Page 16 of Cartel Devil

“How’s work going?”

Now we’re getting to the point.

“Same as usual. Sera’s really grown her business in the last few years. I think she’ll open a third location soon. It wouldn’t surprise me if she did have a chain one day.”

“Have Carmine as her stock boy?”

“He would if she asked him.”

“She’s the best thing that ever happened to that little idioto. He’s lucky she keeps putting up with him.”

“He knows. He says as much.”

“Anything new going on?”

“Not really.”

I wish he’d just come out and ask me what he wants to know. But that’s not how this game works. We both know our phones could be tapped, so no direct questions. It also means no direct answers. But I feel the pressure to fulfill a ridiculous factfinding mission—one that was futile the moment they gave it to me. One I rarely think about except for when I’m on the phone with my family.

“You’ve got some old friends in the city. Have you seen any of them recently?”

“Not in a while. I am seeing Toria tonight though. Sera invited me over to dinner since Toria and Alejandro are back from their honeymoon.”

“That should be nice. Just the five of you?”

“I suppose so.”

“You should take time to reconnect with your Boston friends, Tricia.”

That’s a not-so-subtle order. He’s not worried about me being lonely here when both of my close friends are married. I don’t know what they think I can accomplish when the women always have guards—often family members—and I have no reason to discuss anything with the men. It’s an albatross around my neck that refuses to fly away.

“You know my friends have their own families.” Who don’t trust a Vizzini getting too close out of the blue.

When I decided I wanted to move away from Boston, my parents understood my wish for more independence. They supported it. My uncles and aunts did too, but it came with a cost. Women aren’t supposed to be part of Mafia business—at least not directly. But you never stop being part of la familia. Everything you do is in support of the family.

“And those families already accept you, la nipotina. I’m sure they’ll include you if you let them know you want to be.” Little niece.

Moving down to NYC gave me freedom on a leash. Independence with strings. Since I have a set of working eyes and ears, I’m expected to put them to use. The men may be the muscle and even periodically the brains—usually it’s a woman whispering in their ear—behind the operations, women are more observant. At least, in my family I am.

Tristano, my brother, along with my cousins Rocco, Dante, and Edmondo are extremely situationally aware. So are Steven, Elle’s son, and Emilio Mancinelli, Don Salvatore’s nephew. They all have a sixth sense for danger. A natural intuition for when someone’s trying to kill them. They read people and understand human nature from seeing—and possibly doing—some of the worst our species has to offer.

“You want me to invite myself over then.”

“No, but you can drop some hints, Tricia.”

But I’m more observant about people over time. I have a memory like a steel trap, so I can recall subtle differences in people’s mannerisms, speech patterns, body language. I’m better at remembering how someone interacts with strangers and those they know. It started when I was a kid, and I’d do imitations. It shocked my family how many details I could recreate. I didn’t realize for several years why my uncles and dad would encourage me and ask about specific people after family gatherings. It wasn’t until I was fourteen that I realized they’d groomed me to be a spy.

“I’ll do my best. Maybe I can think of something to do with Toria now that she’s back in town.”

“Good idea.”

I hang up with my uncle and finish my tasks that can’t wait until tomorrow while Sera finishes up in the kitchen. Then we’re joining her guards and sliding into a town car. It’s nearly half an hour between the shop in Harlem and Sera’s home in Queens. We chat about the promo materials I’m sending to local businesses that align with ours. I also mention the commercials I want to run on radio and local TV.

We’ve barely made it inside the house through the garage before the doorbell rings. I glance toward it as Carmine opens the door.

“No. Absolutely not. Your fucking cousin is not welcome here. I might allow one stronzo, but I don’t allow two. Vaffanculo.”

I struggle to see around Carmine’s broad shoulders to see who he called an asshole and told to fuck off.