I take another bite, trying to gather my confidence. “You remember how I told you that my boyfriend’s best friends seem to have a thing for me too?”
Howie’s frown deepens, but he answers with a hint of sarcasm, “How many times do I have to tell you that I am not senile yet?”
“Okay, well, it looks like I am with all of them now.” I cringe, avoiding his eyes.
“That’s nice, Lina. I am happy for you,” he states casually before sipping his Coke.
I furrow my brow, feeling a bit underwhelmed by this response. “That’s all?”
I thought he would have at least asked some more questions.
“What did you expect? Should I go get a confetti bomb?” he retorts, frowning right back at me.
I snort at his dry humor. “No, but maybe a little more than ‘that’s nice.’”
“Are you happy, Lina?” he asks me, his expression softening.
“More than happy,” I admit, a genuine smile creeping onto my face as I look down at my lap.
“That’s all I need to know,” Howie consoles warmly. “You’re a strong woman, but you never had the choice not to be. I hope they give you the luxury of letting yourself be weak for once.”
As I mull over his words, we eat the rest of our burgers in silence. And I realize this is something I miss. Howie has always been there for me. I really need to make it a point to visit more often like I should.
After a few minutes, I change the subject. “There is some other stuff that happened.” He perks an eyebrow at me, and I fall into a monologue of how Clay and Joshua went to talk to the witness, how the Del Moros kept threatening me about the accident, and what I overheard Roberto say on the phone. Finally, I close with, “Two days ago, Del Moro made a comment about me still being alive, and I saw a black cross tattooed on his wrist, the same one Roberto has tattooed on the back of his hand.”
Howie’s eyebrows shoot to his hairline, “A black cross? Are you sure?” I nod. “Haven’t you just told me he is a cop?”
“He is,” I confirm.
Howie takes a deep breath before he speaks again, “Kiddo, the black cross is the sign of the Metro Milanesi.”
I shake my head in disbelief. “No, that makes no sense. Why would Roberto have a Metro Milanesi tattoo?” I huff, dismissing it.
Howie sucks in a breath. “You really don’t know?”
I feel a knot forming in my stomach and a sense of foreboding creeping over me. “What?” I ask, my voice trembling slightly as I search his face.
“Fuck, Lina, I thought you knew!” His rising panic mirrors my own growing anxiety. “Everyone in the neighborhood knows. Even I heard about it, and before you came along, I never talked to anyone.”
“What should I have known?” I ask, reaching over to grip his hand.
The world seems to spin as I wait for him to respond.
“Roberto was the enforcer for the Metro Milanesi before they scattered,” Howie reveals, his words hitting me like a ton of bricks.
My heart sinks as I process the gravity of that statement.
“Although, they don’t seem to be gone since I heard a lot of shit is going on again in the streets,” Howie continues, his tone somber. “And I haven’t heard anything new about him, but a few years ago, everyone was scared of him. He was more feared than the boogie man.”
My head is spinning, and a sense of dread settles in the pit of my stomach.
No wonder he knows all the ways to hurt someone properly, even when dead drunk.
“And you think that cross on Del Moro’s wrist means that he is a Milanesi too?” I ask.
It would make sense. Del Moro Sr. was friends with my uncle, after all. But they are cops, for fuck’s sake.
Howie shrugs, his expression troubled as he bites his lip. “I don’t know, maybe it’s just a cross. But this all seems way too close not to be related.”
