“Doesn’t everybody?”

And that’s why Cella loved Rivka. How could anyone think Cella had a problem with Rivka marrying Bri? She had a great sense of humor and actually made the man much less uptight accountant guy.

“Do not freak me out before my wedding,” the male warned. “Just do not freak me out.”

“Speaking of which, do you know what’s going on with our kid?”

“What do you mean?”

“She’s acting really stressed out. Especially anytime I mention school to her.”

Putting the coffee cups on the table, Bri dismissed Cella’s concern with a wave of his hand. “She’s probably just worried about her decision to stay on Long Island with the family and go to Hofstra. A decision I’m sure you’re not making easy on her.”

Cella stared at the tiger standing in front of her until she finally managed to grind out, “What do you mean her decision to go to Hofstra?”

“Oh.” Bri looked at his fiancée, then back at Cella. “Meghan, uh ... didn’t mention that to you?”

Crush knocked on the door in the back of the bar and it slowly opened. The man protecting the door looked him over, then asked, “Let him in?”

“Of course.”

Crush walked into the room. He could tell from the general funk that an all-night poker game had been going on. But as soon as he stepped in, most of the players picked up their winnings and headed out the door into the alley behind the bar.

Dave “Charming” Lepke smiled at Crush. “Come on in.”

Crush walked in, making sure to check the dark corners and behind the door before moving across the room to stand in front of the well-known gambler turned bookie. In his late sixties, with a full head of white hair, Charming still had the imposing build and attitude of a man who used to break guys’ arms for being late paying back their gambling debts.

“I was hoping to buy in,” Crush told him, holding up a wad of money. “But everybody ran away.”

“You should be used to that.”

“I never really get used to it.”

“Your money’s no good here and you know it.”

“I know. And yet I’m here. Don’t you wonder why?”

Charming studied him for a bit before he motioned his man out. Looking at Crush and back at his boss, the bodyguard asked, “You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

With a warning glare at Crush, he walked out, the door closing behind him.

“How could you not tell me?” Cella yelled at her daughter’s father while pacing in front of him. “How long have you been keeping this from me?”

“Calm down.”

Cella stepped into him and gritted out between clenched teeth, “Tell me to calm down again.”

“That’s it.” Rivka pushed her arms between the two, forcing them apart. “Bri, why don’t you put the food in the kitchen?”

He walked out and Rivka faced Cella.

“Why didn’t she tell me?” Cella asked.

“Because she wants to stay. She wants to stay with the Malones.”

And Cella asked with all honesty, “But why?”

Rivka started laughing, her hand covering her mouth.

“Oh, shut up.”

“Cella, she’s not trying to hurt you.”

“No. She just hates me.”

Rivka put her hands on her hips. “You just leap, don’t you? From the tallest building of stupidity.”

Cella shrugged. “It’s a skill.”

“So,” Crush asked, “should I expect any visits from your associates?”

“Not from mine. They’re terrified of you, kid. And you being a cop doesn’t change that.” Charming lifted his chin. “What’d ya come here for?”

“I had questions.”

“About?”

“Frankie Whitlan. Heard he’s back.”

Charming laughed. “Is back? Frankie Whitlan’s been back. For years. I wouldn’t say right under everybody’s nose, but he hasn’t exactly been hiding, either. But he is protected.”

“By who?”

“Everybody. Feds. Your people. Everybody he’s ever worked with, he’s got dirt on. Not your typical bullshit, guy-cheating-on-his-wife dirt, either, but put-you-under-the-jail dirt. He goes down, a lot of people go down with him.”

“Then why hasn’t anyone taken him out?”

“Because he makes a lot of people a lot of money. And Whitlan’s smart. Very smart.” Charming leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. “And I’ll give you this, because I’m such a great guy, and because I’ll never hear from you again after today ... Whitlan has an office on Staten Island.”

“An office? What does he need an office for?”

“Outwardly, he’s gone legit. Has rich friends, lives a rich life. But he hasn’t changed. You want to find him, start there.” Charming tapped the table. “But be careful. The man likes to kill.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, people I’ve heard of, not me, of course, or those I know personally, but others ... they kill because they have to. Because someone’s stealing their money, damaging their merchandise”—Charming eyed him—“or is just a rat. But Whitlan kills because he likes to. Heard a story a few years back that he used to round up his friends, hire a couple of hookers for the night, go to some desolate part of Jersey or upstate, and then send the hookers out.”