Christopher Smith - Fifth Avenue

She looked around the room and a feeling of shame overcame her. Had she really had it so bad as a child?

There was the sound of a door being shut and Leana looked up to see Mario coming toward her. Never in her life had she been more happy to see him.

“That your friend?” the woman asked.

“Yes,” Leana said. “That’s my friend.”

“You’re a lucky woman. He’s one of my favorite people. Do you realize he comes here once a week with either a carload of food or a check to buy food?”

“It wouldn’t surprise me.”

The woman left and Leana kept looking at Mario, who was now weaving through the tables.

“My car’s outside,” Mario said, after giving Leana a hug. “I want you to come with me. We’re moving you out of your apartment.”

Leana hadn’t expected this. She began to protest. “But where will I go?”

“That’s taken care of.”

“There’s got to be another way, Mario. I love that apartment.”

“More than your life? Let’s go.”

Reluctantly, Leana went with him. As they left the shelter and stepped into the night, the two men waiting outside the entrance fell in step behind them. Leana knew that these men, like herself and Mario, were armed.

Traffic was barely moving on Prince. Cars were double-parked and people were cutting through traffic. Mario’s black Taurus was parked at the street corner, shimmering in the falling rain.

They sat in the back, Mario’s men in the front. The moment the door was shut behind them, Leana reached over and held Mario tightly. “It’s going to be all right,” he said. “Just do as I say.”

“I’m scared.”

“There’s no need to be. Just do as I say.”

They rode in silence, each secure in the other’s arms. She put her head on his shoulder.

“On the phone you mentioned a note,” Mario said. “I want to see it. Do you have it with you?”

“It’s at my apartment.”

“Along with the gun?”

“No. I have that with me.”

He was pleased by this. He released her from the embrace and asked to see it.

Leana removed the gun from her inside jacket pocket. It felt cold and heavy and threatening in her hands. She gave it to Mario. “Is it loaded?”

He checked. “It’s loaded. Where do you live?”

Leana told him. Mario leaned forward and gave the driver directions. He wanted that note. Before killing Eric Parker, he planned on nailing it to the man’s forehead.

After securing the apartment, Mario told his men to wait for them in the hall. “We won’t be long,” he said. “Make sure no one comes near here.”

He closed the door and looked across the room at Leana. She was removing the note from her bedside table. Watching her now, he felt the same deep love, the same strong physical attraction, the same sense of wanting to protect her, that he felt when they were together for those brief six months.

He thought of Lucia then and realized that whatever love he once felt for her was nothing compared to the love he felt for Leana. And how could it ever compare? With Leana, love came naturally. With Lucia, their lives had been arranged by their fathers from birth. It always was known that Antonio De Cicco’s first-born son would marry Giovanni Buscetta’s first-born daughter.

For Lucia Buscetta, the marriage was a welcome event-her attraction to Mario De Cicco was great. For Mario, the marriage was a cruelty imposed on him by his father. At the age of eighteen, he was told to marry a young woman he barely knew, let alone loved. Then, as now, there was nothing he could do about the arrangement.

At least not while his father was alive.

“Here it is,” Leana said.

“Let me see it.”

Leana waited until he finished reading it. “Well?”

“When were you sent this?”

“A little after nine-thirty this morning.”

“Who gave it to you?”

“A messenger?”

“What did he look like?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Try to remember.”

She thought back. Although only hours had passed since she’d seen the man, she was surprised at how difficult it was to conjure an image of him. “He was blond,” she said. “And he had an earring.”

“Was it the guy who chased you that day in the park?”

“No,” Leana said. “That man had dark hair. And, besides, I’d never forget what he looked like.”

“What kind of earring was this messenger wearing?”

“A small gold hoop, I think.”

“Which ear?”

“Right. No, left.” She looked at him. “Left.”

“Was he tall?”

“He actually was kind of short.”

“Did he seem nervous?”

“Not at all. He actually was impatient, as if he had a thousand other errands to run.”

“What else can you remember?”

“Nothing. It happened so quickly, I’m surprised I remember as much as I do. Why is this so important?”

“It’s important because whoever delivered this note and that gun to you might be the man who’s been hired to kill you.” He saw fear cross her face and said, “Look-why don’t you start packing? The sooner we’re out of here, the sooner you can move into your new apartment.”

He leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek, then on the lips. She was scared and his heart went out to her. “I promise you’ll like it. It has lots of windows and high ceilings and hardwood floors and a kitchen that’s bigger than this whole apartment.”

“What good will a big kitchen do me?” Leana said. “I can’t cook.” She thought of all the terrible pots of coffee she had made for Michael and said, “I can’t even make a pot of coffee without screwing it up.”

“So?” Mario said, smiling. “We’ll drink tea. And you don’t have to worry about dinner. I’ll cook for you-just like old times. Okay?”

Leana thought of his wife and children, thought of all the times they had been separated in the past because of them, and decided that she didn’t want it to be like old times. It was time for her to have something real. A relationship with Mario couldn’t be. Circumstances would always prevent it. She made the mistake of falling in love with a married man and foolishly thought that something good would come from it.

Her mind went to Michael. What would he think when he came here and found her gone? She had no way of getting in touch with him. Michael always called her. On her cell, it always said that his was a private number. Worse, they always met at her apartment. For the first time, she realized how absurd that was. They were together so much and yet he hadn’t given her his number or told her where he lived.

Mario placed his hand on her arm. “We should leave,” he said. “Is there anything you want to bring with you?”

Leana went to a bureau across the room.

She pulled out shirts and pants and shorts and underwear, tossing them all into the suitcase Mario held open for her. She didn't see the clothes. She didn't see what personal items she tossed into the bag. She saw only Michael and Eric, Louis, Celina and her parents, and could not believe how much her life had changed in the two short weeks since the opening of The Redman International Building.

She wondered if her life would ever be what she’d dreamt it to be and decided it would. I will make it, Leana thought. I will make it to the top. And then a thought occurred to her. If I live.

“You ready?” Mario asked.

“There’s something I want to give you,” she said, walking the few steps to her bed. Hidden beneath it was a locked metal box. Leana lifted it onto the bed and removed a key from her bedside table. She unlocked the box. Inside were pictures of her mother and her father and Celina, old letters from old friends-and the $25,000 check Philip Quimby gave her in exchange for the counterfeit jewels.