Page 58 of Married to the Enemy

Raffe parked in front of Sal Romano’s estate and rubbed the back of his neck. He wasn’t sure if he’d lost his mind or just hit the point of absolute desperation. Asking a mafia boss for help with handling another mafia boss wasn’t exactly in the Bureau’s training manual.

But Sal was different. So were the men he kept close—Tony Mancini and Paulo Ruffino. They were killers, yes, but not the kind who left mangled bodies in alleys to make a point. They ran their empires like businesses, lean and efficient. Less chaos meant better profits, fewer cops sniffing around, and less blood staining the streets.

He knocked once and the enormous oak door opened before his knuckles could hit the wood again. Franco, one of Sal’s guards, looked him over. “He’s expecting you.”

Of course he was.

Raffe was led through a beautiful house, but he didn’t notice the details. His thoughts were focused on the fact that he, an FBI agent on the organized crime task force, was walking through a mafia boss’s home. Without a weapon.

“Special Agent Moretti,” Sal greeted him like a long-lost friend. “It’s great to finally meet you.”

Raffe blinked, surprised by the warm reception. Finally, he cleared his throat. “We need to talk.”

Sal gestured to his office where a heavy oak table was already set up for cards. “We can talk while we play.”

Raffe grunted his assent, following them. The poker chips were stacked, the cards shuffled. He knew better than to think it was an innocent game. These men didn’t do anything without layers of intent.

Still, he sat down and picked up his cards, nodding to Tony Mancini, Sal’s consigliere or second in command and a formidable man in his own, and Paulo Ruffino, the mafia boss of Detroit. The man was tall and exuded power, but there were lines around his eyes. For some reason, Raffe sensed the man was just as flustered and confused as Raffe was with Mia.

Did Paulo have woman problems too?

“What’s on your mind?” Tony asked, setting a glass of scotch beside Raffe’s elbow.

This was it, he thought. He was either going to be shot, or fired, for what he was about to suggest.

Looking down at his cards, he sorted them into better order. “Minneapolis is open again, after Bianchi tore through it with such indiscriminate brutality.” He looked around at the four men, all of whom were sorting their own cards. “I arrested Calvino yesterday and he’s going down for the rest of his life.” No reaction. Raffe chuckled, thinking he should have known better than to hope to surprise these men. “Calvino was weak, and as soon as word gets out about his arrest, there’s going to be another power vacuum. My… suggestion…” He grimaced. He hated this, but it couldn’t be helped. “Is that you install someone you can control. Someone who isn’t going to leave a trail of bodies for us to deal with.” He exhaled. “Someone as…ethical as you are.”

The other men blinked at him. Then Tony snorted and looked at Sal. “Did he just call us ethical?”

Sal grinned. “Careful, Moretti. You could ruin our reputations.”

Paulo took a sip of his scotch and leaned back in his chair with a shrug. “I have someone in mind.”

Raffe looked at the man, saw the intelligence there. And his shoulders relaxed. Nodding slowly, Raffe refocused on his cards. “Can you control him?”

There was a long silence after that question. But Raffe was patient. He let the silence reign. Eventually, Paulo nodded slowly. “Yeah. I’ll control him.”

Raffe nodded as well, then tossed chips into the pile. “I’ll raise you whatever this chip is worth.” The clatter of poker chips echoed in the room.

Thirty minutes and several insults later, Sal grunted, then folded his cards. “I’m out.”

Tony snorted and added several more chips. “Call!”

Paulo tossed his chips in, then fanned his cards out. Three twos.

Raffe’s turn. He laid out three tens.

Tony snorted and tossed his cards onto the table, muttering something rude while everyone else chuckled.

Paulo silently gathered the cards and dealt a new hand. Within fifteen minutes, Raffe had a stack of chips that amounted to nearly a hundred grand.

After winning yet another hand, he rolled his eyes and shook his head when Sal started dealing another hand. “Okay, spill it.”

“Just a game of cards, Agent Moretti.”

He immediately saw the lie. “No. I know that you all are losing on purpose.”

Sal raised a quizzical eyebrow. “And why would we do that?”