It was likely that Rothman and Yamamoto’s killers were in this room. Pia couldn’t touch them, she knew that; her life depended on their getting away with murder. But she wasn’t completely powerless.

“In that case, there’s something I want you to do. And then I promise I will stay off the trail and hold my tongue.”

Pia told the men her idea. Buda liked it—this job had far too many loose ends. Burim agreed that it would satisfy his daughter’s honor. The men shook hands again, and then each in turn shook hands with Pia.

Buda was happy with the resolution, although he was left with more work to do and he’d have to decide what to do with his men, especially Neri, who seemed to have fallen to pieces completely. Prek and Genti were eating the lukewarm takeout, but Neri was still cowering on the couch.

Buda found an old pair of his wife’s sneakers, which were too large for Pia but would work for now. He took them into the bedroom where she was resting.

“What will you do now?”

“You think I’m going to tell you?” she said.

“Listen, I’m sorry it happened this way.”

“It’s a bit late for that. Please, leave me alone.”

When Pia came back into the room, it was filled with cigarette smoke. The men were standing around talking and a couple of them were laughing. Pia went over to Buda.

“Where’s my cell phone?”

Buda looked at Prek, who shrugged.

“May as well let her have it. Just don’t turn it on till we’re done here.”

“I won’t.”

Prek took Pia’s cell phone, student ID, and wallet she used for her credit card and cash out of his jacket and gave them back to her.

“I’ll be outside,” Pia said. “It stinks in here.” Without another word, she went outside, slamming the door behind her hard enough to shake the house.

Burim shook his head. “She is her mother, exactly.”

“We should go out there—she might call someone,” Prek said.

“She won’t,” Buda said. “She’s Albanian, she promised.”

“She’s half Albanian,” Burim said. “And half Italian. I better go.”

The men laughed.

Standing on the other side of the van, Pia had turned on the phone and it flooded with messages and e-mails and texts. She saw there was a text from Lesley Wong.

“God bless you,” it read. “Praying for Will’s recovery.”

“Pia?”

It was Burim. She shut off the phone and emerged from behind the van.

“We’re leaving,” Burim said.

Pia had but one thought. Recovery? Could Will possibly be alive?

Chapter 62.

62.

GREEN POND, NEW JERSEY
MARCH 26, 2011, 12:03 A.M.