Chapter 11: Jealousy

"That's the real one," I said. "Not a copy."

"How can you tell from a photo?"

"The coffee ring on the cover." I pointed. "I put it there the night Renzo's cousin got arrested. I knocked my cup over."

Gianni zoomed in.

There it was, a pale brown half-moon on the black leather.

"She's selling his books to Philadelphia," he said. "Routes, drops, who gets paid."

"Every Tuesday code for the next quarter."

"Do you tell him?"

I looked at the bakery down the block.

My mother was in the window rearranging the sfogliatelle.

"If Philadelphia has his routes, his men get hurt," I said. "Some of them I danced with at my wedding."

"He threatened to take your child."

"I know what he did."

Gianni was quiet a moment.

"Then tell him in front of people," he said. "So he can't say you never did."

Renzo's club was on Bay Street, behind a dry cleaner's.

On Monday nights the captains played cards there and drank grappa and pretended to be retired.

I walked in at nine with Gianni behind me.

Somebody had turned the jukebox down.

Renzo sat at the corner table with four captains and a stack of chips.

Cordelia sat on the arm of his chair in another black dress.

She'd put a hand on his shoulder when she saw me.

"Again?" Renzo said. "You're like weather."

I walked to the table.

I laid Gianni's phone face up on the green felt, on top of his chips.

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