Page 26 of Que Será, Syrah

“Why are we still talking about this?” Vitto asks as he swallows an oyster. “The food’s getting cold. We should eat.”

“You’re the one who brought it up,” Leo points out as he starts building a sandwich, layering meat and cheese and peppers on half a baguette.

I reach for a piece of corn. “I just don’t see how it helps any of us to be on bad terms with the Sheriff’s Department.”

“Sure,” Vitto concedes “Unless the deputy in question is waging some kind of crazy vendetta against our whole family, in which case, all bets are off.”

“Oh, come on,” I’m surprised by how much I hate that idea—like, really, really hate it. “Aren’t you the one who just said that was unlikely? You don’t actually believe that? Do you?”

“I don’t know why not,” Gianni scowls at me. “Personally, I wouldn’t put anything past that bastard. You think it was just coincidence that he stopped you? That he impounded your car?”

“I, uh…don’t know?” What I didn’t think was that it was common knowledge. Who’s been talking about it? And does everyone know?

“It’s obviously because you’re one of us.”

I feel my cheeks grow warm. And maybe that’s the wine, but I’m touched by the unspoken assumption that I was not at fault, by the feeling of solidarity, the suggestion that they’re on my side.

“I mean, he clearly has it in for us, at this point,” Leo says, agreeing with his brothers. “Not that we haven’t given him cause.”

I shake my head. “I appreciate the support, guys. But—again—don’t you think we should at least try and be on good terms with the Sheriff’s Department?”

“Why? What’s the point?”

“Well, it’s like community outreach. Or public relations. Also, it would be a net good for the family if we could get him off our backs.”

“So go ahead,” Gianni says around a mouthful of chicken wing. “Go ask him his name. If you think it’ll make a difference. I mean, I wouldn’t bet on it changing anything, but I’ll be curious to see how you make out.”

“Well, I will.” I fork up a bite of crab cake and add, “Next time I run into him.”

“Why wait? Do it now.”

“Do what now?” I ask in confusion.

“Are you serious?” Leo glares at his brother.

Gianni ignores Leo’s scowl, gestures behind me and says, “He’s right over there. So, if you really want to talk to him, now’s your chance.”

I turn my head and, sure enough, Deputy Romero is seated at a 2-top on the other side of the restaurant.

Vitto has turned around in his chair to look as well. “Jesus. Are you kidding me?” He shoots his younger brother a scathing look. “That’s a terrible idea.”

“Why’s that?” Gianni asks, clearly unmoved by his brothers’ censure. “We’re in a public place with plenty of witnesses. Seems ideal to me.”

“Don’t do it, Legs,” Leo says. “I don’t know what you think’s gonna happen, but this guy’s not Miles, if you know what I mean.”

“I have no idea,” I tell him. “I barely know Miles. Couldn’t pick him out of a line-up if the deed to Caparelli was on the line.”

“It means he’s not one of us,” Vitto explains, which really doesn’t clarify anything for me.

Miles is one half of Miles and Millie—the couple whose wedding Rosa and Bianca were both invited to. I vaguely remember Millie, who was one of Bianca’s BFFs since…well, forever. But, like I said, I don’t know Miles at all—hence why I’m the only Martinelli sister who was not invited to their wedding, I suppose.

Which begs the question: Is there an “us” that somehow encompasses Miles and me? Because I think not.

“It’ll be fine,” I tell them. “Dealing with difficult customers has been a big part of my job for the past several years. And, as it happens, I’m pretty good at it.”

Chapter 6

Clay

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