“I don’t…”
But just then, the other meaning of that word clicked.
It hadn’t been anywhere near the forefront of my mind because, well, according to the news and the cops, the mafia hardly existed anymore in New York.
I’d actually dated someone who’d been really into mob movies and history when I was younger. And even he’d said that once the RICO Act went into effect, the mafia pretty much fell apart.
But maybe… maybe that wasn’t true.
Or it wasn’t true anymore.
It certainly explained why Venezio was so calm, why he had a gun, why someone was after him.
“The mafia. You work for the mafia.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t… I don’t understand. Wait,” I said, my stomach sinking. “Are you… like… washing money through my charity?”
A strange, completely inappropriate snort escaped Venezio at that. “No, babe. We’re not washing money through the charity.”
“What’s funny about that?”
“The idea that you bring in enough money for us to wash money through your charity.”
It was idiotic to be offended by that, given the circumstances, but there was nothing rational about emotions.
“Then why do they donate so much?”
To that, Venezio sighed out a breath, then reached backward to rub the back of his neck.
And that was a universal sign of guilt.
“What did you do?” I didn’t mean for it to come out as a snarl. But this charity was important to me, dammit. If he and his mob buddies compromised the integrity of it, if they involved me insomething illegal, it might not only shut down the charity (and leave kids with nothing on Christmas) but I could go to prison.
“Babe, we really shouldn’t get into this right now. We need to keep moving.”
“Well, I’m not going anywhere with you until you give me some answers. So unless you plan on throwing me over your shoulder and carrying me away, we are going to talk about this right here.”
“Okay. Alright,” he agreed, glancing out the alley again before focusing on me. “You inherited this,” he said.
“Inherited. From the old director?”
“Yes. He’d been a willing… partner.”
“In what?” I bit the words off.
“Importing.”
“Drugs? Are you moving drugs through my charity?”
“No, babe. No,” he added more firmly as I crossed my arms. “It’s goods. Everything from jewelry to electronics.”
“Things that ‘fell off the back of a truck’ then?”
“Something like that.”
My heart sank as it suddenly made sense.
