“From what I understand, they had everything they needed, but the district attorney refused to file charges,” I say.
“It’s a corrupt system,” he says, watching me closely. He glances behind me, and I turn to see Angelo.
“Detective Boggs,” he says with a charming smile, and I stand to shake his hand.
“Please, call me Laura,” I say as I firmly shake his hand. “Thank you for meeting with me. I just have a few questions regarding an incident that happened close to one of your restaurants.”
“Of course,” he says, motioning for me to sit.
“I am investigating a mugging of an elderly man next to the South Haven Street location. The man ended up succumbing to his injuries, so I am just trying to get an idea of the normal characters that hang around in that area,” I say. It’s not a lie because that actually did happen, I’m just not the one investigating it.
“I am not too familiar with that area as that is a newer location,” Angelo says as he sits in the armchair on the opposite side of the coffee table from me. “I do believe I remember hearing about that though.”
“It was an unfortunate situation for the elderly man,” I say.
“Were there any witnesses?” he asks.
“I can’t comment on any details of the case, but we are looking at all angles,” I say, and he smirks.
“So, you do,” he chuckles. “Let me ask this way... is this something I need a lawyer present for?”
“You don’t strike me as someone who would punch an old man in the head to steal thirty dollars and a subway pass, but I’ve been surprised by less,” I say. “Also, your alibi has been verified for that evening, so unless you just like paying your lawyer to be bored, I’d say you don’t need them for this conversation.”
“But I do for another conversation?” he asks.
“I am only discussing the murder of Robert Alexander today,” I say simply. He sits back and narrows his eyes slightly with an amused look on his face. He’s a smart man. He knows that’s not what I’m here for. I relax a little when he takes his eyes off me and motions for someone behind me.
A woman comes over and has three glasses of what looks like lemonade on a tray. She sets each cup down in front of us before leaving the den. “Please, have a drink. Martha makes wonderful lemonade,” he says.
“Oh, that’s alright. I don’t really have much sugar,” I lie.
“Ah, it’s sweetened with stevia,” he smiles deviously. “Enjoy. It is a family recipe.”
Reluctantly, I pick up the glass. Mario and Angelo are watching me closely as they sip from their cups. I know I’m in a bad position, but it still surprises me when I take a healthy sip from the straw. The bitter taste is like a punch to the face. I jump from my seat, dropping the glass to the floor as I back up.
Somehow Mario has already made it around the couch and is behind me because the second I go to pull my service weapon, he snatches it from my hand and moves away from me. I stumble as I try to back away from Angelo whose demeanor has completely flipped. He hardly seems like the same person as he advances on me. I turn to run to the door, but he wraps his hand around my throat and slams me against the wall. I am frozen in place and my bottom lip betrays me as it quivers, trying to keep me from crying.
I knew this was risky, but I have my answers now. Phillip Ricci is the leak and Angelo Costa is definitely a mafia boss.
“Why are you really here, Laura?” Angelo asks as he moves his hand to grip my chin.
“You murdered Roberto Abate,” I say, forcing as much confidence into my voice I can.
“I didn’t actually,” he smirks. “Mario did.”
That is a confession I didn’t want to hear. Telling me that means that I’m about to die. There is no telling what he just gave me. I assumed it was GHB, but it could have been cyanide for all I know. They are both bitter and have the same symptoms. They get into the system in about the same amount of time, depending on the dose.
I am rendered speechless as his admission which makes Angelo laugh. “Phillip said you were a little spit fire who refused to leave this alone. I find that interesting, considering the reason Roberto was killed,” he says.
“W-why?” I ask.
“Because he raped a little girl,” Angelo says. "My cousin’s kid, actually. He was his Little League coach. You’d think someone with your history would want the fucker dead, but you played into the bullshit story that the media fed everyone about how wonderful he was.”
“Murder is murder,” I say as the room starts to spin. I squeeze my eyes shut and open them again, trying to focus my vision.
“I suppose you are right,” he smiles. “Murder is murder, even if they don’t actually deserve to die. Maybe they are just an overzealous detective on a mission to destroy every mafia family she can get her hands on.”
“He took everything from me,” I mumble as my body becomes weakened. I’ve never thought about what my last words would be before I die, but I refuse to let it be some bullshit where I am begging to be saved. “I wanted to take everything from you the way your dad did to me.”