Page 39 of Marcello

“Oh, sort of like expecting the people you trust not to go snooping around in your shit?” I asked sarcastically.

It only went downhill from there.

14

We still had to go to work. I left before she did and stormed down the street, griping in my head the entire way.

Fuckin’ unbelievable!

Not telling me she’s claustrophobic and then being pissed off at ME –

Snooping around in MY stuff, asking me about MY money –

I caught myself.

Fausto’s money.

Not my money.

FAUSTO’S money.

It was important for me to differentiate between the two.

I wasn’t on that fucking asshole’s payroll.

I wasn’t doing this to get paid.

I was doing it because he had a gun to my family’s head.

He was forcing me.

I would never, ever take a goddamn cent from him that I didn’t absolutely have to.

Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.

Or, in this case, ‘think of the devil, and he shall call.’

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

I pulled it out and checked it, thinking it might be Fede.

It wasn’t.

UNCLE

My stomach churned when I saw it.

SHIT.

I sure as hell didn’t want to talk to him –

But if I didn’t answer his call, I might pay for it later.

“Hello?”

“Marcello,” Fausto said in a mocking tone of voice. “It’s your dear uncle.”

“Yeah, I saw the caller ID,” I said in irritation. “What’s up?”