Acquaintances (A Mafia Romance)

Twenty-seven

Marco Montanari

The cold air bit at my skin as I stepped out of the diner, sharper than before, like it had gotten colder since I'd last been outside. Rebecca lingered by the door, her arms crossed, her gaze darting between me and the bustling street.

"Thanks for... listening," she said softly, her voice hesitant, like she wasn't sure how I'd react now that everything was out in the open. Her nerves were palpable, the kind that came from sharing too much and not knowing what came next.

I nodded, keeping my expression neutral.  Every word she'd shared—her fears, her guilt—had added to the chaos swirling in my head. But I wasn't going to let her see that.

"Get home safe," I said, stepping back. Part of me wanted to say something more—'Talk later 'or even 'See you soon'. Something that wouldn't leave things hanging in the air like they were. But I couldn't push that button, not yet.

Rebecca hesitated, her mouth opening like she had more to say, but then she closed it, pressing her lips together. Finally, with a small nod, she turned and started walking toward the train station down the block.

I watched her go, her frame shrinking into the distance, the heavy weight of our conversation lingering like smoke in the air. I stood there longer than I should have trying to shake off the feeling that I'd missed an opportunity.

The walk back to the Alcove was quiet, the sound of passing cars and city chatter fading into the background. My mind, however, was anything but. I couldn't stop thinking about her. About the way she'd looked at me before we parted—like she was waiting for me to say something. To do something.

But what could I have said? What could I have done?

When I reached the Alcove, I paused outside, staring at the darkened windows. It was still closed, thankfully. The place didn't open until five. Good. I wasn't in the mood for anyone else right now. I needed to get to my office, rebuild my computer, and focus on something I could control. Everything else felt too much.

I stepped inside, the familiar scent of stale beer and wood varnish greeting me, but something felt... off. The air was thick, charged, the kind of atmosphere that always came before something bad. The kind that crawled under your skin and made you want to keep your back to the wall.

I stood still for a moment, listening.

Faint, muffled sounds echoed from somewhere in the back. Low voices, the scrape of metal, the dull thud of something heavy hitting the ground. I followed the noise, my footsteps slow and deliberate as I moved past the bar and toward the kitchen.

That's where I saw him.

My father standing in the middle of chaos like a king surveying his kingdom. His suit was immaculate, not a speck of blood on him despite the carnage at his feet. In his hand, he held the tie of one of the deceased, using it to clean the polished leather of his oxford shoes with a kind of casual precision that made my stomach turn.

Bloodied cast iron pots littered the floor, the metallic tang of it heavy in the air.

And the bodies. Three of them, sprawled out in a pool of red, their faces barely recognizable.

I fought the urge to step back, to look away. Instead, I kept my face blank, locking my jaw to keep the nausea at bay.

Earl was leaning against the counter, sleeves rolled up, a cigarette dangling from his lips. He glanced at me, his expression unreadable. "Figured you'd show up eventually," he muttered.

"What the hell is this?" I asked, my voice sharper than I intended.

My father turned to me then, his movements slow and deliberate. He didn't speak right away, just held my gaze, his expression calm. Too calm.

"Business," he said as if that single word was supposed to explain everything.

"This doesn't look like business," I shot back, stepping closer. "This looks like a goddamn mess."

My father arched an eyebrow, his gaze heavy, unflinching. "These men were asking too many questions."

Of course.

"And killing them was your solution?" I asked, my voice rising despite myself.

Earl took a drag of his cigarette, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "They were poking their noses. Youse know the rules. Besides, we don't need that kind of heat right now."

Heat.

I scoffed, my eyes narrowing as I stared at the bodies sprawled at my feet. The weight of the moment hit me all at once. Watching my father stand there, his eyes cold and detached, it wasn't just the usual ruthlessness I'd come to expect from him—it was fear.

He was spooked.

The accusation about the shipping container, the one crime he didn't commit, was eating away at him. The way he fidgeted, the nervous energy in his eyes—it wasn't like him. And I couldn't shake the feeling that if he lost control now, it would all spiral out of hand.

"You think this helped?" I spat, stepping closer to the bodies, my fists clenched. "Bodies and blood? Last time I checked, they make everything worse."

My father's expression remained cool, unfazed. He took a deliberate step toward me, "Catch," he said suddenly, his voice like ice.

Before I could react, my father tossed something my way. I caught it—three wallets. I stared at them in my hand, the weight of what I had to do settling in.

"You know how this works," he said, his gaze unwavering.

I glanced at the wallets again, the weight of what I had to do sinking deeper. Three men. I pulled their IDs out one by one, studying each face. The names didn't mean anything to me, but the addresses did. I ran my fingers over the plastic, searching for some quick connection. The west side.

"What were they asking about?" I muttered, mostly to myself.

"Nothing worth repeating," my father replied coldly, his voice as detached as ever. He wanted me to erase the bodies, shift the blame, and keep the family's name clean. I didn't have a choice. This was my family, for better or worse.

"Who were they?" I wondered.

"Does it matter?" Earl responded, his tone flat and dismissive.

No, to them, it didn't. I took a breath, forcing my jaw to unclench. "Fine. At least clean this up before the chefs arrive," I muttered, doing my best to distance myself from the chaos.

Earl's voice sliced through the tension, sharp and steady. "Youse do your job, we do ours."

I didn't respond. I just nodded once and turned to leave, the wallets heavy in my hand, my mind already resenting the next steps.