The Mafia's Veil

alm of my hand, wrapped in brown paper so nondescript it felt deliberate, as if someone had gone out of their way to er

son yard, something that belonged in h

to give something away. A hidden compartment. A concealed note. But the box gave noth

sted just shy of the box, close enough to suggest possession, far enough to let me know he wasn't forcing my hand.

even, almost indifferent, yet

e pit of my stomach. It was just a package. If a stranger had asked me, I would

sonal favor

apped around your throat, just loose enough to make

out whether I'd flinch, hesitate, betray something in m

e simple act. The weight of it settled into my palm, firm and un

e I wanted t

le heat of the room I'd just left. I inhaled deeply, filling my lungs, b

ute drive. T

But I didn't. Instead, I slid into the driver's seat, the weight of the key turning in the ignition

indifferent, as if the streets themselves were oblivious to what passed through them - the deals, the

senger seat, the edges catching fain

uld

mall shift in the paper, and I'd k

t a red light. Just a peek. Just to satisfy the g

urned green, and I l

o know. Or mayb

cracked pavement, the skeletal remains of pumps that hadn't worked in years. The only thing stil

e hood, a cigarette dangling from his lips, the ember pulsing with every slow inhal

idn't need to see the thoughts running through my

flat. He didn't ask for the p

like wast

his face. "Lombardi's g

. I wasn't here

t, a strange, electric unease rippled through me. It wasn't just the t

im with a dull thud. He exhaled, the smoke cu

v

, unmoving. It wasn't the kind of

red as I walked back to my car. I didn't look bac

uld have felt like

t nothing about me was unfocused. If anything, I felt too aware-of the

gone, but the we

ace it had occupied on the seat beside

livered somet

rugs, money, something worse. The n

e wors

did

re

s the table, some part of me already knew I woul

than the night air rushi

d crossed a

n't even