Daddy's Bargain
I was eating toast at my father's kitchen island at 7am, thinking about this, when I decided I was done sitting still.
The toast went in the bin. I got dressed. I grabbed my jacket, the one with the rosary still in the pocket, and I left before anyone in the house was awake enough to have opinions about it.
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Here was what I knew.
Azrael had operated in New York before Sicily. He'd had contacts here — people who moved in the specific gray area between legitimate business and the kind of business that didn't get discussed at dinner parties. The kind of people who knew things. The kind of people who, if you approached correctly and didn't look like law enforcement, might tell you some of tho