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From the size and furnishings of his apartment, he didn't make a shitton of money.
He was the polar opposite of me in every way.
That, apparently, was what Brit had wanted.
And, really, how could I judge? Alessa was as different from Brit as possible. She was tomboyish and messy. She loved junk food and didn't know how to cook, well, anything at all. She was impulsive and laid-back, preferring to hang out at home than always be rushing off to some task or another.
"Yeah," he agreed, deflating, shrinking, crumbling even.
Grief.
That looked a lot like grief to me.
But that made no sense at all.
"That explains the newspaper," Brio said, nodding. At my furrowed brows, he explained, "It's the one with her obituary in it. You sick fuck. Keeping it as a trophy."
"It wasn't supposed to be her!" the man exploded, unable to hold it in another minute. "It was supposed to be you," he added, pointing toward me.
"Might want to watch what you're sticking at a member of the Costa Family, man. You never know what might need to be sliced off. Not that you'd miss that finger too much. Or for too long," Brio went on. "Can't fucking use it right anyway," he added. "Hit the woman several times and missed him completely when he was standing right next to her."
There was a slice of pain in his eyes at the mention of Brit being shot.
"I don't think he was in that car," I said, shaking my head.
"No?" Brio asked. "What? Not man enough to do the job yourself, huh? Contracting out like a pussy."
"I'm not a killer," he insisted, closing his eyes tight for a second.
"See, man, that's where you're wrong, though. Don't matter if you pull the trigger. It never would have happened if you didn't deliver the order in the first place."
"Why?" I asked, ignoring Brio. "Why would you want to kill me? We were separated. I didn't care what she did. We were getting a divorce."
"Yeah? When? A year? Two?"
"That was Brit's decision," I said, shrugging. "If she wanted to have the divorce in a week or two, I would have gone for it. She wanted to take it slow. Why the fuck would you want to kill me for that?"
"Right. Yeah. Like she would ever be free from you."
Had she painted me as some sort of monster? Sure, our relationship had fallen apart years before, but I'd never been abusive. I never raised a hand to her. I never made her feel like shit. The only times we argued were over the parenting of Avi. I left her to her own devices otherwise. She could come and go as he pleased, spend whatever she wanted without question. As soon as the separation had gone through, I even made sure she didn't have to do any basic chores for me, having my dry cleaning picked up, hiring a housekeeper to help her out with the rest of the house, but especially my bed and bathroom.
She was in no way suffering because of me.
And I damn sure wasn't forcing her to stay with me if she wanted to be with this guy.
"She was free to go at anytime," I insisted. "We'd have had to work out a schedule with Avi, but it would have all been amicable."
"Right. Like some guy in the mafia would let his wife leave him for another guy."
"First, she was only my wife on paper. Second, I wasn't in the mafia."
"Right," he said, glancing over at Brio with his gun still pressing against his temple.
"I wasn't then," I explained. "But when someone killed the mother of my son, and I needed to make them pay for it, yeah, I got back in."
"Who did it, man?" Brio asked, wiggling the gun muzzle against the man's head. "Who'd you hire to do your dirty work? I want to have a little chat with them."
The man's gaze slid to me. "You're going to give them up," I explained. "You can do it now, or after this lunatic has pulled off a couple fingers and extracted a few teeth. That's your choice. But if you gave a shit about Brit at all, I don't see why you'd protect the men who killed her."
"It was just some local gang, man. I'm not like you. I don't know who to call to murder someone," he insisted. "They said I would have to lend them my car because they didn't have one. And they would handle the rest. For a sum. I figured they would know what they were doing."
"Right. So you thought anyone with a gun could get the job done. Smart, man. Real genius-level shit," Brio mumbled.
"We're going to need names," I demanded, reaching into my pocket for a pad and pen, jotting down what he knew.
"That's it. That's all I know."
