Page 52 of Texting Mr. Stranger

“You were going to say it’s more complicated?”

“That’s a copout,” he says. “That’s dancing around the issue.”

“Tell me, then,” I whisper, still stunned at how easy it feels to wriggle closer to him.

“I’m the Don of the DeLuca crime Family,” he says, his tone flat. It’s almost like he’s emotionally distancing himself, just in case I freak. “I took over when my father passed away. He made me promise to lead it well, and I’m doing my best. That’s the reason we’re so wealthy. We’ve been working in the shadows for almost three decades, building legit businesses alongside our other operations.”

I look up at him. He’s staring down at me with his jaw clenched. I can tell he’s readying himself for my reaction, preparing for a rejection.

“What other operations?” I ask. “What do you do? Deal drugs? Hurt people? What?”

“No,” he grunts. “No. Fucking. Way. We could make a lot more money if we dealt with that filth, the things other Families indulge in. My old man always refused, and so do I.”

“How do you make money, then?”

“We run high-stakes gambling operations … off the books. We loan money to people with bad credit. We counterfeit goods. We trade in black-market items such as stolen paintings. We evade taxes. We smuggle high-value goods so that we’re not subject to tariffs. We make fraudulent investments on the exchange. We protect high-value targets like celebrities or foreign oligarchs when they visit the city. We force other gangs to pay us a stipend and to stop their little corner of the city from turning to complete mayhem.” He sighs, leaning back, eyes narrowed as if he’s thinking. “Yeah, that’s it. Apart from that, we run our legit businesses, but don’t let me give you the wrong idea.”

“The wrong idea?” I ask, trying to keep my voice level.

“I don’t want you to think I’m some force for good in the world. I try to walk on the right side of the tracks, as much as my life will allow, but I’ve hurt people, sometimes badly. A lot of the time, I don’t feel a damn thing about it. A lot of the time, I convince myself they had it coming.”

“Hurt them how?” I ask, goosebumps suddenly pricking my skin, making me feel cold.

“Killed them. Maimed them. Tortured them.”

“Who?” I move away from him slightly, a deep-rooted response I can’t do much about.

He looks down at me steadily. “Rival gang members, mostly. Once or twice, I’ve taken out predators, men who deserved it, but other times, it was simply war. Just battle after battle to make sure the DeLucas, and nobody else, rule this damn city.” When I say nothing for long beats, he nods matter-of-factly. “I get it. You don’t want to be around me anymore.”

“I didn’t say that,” I protest, but I’m unsurewhatI feel. “I’ve just never spoken to a killer before.” My voice trembles.

“It’s okay. I understand. I just wanted you to know the truth.”

“Is that who cornered me, then? A gang member?”

“There’s a group called the Gallos moving in on our turf,” he says, nodding. “They’ve been lacing drugs with TNT. It’s a super-strong opioid that’s led to at least fifty ODs that we know of. I thought we beat the bastards, but one remains. Soon, he’ll be out of circulation, too.”

“Out of circulation?” I murmur.

“Do you really need me to explain?” he counters, his tone darkening.

I swallow, shaking my head. “No, I get it. I guess it’s just surprising how casual you sound about it. How many …”

When I trail off, he narrows his eyes, watching me closely. “How many people have I killed? That’s what you were going to ask, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” I admit.

His eyes seem to glaze over momentarily, like he’s reliving all the chaos and the pain. Then he says, “Thirteen. Nine were rival gang members. The other four deserved it, at least by my morals. They all laid their hands on women or children.”

“And all of yours were …”

He stands up, fists clenched, staring down at me like he’s about to snap.“What?”

“I didn’t even finish the question.”

“You were going to ask if any of my victims were women or children.” When I don’t reply, he snaps, “Tell me I’m wrong.”

I bolt to my feet, passion making my cheeks glow red. “I have to know. Otherwise, I’ll never be able to …”

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