Page 39 of The Almost One

Now, I love the idea of the entire neighborhood knowing that my wife is satisfied, but there’s a line I don’t really want to cross and that’s here, in the kitchen, with my mother.

“Come, help us with the frittata instead of being silly.”

And so it goes for the next ten minutes. The chopping of onions, the washing of peppers, the breaking of eggs, all thrown together like an omelet into the oven.

“What about thesalsiccia?”

This gets my attention, so I bend a corner of the paper and look at my mother, whose gaze is far away, like she’s remembering another life.

“It’s probably what killed your father. Too greasy.” She places the dish in the oven and when she turns back to us, she’s got her brave face back on.

Fuck, I’m too young to give upsalsiccia.

“Boss, I need to speak with you.” Enzo’s sudden presence interrupts the cooking lesson. With a wink and a grin aimed at my wife, I follow him out onto the deck where the early June heat has settled for the day.

“What’s going on?” My hands in my jeans pockets—being here at the house has taught me the benefits of dressing casually—I watch my second-in-command taking charge of whatever situation we have on our plates.

“We’ve got a hit on the fingerprints. It wasn’t easy getting into the FBI’s database, but Stefano’s guy is fucking impressive.”

I nod, my shoulders squaring, my entire body ready for a fight.

“Then let’s do this.”

“Long Island?” He’s asking me if we’re going to our warehouse where our more delicate business takes place.

“Long Island,” I confirm, we’re going to fuck some people up.

It took a little convincing on my part to leave without River. Not because she’s needy, but because she wants to go to The City to check in on her business. I get it. She’s the boss now, her employees depend on her to take care of them.

Except who’s going to take care of them if she’s dead?

Fuck, just the thought makes me nauseous.

“You don’t play fair, Marco Mancini.” Those were her parting words right before I kissed her hard enough to get her wet and ready for me.

“I’ll be back before you know it and then I’ll fuck the belligerence right out of you.”

“Asshole.”

“I can fuck that, too, Tesoro. All you gotta do is ask.”

I grin at the memory of our conversation, and of course Enzo notices and can’t help giving me shit.

“Not sure that lover-boy’s smile is going to intimidate this motherfucker.”

“Don’t worry about me. Or him for that matter.”

He grunts, knowing exactly what I’m planning to do.

The warehouse is nondescript in a shady part of town where we own the three adjacent blocks surrounding it. Outside, it looks like it’s going to ruins, but inside, we set it up for our shipping business on one end and for… interrogations on the other. The floor is slightly slanted toward the middle with a large drain that is regularly cleaned out with hefty amounts of bleach.

We drive my car into one of the open garages that someone closes just as I turn off the engine.

“Tell me about him.” I need to know everything I can about this asshole.

“Kevin Moss, twenty-six, only child. Parents are Henry and Heather Moss, living in Atlantic City where Kevin picked up his gambling habit. Owes money, lots of it.”

I nod because it’s always the same shit.

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