Page 33 of That Time I Accidentally Took Over the Mafia

I hold up a hand, stopping him. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have snapped like that.”

Jax erases the distance between us, standing between my legs and holding my face in his hands. “It’s been a rough two days for you, baby. And you’re right. You have every reason to be upset and react, okay?”

I nod, sipping my coffee, feeling a little more awake. The whispers of my parents’ argument echo in my mind as Jax and Enzo fall into conversation. Perhaps the only way to bury thismystery along with my father is to figure out the answer to my theory.

“I’ve been thinking about my mother’s death. What if it wasn’t an accident?”

Jax and Enzo both perk up at this.

“I mean, now that I know my dad was a mafia warlord my whole life, I’m seeing my childhood in a whole new light. She was ‘lost at sea,’ never to be seen again. That sounds pretty mafia-ish if you ask me. What if she was killed by my dad—or because of my dad? And there have been hits out on me too... Maybe someone was trying to get to him through her, and now me?”

Jax stares at me, narrowing his eyes in thought, as if he’s cataloging what he already knows and filtering it through a new lens.

“I mean, have you guys ever looked into her death?”

“No,” Enzo answers immediately. “The focus has always been on Caputo. He is what leads to you.”

“But what if it’s not? What if it’s my mother?” I take another sip of coffee, letting it give me courage. “The explanation of a boating accident was enough for you guys to dismiss it as unimportant and never even consider it. That would be the exact goal of someone staging a murder to look like an accident.”

“That could lead us somewhere,” Enzo says thoughtfully. “It’s worth checking out because we don’t have much else right now.” His eyes flick over my bare legs, making my stomach flip.

I can feel the “but” coming. It’s standing here between us.

“But—”Called it.“That was twenty years ago, Del. It may be hard to find anything, but we can try. Just don’t get your hopes up.”

I nod, understanding, but I’m glad they aren’t fighting me on it.

I’ve always been indifferent toward my mother’s memory because there isn’t one. I know she existed, then she didn’t. But Iheard her voice last night, in my own mind. It didn’t come from home videos; it came from me.

And now, there is something about finding out if she was murdered that feels important.

“You know,” Jax begins, turning back to the stove. “Butte’s full of Cleaners and Fixers.”

“What are those? Mafia people?” My tone is a bit more excited than I probably should be, considering we’re talking about reopening a twenty-year-old death.

The corner of Enzo’s mouth lifts in amusement. “Yes, those are mafia people.”

“Ooh, can we go talk to some?”

“They don’t exactly sit down for afternoon tea, Peach.” Jax rubs my thigh, cupping my ass, murmuring“Damn,”and then returning to the cooking.

“No. That would be too obvious.” Enzo looks off thoughtfully. “But they do hang around a members club and reminisce about the old country every night.” He raises an eyebrow at Jax.

“A members club? What, is that like code for a mafia old folks’ home?” I take another sip of coffee.

Enzo laughs—a rare sound—but when he does, it makes his gray eyes gleam. “Kind of, actually. Butte’s a nice spot for retirement, so it’s full of goombahs.”

My eyebrows shoot upward. “What kind of name is that? Does the mafia know those are little brown mushrooms in a video game?”

Enzo laughs again, and I feel a sense of accomplishment.

“The old country is Italy. The member’s club is just that. A quiet life of retirement is more than most mafia families can hope for, but if they are able to hand off their duties to a successor, they can never really stop living the life.” Enzo pours more coffee into my cup. “They sit around and talk about the same old stories as if they just happened. If anyone remembersanything about hits from two decades ago, this might be the best place to ask. We just have to be careful.”

“Okay, so how do we do it?”

Enzo looks at Jax, who shrugs like he’s agreeing with some unspoken question. Then Enzo turns his intense gaze on me. “Can I take you out to dinner tonight, Ms. Caputo?”

My stomach does a somersault. Inside, I want to scream,“Fuck yes, let’s go to dinner and talk to some old mafia goobers!”Or whatever he called them. Instead, I hop down off the counter, pretending to be uninterested.

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