Christopher Smith - Fifth Avenue

As she neared it, the men on the steps glanced at one another, said something she couldn’t hear and started watching. Cooing, humming softly to the explosives hidden in the carriage, she looked down the street and saw an elderly couple sitting on a bench at the end of it. Besides herself, these men and the limousine’s chauffeur, they were the only other people in sight.

She pushed forward-aware that the men had moved down the steps and were now watching her. Timing was everything.

As she approached the car, she reached into the carriage as if to adjust a blanket or a bottle, but instead tossed out one of the four stuffed animals that encompassed the pink satin interior, making it look as though a child had done it. The stuffed elephant hit the curb, bounced and rolled to a stop beside the Taurus’ rear right wheel.

The woman stopped and looked crossly into the carriage. “Jillian,” she said, her voice carrying across the street. “That’s twice. If you keep throwing your toys out of the carriage, they’re going to get ruined. Behave or we’re going home.”

One of the men laughed. The woman looked past the Taurus, over the limousine’s shiny black roof and smiled at him. She was beautiful when she smiled.

“My kid is going to wear me out,” she said.

The man mistook that as an invitation. He started across the street, leaving his friend at the base of the stairs. “I love ‘em,” he said. “How old is she?”

Her gun was within reaching distance, hidden beneath the mattress. As with every job she took, she came prepared to die. If she had to, she would fight him to the death-confident that if she lost, her own child, far away from here, would inherit the money Spocatti already had secured for her in a Swiss account.

“Eighteen months,” she said, her smile unwavering. “And it looks as though she’s got her father’s strength.” The man passed the limo and her hand went easily for the gun. If he came much closer, he would see there was no baby in the carriage.

His friend stepped onto the street. He raised his hands and his raincoat parted, exposing the gun nestled closely to his chest.

“Yo!” he said. “Come on, man. What the fuck you doin’? Get your ass over here and leave the lady alone. Mario will be pissed if he catches you over there.”

The man stopped and looked hard at his friend.

“You know Mrs. De Cicco’s gonna be home soon,” his friend said. “You know she’s paranoid about security. She’ll bust your nuts if she sees you talkin’ to that broad. Do yourself a favor and get the hell back over here.”

She could feel the man weighing his decision-lose face and rejoin his friend, or say to hell with it and sneak a look at the kid. Their eyes met. And he shrugged.

“Sorry,” he said. “Maybe some other time, okay?”

When she smiled at him, her smile was lit from within.

As he turned his back to her, she released the gun and gripped the small, magnetized black box from beneath the pink blanket.

It was over in a matter of seconds.

She bent to pick up the elephant, attached the box to the Taurus’ gas tank and flipped the switch that activated it. When De Cicco started the car, the sudden vibration would trigger the explosives.

She stood and looked directly at the men. The elephant had landed in a puddle and was now swollen with dirty water. She held it up for them to see. “Can you believe this?” she called. “I bought it for her yesterday afternoon and now it’s ruined. Kids!”

In his study, Mario stood at the large casement window facing 12th Street, noted a woman moving down the street with a carriage and continued listening to Harold Baines, who was sitting behind him, his words coming in a rush.

Nothing Baines said was a surprise.

He knew that Louis Ryan was somehow behind what was happening to the Redman family. He knew it the moment Leana told him Ryan offered her a job thanks to Harold’s help.

Earlier that morning, Mario learned that World Enterprises was the foreign subsidiary of Manhattan Enterprises. Earlier, he learned that thin scribble was actually Louis Ryan’s name on that $90 million check made out to Eric Parker. The only thing Mario questioned was Ryan’s intent. Why did he want to destroy George Redman and his family? What happened between the two men to spark such rage?

And then Baines told him.

Years ago, George took Louis to court and sued him over a bitter property dispute. Louis won-only to see his wife die two days later under suspicious circumstances. Ryan believed it was Redman who killed his wife, Anne. It was possible, Harold said, that Louis had waited all these years to get his own revenge so George would not suspect him.

Mario turned from the window and faced Baines. Although the man was pale, his body frightfully thin beneath his loose-fitting suit, he seemed somewhat relaxed, as if sharing the truth of what he knew was lifting a weight from him.

“Did George kill Louis’ wife?”

“No,” Harold said firmly. “George would never have killed Anne.”

Mario cocked an eyebrow at him. “Why do you say it like that?” he asked. “Did she mean something to him?”

Harold said he wasn’t sure. “For years, I’ve wondered the same thing, but I never knew Anne. George mentioned her in the past, but he’s never elaborated on their relationship.”

Legs unsteady, he stood. “Look,” he said. “I’m tired and I’ve told you everything I know. I assume you’ll see to it that Ryan pays for what he’s done? That you’ll protect Leana and her parents?”

Mario nodded. By the end of the day, Louis Ryan would be dead. “You have my word,” he said.

Satisfied, Harold moved to the door-but then he stopped and turned. “One thing still troubles me,” he said. “For years I did my best to hide who I am. I thought no one ever would find out-and yet you did this morning. How did you know?”

“You sure you want to know?”

“No,” Harold said. “But tell me, anyway.”

“Leana told me two years ago,” he said. “Somebody photographed you at a club, gave Leana a call and approached her with the negatives. She sold a piece of jewelry, met the son of a bitch at a diner and paid a million bucks for them. I later had him quieted. We burned the negatives together. Leana got her money back, Harold. Because of her, you got to keep your secret.”

Harold was barely breathing.

“She’s known for years, Harold. And she’s never stopped loving you. I want you to think about that. That’s how special she is.”

“I know how special she is.”

There was a knock at the door. Startled, Harold stepped away from it just as Joseph Stewart, the Family’s consigliere, walked through. “Got some real interesting news for you, Mario,” he said. “It’s about Leana.” He glanced sideways at Harold. “Mind if he listens?”

Mario said that he didn’t.

Stewart continued. “I’ve done some digging and I’ve learned quite a bit about Leana’s new husband. Seems Michael Archer’s just his pen name. His real name is Michael Ryan, and his father’s name is Louis.”

And there it was.

Mario's mind spun into motion. The blood drained from Harold’s face. “We’re going to have to move fast,” Stewart said. “There’s no telling what he has planned for her.”

“Anyone else know about this?” Mario asked.

“No,” Stewart said. “Just us.”

Mario left his office and moved quickly down the long hallway. His face was leaden and set. He hesitated only briefly when he saw Lucia standing in the entryway, closing the door behind her with a firmness that suggested irritation. “Whose limo is parked out front?” she called to no one in particular. “It’s blocking the street.”