“Trust me, brother, I know better than most.” Damon grins at me, takes a long sip, and lets out a breath. “I like this place, you know. I come here every once in a while.”
“My staff didn’t tell me that.”
“I usually ask them not to, but tonight I figured we should talk.” He looks around like he’s seeing if anyone’s listening. “Your girl here? Gracie?”
“No, she’s working tonight.”
“I can’t believe you’ve still got her slinging drinks at that strip club. What the hell is wrong with you? Mom would’ve smacked you upside the head if she knew your girl was working at a strip joint in one of those outfits.”
I give him a tight smile and try to suppress the sudden and intense sorrow I feel at the mention of Mom. All my other siblings are careful not to talk about her because we’re all still feeling her absence like a hole in the middle of the room—a quiet emptiness where her laughter should be, or where the smell of her cooking should be, or the way she’d criticize you while also making you feel like you’re the most important person in the world—but Damon’s not afraid to talk about her, like it makes him feel better to mention her every once in a while. I thought this wound would’ve healed more after eight months, but it’s still fresh and painful, and I cover my discomfort by signaling to the waitress for a glass of wine.
“Truthfully, she likes working. We discussed keeping her at home, but she wants to be around the other girls, you know? She’s new to the city and doesn’t have many friends.”
“Still, let her work here. Let her work any of your other restaurants. Why that strip club?”
Why indeed? How can I explain to him that Grace isn’t really my girl? That this whole thing is a show for Vince’s benefit? Even if Damon and Vince are feuding at the moment, I couldn’t possibly tell him just how far I’ve gone to maneuver behind the Don’s back. My brothers are Manzini family men through and through, and nothing will change that.
“She likes it there,” is all I can offer, and Damon seems to accept it. The waitress returns with my wine and I take a long drink to try to cover my discomfort as Damon shifts in his chair and drums his fingers on the table, making a fork rattle against a plate.
“Listen, I came here to talk to you about the cousin girl.”
I feel a sudden shiver run down my spine. It’s the way Damon’s looking at me with a mixture of concern and hesitation, and I have the feeling that I’m not going to like what he’s about to say.
“Riley, her cousin,” I prompt, wanting to get this over with.
He shrugs and slowly turns his glass in small circles. “I asked around with the guys. Started with my own people, the ones most loyal to me, and went from there. Got a hit pretty fast. Seems like she was popular with the boys.”
I grimace and close my eyes. “Don’t tell me she was—” I leave the next part unspoken.
“No, she wasn’t,” Damon says and I feel a flood or relief. Thank god I won’t have to explain to Grace that her cousin was more than an actress. “They weren’t passing her around or paying her for sex or nothing like that, but she was still popular. Really pretty, really outgoing, the sort of girl they all noticed, you know what I mean? Always showing up at the parties and the clubs and shit.”
I slowly meet his eye. “Showing up with who?”
His smile is tight and guarded and he stops spinning the drink. “Before I tell you, are you sure you wanna know? I mean really, how far are you willing to take this thing?”
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Grace isn’t digging into her dead cousin’s murder for no fucking reason, right? I assume that whoever did the deed is going to stand for some punishment. How willing are you to go all the way with that?”
“Tell me who it is, Damon.”
“You’re not gonna like it.”
“Is it fucking Vince? Or fucking Jason?” Please don’t let it be Jason. I can’t handle that.
“Nah, it’s neither of them.”
I feel a small measure of relief. “Stop playing and tell me then.”
“She was going out with Louie Anastasio.”
I lean back in my chair, drink down my wine, and release a long sigh as I stare at the ceiling. My stomach’s an open pit of dread. Louie Anastasio. That name is like a viper sinking its fangs into my skull.
“Fuck.”
“Yeah, that was my reaction too.”
“How sure are you?”
“Extremely sure. How much do I gotta worry about this? Are we looking at a full-on war now?”
I shake my head and try to still my racing heart. Of everyone in the family, Louie is just about the worst person possible for Riley to have gotten involved with—the only person worse might’ve been Vince himself, but I’m not so sure about that.