That was the maternal instinct again. She was worried about what would become of Edward and Carolyn if they were thrown out into the cold cruel world and told to fend for themselves, like the other ninety-nine percent of humanity.

I didn’t share Susan’s concerns – they’d be fine, and they knew they’d be fine, and I believed we raised them to take care of themselves – but I did understand her thinking, which was, “Why should they live without money if millions are available to them?”

In effect, there was a choice here that most people don’t have – millions, or monthly paychecks?

Well, I’d pick the millions – especially if I got the money because William Stanhope died – but I damn sure wouldn’t kiss anyone’s living ass for the money. However, when it’s about your children, you do smooch a little butt.

Bottom line here was that I was standing between three of the Stanhopes and the Stanhope millions.

But, yes, we’d see what happened tomorrow. I knew what William was going to say to Susan, but I wasn’t absolutely sure what Susan was going to say to William – or what she was going to say to me afterwards.

Susan said, “I’m ready for bed.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re not going to watch the news, are you?”

“I am.”

“Why do you want to see that, John?”

“Everyone enjoys seeing the coverage of a Mafia hit.” I actually hadn’t seen a real mob hit on TV since Sally Tries to Whack Frank, in which I had a supporting role.

Susan announced, “I’m going to bed.”

“Good night.”

She gave me a quick kiss and left.

It was 11:00 P.M., so I turned on the TV, and found the local cable channel where I’d seen Jenny Alvarez.

And sure enough, there she was, saying, “Our top story tonight is the brazen gangland murder of Salvatore D’Alessio” – a photograph of a Neanderthal came on the screen – “a reputed capo in one of New York’s organized crime families-”

The caveman’s face was replaced by the lighted exterior of Giovanni’s Ristorante, which was not a bad-looking place. Mancuso seemed to like it, so maybe Susan and I should take Carolyn there. The owner was no doubt upset that his patrons had to witness a man’s head being blown off at dinner, and upset, too, that everyone had left before he could present them with a bill. But he must know that he would make this up in the weeks ahead. New Yorkers love to go to a restaurant where a mob hit has gone down. Look at Giulio’s, for instance, or Sparks, where Paul Castellano had been whacked by Gotti. Still going strong. Free publicity is better than paid advertising, not to mention the restaurant achieving mythic status, and getting an extra bullet or two in the Italian Restaurant Guide.

Well, I’m being silly, so I turned my attention back to the television. There was a lot of police activity out front, and Jenny’s voice was saying, “…here at this neighborhood Italian restaurant in the Williamsburg section of Brooklyn. Salvatore D’Alessio was once the underboss to the infamous Frank Bellarosa, who was murdered ten years ago at his palatial Long Island mansion by a woman who was reputed to be his mistress.”

Reputed? Why didn’t Jenny say Susan’s name and show a picture of her? Well, maybe they were afraid of a lawsuit. Right. Susan was Frank Bellarosa’s killer, but only his reputed mistress. I might even represent Susan if Jenny mentioned her by name as Frank’s mistress or girlfriend. That would be interesting – Sutter v. Cable News 8, Jenny Alvarez, et al. John Sutter for the plaintiff. Is it true, Mr. Sutter, that you were screwing Ms. Alvarez, and she dumped you? No, sir, we shook hands and parted as friends.

Oh what tangled webs we weave, when we stick it in and then we leave.

Anyway, Jenny was saying, “Bellarosa himself had been the target of an attempted mob hit, ten years ago, and it is believed that tonight’s victim, Salvatore D’Alessio, had been behind that botched attempt on Bellarosa’s life. And now, Salvatore D’Alessio – known in the underworld as Sally Da-da – has been murdered, and sources close to the investigation are speculating that the man behind this mob hit is Frank Bellarosa’s son, Tony-”

“Anthony! Don’t say Tony.”

There didn’t seem to be a photograph of Anthony available, and Jenny went on a bit as some old footage of Frank Bellarosa came on the screen – Frank on the courthouse steps on the day I’d gotten him sprung on bail – and I actually caught a glimpse of myself. Bad tie.

And at that moment, unfortunately, Susan walked into the family room, looked at Frank Bellarosa on the TV screen, froze, then turned and left without a word.

Well, it was a little jarring to see Frank on television, looking good, smoking a cigar, and joking with the press. He hadn’t looked as lively the last time I saw him, in his coffin.

I should have shut off the TV and gone to bed, but this was important – not to mention entertaining.

Jenny was now saying, “So, if these rumors are true, then it appears that, after ten years, some chickens have come home to roost among the organized crime families of New York.”

Also, don’t forget – what you sow, you reap.

She continued, “According to reliable sources in law enforcement, Tony Bellarosa has been missing from his home, his place of business, and his usual haunts for about a week, and he did not attend the Gotti funeral yesterday.”

Then she went on about the apparent power struggle that was developing as a result of the vacuum created by Mr. Gotti’s death, and so forth, which brought her back to Anthony and Uncle Sal, then to Anthony’s father, Frank, and then… there I was again, standing next to Frank on the steps of the courthouse. Jenny continued her off-screen reporting, and there was no soundtrack for the film, but I was answering a question that had been asked to me by none other than a younger Jenny Alvarez. I hadn’t aged a day. At that point, Jenny and I were not even friends – in fact, she’d been a ballbuster on the courthouse steps, and I’d taken an immediate dislike to her, and her to me. And then… well, hate turned to lust, as it often does.

Jenny was back on the screen, and this was another opportunity for her to mention me by name as the handsome and brilliant attorney for the dead don, whom we’d just seen on the screen. But she wasn’t giving me an on-air mention – just that few seconds of old news footage. Surely she remembered that night at the Plaza. Instead, she reported, “Another interesting angle to this story is that Tony Bellarosa is the nephew of the victim, Salvatore D’Alessio. Bellarosa’s mother and D’Alessio’s wife – now his widow – are sisters. So, if these rumors about Tony Bellarosa’s involvement in this gangland slaying are true, then this gives us a glimpse into the ruthless-” and so forth.

Well, I don’t know about ruthless. To be honest, the only difference between me and Anthony in regard to whacking an annoying relative was that Anthony knew who to call to have it done while he was out of town. I wish I knew who to call when I was in London – 1-800-MOBCLIP? Just kidding.

Jenny finished her reporting and her commentary, then said to the anchor, “Back to you, Chuck.”

A young anchorman came on the screen, and in what was supposed to be a spontaneous question to his reporter, he asked, “Jenny, what are your sources saying about the motive for this killing?”

Jenny replied, as scripted, “Sources tell me that if Tony Bellarosa was behind this hit, then the obvious motive is revenge for what happened ten years ago when his father, mother, and another couple-”

And she still didn’t mention me by name. Was she protecting me, or torturing me?

Chuck commented on ten years being a long time to wait for revenge, and Jenny explained to him and her viewers about patience in the world of La Cosa Nostra, long memories, and vendetta.