“You want the flowers or not? I promise you, all those fancy online places are going to charge you double and a delivery fee, too.”
“Sorry. Sure. Yeah. But don’t tell anyone about this.”
“Who’s to tell? I don’t want anyone to find out I’m delivering flowers to a Serafini.”
“Thanks. Later.”
Saks was about to lay his head back down on the pillow when a knock on the door called him to action. Thinking it was Oakie, he shuffled to the door.
“You’d better,” he said as he yanked it open. He expected to finish with “have brought coffee,” but stopped midsentence.
Instead, the lean figure of his cousin Lui
gi aka Louis Anglotti, a detective on the Westfield police force, stood with one hand against the door frame. His face crinkled in worry and Saks wondered why Louis was here. He rarely visited Saks. He needed to keep his association with the Rocco family off the radar of his bosses. “I’d better what?” said Louis.
“Sorry. I was expecting someone else.”
“Shouldn’t you be at work?”
“Why are you here?”
“Can I come in?”
“Is this official business?”
“Yes,” he said too quickly. “No. Hell, I don’t know. I heard some things.”
Saks stepped aside. “Mi casa,” he said, gesturing for Louis to enter. “Take a seat.”
“Thanks.”
Louis took a seat on the couch. Saks leaned against the counter separating the living room from the kitchenette. He studied Louis. Louis and he hung out as boys, both on the fringes of the Rocco family. The Anglotti family wasn’t mixed up in Rocco business, being one of those Italian families that got upset when idiots said all Italians were part of the Mafia. Louis’ mother was Saks’ aunt, sister to his own mother, and was happy to put aside the Rocco family for the sake of her husband. That didn’t mean she completely got away from attending Rocco functions.
“So, what’s up?” asked Saks.
“Tell me what you know about the Roccos and the Serafinis. Is the rumor of a gang war true?”
CHAPTER TWELVE
“Chrissy, hold up.”
She stopped on the steps of her apartment building and glanced over her shoulder to see Marcus at the bottom. “Hi, Marcus. What’s up?”
“I, um, well...”
“Spit it out, Marcus. What’s going on?” Marcus made his way up the steps and Chrissy continued her journey. When she got to her door, though, a tall box sat there. She stared at it, surprised to see it. “What’s this? Did you leave this?”
“No,” said Marcus. “Here, let me take it.”
“Oh, for Heaven’s sake, I’m sure it’s not a bomb.”
“How do you know?” said Marcus as he hefted the box.
“Because the way you manhandled it, it would have gone off.”
Marcus gave her a disparaging glance. “Open the door and fill the tub with water.”
“Seriously?”