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“PEOPLE ARE STARTING to arrive,” Gia said quietly to Carlo. “And just look at them pose for the paparazzi. You can almost taste how much these people love their moment of flashing attention.”
They were in the Camry sitting down low in their seats. Carlo was behind the wheel and Gia was in the seat behind him. Both wore black. Both had on black leather gloves and both had their black ski masks resting in their laps. They were parked on the right side of the street—just across from the Witherhouses’ mansion where a clutch of reporters had gathered just outside the entrance to photograph the well-festooned before they entered the building.
Later that night, when the party was over and the Wenns exited the building, Gia and Carlo would throw open their doors and burst out of the car. Already, Carlo had nudged the car back as far as it would go without touching the car behind them, and had cut the front wheels into the street so they could tear out of the spot when the job was done.
“Look at them,” Gia said in contempt. “Pulling up in their limousines and Rolls Royces. Turning this way and that for the press. These people didn’t come from the sort of poverty we came from, baby brother. They’ve probably never had to work a day in their lives.”
“What do you think that kind of life is like?” Carlo asked.
“No idea.”
“Use your imagination.”
“I don’t know,” she sighed. “Socializing. Sitting on boards. Tending to pet projects. Lunching out. Going to parties like this one. And then trying to convince yourself that, at the end of the day, you’d somehow contributed something meaningful to the world. That your life, as empty as it is, actually is worth something beyond what you have in the bank. I mean, how else do you sleep at night if, in your darkest moments, you find yourself agreeing with the rest of the world that thinks you are nothing more than a living, breathing, Botoxed piece of shit taking up too much space?”
“I love it when you’re a bitch, Gia.”
“I know you do. And I always appreciate the audience when I have the chance to become one.”
“Tonight isn’t going to be easy, you know?”
“I know it isn’t, Carlo.”
“What concerns me is that this country has become so fucking gun happy. How are we going to handle things if someone pulls a gun on us? Not necessarily one of the guests, but perhaps someone walking down the sidewalk?”
“Hopefully, that’s just a stretch,” she said. “I mean, look where we are, for God’s sake—one of the wealthiest neighborhoods in Manhattan. As far as this city goes, people feel safe here. For instance, just look at Meredith, who died only six blocks from here. She was walking down that street without a care in the world when I broke her neck. Before I jumped her, all she was thinking about was riding her man’s cock. She felt so secure walking alone on that sidewalk that I swear I saw surprise, shock, and disbelief on her face when I took her head in my hands before shoving it to the right. These people coming to this party feel the same way. I mean look at them,” she said. “Even after what happened to Meredith... Do you see any security detail around them, because I don’t. But if we were at an event downtown? Or in another part of the city that was considered even borderline unsafe? Oh, they’d be well-protected.”
“Look who just arrived,” Carlo said.
Gia turned her head and looked across the street as Alex and Jennifer Wenn alighted from their limousine and stopped to take a few photos before moving into the building.
“Enjoy yourselves,” Gia said aloud. “Enjoy your drinks. Enjoy a dance or two. Enjoy your friends. Say that you love each other. And live out the last few beats of your life. Because in just a matter of hours, it’s going to be over for you two—and for so many others who will die because of you. Revenge can be ugly, Carlo, and I’m pretty sure that by the end of the night, even you and I are going to be stunned by just how ugly it can be.”
