13. Chapter 13
Chapter 13
Ronan
“ W hat do you mean the FBI has been snooping around Anthony’s?” I leaned back in the chair across from Giaco’s desk. He looked older, almost like he’d aged since yesterday, even though I knew it was all the stress.
He tilted his head. “I mean exactly what I said.” Giaco sounded stern, and the stress seeped from him, turning his cheeks and neck an angry red. “There is a lot happening out here. Fentanyl-laced drugs, for example. It’s all the same stuff as it is every time they get involved. They think we’re connected.”
“We’re not.” I crossed my arms over my chest and narrowed my eyes. I didn’t need to tell my brother that.
“I fucking know that,” he snapped. When he slammed his hands against the wooden surface, the thud bounced off the walls.
I leaned forward, not fazed by his outburst. It wasn’t unusual—our father had the same ones. “Then why the fuck are they poking around here?” I thought about the car burning behind Detective Stanton. Had that sparked his sudden interest in our family?
“We’re not exactly the good guys either.” Giaco looked at me like he was stating the obvious, and I rocked my head. He was stating the obvious. We had never been known as good. Even when we were doing good things, we weren’t exactly good. “They’ll look for anything to take us down.”
I scoffed, leaning back in the chair and uncrossing my arms to grip the armrests when I pushed the chair back until it balanced on its rear legs. “Yeah, good luck with that.”
Giaco chuckled with me, and some of the stress weighing on him since he took over for our father seemed to lift temporarily. He looked more like my brother and less like the hard-ass capo trying to regain order.
“So what are we going to do?” I asked, circling back to the issue at hand. We didn’t need the FBI at Anthony’s, whether they were there to snoop around or eat the best pizza in Boston. They could stay as far away from us as possible, and I’d be much happier. Obviously.
“We’re going to do what we always do.” Giaco shrugged. “We’re going to keep our noses down, run our business, and try and keep those Irish fucks under control before they start painting the North End with unnecessary bloodshed.” And ashes.
I nodded. “The last thing they want is a mess they can’t clean up.” The last thing anybody wanted was a mess.
“Oh, by the way,” Giaco said, snapping his fingers like it would help him remember. “Did you hear someone threw a brick through the window of that bakery you like all of a sudden?”
My blood ran cold. I pictured the pink walls and the glass cabinets filled with colorful desserts. Then, I imagined shattered glass, and even more frantically, Nellie. “What did you just say?”
“I read about it earlier this morning. Happened last night.” He was nonchalant, drumming his fingers against the desk while he talked. The bakery you like all of a sudden.
I jumped up from the chair, earning a look from Giaco that was half surprise and more than half frustration. When I turned to leave the room, he glared at me, and I could feel it on my back even when I no longer faced him.
“Where are you going?” Giaco demanded when I opened the office door.
I spun around, meeting his curious glare. “To figure out what the fuck happened.”