Page 105 of Duty

“I like it,” Giovanni—Andino’s father—said. “Reminds me of that club my mentor used to run—remember that?”

Dante laughed, and nodded. “I do, actually. That was quite a place.”

Haven wondered … did these men know that their entire lives were on display in the recesses of the internet? That with the right keywords, and a deep enough search, there were forums dedicated to these men, and the organization they were running in New York. Did they know that even their wives had been profiled—their children?

Oh, sure, a lot of it was speculation—some of it was pulled from public record when a Marcello associate was taken into custody, or whatever else. But a lot of it was just people watching them, and keeping track because who else was doing it?

No one, apparently.

Andino’s family was a whole empire—a criminal empire—and yet, from the surface, they looked like law-abiding, God-fearing, charity-donating people.

They looked like good people.

“All right, enough of this, I suppose,” she heard Dante say.

“Just … she doesn’t know, Dante.”

“Shouldn’t she, then?”

Oh, good.

Now they were talking about her.

Haven wasn’t the type to shy away, and she’d long since figured out what these two men were doing in her business, and exactly why they had come. Her research—if one could even call it that—had allowed her another realization as she looked over every mob wife profiled that stood next to these men.

Common things bonded them together.

Lineage.

Ethnicity.

Standing.

Respect.

Religion.

More.

Things that Haven wasn’t—not Italian, Catholic, or affiliated to their life and business. She was nothing that these men’s wives were. Not in the slightest. And maybe things were starting to add up.

Haven moved down the bar, grabbing two beers—one for Dante, and one for Andino’s father. She figured they had come in here to scope her out because of her involvement with Andino.

And if they wanted a conversation … well, she could give them one.

On her terms.

Both men glanced her way as Haven popped the tops off the beers, and slid them across the bar. Dante didn’t touch his—Giovanni was quick to reach for the bottle, and tip it in her direction with a kind smile.

“Grazie, Haven,” Andino’s father said.

“Thanks for using my name, I guess.”

The man smirked.

Dante beside him, however, kept his face passive and unreadable. “You act like you know us.”

She shrugged. “He used my name—you act like you know me.”