Read Working on a Full House Online
Authors: Alyssa Kress
Working on a Full House (41 page)
Lise kept her hands on the wallet. "You're going to see him?"
She'd never expected to lay eyes on the man again. "Yup," Sabrina replied.
"After stealing his wallet?" Lise stared at her. Darrel looked down, too, apparently agreeing this was a crazy idea.
Sabrina wasn't so sure she didn't agree with them.
"A man like that," Lise cautioned, "with money and connections — he could have the police on you in one second flat."
"He won't." But Sabrina had considered the possibility.
Lise's gaze narrowed. "Joe always said you had an instinct for this sort of thing. How much do you think is involved?"
"Enough to pay you back for the busted real estate job, and then some." Of this, at least, Sabrina was certain. What she wasn't quite sure yet was if she'd convinced Lise. Would she forgive Sabrina for the busted Florida scam, and possibly wind up with more money than before?
Slowly, Lise leaned back in her booth seat. Even more slowly, she smiled. "That would be interesting."
About half of Sabrina's near-paralyzing fear fell away. Lise was
interested
. "And profitable," she added.
Lise chuckled. "Are you expecting me to put up another stake in this game?"
She'd be willing to? Sabrina relaxed some more, but shook her head decisively. "Nope. All I need is enough to get me to New York halfway presentable." Pointedly, she eyed Darrel's front pocket.
Still smiling, Lise snapped her fingers at Darrel. "No, you couldn't show up on Mr. Nicholazzi's doorstep without making some attempt to return his money, could you?"
Reluctant, but obedient, Darrel produced the folded thousand dollars.
"Don't think to give me the slip again," Lise warned, putting the Italian's wallet and Sabrina's purse on the table.
"Wouldn't dream of it." But it was all Sabrina could do not to cringe under the glare of Lise's suddenly ruthless eyes.
The female gangster looked fully capable of murder.
It had been a huge mistake to get involved with her. At the time, two months ago, Sabrina had been full of admiration for Lise Gunther, her power, her drive. She'd seemed to embody what Sabrina had wanted to become, herself. And, okay, she'd wanted someone to work with; it had been damn lonely without Joe.
She should have stuck to herself.
"Friday," Lise told Sabrina, rising from her seat. "Meet me at the merry-go-round in Central Park. I'll want details."
"Sure. See you then," Sabrina said, and stabbed her fork into her fish again. She would meet Lise. Now that Lise knew Vincenzo Nicholazzi's name and address, Sabrina was stuck with her.
One last time, anyway. Sabrina would do the job, whatever it turned out to be, pay Lise off, and say goodbye.
From then on, she'd work on her quest by herself.
"Friday," Lise repeated, and stalked down the aisle. With a brutish leer, Darrel followed.
Shuddering, Sabrina took another bite of her fillet of sole, though it had lost much of its appeal. Damn it, why had Joe had to have that idiotic heart attack and die? Sabrina had trusted Joe. He'd been old, cranky, and demanding, but he'd...been there.
For a moment, a heavy loneliness fell over her, the same sensation that had hit her with such surprising force after Joe's last attack.
Reaching across the table, she picked up the Italian's wallet. The heavy sensation receded as her curiosity, and a strange disquiet, took over.
Vincenzo Nicholazzi.
How much had been real, and how much fake? He really was Italian and he really was loaded. Of that much Sabrina was certain. But what about the rest of it?
Quickly, she paged through the plastic sleeves of the wallet until she got to the end.
Sabrina took a deep breath as she looked down at the old, black-and-white photograph. It was the
Madonna della Montagna
. She was sure of it. A deep wrinkle scarred the middle of the wallet-size reproduction, but Sabrina could see all she needed to see.
She could see the renaissance costume of the three-quarter profile bust. She could see the suggestion of an intricate background of flowers and leaves.
And, most clearly of all, she could see that the woman with the oval face and dark eyes, the woman with the hair as black as midnight, bore not the slightest resemblance in any way, shape, or form to herself.
Sabrina stared down at the little photograph. He'd lied to her. He'd out-and-out lied!
But
why
? That was the question that plagued her. What had he possibly hoped to gain by claiming Sabrina resembled the
Madonna della Montagna
?
Slowly, Sabrina closed the wallet. Nothing. She could think of nothing he'd gained. In fact, the only result of his deception had been to allow Sabrina close enough to steal his wallet.
Although, one of the many things of which Sabrina was uncertain was whether or not Mr. Nicholazzi had known she was lifting his wallet. But that made no sense. Why would he have allowed her to steal it?
Unless...
A memory niggled at her. Joe, giving her one of her first lessons in con artsmanship. "You have to give them a little something first," Joe had said in his rasping voice. "You have to feed them some bait. Once they've bit down on the line, then you can reel it in."
Sabrina gazed out the train window at the lights in the darkness zipping by. She appeared to have been fed some bait. But if so,
why
? What could a man as privileged and wealthy as Vincenzo Nicholazzi want to steal from her?
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