Page 5 of The Fixer

“What happened? Why are you bleeding?”

“It’s complicated.” He clenches his hands into fists. “My car blew up.”

What? Oh my God. I put two and two together and get to an answer I don’t like. “You got involved with the Mafia here, didn’t you? What did you do?”

He doesn’t answer my questions right away. “My new job,” he finally mutters. “I might have fudged the details a little.”

His evasiveness only makes me more nervous. “Hugh. What. Did. You. Do.”

“I did the Mafia’s bookkeeping and gave them financial advice. It’s easy money, really. Most of these guys have trouble getting good help. Only thing, I might have lost some money.”

“How much?” I ask, almost afraid to hear the answer.

“Ten million euros.”

Panic slithers down my back. “What the fuck, Hugh?”

“When they find out, they’re going to be furious. They’re going to kill me.” He suddenly looks really, really young and very,veryafraid. “Can you help me, ch??”

A cold ball of fear settles in my stomach. Talking is difficult; I feel nauseous. If the Mafia blew up his car, that’s probably only their first attempt at killing Hugh. Any moment now, they could make another. Someone could burst into the house and gun my brother down.

“I need to make a phone call.”

3

LEO

It’s September 7th.

My wife’s birthday.

Patrizia would have turned forty today. I remember the last birthday I had with her, her twenty-first. I had flown her out to Tuscany as a surprise with money I didn’t really have. It was a beautiful summer day. We sat on a green hillside, a picnic spread in front of us. The sky was blue, and in the distance, a farmer was tending to his vineyards.

We drank chilled prosecco out of the bottle and talked about the future. “This time next year,” she said, looking at the engagement ring on her finger, “I’ll be a married woman. Imagine that. Then we’ll have children, and there’ll be no more time for picnics and prosecco.”

“There will always be time for picnics and prosecco,” I replied. “I promise you that.”

But my words were a lie, and my promise meant nothing.

She’s dead.

Because of me.

AndIf I could rewind time, I would. I would find that girl on the hillside, and I would tell her to have nothing to do with me. All I will bring her is ruin and pain.

I skipped going to work today. I’m the head of security for the Venetian Mafia. Ironic, really, when I seem to constantly be doing a shitty job protecting the people I care about. It isn’t a desk job, but I typically go into the headquarters every day. It beats staring at the walls of my studio apartment. But when I woke up this morning, I just couldn’t do it. Drowning my sorrows in drink seemed like a much better idea. I started with a bottle of prosecco for breakfast in Patrizia’s honor. When that ran out a few hours ago, I switched to vodka. It tastes vile, a mixture of sorrow and self-loathing, and that’s just the way I like it.

The buzzer sounds. I ignore it. It sounds again, long and angry, like a hornet’s nest. Dante Colonna’svoice comes through the intercom. “Open up, Leo. I know you’re there.”

For fuck’s sake, can’t a man get wasted in peace? I stumble down the two flights of stairs and throw open the outside door. Dante Colonna, second-in-command of the Venetian Mafia, is standing there holding a picnic basket, his wife Valentina at his side. Dante and Valentina don’t know about Patrizia—the picnic basket is nothing more than a wretched coincidence—but when I see it, pain stabs me, hot, sharp, and vicious.

“What are you doing here?”

Valentina looks taken aback at my surly tone, and I feel like an ass for snapping at her. Dante and Valentina are my friends; I’ve known both of them for more than ten years. But September is not a great month. Most days, I can push the pain deep inside and function, but in September, my failure to protect the girl I loved haunts me.

“You have plans tonight?” Dante asks. “We‘re inviting ourselves to an early dinner.”

“Don’t worry,” Valentina adds. “I brought food.”

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