Page 32 of Dima's Vision
“Pretty much,” Kristie answers for me. “He’s my beautiful assistant.” She wiggles her brows at me.
“Right.” Gabe places his huge hands on his hips and lets out a breath. “You do know that I could have just done this from my home, right? I don’t need to be here.”
“Huh. No, I didn’t know that. But we’re here now I guess.”
Gabe rolls his eyes at her, then turns to look at the headstone. He places his feet shoulder width apart, hands loose at his sides. His shoulders rise and fall gently as his breathing slows and his fingers start to wiggle.
“Jazz hands,” Kristie murmurs to herself and I shake my head at her.
She snuggles in next to me and we watch Gabe, even though he doesn’t seem to be doing much at all, it’s intriguing as hell. I knew people like us existed in the world, I just have never had the pleasure of spending this amount of time around them.
His head tilts to the side, and his fingers stop moving, his breathing changing cadence. Then he straightens, fingers start to move again before stopping abruptly. Gabe shakes his hands out, squats and places them on the headstone.
“That’s new,” Kristie whispers.
Gabe stiffens once more, then turns to look over his shoulder at us. His face pinched in confusion.
“What?” Kristie asks suspiciously, snuggling deeper into me.
“I need to speak to Mama.”
“It’s bad?”
“It’s… interesting.”
“Argh, great. Awesome. I love that for us. Give us an hour and we’ll meet you there.” Kristie says, already with her back to him, making her way down the winding path to the carpark.
“Where are you going?” Gabe calls in his low voice.
“To get rid of someone off my list. Stress reliever!” she yells over her shoulder.
I nod once at Gabe, ready to turn on my heel and follow her.
“Dima? Look after her, yeah? She deserves to live in the light.”
I nod at him. “See you at Celene’s.”
Kristie
I frown down at my phone wondering why the hell the Sanificatore are calling me. They never call. Glancing at Mama, Gabe and Dima I tip my head toward the door, already making my way in that direction.
Hitting the call answer, I hold my phone to my ear, not even bothering with saying hello. We’re not really on hello terms.
“La Strega, we have a disposal problem.” The lightly accented voice says over the line. Even though the family have been in the US for generations now, they only ever stick to themselves, marrying into other Mafia cleaner families in the old country.
“How so?”
“Had an overflow of trash. Between last night and this morning, you’ve been busy.”
I huff quietly. “I’m cleaning out the family business. Lot of trash around.”
A grunt sounds out over the line.
“How big of a problem is this?” I ask, leaning around the doorway to see what the others are up to.
“Probably want to hold off putting out the trash for a day or so.”
“No.” I hesitate for a moment before hanging up.
