Page 92 of Merciless Daddy

“It went to a freight company.”

“It went through a freight company. It paid a judge.”

“Evidence?”

“The amount? It’s so large.”

“That is not evidence.”

“It’s vulgar.”

“Maybe, but it’s not evidence.”

She turned the laptop toward me. “Gianni pays labor in round numbers. Politicians get amounts ending in eighty. Police get forty. Judges get twelve because he once heard twelve was lucky in court.”

Angela searched six prior transfers. All six payments ending in twelve led toward legal firms or judicial charities.

Yelena leaned back. “Now that, is evidence.”

I looked at her.

She lifted one eyebrow. “You may say I was right. If you like. It won’t hurt.”

“You were right.”

“Try sounding less devastated.”

“I’m Sicilian. We suffer beautifully. It’s a big skill of ours.”

She laughed five seconds later. I treasured every one of those delayed laughs.

In private, the rhythm changed, although not all at once.

The first time I set lunch in front of her, she looked at the soup as if I had delivered a subpoena.

“I’m working.”

“No, Little One, you’re eating.”

“I can do both.”

“You’ve tried. The spoon has been in your hand for three minutes.”

She looked down.

The spoon was in fact suspended above the bowl.

“I hate surveillance. It’s like living in a police state.”

“Eat.”

She ate.

The first time I reminded her to drink water, she sighed loudly enough for Olimpo to lift his head from the carpet.

“This is tyranny.”

“It’s a glass.”