Page 33 of Giovanna

While Elio discusses the wine and orders some bread, I look across him to where Francesca sits. She looks serene and dignified. Not a trace of the firecracker who leaps into a pool in a $5,000 dress for shits and giggles.

As if she can feel my gaze on her, she looks right at me and shoots me a slight smile. I can’t help myself and wink in reply and she blushes immediately. A thrill races up my spine. I get a rush from knowing I have the power to make her cheeks flush like that.

Elio is driving the small talk with Trotter and his wife with a discussion of Trotter’s favourite rugby league team, the Manly Sea Eagles.Pull it back now, Elio. Time to let him do the talking.

Information is gold in our world and if you want to collect it, you need to shut up and listen. I grew up watching Dad listen to his men, saying very little until he was sure he had bled them for every drop of intel they had.

“As much as I would enjoy a social dinner with you both, I know that you didn’t reach out to chat about the NRL,” Elio keeps his tone light and friendly. “What are you after, Phil?”

Mrs. Trotter looks up from the menu she is perusing with Francesca and eyes her husband nervously. She looks timid, but the kind of timid that you wouldn’t want to fuck with in certain circumstances. Like when it comes to administrative processes and organisation. Like a receptionist at a doctor’s office; all mild-mannered until someone doesn’t use the booking system correctly and then it's all on, passive-aggressively, of course.

“Right. Yes, well I don’t need to tell you that gun crime has picked up in Sydney, particularly in the inner city.” He pauses, but when Elio remains silent, he continues, “We’ve seen a sudden influx of some pretty hefty weapons, not your usual handguns and rifles. I’m talking semi-automatics and automatics. Driveby shootings are up 350% on last year and they’re more lethal because they’re spraying autos instead of firing individual shots.”

We all listen and Elio gives a slight nod of his head, encouraging him to continue. I’m proud of my little brother. He is playing this directly from Dad’s playbook.

Trotter takes a sip of wine. “As you can expect, the minister is breathing down my neck. Canberra wants to know where the weapons are coming from and who is running them. You have much to do with Satan’s Sons?”

Elio’s smile is almost condescending. “Not the kind of people we tend to affiliate with, Commissioner. However, my sister has been looking into the weapons influx. I’ll let her tell you about her interactions with Satan’s Sons.” He looks at me as if permitting me to speak.

“We’ve been concerned about the increased gun violence too and have endeavoured to find out what is going on, but it has been tough tracking the weapons. It wasn’t until a relative of ours who owns a small business was hit up for protection by some Satan’s Sons bikies that we started to look into them. It seems Ned -”

“The Outlaw?” Trotter interrupts.

“Yeap, that’s the one. He has a control problem. A group has splintered off and gone rogue. I suspect that they are the ones running the weapons.”

Francesca’s eyes are as wide as saucers enthralled in what I’m saying. Mrs. Trotter, next to her, is equally as intrigued by the discussion. This is probably the most exciting thing that’s happened to her in years.

We pause to allow bread and appetisers to be laid on the table. I sip my water, allowing my glass of wine to remain untouched. I’ll nurse it until the commissioner has left. Another lesson from Dad: plie your guests with alcohol, but remain sober yourself.

Trotter starts the conversation back up with his mouth still half full of bruschetta. “It’s interesting you picked up on the rogue Satan’s Sons. Our intelligence has found the same thing. It looks like three or four young bikies, one is The Outlaw’s nephew. They’ve decided to do their own thing. Hooked up with the Arabs and that’s where the guns are coming from.

I don’t let on that this is useful information; just nod and see if he will say anything else. When he doesn’t, I prod a little more. “The young bikies. What do you know about them?”

“Well, they’re relatively young. Early, mid-twenties. The nephew is the ringleader. Has a chip on his shoulder by the looks of it. The other two seem to be leeches looking for a quick route to the top.”

He has a lot of information about these kids for someone who made out he had just been listening out here and there.

Reading my mind, Elio reinserts himself into the conversation. “Sounds like the boys and girls in blue have done a solid bit of police work. What do you need from us, Phil?”

“The kids are clean. Well, except for a DUI and a wilful damage conviction between them. It’s going to take us a while to get anything solid to disrupt them. Unless we’re struck with some serious…luck.”

Elio smiles slightly. The police are sticklers to the law until their own procedures slow them down.

“People are dying and not just other scumbags. A six-year-old girl copped a stray bullet last week. She was popping into a servo with her dad late at night for ice cream. In her SpongeBob pyjamas. Wrong place, wrong time.” Trotter sighs and runs a hand over his brow.

It had been all over the news. Heartbreaking stuff. Trotter isn’t above using heartbreak to get what he needs. As much as we are working to our own playbook, so too is the commissioner.

Organised criminals and the police are engaged in a constant dance. There aren’t rules, but there are flexible boundaries that we push and pull at. Right now, the commissioner is trying to pull at the heartstrings of the King of Sydney’s underworld. Interesting choice of tactic.

“I’m not entirely sure what you’re asking of us, Commissioner,” Elio nudges him.

If I didn’t know better, I would think that the Commissioner was trying to ask us (without asking) to get rid of the bikers. You know…bullet in the head, body in a bag, cinder block around the ankles, and into the harbour.

“I don’t know, to be honest, son,” the Commissioner sags in his seat and his wife’s eyes grow impossibly wide in alarm. “Can I even have confidence that your Family can help when word is you have your own control problem?”

Elio laughs loudly and rocks back in his chair. Credit to him, it looks genuine. “Oh you’ve been listening to the gossip have you? Don’t believe everything you hear on the grapevine. If you’re referring to my fiancee’s estranged brother Stefan Rossi, well, every family has a pain in its arse and Stefan is our pest.”

“Righto, mate,” Trotter’s eyes slide to the door and he does a poor job of disguising how much he wants to leave. “Lovely meal, thank you. We better be off though.”

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