Page 3 of Perfect Martinis

“Miss Romano?”

“How fast can I receive this?” I ask.

“Fill that out and it will be to you by three pm today.”

I thank him and escort him out.

Poor Phil looks like he’s a stray cat cornered by hungry coyotes as I walk by.

Once I shut the door behind Jones, I turn to the kkangpae.

In Korean, to be better understood and have no margin of error, I say, “I want to make a deal with you gentlemen.”

The leader arches an eyebrow. “Are you insane?”

“Come back after three. I know that’s four hours, but if I don’t have something that’s entirely worth your while … you can have me for the whole day. Your whole gang. Whatever.”

Phil makes a noise between a gasp and a cough. He probably thinks I’m nuts.

If I didn’t know what I know, I’d think the same thing.

They all glance at each other, speaking without words. Then the leader nods. “After three. Oh, tonight is going to be fun as Hell.”

When they leave, Phil grabs me by the shirt and says, “Are you out of your fucking mind?”

“Calm down!” I scold, moving away from him. “I need you to get proof of what you owe them, then I can explain everything.”

A few minutes later, Phil has the shady paperwork for the loan in front of me, as well as what interest is owed. And he sits, downing a few shots of whiskey, as I explain to him what Mr. Jones wanted.

“What if you’re wrong?” he asks, eyes watery.

I shrug. “Then I go through more Hell. But the paperwork looked real. I have to believe I finally got a lucky break.”

He scoffs. “Luck isn’t for people like us.”

* * *

“You’re related to the Sorrentos?”

Never in a million years would I have guessed the kkangpae’s local leader would look like he was ready to soil his jeans at the mention of my dead uncle.

“I am.”

He seems more interested in that than he does the money I’m willing to wire him to pay off Phil’s debt. Interesting.

“How did this not make its way to us?” he asks Phil, eyes hard.

“Don’t blame him,” I defend. “My mom’s side of the family was estranged from the Sorrentos. I had no idea who anyone was beyond seeing the name on old documents I went through when Mom passed. I didn’t feel the need to ever mention it.

“Why? Who was this Mr. Sorrento?” My mom’s older half-brother, apparently.

“The Sorrentos are the biggest mafia family in the world. Not just Sicily, or here in Chicago. Everywhere. They even have their hands in Seoul and Busan,” the leader explains. Suddenly, he’s treating me with respect. As if he didn’t assault me a few days ago.

Oh. Well.

That’s news to me.

“Clearly, I had no idea.”

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