crackles through. “Would you like whipped cream on that?”
Angelo looks at me, panic in his eyes. I nod encouragingly.
“Uh, yes. Whipped cream. Please,” he adds as an afterthought.
The barista tells us the total and tells us to pull up to the window. Angelo startles when he hears the price.
“Six dollars for a fucking drink?” he asks, horrified. “And who the fuck puts whipped cream on coffee?”
“It’s not really coffee,” I say, laughing at his face. He looks like he just saw a dog shit on his shoe. “It’s a blended drink that’s a mix between a milkshake and an iced coffee.”
“Butsix dollars?”
My sides hurt from laughing so hard. “Angelo, have youeverbeen to Starbucks?”
“Of course not.” He looks affronted at the question. “No self-respecting Italian goes to Starbucks for coffee. My father is rolling in his grave knowing I’m here.”
When we pull up to the window, Angelo scrutinizes the drink like it might explode. “Are you sure this is right? It looks… weird.”
I pat his arm reassuringly. “Trust me, it’s perfect. Lou will love it.”
As we pull up to the school, I spot Lou near the gates. I go to wave at her, but my heart sinks as I realize she’s facing off with the bully—Jake—again. I start to open the door, but Angelo’s hand on my arm stops me.
“Wait,” he says softly. “She needs to handle this herself.”
