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“He’s family. Are you going to deal with him? Or will I be cleaning up your mess?”
“Don’t worry. He and his editor will get the message just fine. If they don’t, then they’re yours.”
Ah, so they aren’t at the shop. They have the same rules there as we do. Anyone who goes doesn’t leave alive.
“You just smashing kneecaps?”
“Among other things. Let me get back to it.”
He hangs up before anyone can say something. I grit my teeth as Luca says what I’m thinking.
“There’s no way Dillan’s going to share anything he learns. And you know Duffy’s going to have a broken jaw and broken fingers. He won’t be telling or typing anything any time soon.”
“Fucking-a.”
I pound my fist on the counter as I swear, just like I did during my first conference with Sinead. I’m just as pissed as I was then.
Lorenzo leans forward on his elbows as he looks at Carmine’s phone, which is still on the counter.
“Did he only pick up Duffy, figuring the editor will learn his lesson from what happens to Duffy? Or did he pick up the editor too? Maybe he’s the one we talk to.”
Marco disagrees.
“It’s fine that Dillan has Duffy. Fucking D names. Really? He can do whatever he wants to the shitbag, and Duffy is smart enough not to say a fucking word because they’re family. Duffy grew up with the mob. He knows how much worse it could be. But the editor didn’t. If he’s left alive, then he might talk. If he dies, it’s too close to the article’s publication. No one will think it’s a coincidence. They’ll just try to add his death to your charges, Gabe. Duffy can claim he was in some car accident or something.”
That’s a fair point. If we go anywhere near the guy, he could fuck us over. If he lives while we bribe him or threaten him, he might not fear us enough. He could print another article or go to the cops. If we kill him, then it’ll make us look suspicious.
“So, what now? We know Duffy can’t hurt Sinead again. But we don’t know about this other person. Carmine, who’s the editor, anyway?”
He goes back to his computer and pulls something up before he answers.
“Ezekiel McSwain. Never heard of him before.”
I look at the other guys, and they shrug. We all read plenty of news, but none of us pay much attention to the bylines or the publications’ editors.
“Do you think he has an axe to grind too, or he just thought this would be good press?”
Carmine sighs before he answers.
“McSwain sounds Irish. I’ll dig into this guy too and find out.”
I consider our options before I say anything else. Luca’s our underboss and second in command to Uncle Salvatore, but the rest of us are all equals ascapos. This is about my case and more importantly, my woman. They’ll let me lead as long as it isn’t to our death.
“Let’s see what you come up with. Regardless, his place needs some redecorating, and the tires on his car might need to be slashed.”
Those are things we can send men to do for us. We don’t have to do it personally, and it’s better that way. Unless it’s happening at the garage, the further removed we are from the small hands-on jobs, the better.
The afternoon shifts into evening, and everyone but Sinead and I go home. We have dinner together in Paola’s kitchen because she’s at some work event. We watch a movie, and it feels like domestic tranquility. I sit with my arm around her, but we do nothing more. We exchange a brief kiss goodnight, then we go to our separate rooms.
I’m barely asleep when my phone rings. Three rings, then it stops. Three rings, then it stops. It’s work. I answer the next time, looking at the screen to see it’s Luca.
“What’s up?”
“Finn called. He said Duffy’s ready for us to take our turn.”
“Now? It’s like two in the morning.”
“Yeah. I know. He woke Livy up, and she already sleeps like shit because she can’t get comfortable.”
