Page 67 of Merciless Daddy

“Check.”

“I hear you.”

“Tonio?”

“Unfortunately,” he whispered.

Pietro’s voice followed. “Approaching the gate.”

I sat at the penthouse dining table with the Mill Basin plan spread before me. Sal stood beside my chair. His forearm rested near mine on the table, close enough that the warmth of him reached me when I moved.

The photograph of the white van lay near his hand.

Angela spoke again. “The catering van is entering the outer gate. Pietro is in the second vehicle two blocks south. No activity on the police band.”

A burst of static sounded in my ear. Then Tonio’s breathing.

“Guard’s checking the manifest,” he murmured.

“Don’t speak,” I said.

“Yes, boss.”

“Tonio.”

Silence.

The seconds lengthened.

I imagined the guard beneath the hard white lamp. The clipboard. The driver’s face. Tonio in his catering jacket, too large and too alert to look like a man paid by the hour to move tables.

“Gate opening,” Angela said.

I released a breath.

“Rolling,” Pietro confirmed.

Through Tonio’s microphone came the rattle of equipment and the uneven hum of the van’s engine. A man I didn’t know said something about starting with the dining room. Tonio answered in an accent broader than usual, making himself sound more foreign and less memorable.

The vehicle stopped. Doors opened. Metal struck pavement. Wheels squeaked. Men complained about the cold.

“Inside the loading bay,” Tonio whispered.

“Do you see three doors?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“Left goes to the kitchen. Center is dry storage. Right is mechanical.”

“The plan says center connects to the main hall.”

“The plan is a liar, remember?”

“Like a beautiful woman.”

“Go through dry storage.”

Sal’s fingers shifted beside the photograph. He did not interrupt.