Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 83994 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83994 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
“Donnell confirmed it. There are three other safe houses mentioned in the dossier, but this is the only one on Long Island.”
“Was my mother here?”
Declan slips his hand into mine. “I can’t be sure. But it sounds like she visited at least.”
I try to imagine my mother coming out here. I can’t begin to picture what her reasons might’ve been. “I just want him gone.”
“You don’t have long to wait.”
We stand in silence, watching the building from across the street. Dozens of Whelan soldiers are moving into position through the night. Snipers are posted in trucks surrounding the building and watching every single inch of the exterior. Twenty men are spread out around the back with high-powered rifles and full-body armor. From what I’ve heard, they think Senesi is alone in there, but the blinds are drawn tight and nobody can confirm.
“What’s the plan?” I ask after a while. It’s nearing midnight and there hasn’t been any movement at all.
“I was thinking I’d go knock on the door.”
I stare at him, eyebrows raised. “Seriously?”
“He knows he’s surrounded. That makes him dangerous, but he isn’t stupid. I don’t think he’ll try anything desperate.”
“The man’s one of the more prolific killers in the history of the New York underworld. You seriously want to just… knock on his door?”
“Better than standing around here waiting for something to happen.”
“We could always start shooting.”
“Sure, but you want closure. Can’t get that from a corpse.” He starts slipping on a Kevlar vest and tosses me one. “Helmet too. Better safe than dead.”
I follow his orders, strapping myself in with trembling hands. He double-checks to make sure I’m wearing it properly and makes me shove a military-grade helmet on like I’m a little kid going roller skating. Once I’m ready, he has a quick conversation with Seamus and words pass through the soldiers. Snipers prepare themselves and several men move closer to the house, tightening the noose.
“Stay behind me,” he says, striding toward the driveway. “No matter what happens, keep me between you and him.”
I’m too afraid to argue. I stay close, right on his hip, as he approaches the front door. I want to tell him to stop when he reaches out and rings the bell. It’s like we’re shoving our heads into the den of a hungry lion.
But the door simply unlocks and opens a crack. Nobody speaks, and the house seems dead and quiet, except for a light on toward the back.
“Vincenzo Senesi,” Declan calls out, pushing the door open with his foot. He draws a gun with his hands, holding it steady. Behind us, the soldiers come even closer. “You know it’s over. Come out and talk.”
More silence. My heart hammers in my ears. I’m tempted to turn and run away, but I’ll always wonder if I do that. Would my mother have stood her ground? Would she have seen this through? When Declan moves forward into the house, I force myself to follow.
It looks like it hasn’t been used in years. There’s dust on the banister and most of the furniture is covered by drop cloths. It smells musty and stale. I look around, wondering if my mother stood in this same spot, before I notice something hanging on the wall near the hallway.
It’s a photograph of a woman. She’s young and pretty. I frown a little, reaching out to touch it.
“Don’t do that.” Declan stops me. His grip on my wrist is firm.
“Look at her.” I’m trapped between horror and pure fascination. “It’s her, isn’t it?”
He seems uncertain. “Who are you talking about?”
“The woman in those pictures. It’s my mother.” The second I say it, I’m completely sure.
That’s her. No doubt in my mind.
She’s young. Her hair’s lighter than I remember. I have her nose and her cheeks. Her skin’s glowing and she’s laughing about something. There’s an ocean behind her even though she’s in jeans and a sweater. I’m guessing the beach in winter maybe, but it’s hard to say. The picture’s faded and clearly very old.
“There’s more.” Declan moves forward into the dining room. He snaps on a light and I have to cover my mouth to keep from screaming.
There are hundreds of pictures. Some of them are low-quality printouts. Others look like they were professionally developed. They’re stacked in layers almost like someone was using them for wallpaper. The sheer number of them is overwhelming, but as I move closer, squinting and staring, my heart feels like it completely stops.
All of them show my mother at various stages in her life.
I recognize her from the pictures Sheila showed me. A few of these look like they’re straight from our family photo album.
Some show friends and acquaintances, others include family members, but my mother is the focus of each and every one.
Her face is circled in some. In others, all the people except for her are scratched out. There’s one showing me when I was a baby, but my eyes are removed. Another where she’s leaning against my father, but his head’s been cut off. There are so many I feel like my legs are going to give out.