Chapter 10 #3
“But you will. I knew about the women Mano was married to. They both were shy and unassuming. You have a far stronger personality than either of them. People will see that and naturally turn to you because you’ll be the don’s wife.
She’s trying to make sure you know your place, so you’ll defer to her. ”
“I’ll do that without this stupid test.”
“She needs to be sure you will. I doubt this’ll be the only test.”
“Then I better get on with this.”
My mom kisses the top of my head before leaving.
I plug away for the next six hours, finishing a third of the documents.
My eyes hurt from looking at the screen, and my neck and back ache from sitting in the same position for too long.
It’s barely evening, so I know I still have several hours left.
I’m used to sixteen-hour shifts, and I’m at hour ten.
I can muscle through, but I’ll definitely be tired by then.
I won’t get eight hours off after this. Maybe I can slip in a nap while everyone else is sleeping and pray I finish.
* * *
“Hey.”
“Hi. What’re you still doing up?”
I glance at the computer clock as Edoardo comes into the office; it’s midnight. I’m fucked every which way from Sunday. I’ve made steady progress, but there’s just more data upon more data. I keep thinking I’m getting closer to the end just to realize there’s so much more information than I expect.
“I have something for you.” He holds up two thumb drives.
“Music?”
“Hardly. I made a couple calls.”
He hands me the flash drives, and I stare at them. I’m hesitant to load anything onto this computer. I don’t know how it’s monitoring me, but I’m certain it is.
“What’re these?”
“One has an accounting program on it, and the other has a version of that patient index program you mentioned.”
“I don’t know how to use either.”
“I do. At least the accounting program for sure. The person who gave me the patient program gave me a rundown of it.”
“The person who gave it to you. A doctor? Insurance adjustor?”
He stares at me, and I know I won’t get an answer.
“Let’s start with the accounting one. It’ll be easier and faster.”
Edoardo inserts the drive. A prompt pops up on the screen, and I push the chair aside and stand.
He pulls it over by the armrest and sits, barely paying attention to it because he’s already focused on the screen.
He’s adding files to the program, and the running dollars tally on the screen keeps going up.
It only takes the program a few minutes to categorize the expenses and calculate the figures.
“Take a nap, Stella. I’ll run these programs.”
I’m too anxious to do it after all, but I sit in an armchair, watching Edoardo work.
It takes thirty minutes, but then he’s done.
He calls me over to see the reports the program generated.
If these numbers are real, this family spent a fortune on medical bills.
Like a small country’s annual GDP. How’re they not bankrupt unless they’re already wealthy? Maybe that’s what the case is about.
He sends the files to print before opening the other program.
I point out where he’d load specific types of documents since I recognize the category names and can match them to the program windows I separated and piled on the screen.
I watch the information populate and the cursor race left to right as words appear.
As it scrolls on its own, the cursor’s movements are jerky but fast. It’s like it’s marching across, and it reminds me of a line of ants.
One letter follows another behind the leader to build a colony.
I’m clearly exhausted and not thinking straight.
“It’s working, Stella. Seriously, take a nap. You look like you’re about to keel over.”
That’s the second time he’s suggested it. I won’t look a gift horse in the mouth. The armchair’s not comfortable to curl up in, but I’m used to napping wherever I can find a spot. It only takes a minute, and I’m out.
* * *
Tommaso still isn’t back. It’s been nearly a week.
Beatrice was wrong. Santino didn’t show up the morning after she had me sort the data.
That was an added layer of manipulation.
It shocked the shit out of her to discover I accomplished the task.
Edoardo and his thumb drives left the office when I did at three a.m. I got five hours of sleep before going downstairs a couple minutes before Beatrice found me in the kitchen.
I know she was certain she’d point out my failure when I followed her into her office, but there sat a stack of reports.
My spreadsheet was on her screen when she woke her computer.
At least she was gracious in her defeat.
She thanked me and offered to make me breakfast.
But she’s given me three more tests since then. Each time, there’s been a sense of urgency that the men could return any minute. I’ve played along because it’s just easier. The second task was just as onerous as the first.
She claimed she could tell I was getting bored, so she signed me up to volunteer at a free clinic.
Since I don’t have a vehicle, she sent me with a driver in a town car.
That didn’t stick out like a sore thumb or anything in the roughest part of Roxbury.
I noticed it wasn’t the best of neighborhoods as we drove through, but it wasn’t until I met the office manager that I realized how bad it was.
I glanced over at my driver who was also my bodyguard that day.
He said nothing, but I got the feeling it didn’t thrill him to be there and not because he feared having nothing to do.
The office manager was reed thin, but she hefted around boxes that looked like they’d knock her backwards.
She showed me around and helped me get started cataloguing the new shipment of medical supplies.
Halfway through the afternoon, a woman brought in her baby who had severe breathing difficulty.
The infant was already turning blue by the time the doctor got them into an examining room.
The mother was frantic, trying to explain what was going on, but she only spoke Italian.
I interpreted the conversation since I’m fluent, then I translated the forms she had to fill out.
Because of the language barrier, she was scared to call an ambulance because she didn’t think she could explain what was wrong.
She lives a block from the clinic, so she ran here.
Fortunately, the doctor and nurses got the baby stable enough to be transported to the hospital.
The woman’s husband, who spoke fluent English, arrived in time to follow the ambulance and get them both there at the same time as their son arrived.
I was just about to leave when an older woman carried in two covered containers.
She gave one filled with cookies and other desserts to the staff, but the second container was for me.
It shocked the shit out of me when I opened it to find Timpano.
It’s a complicated dish to make with layers of al dente macaroni, breaded meatballs, hard-boiled eggs, and a rich tomato sauce forming a tower.
It requires some precision to add each layer into a dome-shaped mold or else it’ll collapse.
I took it back to Beatrice’s, and it was like I struck gold.
It was as delicious as it looked. She had to admit that not only did I do well working in an overcrowded clinic all day, but I also scored some brownie points for helping the family.
Her third task for me as the week dragged on felt like a wild goose chase for most of it.
Since I was going to check out a new reception venue because the original one was making it way too difficult to reschedule, she asked if I could pick up a case of wine from a nearby store.
That seemed easy enough, except she had the wrong store name.
Conveniently for her, she was in a meeting, so she couldn’t answer my calls when I tried to get the correct one.
The store owner suggested another place it might be, so I went there. Nope.
I called two other stores rather than touring around Boston, but it was to no avail.
The third said they had it, so my driver and I headed over there only to find it was the wrong vintage.
I called my father to see if he had any idea where I should go.
He’d flown back to Chicago the day before for a meeting, and he was just about to leave for the airport.
Turns out, he had a case in my parents’ wine cellar. He flew back with it.
Beatrice tried to gush her thanks to him, but my father knew about the previous two tasks she gave me and wasn’t impressed by this one.
He barely spared her a glance before enveloping Mama in a hug for a kiss they always share after being apart.
Let’s just say it always made my siblings and me go “ewww” when we were kids.
Today, she’s sending me after some contraband Korean face cream. It’s supposed to be amazing, but not all the ingredients are legal in America because the FDA hasn’t tested them yet. The product is available in other countries, just not here.
This isn’t the first time I’ve bought counterfeit or contraband goods.
I had the family entrepreneurial spirit in high school and sold knockoffs to the rich bitches who gave me shit for being a Mafia princess.
I told them I could get my hands on Kate Spade, Prada, Gucci, Louis Vuitton, Dolce & Gabbana, and a bunch of other designer brands for below wholesale.
What I got them were “Kate Spuds,” “Faux-das,” “Fuccis,” “Flouies,” and “Dolce & Bananas.” I made a killing off them until Papa made me stop.
My driver—whose name I finally learned is Pauly—looks even less thrilled to be heading out to Lynn than he did Roxbury. Once we’re out of Beatrice’s neighborhood, I drop the privacy glass and ask about the town.
“Lynn, Lynn, City of Sin. You never come out the way you came in.”
That little ditty does nothing to reassure me after going to Roxbury, which I have since learned is one of the roughest neighborhoods in Boston. That only confirmed what I figured out while being at the clinic.
A few discreet questions and a few blank faces finally point me toward a teenage girl who’s willing to take me to the right place.
It just cost me a hundred bucks, but small price to pay.
I’m about to walk in, and I have the worst feeling about this.
I can’t put my finger on it, but I’m uneasy.
I’m back out in five minutes with my purse filled with serum vials and jars of cream.
“Ms. Rizzo, we need to go.”
Pauly’s hand is at my lower back, and he’s herding me to the town car.
I look past him and see three guys approaching.
I know the type. Street gang members. They won’t give a shit who I’m marrying or who my family is.
I increase my pace as Pauly clicks the door unlocked.
I glance at their hands, and they each have a knife.
One cat calls as we reach the car. We go around to the street side to put the car between us.
Pauly pulls the door open for me, then stretches to grab the driver’s door handle.
I watch him reach for his gun as I slide in.
The privacy glass is still down from when I asked him about Lynn, so I watch the men continue to approach.
I’m unprepared for hands to grab my arm and yank me from the car. I grab the top of my bag and swing it as I stand. The glass bottles clink together as I hit my unexpected captor in the head. I drive my fist into his sternum, but he’s not fazed by either.
Pauly’s grappling with a fifth guy as the first three step off the curb.
The man Pauly’s fighting staggers back, looking down at his belly where red floods his sweatshirt.
It distracts me, so I’m unprepared for the hands that go around my throat and squeeze so hard I see stars immediately.
I stomp on the man’s foot and try to knee him, but it does me no good.
Things are fading fast. Black dots dance in front of me, and I gag.
One hand lets go, but that’s so he can plow his fist into my temple.
I hear a gunshot as everything goes dark.