Page 65 of Texting My Mafia Boss

He pushes away, stepping into the garden’s lights. His face is etched with tension, his mouth tight. He’s wearing a T-shirt and shorts, his muscles tight and tense.

“Tell me,” I say, rushing to him.

He grips my bare leg. “Those shorts are…”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Walk with me,” he says, walking onto the grass.

I loop my arm through his. It feels so natural, even if it’s dangerous. A sane woman would leave. But I believe there’s more good in this man than bad, so perhaps that means I’m not sane.

“I had some serious digging done,” Ettore says. “I used my cop contacts. I’m no fool. I know many of them play both sides. So Iframed it as part of a wider thing, loan sharks generally, not your specific case. I think I’ve covered myself. I hope I have.”

I squeeze his arm. It’s odd hearing him sound so emotionally raw in person. He’s been like a statue since the recital. “Thank you for putting yourself out there.”

“The shark turned confidential informant. When the Calvis learned, they handled him, predictably. But not until he gave this interview.” Ettore stops, turning to me in the semidarkness. He takes my hand with surprising gentleness. “I’m here, okay?”

With his other hand, he takes out his phone and clicks play on an audio file.

“So, how many clients have you got?” an official-sounding man asks.

“Clients?” a rougher voice answers. “Marks, we call them. But brand them whatever you want. I’ve got all kinds, officer, all kinds in all places. You’d be wise to remember that.”

“And the Calvis are willing to turn unpaid debts into blood debts? They’ll go that far?”

“I like the way you put that, officer,” the man says, sounding cruel. “Yeah, they’re willing. It’s their name at stake. I had this couple recently, not sure how much detail you can stomach.”

“I’m a homicide detective, Ralph.”

Ralph laughs coldly. I seize up, feeling like I can’t breathe. My whole life, knowing nothing, and now I might finally get some concrete answers.

“There were these folks, the keen Keenes, I called them.”

My mind goes to the pun Sylvie made when I first arrived. To think she shared that with a scumbag like this…

“Anyway, they were do-gooder types, you know, wanting to help some silly bitch who’d gotten entangled with some sillier asshole. Came to me for cash, so I helped them out. Now, they got all these stories about the father losing his job and they can’t get a bank loan to pay us back which, yeah, no shit. Their credit was screwed, which was why they had to come to us to begin with. Anyway, they’ve recently been in an unfortunate car accident. Brakes failed on a rainy road.”

“Are you alleging Ruggero Calvi cut their brakes?”

“Oh, yeah,” Ralph says sarcastically. “He rocked up with his own little toolbox.”

“You’re saying heorderedit, then.”

“Of course,” Ralph says casually. “One of them’s got a sister, can’t remember which, but she’s got the debt now. You know what Bastian said to me—you know Bastian?”

“The nephew. He’s only a kid, right?”

“A kid,” Ralph says, laughing menacingly. “A born psycho, that one. He asked me to make the girl pay, their daughter. Their baby. You should’ve seen the twinkle in this little freak’s eye, man. And that’s justonecase.”

“So, tell us about more.”

“Well, there’s this fella…”

Ettore turns off the recording. “He goes on for two hours, different families, different stories.”

“They killed my parents,” I whisper.

“I’m so sorry.”