Page 36 of Body of Trust

“The New York Mafia has been ruling the commercial waste game for the last seventy years. Your father and Frank Evangelista are the majority owners of twenty-five trash companies that control eighty percent of the carting industry in New York City, parts of New Jersey and eastern Connecticut.”

I hate how steady his voice is. And how his eyes maintain focus with mine, never faltering.

“How so?”

“Money laundering, rigged contract bids, extorting from non-mob haulers and customers to quash competition and keep their prices high. They use money, intimidation, and violence to get the routes they want. It’s a multimillion-dollar industry.” He’s stern with his words as his eyes hold mine. “I got a job at Villa Russo to investigate from the inside. The last agent was a driver who received intel they were using the trucks to move drugs and weapons across the five boroughs. I was assigned to apply for a position at the club as a means of becoming a family insider at the place where decisions are made.”

“What kind of decisions?”

“Family business.”

“You mean my uncles. Vic, Joey, Enzo… they’re not in sanitation, and there’s no way my family is involved with drugs or guns.”

“Frank Evangelista is the boss of the crime family. Your father is the underboss. His consigliere. Villa Russo is their headquarters where all Evangelista Family business is run through. Six months ago, I started running errands for Frank while closing in on finding out the truth. He offered me a job not in the company, but within the family.”

I recall my uncle telling me that very information, making Jesse’s story pan out. “You’ve been playing secret agent for a year, and you haven’t been able to get evidence to prove they’re criminals? Wonder why. Oh, I’ll tell you. It’s because they’re not criminals!”

“I’ve been gathering the evidence I need for an indictment.”

My eyes widen at the word indictment. “You’re trying to put my father in jail!” I turn away in betrayal. “And you have the nerve to say we’re in this together. That you think that I should trust you.”

I stand up and walk away from him, pacing the living room as I play with the charm of my necklace.

He rises to his feet yet stands in place. “I was never supposed to get close to you.”

“It’s not your job to protect me. You’re supposed to be surveilling my father and uncle. You don’t know where they are, so I’m the next best thing.”

“I’m protecting you because I’m too attached. And you keep opening the door to me because you know what we have is real. We’re together, Amelia. From the first time you sat at that bar, we’ve been connected. I know you feel it too.”

He takes a step toward me, but I move away. I don’t want him near me, nor do I want his voice radiating through my body.

I put my hands over my ears. “I can’t listen to this.”

Jesse is an FBI agent, my father is in the mob, and a group of criminals want me to rig the lottery or else they’ll kill my family. What the hell one has to do with the other is beyond me. I’m afraid to find out. It’s too much for my head to process. Too much for my heart to handle.

I don’t want it to be true, and yet … the more Jesse talks, the more I learn, the more I admit to myself that it’s real.

I crouch down in tears because the weight of the situation is too much.

He kneels down in front of me and gently removes my hands from my ears. “Amelia, I need to know what that man told you tonight. I have to help you.”

“You? Of all people, I should never speak with you again. If the Lugazzis find out I told the police, they’ll know. I’m certain of it.”

“Then, don’t tell them. Tell me. It’s just me. Jesse.”

Wiping the tears from my face, I think of the hundred thousand reasons why Jesse Grant—no, Jesse Davenport—is the wrong man to talk to. For starters, he’s a liar and a spy.

I walk to the front door and briskly open it. My hand is shaking on the knob as I cry, staring back at his distressed stance, kneeling on the carpet and looking like someone atoning for his sins. I lose my will as I take in his fallen shoulders and curved brow. His chest rises with anxious breaths, which match my own.

I raise a finger, ready to tell him to get the hell out but I hesitate.

He saved my life.

Twice.

I should tell him to leave. My mouth opens to curse at him, to tell him to fuck off and be gone from my life forever, but it just trembles as I sob. My body remembers the way he pulled me to safety. My heart can still feel the way he held me. My head knows that without him, I’ll die.

I face him, the man who is consistently telling me how to stay safe.