In all honesty, I didn’t think he’d agree to that one.
“Now, I can certainly agree to letting you know who’s taking Chico’s place. But that’s it.”
“I guess it has to be.” I sighed. “So do you know who’s gonna be”—I made air quotes with my first two fingers—“working for us?”
“Yeah.”
He didn’t say anything else, just stared at me with a hint of a smirk on his lips again.
I rolled my hand in the air. “And? Who is it? One of your cop friends? Another guy who owes you? Who?”
That hint grew to a suggestion, then a full-lipped smirk. I had a hard time deciding if I wanted to slap it off or kiss it off his face. Before I could figure out which, I went mute when he answered, “Me.”
Five
Advice for surviving in a big Italian family: Roll with the punches
I can count of on the fingers of my left hand how many times I’ve been struck speechless in my life and still be able to play the piano with the digits left.
My eyes refused to blink as I simply gaped at Tony.
His smirk went full-on killer grin. “Now there’s a sight you don’t see every day: Madonna Violetta Therese San Valentino, shocked into silence.”
And just like that I found my voice again.
“That’s insulting. And how do you know my confirmation name?”
In a move my mother would have called sophisticated and classy, Tony lifted one shoulder. And damn it, she would have been correct.
“I didn’t mean it to be, but you have to agree, Donna, you’re not known for keeping quiet or keeping your opinions to yourself. Comes from, let me finish”—he lifted his hand when I started to interrupt him—“having to deal with your annoying brothers. I can’t imagine it was ever easy with that bunch.”
“Still isn’t.”
He nodded. “It takes a strong woman, which you are, and a strong girl, which you were, to stand up to all their nonsense. So it’s surprising you’re, well, surprised into speechlessness. From a logistical viewpoint it makes sense I’d be the one to take over for Chico. I know the case inside and out.”
“But you’re also a neighborhood boy. You grew up around here and people know you. Know all about you. How can you possibly go undercover?”
“They know me as a kid who enlisted and left, not as an adult police detective. I haven’t been around in years and no one aside from your father, you, and a few cops on the beat know I’ll be working undercover. I’m going to count on you and your folks to keep what I’m doing on the down low. It’s in their best interests to.”
He’d obviously forgotten my mother’s penchant for saying whatever came into her mind to whomever she was with at the time.
“But that doesn’t make any sense,” I said. “Your job will be to deliver stuff. To people in the neighborhood who have long memories. In case you’ve forgotten, you were a pretty popular kid, especially with all the old folks.”
He nodded. “Most of whom are gone now, but you’re right. I’ll also be delivering to the businesses inside and outside the neighborhood, to people who don’t know a thing about me. I’m betting Chico made contact with someone from Track’s group along your delivery route.”
“What kind of a story are you gonna tell for working in our deli? You got fired? Fell on hard times?” I shook my head. “I don’t think people are gonna fall for that, not with your fair haired history.”
For a moment his face changed. Hardened. His lids drew half closed and a tiny tick shot across his jaw.
In the time it took me to register he was angry, his expression blanked again.
But I’d seen that flash of pique, and wondered at its cause.
"People believe whatever you tell them, Donna,” he said. “So don’t worry about my cover story. It’ll be fine.”
I wasn’t sure about that.
“What about your family?”
“What about them?”
“Are you going to tell them the reasons you’re undercover? They, more than anyone, are going to think it’s weird you’re working in the deli if you’re a big shot detective.”
“First of all I’m not a big shot anything. I’m a detective. Plain and simple.”
It crossed my mind there wasn’t a darn thing plain and simple about Tony Roma.
“Second, my family won’t be…a problem.”
“Why do you say it like that?”
“Like what?”
This time I shrugged and I knew I didn’t look one iota as classy as Tony had looked doing the same. I’d forgotten I wasn’t wearing a bra, so when I lifted my shoulder, my breasts did a little jiggle side to side, like one of those pendulum ball games you see in specialty hobby shops. Tony’s eyes shot down from my face to the movement. When the tops of his ears turned red, a warm feeling seeped into my lower regions. In the next moment his gaze dragged back to my face and stayed there. I had the mad impulse to purposefully jiggle again just to see how red he could turn.
He cleared his throat and repeated his question.
“I don’t know. Like you’re not gonna tell them.”
“I’m not.”
For the second time in less than ten minutes I was struck dumb. This time, Tony didn’t comment on it. Instead, he downed his coffee, then rose from the couch.
I stood as well.
“So, we’re square with this? You’re on board like your old man is?”
I wasn’t, not even close. But when all is said and done, the deli belongs to my father so I had to either go along with this plan or, well, I really didn’t have another choice. Not if I wanted to ensure my father’s safety while Tony searched for Chico’s killer.
I nodded.
“Okay. The deli stays closed for the next two days at least,” he said, walking toward my front door.
“Can I at least go in and take inventory? I have to replace a lot of our product because of spoilage and sell-by dates that are gonna run out.”
“I’ll check with my captain. You can probably go in the day after tomorrow, but I’ll let you know.”
I rolled my eyes at the delay, but it was better than nothing.
Tony grabbed his coat off the peg and shrugged into it, his eyes darting around the living room again.
“This is really nice, Donna. You did a great job decorating this space.”
“Thanks.”
“Makes me wonder, though, with this homey, warm place, why you’re not married.”
A question well-meaning people asked me more times than I cared for. The answer was complicated and I was staring up at one of those complications right now.
“No time.” Then a thought sailed through me. “Are you? Married?”
“Nope.”
“Same question, then.”
“Same answer. No time. Thanks for the coffee. I’ll be in touch.”
With that, he slung his hands in his coat pockets, and descended the staircase, never once looking back at me.
It wasn’t until after I’d closed myself back in my apartment that I realized he’d never answered my question. Just how had he known my confirmation name?