Page 53 of His Playground

“You go into catering, Emmanuel? I didn’t know times were that tough.” I raise a brow at him.

“I didn’t know you were a comedian,” he shoots back before smiling at Antonia. “Mrs. Bianchi, pleasure as always.”

“Emmanuel, nice to see you again,” she replies.

“Evie is out there with her,” Emmanuel says.

“You brought Evie with you?” I ask him.

“Just making a quick pit stop. We were on our way to the airport but I wanted to deliver this.” He places the tray on the table. “You might want to wait till your wife is out of the room before you open it,” he tells me under his breath.

“Babe, can you find out what Jazzy wants for dinner?” I turn to Antonia.

“Sure,” she says, leaving the room and closing the door behind her.

The best thing about marrying someone who grew up in our world? She doesn’t ask questions. That doesn’t mean she won’t have plenty of 'em. She’ll just want to interrogate me in private. Her father really did raise her to be the perfect mafia wife. And I want to undo it all. I want her to speak freely. I want her to feel safe in her own home. But most of all, I want her to trust me.

I pull the lid back from the serving platter to find a dismembered head sitting on a bed of lettuce. “Artful,” I tell Emmanuel as I eye the face, trying to remember if I recognize it.

“Thanks. I thought so,” he says proudly.

“Who was he?”

“Call the boys. Put 'em on video. I want you all to hear this.” He smirks.

I pick up my phone and hit the video icon on our group chat.

“What’s up?” Sammie is the first to answer.

“Emmanuel has something he wants you to hear,” I tell him.

A few seconds later, Louie joins us. “Carlo?”

“Yeah, I’ve got Emmanuel here. He brought a gift.” I turn the camera around and show them the severed head.

“Creative.” Sammie chuckles at the same time Louie asks, “Who is it?”

“Glad you asked. This is the guy who shot at Jazzy.” Emmanuel grins. “Told you I’d find him first.”

“Did you get anything out of him before you decided to cut off his head?” Louie grunts.

“Yeah, I did,” Emmanuel replies before turning to me. “This part you’re not going to like so much.”

“What?” I ask him.

“The name he gave me. Joey Marciano,” Emmanuel clarifies.

“Fucking hell.” I slam the lid down on the platter with a loudclank. “Thank you,” I tell Emmanuel. “But I’ll handle it from here.”

“You think she knows?” he questions me.

“Not in the slightest. She’d tell me,” I say with confidence.

“How sure are you about that?”

“She just had lunch with him, came home, and immediately told me the fucker ordered her to steal something from me.”

“What he want?”Thiscomes from Louie.