Sitting in a small coffee shop in New Haven, Connecticut, Kisa stared blankly out the window at the heavy falling snow. Where the hell is Santangelo? Kisa wondered, looking down at her stunning Audemars Piguet diamond watch. Every time she looked at it she thought of Sincere. It was the last gift she’d received from him. It had been almost three months since Sincere and Shawn went on the run. Kisa genuinely hoped that this talking to Santangelo would start the process of bringing them home. She had so much on her mind, particularly on this day, when her thoughts were with Cenise. Kisa felt so bad for her and hated the way that Cenise had been blindsided by the game, courtesy of a no-good nigga. Yes, she knew that Cenise had a strong tendency to be a know-it-all, but what teenage girl didn’t? It seemed like Arnessa and Cenise had been dealt one bad hand after another. That’s why Kisa was partial to them. Kisa promised herself that, once she made it through all the current havoc in her own life, she would continue to be a support system for them. Even more for Cenise once she got out of prison.

Where the hell is Santangelo?

Detective Santangelo was more than thirty minutes late. Meeting in Connecticut and driving an hour and a half out of the city during a blizzard was a precaution they had to take to ensure they would not be seen together. Kisa was ready to get back on the road before the weather got worse. Forecasters were calling for the biggest snowstorm to hit the Northeast in five years. Soon the roads would be covered in snow, making driving next to impossible. Like most northerners, Kisa could drive through snowy conditions, though she preferred not to.

“Would you like another macchiato?” The waitress asked Kisa.

“Yes please, and can I get an extra shot of espresso?”

“Let me get a cappuccino to go,” Santangelo said, walking up behind the waitress and sitting across from Kisa.

“Anything else?”

“No, but you can make mine to go, too,” Kisa replied, then turned her attention to Santangelo. “Where did you magically appear from?”

“The back office—my friend owns this place. That’s why I chose it.”

“You mean to tell me you’ve been back there the entire time I’ve been waiting?”

“Fuck no, you think I would make you wait?”

“Whatever, the money is in the envelope inside that Daily News.” Kisa nodded toward the newspaper on the other side of the table.

Santangelo pulled a folded paper from his jacket pocket and slid it across the table. Kisa opened it. She studied the photocopy of the New York State driver’s license. The young woman in the picture seemed vaguely familiar to her. “I swear I know her from somewhere.”

“You probably know her from St. Luke’s. She’s a nurse.”