Page 93 of Wrapped in Silver

“I’m not only here for the easy stuff,” I say. “I want to know everything about you.”

He sighs and flicks his wrist, showcasing his watch. “I used to click the dial once every time I would accept a job.” Heclicksit to show me. “I’d tell myself that the click allows me a free life. It would protect me, my wife and kid, and the Valentinos from harm while I carried out my task. And when the dial would make one full rotation all the way back to 12 o’clock, my luck would’ve run out.”

The idea gives me shivers. What kind of jobs are we talking? Judging by the way he thinks, and the Russians he killed without so much as a blink, he was probably one of the most revered hitmen of the five families.

“In my head, my little ritual worked for years. It granted me protection if I somehow slipped up.”

“You?Slip up? Every little detail is planned based on what I can see.”

“You’d think. But fate always plays a role. Take your kidnapping, for example. How could I have guessed the big bratva would go rogue and try to have his way with youduringthe break-in? It’s against all logic.”

“I see.”

“So, this dial… it accounted for that fate, or luck… until I got about half way. It was a job against the Albanians in NYC. They were getting wind of our heists and carrying them out before we could get to them, so the don at the time—Giovanni, Donny’s father—sent me in to take care of the situation.”

The waiter walks up to us, prompting Silver to pause.

“Do you need a minute?” He bows in close. “May I read the specials?”

“If we could just have a few. Thank you.” I smile pleasantly at the waiter.

“Of course. Take your time.” The waiter walks away.

Silver clears his throat. “So, I did. I made them disappear without a trace, leaving their little gang to scratch their heads and mourn bodies that were never found. And never will be. Or so I thought.”

I find myself clenching, because I know how this story ends, and the idea is harrowing… Especially after experiencing that fear for myself more than once now.

“You think I’m careful now, kid? Back in my heyday, I was feared like the grim reaper himself. But fate intervened. A ratin the family ranks sold out Don Gio’s order to hire me for the job, and naturally, the Albanians had to have their revenge.” He takes a strong breath. “One night, when I was out for a Valentino family meeting, my family innocently had a movie night at home. My wife, Lisa, and daughter, Isabella, called it a ‘girls’ night.’” He takes another breath. I notice his chest caving a little bit more than normal.

Is the poor guy having an anxiety attack?

Trust me, I get it. I’ve been stuffing down the trauma since Dad was taken.

Grabbing his hand, I rub his knuckles with my thumb, telling him it’s okay. He can stop or keep going if he wants. Either way, I’m here.

“It was cute to come home and see my wife with ten scrunchies in her hair because Isabella wanted them to be twins,” he laughs.

“I can’t believe you know what a scrunchy is,” I laugh back.

“Well, when you have a daughter, sometimes you have no choice.”

Can’t help but smile at that. “What else do you know? Piercings? Makeup?”

“I know every cut of diamond thanks to her wandering eye. ‘Daddy, what’s Mommy’s ring?’ she asked me. I told her pillow cut. Then she said, ‘That’s ugly.’ And I agreed, telling her Mommy picked it out.”

I laugh at that. “She sounds cute.”

My heart wrenches when I realize I mentioned her in present tense.

“She was cute.” He lowers his head. “That night, when I came home from the Valentino meeting, they were left on the couch, facing the TV, my wife sitting on the floor, my daughter on the couch with her hands in her hair, both with their throats slit.”

I turn away abruptly as if he painted the scene and showed it to me. “My God...”

“Propped up like two dolls in a museum,” he says.

“I’m so sorry, Silver.” I find my way back to his eyes.

He grunts past the pain. “Safe to say, there is no more functioning Albanian gang operating out of New York. At least, there wasn’t for a decade following the incident.”

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