Page 66 of The Mafia's Christmas Baby
“This year, everyone brings a knife under the coat and calls it tradition.” I sip water. “I will bring proof instead. Names. Ledgers. A path that does not end with mothers burying sons. If they want war after that, they own it.”
She sits back.
“You think they will listen to you.”
“They will listen because they like money and quiet streets. They will listen because they remember my father. They will listen because I will not let them pretend ignorance.”
Dessert appears without asking.
A small plate of cannoli and a dish of sliced oranges with olive oil and salt.
The owner’s wife taps my shoulder and tells me to eat more.
She kisses Elisa on the head.
My throat tightens for a second.
I push it down and split a cannolo with Elisa.
She laughs when the shell breaks.
I dust the sugar from her sleeve.
Normal.
Good.
The men from the next table never come back.
The door opens and closes once.
The room stays calm.
I pay in cash and leave a tip inside the folded bill.
I thank the kitchen.
The owner’s wife presses a paper bag into Elisa’s hands.
Biscotti for later.
She tells her to sleep and drink water.
We step out into the night.
The street is quiet, air clear.
I put my hand at the small of her back and guide her to the car.
My phone vibrates.
A number I know.
I answer.
“Talk.”
“Boss, we have a problem.” A low voice I trust. “Two agents were at St. Adrian’s an hour ago. Not Sunday clothes. Badges out. They questioned the maintenance crew and staff.”
