When the doorbell rings, I invite Lombardo in.
The chain-smoking detective peers over my shoulder, scanning the family room beyond. When he sees all my brothers gathered there, he shakes his head. “I prefer to stay out here, if you don’t mind.”
I smile, hoping it’s not feral. “So what can I do for you tonight?”
Detective Lombardo takes a deep drag from his smoke. I notice his hands are shaking lightly as if he’s trying to calm his nerves. He’s scared of me and my brothers.
Good. He should be.
“It’s curious,” he begins, “wouldn’t you say? That Santo died shortly after you bribed me to keep quiet about the case.”
“It is curious,” I agree.
He takes another long drag. “Shit. We never agreed you were allowed to kill him. That wasn’t part of the deal. This changes everything.”
I bite my lower lip angrily. “It changes fuck all. And Ididn’tkill him. I have a fairly strong alibi, considering I was in the police station when he died.”
“And where were your brothers?” the detective asks.
I suppress the anger welling inside me. “Home.”
“Can they prove it?” Lombardo asks.
I press my lips together, then reach for an envelope stowed inside my jacket. Santo, apparently mistaking the movement as making for a weapon, takes a step back and drops his hand to his holster.
I produce the envelope and he slouches in relief. I lean forward to tuck it into his jacket pocket. “A little something extra for your trouble.”
He frowns and removes the envelope to flip through the multicolored Euro bills.
“It’s five grand,” I tell him. “Look,Detective.” I can’t help the spite that fills my tongue when I say that word, because I know he’s anything but. He’s corrupt, a traitor to the family he had sworn allegiance to—the cops. “You’re a part of this just as much as me now. You can report this latest bribe if you want, but you’ll merely implicate yourself. You know that. Report it, and your coworkers will look into the case, find out you glossed over a report involving a beating shortly before his death. And they’ll believe you’re complicit. That’s why you’re here.”
“But if I cover this up, my superiors—”
“You’re afraid what yoursuperiorswill do?” I cut him off. “If so, your fear is misplaced… you should be afraid ofme. Think of your beautiful wife and son. You wouldn’t want anything to happen to them, would you?”
He clenches his jaw, his eyes simmering with rage. “Don’t you dare threaten—”
He freezes when a pistol touches the side of his temple. It’s an old-style revolver. Matteo stands on the porch to his right. I hadn’t expected him to intervene.
Matteo cocks the hammer, producing that soft, deadly-sounding click so familiar to those who work with the weapon. Anyone familiar with Hollywood gangster movies would also recognize it. That distinctive click is precisely why Matteo carries the thing.
“I think you should go,” I tell Lombardo as calmly as I can manage, though inside I’m a wreck.
Don’t shoot him, Matteo! We need him!
Has killing Santo caused my brother to snap?
“I’ll send you another five grand when I can,” I continue, doing my best to appear calm. “Spend the money well. You earned it. But in the meantime, keep your head down, and your mouth shut. If you don’t…”
He nods fervently. “I will.” He quickly backs away. The cigarette drops from his hands.
Matteo keeps his gun trained on him the whole time, and when the unmarked vehicle finally drives through the gate my brother slides the weapon into his pants with a grin.
“I showed that bastard, didn’t I?” He licks his lips. “Can’t wait till we own the whole police force, then we don’t have to worry about shit like this.”
I’m about to cuss him out for interfering, but I can’t. Something’s really off about him. He keeps licking his lips.
“Where’s that leftover spaghetti?” he calls to no one in particular when we get inside, as if he has no care in the world and hasn’t just pointed his revolver at a police officer.
