Mob Lawyer 3: A Legal Thriller Read online

  “She likes it,” I answered and smiled. “She’s hoping to get a few days off next week to go visit your father’s vineyard.”

  “Oh, she would just love it!” Gulia gushed and clasped her hands together. “Perhaps I should make the trip as well.”

  “I think that’s a great idea,” Anthony agreed. “Have Katarina book seats for both of you.”

  “I’ll accompany you, if you’d like,” Michael offered. “Papa mentioned some new blends he’s trying.”

  “And me,” Annie piped up. “It’s been too long since we were in the old country.”

  “You’ve been there twice,” Anthony snorted at his sister’s dramatics. “I’m sure Grandfather would love to see you, though.”

  “Yeah, he’s not great at Skype.” She stuck her tongue out before she focused on her meal again.

  The conversation seamlessly continued with talk of Grandfather Regio and his grapes and wines, and I could practically see the light return to Gulia’s gray-green eyes. She was in her late fifties, but she barely looked over thirty, especially now that the topic was more lighthearted. Dimples graced her cheeks as she smiled at her son and daughter as they teased each other.

  After a while, we were all picking at our nearly empty plates before one of the housemaids appeared and began to clear the table. Anthony caught my attention and dipped his head, so I pushed my chair back and rose to follow him out of the room with a sheepish smile toward the rest of the family.

  My client traipsed upstairs to his father’s office, and we sat in the leather chairs with matching sighs of full bellies and annoyance at having to discuss business again.

  “So, you think Mayor Webber is in bed with the Serbians?” Anthony asked abruptly as he reached into his drawer and pulled out a tall, skinny bottle of Johnnie Walker and two glasses.

  I mulled over my response for a moment as he poured us each a glass and slid mine across the peanut-shaped desk toward me.

  “I think he has some sort of ties,” I finally answered after a swig of the burning whiskey trickled down my throat. “I don’t know if it’s intimidation, willingness, or money at play.”

  “Whichever it is will make a difference in how we approach the solution,” Anthony replied and ran his finger around the rim of his glass. “We can’t just swoop in and slit the guy’s throat if they’re holding his family hostage.”

  “That would be an option?” I nearly choked on my drink.

  “I wouldn’t tell you if it was,” my client chuckled and took a calm sip. “We have to flush them out. Get some intel.”

  “What if we used intel to help the cops?” I asked as an idea suddenly struck me.

  “Help them?” Anthony raised a furry black eyebrow and templed his hands over his drink. “Why would we do that?”

  “Hear me out,” I insisted. “Let’s say we get some information about Serbian activity, a buyer meeting them or something, right? And then, instead of anyone tied to you smashing in there and killing them or something, the cops bust the deal!”

  “And other than the obvious revenue loss, how does that help us?” he pressed.

  “Well, if we give the anonymous info to the cops and they bust them, we know they aren’t completely corrupt,” I pointed out. “Maybe they just haven’t been given the same tips about the Serbians yet. We already know Queens is scrambling to cover their asses, but Webber is pushing that Chatel guy for Brooklyn. If they don’t go after the Serbians there, then we know what we’re dealing with.”

  “Or if they bust them, but it doesn’t hit the news,” Anthony murmured and rubbed the five o’clock shadow on his jaw. “It would definitely mean the mayor is sweeping the Serbian operations under the rug. Just a couple things bother me.”

  “What?” I wondered what could be wrong with my brilliant plan.

  “For one, we don’t help the cops,” he grunted as he gripped his empty glass and poured another round for each of us. “They don’t like us, and we don’t like them. And two, I don’t like backstabbing.”

  “How is it backstabbing?” I asked, completely confused. “You don’t owe the Serbs anything.”

  “I’d be a rat,” Anthony muttered. “Turning over family info to the cops, it makes me a little sick.”

  He tossed back his drink like a shot and poured another.

  “Can I point out the obvious here?” I swished my whiskey around in the cup and pretended to be extremely interested in the golden honey liquid. I had a feeling Anthony wasn’t going to like what I had to say.

  “What obvious?” he demanded.

  “The Serbians aren’t family,” I said after a moment. “No family name, no reputation, not even a known leader. They’re just some thugs who want to infiltrate what your family built here. So, you treat them like any other enemy, but this way, you don’t give them an obvious target to fire back on. The old rules of honor between families, does that really apply to them?”

  I swore I could hear crickets chirping as my client pursed his lips and stared at me with an expression I couldn’t quite place. I was about to give up and take back my whole plan when a smile finally covered his face.

  “You’ve sure thought about this,” Anthony chuckled and then sighed. “That’s not a bad point, Hunter. Alright, between your plan and your argument, I’ve got to admit, I’m a little impressed right now, even though I feel like I’ve been lawyered.”

  “Thanks.” I grinned at my client. “And maybe I lawyered you a little.”

  He had only questioned my loyalty when Ben Kroger, his dad’s old lieutenant, had linked my Legal Aid appearance with a string of bad luck, but now, he seemed to understand that I would always try to keep him safe. Even if he did things I wasn’t excited about or behind my back, I did my best to make sure he never had to go back to Riker’s. Of course, the ideal client would stop all of his involvement with illegal activities, but I’d take what I could get from him right now.

  Besides, it was kind of badass helping a Mafia boss find out who was dirty in our city’s government.

  “Now, the only thing left to do is find out some intel about their operations,” Anthony continued. “They’re very secretive. Hell, my dad didn’t even realize how much they already had running here.”

  “I can’t exactly subpoena them for this,” I joked. “But there has to be another way to reach out to someone.”

  “I mean, I could send one of my guys in, but I don’t think they’d hire an Italian,” my client mused. “Even if they did, it would take time to reach the level where he could get information. And we don’t have that kind of time.”

  “Maybe they’ve pissed someone off.” I shrugged. “Fired someone, or killed someone’s family member. I know it’s not the same thing, but if someone wanted to know about Parish, McHale, I’d happily give up everything I knew.”

  “Quitting a skeezy corporate law firm is a lot easier than quitting the mob,” Anthony snickered. “Why do you think it’s taken so long for my dad to get out?”

  “Guess you can’t just turn in a letter of resignation,” I admitted and pursed my lips as I recalled my defiant exit from my old firm. “Or just walk out.”

  “Walk out…” Anthony repeated my words as he grabbed his phone off the desk. “Hold that thought.”

  I could just barely hear the laughter and muffled conversation of the rest of the family downstairs as my client typed out a text message and then set his phone down with a smug smile.

  “Do I want to know?” I asked rhetorically.

  “You had me thinking about a guy who said he wanted to walk away from the family business because his wife was sick,” Anthony replied with a shrug. “I wanted to check in on him.”

  “I see.” I was not convinced.

  “If we want to get the same information about the Serbs that they got about us, we just have to do what they did,” he continued as his phone buzzed on the desk.

  “And what’s that?” I asked.

  A few silent moments passed while Anthony read
and responded to his text. I drummed my fingers on my thighs and wondered what stellar, hopefully not violent, idea I’d given him now.

  “We have to find us a rat.”

  Chapter 2

  Over the next thirty minutes, we drank a few more glasses of whiskey as Anthony sent out a flurry of text messages. At some point, my phone buzzed in my pocket, and I looked at the screen to see Liz’s name pop up.

  “I’m going to take this,” I murmured as I showed him the phone and rose from my chair.

  Anthony nodded, and I stepped out into the hallway to answer my former co-counsel’s call.

  “Oh, I thought you’d never pick up!” Liz exclaimed after I greeted her.

  “I was in a meeting with Anthony,” I replied carefully and eased the door shut behind me when I saw my client had taken a call as well. “What’s up?”

  “I have good news and great news,” she gushed, and I could practically feel her excitement humming through the phone. “Which do you want first?”

  “Surprise me,” I chuckled.

  “Okay, the good news is I’m starting to finalize the last steps in this case,” Liz continued. “And the great news is if I have everything in order, I’ll be a partner within the next six months!”

  “That’s amazing,” I exhaled with a grin. “Congratulations.”

  “Don’t congratulate me, yet,” she warned playfully. “Don’t want to jinx it. I knew this thing would be a doozy, but even I had to jump through a few hoops once I got here. It’s turning around, though.”

  “Well, I never doubted you,” I said, and I meant it.

  Liz had been one of the top students in our class at law school, and none of us had been surprised when she’d been recruited by the fancy rich and famous white shoe firm she worked for now. There was a reason she’d been the first person I turned to when I needed a little help with Anthony’s case.

  “Thank you, Hunter,” Liz replied in a hoarse voice before she dropped to nearly a whisper. “I really miss our long nights in your apartment.”

  My heart pounded inside my chest as visions of her long, silky legs wrapped up in my sheets danced through my mind.

  “I, uh, miss them, too,” I stammered and began to pace the hallway. “I’m sure we’ll have plenty to catch up on when you get back.”

  “I’d like that very much,” Liz purred before she giggled, and I heard the slosh of a drink and a few other feminine giggles in the background. “Anyway, I have colleagues to entertain. I just thought I’d share the news with you.”

  “Colleagues, huh?” I chuckled, and my imagination went wild with images of Liz and her female coworkers. “Have fun.”

  “Oh, we will,” she laughed before the phone beeped in my ear to signal she’d disconnected the call.

  “Damn,” I breathed and readjusted my slacks. “Back to work.”

  I walked back toward the door to Anthony’s office just as his deep voice seemed to punch through the wood.

  “I don’t give a fuck how you do it!” he bellowed. “Just get it done!”

  Then the sound of something, likely his phone, was tossed onto the desk and the swish of another round of whiskey poured into his glass. I waited a few seconds, rapped lightly on the door, and pushed it open to see my client’s face was reddened as he gripped the glass with frustration.

  “So, the rat search isn’t going well?” I asked casually.

  “Does my local officer of the court really want an update?” he sneered and waited for my response.

  “Well, there could be a few legal options for reaching out,” I retorted. “Or we could get the cops involved a little earlier. Maybe Liz’s guy at the Treasury Department? He helped out in Folsom.”

  “I’m not cutting through the damn red tape here!” Anthony thundered and slammed his hands on the desk. “The balance of our city is teetering, and I don’t have time to do things the nice way!”

  I opened my mouth to respond and then closed it without a word. My client had a knack for taking on his father’s intimidating expressions when needed, and this seemed to be one of those times. If steam could roll out of his ears, it probably would right now. And I wasn’t in the business of pushing a Mafia boss’ buttons. If I didn’t know anything more, then I had nothing I was obligated to report. It was better this way, even if it was a lot more frustrating for both of us.

  “Okay,” I said finally.

  “Okay,” he grumbled before he rubbed his face and sighed. “Sorry, Hunter. I’m just tired of fighting all these battles.”

  “Maybe you need a second in command, like Ben was for your father,” I suggested. “Even your dad didn’t take care of every little detail like you’ve been doing. Plus, you’ve been running Campania Olio, which he didn’t really do, either. I don’t think it’s unreasonable to need a little help.”

  “Are you putting in an application?” Anthony asked with an arched eyebrow.

  “No, not me.” I held my hands up and shook my head. “Someone with, um, experience in your, ah, field.”

  “Mmhm,” he agreed and chuckled. “I’m sure someone will come along that fits the bill. For now, I do it my way. Capiche?”

  “Got it,” I murmured. “So, I guess while we’re waiting, we can try to put some of the links together. I know you have your own investigation going, but have you found any connection between the Serbs and your father’s shooting?”

  “Let’s just say, I wouldn’t be surprised,” Anthony hedged. “There are a lot of people, family and non-family, who would benefit from his death. And quite a few of them weren’t pleased to hear of his improved health.”

  “I guess we know they don’t have eyes in the hospital, then,” I pointed out in a tone between hopeful and joking. “That’s good, right?”

  “Yeah, I suppose so,” he replied and drummed his fingers on the desk. “If they did, they could have finished the job easily enough. Even the attempt on his life sent the families into a frenzy.”

  “Which left anyone outside the families room to work while the families scrambled to cover their asses,” I mused. “It actually makes more sense for the shooter to be with the Serbians.”

  “It probably gave the bastards exactly what they needed to move up,” Anthony agreed, and his jaw tightened with anger. “I’m glad Ben got rid of a few before he died.”

  My client made the sign of the cross over his chest and took another swig of his whiskey before his phone buzzed again. He picked it up and punched a button with a grunt.

  “What?” he growled. “Fine, keep me posted.”

  I hesitated to ask for an update as Anthony poured what had to be his eighth glass of Johnnie Walker. I stared at the blue label on the squared-off bottle and let my mind drift to all the possibilities. Maybe the guy they were torturing for information died? Or maybe he got away?

  Nah, they wouldn’t have let that happen. The Febbo family had been doing this Mafia thing for decades, and if they wanted information, they’d get it.

  A soft knock on the door interrupted my musings, and Michael poked his head in the office. His salt-and-pepper toupee was slightly askew, as if the glue had worn off this late in the day, and his eyes looked somewhat watery.

  “Anthony, your mother has--” Michael hiccupped in the middle of his sentence and giggled for a moment. “Ahem, she has requested you and Hunter join us for dessert.”

  “What’s for dessert?” Anthony asked with a gleam in his eyes. “Wine?”

  “Cookies,” his uncle replied and blinked twice. “And grappa.”

  “Ahhh,” my client chuckled. “Alright, we’ll be down shortly.”

  Michael nodded and hiccupped again as he shut the door. I could hear his staggering footsteps as he plodded down the stairs toward the rest of the family, and Anthony shook his head with a fond smile.

  “I suppose we better go get some cookies,” I said as I rose from the chair. “I wouldn’t want to disappoint your mother.”

  “Are you scared of her?” Anthony teased.
r />   “No.” I avoided my client’s gaze and turned for the door. “No more scared than I am of you.”

  Anthony’s laughter boomed out into the hallway as we made our way downstairs and followed the scent of chocolate and grapes out onto the patio behind the house.

  The sun had started to set behind the trees, and the beautiful orange and pink sky provided the perfect backdrop for us to gather around the patio table. The chocolate and almond cookies were heavenly, but I politely declined the grappa. Though I thoroughly enjoyed a glass of the sweet brandy on occasion, I knew I’d have to drive home soon, and I was already three glasses deep in whiskey.

  As the night sky settled over us, I started to wonder if Anthony’s guys would have any kind of response tonight. It probably took days or maybe even weeks to gain access to the Serbian operations.

  I started to announce my departure when Anthony whipped his phone out of his pocket and stared at the screen. Our eyes met, and my client jerked his head to indicate we needed to go back inside. The rest of the conversation fell silent for a moment as we walked in the French doors to the den.

  “We got it,” Anthony murmured without looking up from the screen that lit his face in a blue glow. “Tomorrow night.”

  “What is it?” I wondered.

  “A shipment of coke,” he replied and finally looked up with a grin. “In a shipping container that’s coming in at the Red Hook Terminal.”

  “They won’t be able to deny coke.” I nodded and avoided looking at his phone. “Now, we need to figure out who in the department we should give it to.”

  “I heard through the grapevine Ordman had that one detective moved to Brooklyn,” Anthony mused. “The one who arrested me? Rodriguez?”

  “Gomez,” I supplied as I pictured the burly detective. “Why would he move him? He arrested you, which was what they wanted.”

  “Maybe he wouldn’t go along with the rest of their plans.” He shrugged and rubbed his jaw. “They pulled him off my case for a reason, right?”

  “That gives me a little more hope for the Brooklyn cops, then,” I agreed. “If that’s where he was sent to get away from their corrupt schemes, that’s a good sign.”