Page 68 of Sins and Secrets

“I follow you online.”

I would notice if my ex-girlfriend’s mob boss father followed me on Insta. “No, you don’t.”

Mr. Mcleod takes a step back. “I’m a twenty-five-year-old nursing student named Mandy who has a rescue cat named Marvin and likes all your tattoo posts.”

“Oh, I don’t follow anyone back who I don’t know in real life, sorry.”

Mr. Mcleod’s eyebrow twitches, his disappointment and annoyance displayed on his face like a billboard. “I became aware when you didn’t even say congratulations when she got into nursing school.” His voice gets louder with each word.

I’m so confused. All the questions keep butting against each other. I don’t understand what’s happening.

The shorter man leaning against the window calls out with an accent, “Why do you have a fake profile of a nursing student?”

Mr. Mcleod takes a deep breath in. His nostrils flare. “Well, when Shae was six, Amanda Chase was doing this viral contest for her biggest fans. You needed to like her posts or something, and you would get a code. I created an account, but I felt weird using my real information.” He sighs and shakes his head. “Mandy gets a disturbing amount of dick pics in her DMs.”

The Latino man raises his shaggy eyebrow. “How many is she getting? One is a ‘disturbing amount.’”

“Poor Mandy gets at least three a week.”

The European man says, “To be a woman in this modern age, no wonder they all pick the bear.”

The men shake their heads like an Olympic synchronized swimming team of disappointment.

But then Mcleod whips around back to me. “Yeah, because of pieces of shit like you. Do you have any idea who we are?”

“I’m assuming the heads of the Four Families?”

The shorter Italian man says, “I’m Giovanni, boss of the Italian Mafia.”

“Oh, you’re Izzy’s dad, right?”

He clears his throat and points to the men in the chairs. “This is Andrey Kolso, Uri’s father, Russian Mob. The other guy is Carlos Ramos, head of the Mexican Cartel. And Waverly is our niece. We don’t like when someone fucks around with her.”

“And as a father, I’ll break anyone who hurts my little girl.” Mcleod’s eyes narrow. “I’ve had my men watching you for years. Every month, one of them walks into your shop and gets a tattoo. I make sure they’re in your chair for at least four hours, getting as much dirt on you as possible.”

“What did they come back with?” I don’t have any secrets, no crimes. I’m super boring.

He gets in my face again. “Nothing but a whole bunch of really cool tattoos.”

Carlos, the Mexican dad, squishes his face. “How much do you charge an hour?”

“Two-fifty,” I say.

“Damn, I should’ve learned how to draw.”

I turn to Mr. Mcleod. “Your grand plan was to support my small business with sixty grand over five years?”

Giovanni shakes his head. “Nah, it’s way more. My guys are there all the time. They’re jealous the Irish Mob has better tattoos than they do.”

My phone vibrates in my shirt pocket. Ignore it.

“Well, it wouldn’t be an issue if Uri had finished the job,” Mr. Mcleod snaps.

My phone buzzes three more times in rapid succession. “Um, he said he was sick and was scared about getting an ear infection,” I say as I reach into my inner jacket pocket and pull out my phone.

The other men collectively say, “Ohhhhhh.” There are mumblings of “That makes sense” and “Poor kid, that was horrible.” But I’m not really focused on them. Instead, I’m trying to comprehend what I’m reading.

Kyle: What the hell? He proposed?

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