Caddie
“Valentina. I’m making myself an espresso. Do you want a cappuccino?”
My eyes rose from the laptop. Earning my fee as a cybercrime consultant for the FBI, I was browsing the Dark Web, trying to sniff out the jamokes who’d turned identity theft and defrauding the government’s unemployment insurance into a multi-billion-dollar black industry. I sat beside the antique National Cash Register in Anghiari, my half-brother Anthony’s shoebox-size art gallery in Manhattan’s West Village. The coffee aroma from his Gaggia Accademia espresso machine had me about to say “yes” to a cappuccino when his phone buzzed.
He spotted the caller ID, and his face soured like he’d bitten into an apple worm. He clunked the seemingly red-hot phone onto the counter, revealing a “33” area code and the name “Sophia.”
She didn’t leave a voicemail.
Anthony married Nori, a sweetheart, and a gifted artist. He was a good dad to Angelica their four-year-old, but when he was single, he’d been a bit of a dog, so I had to ask, “Who’s Sophia?”
He answered defensively. “Valentina. Don’t start. I’m not stepping out on Nori.”
“You better not.”
He raised his palms in a “not me” gesture.
“I didn’t recognize her international code. Where was she calling from?”
“Paris, France.” He spoke with intensity. “Please. Don’t mention the call to Nori.”
I tilted my head. “Sounds like a former girlfriend.”
Anthony frowned. “More complicated than that.”
I folded my laptop and leaned forward. “Make me that cappuccino while you tell me the story.”
As he filled the portafilter with dark roast. Anthony shifted uncomfortably, probably weighing how much he’d tell me.
His silence prompted me to poke him. “Why haven’t you deleted an ex-girlfriend’s contact from your phone?”
He allowed the hiss of the steaming stream of amber liquid dripping into a white cup as an excuse to ignore my question.
“You’re being stupid,” I said. “You still fantasize about hooking up with her.”
Anthony topped the coffee with frothy milk and served me before finally responding. “Sophia is almost as smart as you.”
“Intriguing.” I sipped the cappuccino carefully to avoid giving myself a white mustache.
He continued. “She maneuvered me into a drama with a Russian mobster that nearly got me killed.”
“Really?” I said with mock surprise. Anthony’s core competency was getting into trouble. “She must be hot.”
His eyebrows rose. “Like a bonfire and just as likely to burn you. My libido trumped good judgment.”
“No,” I said with the same mocking tone and added a chuckle before continuing. “You’re afraid to hear what she has to say because she’ll likely entice you into another calamity?”
“She’s a schemer,” he answered with a sigh.
“Plus,” I added slyly, “you don’t trust yourself to be alone with her.”
He puffed out a breath. “No comment.”
Laying on the counter, the phone buzzed. Sophia calling again. We both watched until the vibration stopped.
“Persistent, isn’t she?” I cocked an eyebrow. “Have you been in regular contact with her?”
Anthony reassumed his defensive stance. “The last time I saw Sophia, I was in an Athens hospital bed recovering from a gunshot wound.”
I gaped. “She shot you? A rather rough way to end an affair.”
“The Russian shot me.” He paused before continuing. “Actually, she saved my life.”
I sat back. “In that case, she probably thinks you owe her.”
Anthony shrugged agreement.
“But you’d served her purpose, and she took off?”
He frowned. “Bingo.”
A text message from Sophia dinged.
Anthony, pretty, pretty please, answer my call.
We exchanged glances. I said, “She needs you again.” I raised a playful forefinger. “How about this? I won’t tell Nori, if you put her on speaker.”
He scoffed. “No way.”
The phone buzzed. Sophia, again.
“You must answer it,” I said. “On speaker.”
He waved dismissively. “In your dreams.”
“I’m not lying to Nori for you, and I’m not believing nothing has been going on unless you answer.”
Anthony huffed but didn’t move.
I grabbed the phone. He jumped, reaching out to stop me, but I’d already hit the speaker button.
“This is Anthony Provati’s phone,” I said coolly.
Sophia hesitated a moment before asking, “Who are you, dear?” Her accent was Greek. “Where’s Anthony?”
Before I could respond, he broke in. “I’m here, Sophia.”
“Ah.” She affected a hurt baby voice. “You don’t sound happy to hear from me.”
Anthony was right. Sophia was dangerous.
I felt the tension in his voice when he asked, “What do you want?”
“Who is the woman?”
He responded curtly. “My sister, Valentina.”
Sophia sounded skeptical. “You didn’t have a sister the last time I saw you.”
“It’s a long story. You want to tell me why you called?”
“So brusque? I’m just getting introduced. Hello Valentina. Are you really Anthony’s sister?”
“Cross my heart. Abandoned by his father to an orphanage,” I said, enjoying Anthony’s obvious discomfort.
Sophia said, “How sad. Now, I’ll adopt you as my sister as well.”
Such a charmer. I had to respond. “Anthony has told me so much about you.”
To her credit, Sophia chuckled.
Anthony tried to sound bored. “Sophia, please get to the point.”
Her Greek accented voice turned bedroom sultry. “Maybe you need a refresher course on our last time together.”
Anthony blushed slightly and flashed me a glance before answering. “I’m married.”
“Valentina,” Sophia asked in an incredulous tone, “is he telling the truth?”
Before I could speak, Anthony responded, sounding miffed. “The last time we spoke, I lay in a hospital bed because of getting involved with you.”
“I saved your life.”
His voice rose. “After I got dragged into a jackpot with your Russian sugar daddy.”
“As I recall, you enjoyed my company,” she said silkily.
His face reddened. “Whatever.”
She paused before trying a different tack. “Don’t be upset with me, darling.” Her voice quivered nervously. “I need to see you.”
Anthony’s eyes met mine. “That’s not going to happen.”
“Even for a million dollars?” she asked in a hopeful tone.
He scoffed. “You must think me a fool.”
“You don’t believe me?” She sounded resigned. “I understand, trust comes hard.”
“Especially after betrayal.”
She tried a businesslike tone. “I need your art expertise to confirm I’m acquiring a genuine artifact. For that I’m willing to pay a million dollars.”
I was watching Anthony closely. Although his words denied interest in Sophia’s problem, he’d looked bored for months. He craved adventure – as I did. Plus, I suspected the flame he’d had for Sophia remained a pilot light poised to blaze. An emotion he dared not reveal to me.
His response lacked conviction. “I’m sure Paris is overrun with art experts who could do what you require for a lot less.”
Sophia demurred. “Discretion is important.”
The quiver in Sophia’s voice had returned, and I deduced she was frightened.
Anthony grimaced. “Sounds illegal.”
“I need help dealing with,” she paused before continuing, “people you’d be better able to handle. Thus, the premium fee for service.”
“Sure,” Anthony said, then gazed at me before continuing. “I’ll think about it.”
“Oh, darling,” Sophia’s tone took a note of pleading, “you can’t let me down.”
“Like I said.”
Anticipating he would hang up, Sophia spoke quickly. “Valentina, you should come with Anthony to Paris. I’d love to meet you.”
Before I could respond, Anthony said, “I’ll be in touch,” and ended the call.
Crossing my arms, I leaned back on my stool. “Do you believe the million-dollar fee?”
He reflected. “Possibly. She knows I’ll want confirmation that the offer is real, so she’ll have a plausible story on how the million could be mine even if she has no intention of paying.”
“In any case, the money won’t be free,” I said pointedly.
“Exactly. If not illegal, her scheme will certainly involve shady characters and a significant element of danger.”
The prospect of international travel in pursuit of an art masterpiece made hunting down Dark-web fraudsters for the FBI positively mundane. “Oh,” I said, “I’m getting excited.”
“You’re not involved,” Anthony said coldly.
“Really?” I asked with mock surprise. “How do you propose telling Nori that you’ll see Sophia again?” I paused for maximum effect. “Unless you have me along as a chaperone.”
In lieu of a counter argument, Anthony grunted, then said, “We should talk to Frank.”
Frank Provati, the underboss of the Ruggiero Crime Family, was father to both of us by different women – something he’d reluctantly confessed only recently. Under the nose of her husband, Frank’s bullying brother, he slept with Anthony’s mother, but both kept the affair secret. Promiscuous Frank also had a fling with my mother. She couldn’t cope with a child and abandoned me as an infant to a Brooklyn Catholic orphanage that I couldn’t wait to escape. Anthony suspected that Frank’s brother’s cruelty to him was triggered because he knew Anthony wasn’t his son. He surreptitiously tested Frank’s DNA to learn the truth, exposing that he fathered both of us. We were shocked, and neither of us could bring ourselves to refer to him as “Dad.” Nonetheless, we continued to turn to him for advice.
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