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“I know, I know. You guys are the Saints, blah, blah,” I mumble, unsure what else to say.
“So, tell me. What about mafiosos is so predictable,” he teases, the mood shifting instantly.
“Say Seat Ibiza again.”
“Seat Ibiza,” he repeats, his face screwing in distaste.
“There it is.”
“What.”
“You hated even saying it.”
“I did not,” he protests.
“It’s because it’s Spanish, isn’t it? It could be the fastest, the most awesome car on earth, but if it’s not Italian…”
“You little shit.” He shakes his head in awe. “How?”
I laugh. “I’m just observant. The clothes, the furniture, the cars. Everything is Italian. It’s very patriotic of you.”
“We just know who makes the best shit.”
“Well, I won’t argue about the cars. And my new clothes are pretty good, too—Is that a delivery?” I take off towards a large boat moored to the dock. An old guy with a clipboard chatting with another guy who just hopped off.
“Alessa,” Luca hisses from behind me. “What the fuck are you doing?”
But I’m too focused on my target to reply. I have no clue what boats that ship Mafia’s stuff look like, but this clearly ain’t it. This one is more of a fishing boat. As tired and scruffy looking as the owner who’s watching the clipboard guy measure something, then note it on his clipboard. Once that’s done, the owner hops back on and begins unloading. I can smell it from here. It’s fish. But that doesn’t deter me one bit. I’ll bathe my brand new Prada trainers in fish juice if it means getting answers.
“Howdy!” I say to the clipboard guy the minute I stop in front of him. I’m not sure where the ‘howdy’ came from, but whatever. He looks over my shoulder at Luca, nodding at him in a greeting then back to me. His dark eyes assess me as I step from foot to foot. This up close to him I can tell he’s a lot older than I thought, in his sixties, seventies, maybe? Or maybe it’s the exposure to constant elements that aged him.
“Good catch?”
“I ain’t the one fishin’,” he replies, looking at me like I’m slow.
Luca stops right behind me, his hand landing on my shoulder as I watch the boat owner unload the fish boxes. Once all of them are out, he gets off the boat again.
“What is he doing to the boat?” I whisper to Luca as the clipboard guy taps a line on the side of the boat, then notes something on the clipboard.
“He’s checking its displacement.”
“Why?” I ask, hoping it doesn’t show. I have no clue what displacement is. I can google it later.
“Don’t know. It’s just something Dante has the man do to every boat. I think it’s something to do with safety.”
I nod, like it all makes sense, while the thoughts in my head swirl at warp speed.
“Can we go now?” Luca asks.
I nod and follow him away from my new best mate,Santiago, my brain working overtime, trying to connect the dots. Neither one of us speaks on the way back to the car, or the ride to Mel’s apartment.
“Thanks for the ride,” I say, breaking the silence when he parks on a double yellow line right outside our front door.
“I’ll walk you in.”
“I’ll be fine. I’m sure you have other things you need to be taking care of. I’ve kept you long enough.”
He sighs, nodding. “Alright. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
