Stuart Woods - Worst Fears Realized

“She’s at the gallery, hanging her work. Anderson and Kelly are with her. The opening is tomorrow night, remember?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“You and Mary Ann are coming, aren’t you?”

“I am; I’m not letting Mary Ann out of her father’s house until this is over, if it ever is. Listen, Stone, after tomorrow night, I’m not going to be able to justify keeping a team on you and Sarah.”

“It’s too soon to stop, Dino.”

“Look, I report to people, you know? Nobody in the department is really convinced that these murders are connected to you and me. They think I’m crazy.”

“What about the attack on Mary Ann?”

“They’re saying that it was just a mugging attempt.”

“Even when she described the same guy that we saw do the woman behind my house?”

“They think I somehow influenced the description. Anyway, it’s been a while since anything happened, and they’re bored with the investigation. It’s been all I could do to keep them interested this long. After tomorrow night, pal, you and I are on our own. You’d better give some thought to how you’re going to protect Sarah.”

“I’ve hardly thought about anything else.”

“I know it’s tough. I mean, Mary Ann and Ben are okay at the old man’s place, and I can watch my own back, but I don’t envy you, trying to keep a lid on Sarah. She’s not the type to like it.”

“You’ve got a very good point there, Dino. I’ve talked with her about visiting her folks in England for a while, but she’s been out of New York for so long that I think she missed it, and she doesn’t want to leave.”

“I think England is a great idea,” Dino said. “You want me to talk to her about it? Will that help?”

“I doubt it; she’ll just think we’re ganging up on her, and she’ll resist all the more.”

“Women,” Dino sighed.

“Yeah,”

“Here we are.” Dino pointed to a set of wrought-iron gates on the left. The ocean was on their right.

Stone pulled into the drive and stopped at a security box.

“Ring the bell, and tell them who you are,” Dino said.

Stone did as he was told, and the gates swung silently open.

STONE HAD BEEN EXPECTING SOMETHING like Don Corleone’s house in The Godfather – discreet, anonymous, hidden, even. What lay before him now was a perfect Palladian mansion behind five acres of closely mown lawn. “I don’t think we’re in Brooklyn anymore,” he said to Dino.

“Just barely,” Dino replied. “There’s all kinds of Brooklyn.”

Stone drove up the winding driveway and stopped at the front door in a circle of crunchy gravel. As they got out of the car the splashing of water from a stone fountain in the middle of the circle reached Stone’s ears. Before they could ring the bell, the front door was opened by a small, gray man in a black suit.

“Good evening, Mr. Bacchetti,” the man said, in Italian-accented English.

“Howyadoin’, Pete?”

He shot a rebuking glance at Dino. “Good evening, Mr. Barrington,” the man said. “I am Pietro. Please come this way.”

Stone and Dino followed Pietro through a marble-floored entrance hall and through a large, elegantly furnished drawing room into a small sitting room, paneled in antique pine. A cheerful fire burned in a corner fireplace. The pictures on the wall were of imaginary, ruined palazzos in the Italian countryside.

“May I get you something to drink, gentlemen?” Pietro asked.

“Scotch,” Dino said. “The good stuff, Pete.”

“You know very well we have no other kind, Mr. Bacchetti. Mr. Barrington?”

“A Strega, on ice, please,” Stone replied.

Pietro beamed his approval and left the room.

Stone started to take a seat next to the fire.

“Not there,” Dino said. “That’s the old man’s perch. He’d have Pete cut your throat on the way out.”

Stone chose another chair. “The man obviously doesn’t like to be called Pete, Dino; why do you do that?”

Dino sat down. “Twenty years ago, he was Little Pete Drago, a button man for the boys on Mulberry Street. He’s probably got twenty notches on his piece, and I don’t want him to forget it.”

“Twenty years? You certainly know how to hold a grudge, Dino.”

“I’m Italian; it’s what we do.”

Pietro returned with the drinks. “Mrs. Bacchetti is dressing; Mr. Bianchi is in the garden with Ben and will join you shortly,” he said.

“Thanks, Pete,” Dino replied, sipping his scotch.

Pietro left the room and closed the door behind him.

“Be sure you don’t make any sudden moves in Eduardo’s direction,” Dino said to Stone, “or Pete’ll slip a dagger between your ribs before you know what’s happening.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

The door opened, and two women entered the room. First, came Mary Ann, and she was followed by a woman so beautiful that Stone was transfixed. It took him a moment to get to his feet.

Mary Ann came over and planted a kiss on Stone’s cheek. “Hey, baby,” she whispered, then she turned and indicated her companion. “Stone, this is my sister Rosaria; in the family we call her Dolce. Sweetie, this is our friend Stone Barrington.”

Dolce Bianchi glided across the room and placed her hand in Stone’s. She was half a head taller than Mary Ann and clad in a perfectly cut black dress that accentuated her full breasts and her narrow hips. “Hello, Stone,” she said in a husky voice.

Stone was nearly unable to speak. “Hello,” he finally managed to mumble. The woman looked like a Sicilian princess, he thought. Her hair fell in black waves to her shoulders, and she wore a single piece of jewelry, a diamond necklace that looked like something out of Harry Winston’s window.

Before anyone could say anything else, Eduardo Bianchi entered the room. He came in so silently, almost stealthily, that Stone did not at first notice him. When he did, he was being greeted by a tall, handsome man, apparently around fifty years of age, with iron gray hair, white at the temples, and wearing a double-breasted, chalk-striped suit that had never known a wrinkle.

“How do you do, Mr. Barrington? I am Eduardo Bianchi.” The voice was well modulated, cultured, accentless.

“How do you do, Mr. Bianchi?” Stone thought that the man could host Masterpiece Theater .

“Dino,” Bianchi said, “you may wish to say good night to Ben; he’s in his room.”

Dino left the room.

Bianchi signaled for them all to sit. He took his own seat and accepted a Strega from a silver tray held by Pietro.

Stone was glad of his own choice of the drink, and even more glad that Dino had kept him from taking his host’s usual chair. Bianchi exuded a royal presence, and Stone felt very much on his best behavior.

“I hope you had a pleasant drive here,” Bianchi said.

“Yes, indeed,” Stone said. “I was not aware of this part of Brooklyn.”

“My family has slowly developed this part of Brooklyn over many years,” he replied. “My father wished to have a pleasant neighborhood in which to build a house. Unfortunately, he died before he was able to do so. It was left to me to build this place on land he had reserved.”

“The house is very beautiful,” Stone said. “You are to be complimented.”

“Thank you,” Bianchi replied with a small nod. “It is good to have a guest who appreciates it.”

Stone felt confused. Could this man be the ogre of a father-in-law that Dino had for years disparaged at every opportunity?

Dino returned silently to the room and sat down.

“My daughter’s husband has never been susceptible to its charms,” Bianchi said, with regret in his voice. “Dino prefers… Manhattan. ” He spoke the word as if the island were a prison colony off the coast of Long Island.