My Don Married My Pregnant Sister So I Choose His Mafia Rival novel · Chapter 27 of 32

Chapter 27: The Kills

I went through the restaurant kitchen at a run.

The back door was still swinging.

The white boat was already thirty yards off, her stern dug in.

Her wake rocked the Assunta against her fenders.

"Lines!" I shouted.

The deckhand was on the bow cleat before I hit the steps.

The engineer had both engines roaring before my boots touched the deck.

I went up into the wheelhouse and took the wheel, and Ettore came in behind me and shut the door.

"He's faster than us," Ettore said.

"He's faster in a straight line." I put both throttles forward. "The Kill isn't a straight line."

The Assunta came off the dock.

Behind us, I saw the back door of the restaurant fill with people.

The Bay Ridge boss and his son.

The old man on his daughter's arm.

Then they were all coming down onto the dock to watch.

I reached up and took the radio handset off its hook.

"Harbor police, harbor police, this is the launch Assunta, channel one six."

The radio crackled.

"Assunta, harbor police. Go ahead."

"A white twenty-eight foot boat with twin engines, eastbound in the Kill Van Kull off Port Richmond, running at speed. The man driving her is Cosimo Varrone. He's wanted for questioning in a federal case and he's carrying a gun." I kept my voice flat, the way Papa talked on the radio. "I'm behind him. I'll keep him in the Kill for you."

A pause.

"Assunta, say again your intentions?"

"To keep him in the Kill," I said, and hung up the handset.

Ahead of us, the white boat was three hundred yards ahead and pulling away.

Cosimo looked back once.

He saw my bow.

He opened his throttles wider.

Coming up the Kill from the harbor, inbound for Newark, filling the channel from one bank nearly to the other, was a container ship.

Eight hundred feet of red hull stacked six high with boxes, two tugs on her flanks.

He had two choices.

He could stop and let her pass, with me thirty seconds behind him.

Or he could go around her on the Staten Island side, between her hull and the shore, where there looked to be plenty of water.

"He'll go inside her," I said.

"Is there room?"

"At high tide."

"And now?"

"Now it's two hours past." I eased the throttles back. "There's an old ferry slip under there. They cut the pilings off below the waterline in nineteen-sixty-something. Papa showed me when I was nine. They're three feet down at low water."

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