Page 55 of Mafia Virgin (The Kings of Italy)

“Yes, you can.” He pointed across the street. “Those yellow lines over there? Park there.”

“The ones with a wheelchair painted on the ground? Those spots are for disabled drivers.”

“Dai, it doesn’t matter. The police won’t care.”

“Icare. I can’t park there. It isn’t right.”

Rafael huffed and stared out the window as I continued around the block. Soon I found a place to park on the next street. When I got out, I said, “You can wait here, if you want. I’ll only be a few minutes.”

Rafael shut his door and straightened his jacket. “I must come with you.”

As we walked toward the pasticceria, I scanned the names of the shops along the street. Would one of these places carry a burner phone? I spotted a tabacchi shop, which I knew sold SIM cards. Would they have a phone, too?

There was a long line at the bakery. I insisted on waiting, not skipping to the front as Rafael suggested. This caused a lot of heavy sighs and chain smoking on his part. I ignored him and worked on my plan.

At the counter I ordered a wide selection of pastries. The woman working there took one look at Rafael and waved away my attempt to pay. I couldn’t have that, so I shoved money in the tip jar by the register and thanked her.

Instead of leaving, I thrust the box in Rafael’s arms. “I need to use the bathroom. I’ll meet you out front.”

He pressed his lips together, but didn’t argue. He took the box from me and went toward the exit.

I headed in the opposite direction. A closed exit door was near the bathrooms. When I peeked out I saw the alley. Relieved, I slipped out and hurried toward the street.

The tabacchi shop was off to my right. Keeping my head down, I walked fast. I had to make it back before Rafael grew suspicious.

Inside, there were a few other people milling about. I quickly looked around for cheap phones. There were plenty of SIM cards and cigarettes, as well as candy and lottery tickets. Maybe the phones were behind the counter?

Just as I turned to ask for help, the shop door flew open. A large figure blocked most of the light, huge shoulders filling the tiny space. Those shoulders . . . .

The hairs on the nape of my neck stood up and I instinctively took a step back. Was that . . .?

No, it couldn’t be.

The man came in and let the door swing shut behind him. As the light from the shop filled in his rough features, I felt my knees wobble.

Giacomo.

How . . .? My stomach twisted into a knot. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.

Relax. He doesn’t know what I’m doing here.

His gaze zeroed in on me. I knew his eyes were brown, but right then they looked like twin pools of midnight, merciless and unforgiving. His flat expression didn’t change a bit as he started walking toward the place where I stood, and each thump of his boot on the wood floor nearly caused me to jump.

I attempted a small smile. “Giacomo. What are you doing here?”

“I didn’t realize you smoked,” he said. “Or maybe you’ve decided to start? I can recommend a good brand.”

“Signore Buscetta.” This was the shop worker, who stood a few feet away. “How may I assist you today?”

Giacomo didn’t look away from me. “Do you need assistance, wife?”

I didn’t care for the growl in his tone. It made me defensive. “Yes. Obviously. Why else would I be here?”

“Wife?” The tabacchi employee nearly choked on the word. “Signora Buscetta, it is an honor.”

I was staring at Giacomo, but the tabacchi worker sounded like he was sweating. Calmly, I said, “Grazie, signore.”

Giacomo moved closer to me. “What are you buying, Emma?”

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