Page 62 of Mafia Star

I want to smile, but I don’t. I know that voice.

A guy’s voice is a little too rude when he responds. He’ll regret it by the time she’s done with him.

“Who are you?”

“I’m Sinead Scotto, and I represent Ms. Russo. Where is my client?”

“How do we know she’s your client?”

“How do you not? What we both know is that you’re a federal agent who might be obstructing justice by denying a detained person their legal right to counsel. Now, if you’d like to keep your pension and worthless health insurance, move.”

I watch as Sinead walks past. She looks me over and nods.

“If you haven’t read him his rights or put him in a squad car to take him to Federal Plaza, then get those handcuffs off him before I file a suit for unlawful arrest, intimidation, and harassment. Take him and charge him or let him go. I won’t say it again.”

She stares at a woman blocking the door until the NYPD officer moves aside. The woman’s fear radiates from her expression, and that almost makes me laugh. Sinead disappears into the restaurant, but she and Beth are back outside in a couple minutes. My girlfriend no longer has handcuffs on. Dante and Alonzo greet them and escort Beth to one of our cars. I can tell Beth doesn’t want to leave, but I nod as I look over my shoulder at her. It’s the first time I’ve openly acknowledged her. She doesn’t look happy, but she keeps walking.

“Why are Mr. Mancinelli and his colleagues still standing here since I’m certain none of you have Mirandaed any of them? Either take them downtown and file charges or release them. Since there are plenty of photographers here, it’ll make it very easy for me to lodge complaints against each and every one of you for unlawful detention, intimidation, and harassment. I warned you already. Unless you’d like to be named individually and collectively in a civil suit, you follow the laws you swore to uphold.”

She raises her chin and looks around. The feds don’t know her from Eve, but it’s obvious enough NYPD know her reputation as a litigator to whisper to each other. I watch as some speak into their shoulder radios. I don’t know what they hear back from their supervisors, but it’s not long before the NYPD clears out. Sinead looks around and spots the men who must be the commanders. She walks to them, and without yelling but with a voice that carries, she addresses them.

“Hello. I’m Sinead Scotto. I’d say it’s a pleasure to meet you, but I have no need to lie. Why are you detaining Mr. Mancinelli?”

A graying man with a smarmy smile looks down at her. Dumb motherfucker. He’s the one who initially asked who she was.

“How do we know you’re actually his attorney?”

Sinead pulls her wallet out and hands several things over.

“Here are my driver’s license, my ABA card, and my business card. You’ll see my name matches the one I gave you. My American Bar Association card shows I’m a practicing attorney. And my business card shows I’m a managing partner at Mancinelli, Mancinelli, Mancinelli, Mancinelli, Scotto & Scotto. That would be Massimo Mancinelli, Salvatore Mancinelli, Sylvia Mancinelli, Michelle Mancinelli, Gabriele Scotto, and Sinead Scotto.”

When Sinead joined the family, she left her position at her old firm. Papa, Uncle Salvatore, Aunt Sylvia, Gabriele, and Sinead incorporated. Uncle Salvatore never litigates anymore, but he’s still a member in good standing with the ABA just like Papa. Don’t even ask how they’re members along with Gabriele. It’s fucking expensive. While Chelle and Enzo were on their honeymoon, Papa filed to add Chelle to the corporation. The name is ridiculously long and not the company they all actively practice under, but it makes a point.

“Are you going to make a move? If not, then release them. If you are going to arrest them, then let’s go. If you’re thinking of waiting this out until the courts close, so you can hold them overnight, I will make your life so damn miserable, you’ll quit or retire by this time tomorrow.”

“Are you threatening me, ma’am?”

The man’s tone makes me want to punch him.

“Why would I do that when you already know I’m right?”

“It sounded like a threat.”

“Then you’re awfully sensitive for this job. I have no need to threaten you. But I can promise you.”

She pulls out her cell phone and unlocks it. I’m way too far away to know what she’s doing. But a moment later I hear the phone ringing.

“Judge Hartman, this is Sinead Scotto. I have you on speaker.”

“Hello, Ms. Scotto. To what do I owe the privilege?”

The man sounds even less excited to talk to Sinead than the ATF shithead.

“I’m taking a wild guess, but I think you signed the warrant for Marco Mancinelli. I’m standing here with Mr. Mancinelli and three of his colleagues. Your ATF and FBI agents have already shot at an innocent bystander then detained her in cuffs simply because they believed they could. Now your agents refuse to acknowledge me as legal counsel for Mr. Mancinelli and his colleagues. And your agents won’t release the men or take them in for questioning rather than having them stand around for paparazzi to photograph. The only upside to that is I now have a record of pretty much every officer here today.”

She stresses “your” because it’s common knowledge Judge Herman Hartman is the one most apt to sign off on a warrant for any syndicate family. It must chap his ass something fierce since he’ll sign the warrants, but none of the charges ever stick. He has a zero-win track record. He keeps hoping. He’s convenient for law enforcement, but they’re idiots to keep using him. A wing and a prayer, I guess. That and he’s the cheapest one to bribe.

“What’re your names?”

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