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Sadie Sorento and Brandon Avenetti were destined to be together. Their families were already planning the wedding of the Italian mafia prince and princess long before the pair had even star...
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Some things never change.
I think that's meant to be a comforting sentiment, but as I stand in front of the Brodo Bar and Restaurant, it's suffocating.
Or maybe that's just the humidity. God, I forgot how hot and sticky this place can be in the summer. Far Rockaway is a short drive from the inner city of New York settled out on the coast, and it's where I grew up.
The Avenettis pretty much ran the entire area, and by the looks of things, that hasn't changed. They like to do their business out of the limelight, which is why this entire thing with the FBI is so laughable. Herrera thought they were running weapons out of the bar, but he couldn't be more off base. Steven is much too careful for that. He runs everything out of stockyards and farms because the livestock scent throws off search dogs. Not to mention they don't even deal with assembled guns. They work with parts and systems because they're completely untraceable. At least that was the way things used to be.
I didn't mention any of that to Herrera when we first met because as much as I want to see the Avenettis fall, I still have a bad taste in my mouth about all of this. With any luck, I can hang around the bar for a few weeks and fulfill my obligation to Herrera with some vague information, and then get the hell out. And if I'm really lucky, I can avoid Brandon during that time.
It's not entirely unrealistic. He travels a lot, and I can only imagine that that increased as he worked his way up the chain of command. Maybe he'll be gone the whole time I'm here.
I almost laugh out loud as the thought ripples through me. Yeah, Sadie. Start this whole thing out completely delusional. That seems safe.
Aside from a new, modern entrance and a fresh coat of paint, the bar looks exactly as I remember it. It had been in the Avenetti family for years, and these walls hold a lot of memories for me. When I was young, we would have family dinners here, sharing laughs and stories with Avenettis. When I got older, it became a popular hang out for Brandon and me and all of our friends. Standing in front of it again sort of feels like a time machine, but I guess this entire town does.
With a deep breath, I clutch my purse tightly and head inside. I can almost feel Herrera's wire burning into my skin like some sort of brand that calls me out for the horrible betrayal I'm about to commit.
My hand trembles as I reach for the handle to the door, eyeing the help wanted sign in the window. Once I open it, there's no going back, and I'll be in this for the long-haul. As if ripping the Band-Aid off, I grab the handle tightly and yank it open. The glass in the door vibrates and several people turn to look at me. So much for laying low.
Diverting my eyes from onlookers, I make my way toward the bartop. Unlike the outside, the inside has been completely renovated, possibly even gutted, and I hardly recognize it. Everything is in various tones of chrome and bronze and abstract art pieces hang from the ceiling. It looks much more like an upscale club than the hometown dive bar that I left all those years ago.
