The Woman with the Scar (Costa Family)

Let’s just say that the origins of that bruise were not exactly a mystery to me.

It was the first time I was truly forced to think of Brio as a member of the mafia as it didn’t pertain to my situation.

Where he got to be the hero.

But, of course, to many others, Brio was the bad guy, the villain, the one who came in swinging.

I wasn’t prepared for the way that information made my stomach twist.

“He said you were pretty,” the owner said, nodding at me. “Alright. I’m supposed to make a show of looking at this shit,” he said, opening the box I brought. “Oh, it’s some good shit,” he said, brows raising as he pulled the items out. “Don’t usually accept clothes, but think I can make an exception for designer. You’re supposed to pretend to ask me something, and I will point you toward the back of the store,” he explained.

“Okay. Where am I really going?” I asked.

His arm raised, pointing behind the many rows of assorted items. “There’s a door to the back room. From there, there is a door out back.”

“Thank you,” I said, giving him a small smile, then walking back, even if a part of me was starting to have reservations after seeing the guy’s face.

I moved through the back room and into the small alley behind the store to find a car with blackout windows waiting.

And Brio leaning against it.

One look at my face must have told him everything that was going on in my mind, because he gave me a nod as he pushed off the car.

“He has the money. And then he gambles it all away. It’s a never-ending pattern,” he told me. “Won’t apologize for my business,” he added. “Even if I don’t like the way you’re looking at me because of it.”

Mind too conflicted right then to say anything, I just gave him a little nod that had him reaching for the back door.

I moved toward it only to jerk back, finding someone else already there.

“Ezmeray, this is Lorenzo Costa. He’s the capo-dei-capi,” Brio explained. “You gotta get in, babe,” he said, looking around.

Knowing there was no turning back, I did what he said.

I climbed into the back of the car with the boss of the mafia.

I guess I expected an older guy.

Generally, when you think of a mafia boss, I guess, by default, you always imagined a middle ages guy with some distinguishing gray in his hair.

But, no, Lorenzo Costa was maybe in his thirties with a fit body and classically handsome, but dark, good looks.

There was a calm sort of authority that oozed off of him as he just sat there, not offering me a smile, but a general upturn of the lips that was a distant relative of a smile.

“Ezmeray,” he greeted as Brio got in the front seat and started to drive.

“Mr. Costa,” I said back, nodding.

“Lorenzo is fine. So I hear you want the Polat brothers out of your business.”

“Yes, well, sort of.”

“How sort of?”

“I want them out of the restaurants,” I clarified.

“But you still want them to handle the… other business?”

“I don’t want anything to do with that other business,” I said, looking over at him. “My family was driven to poverty because of that other business.”

“Yeah, I am hearing a lot of talk about how astronomical the fee is for the Polat family,” Lorenzo said, and there was a slight tick in his jaw.

Because, of course, as Brio had mentioned a few times, the Polats were screwing the Costa Family out of what they owed them.

“Did your parents get protection at least?” he asked.

“Protection from what?” I scoffed.

“Theft. Violence to your family. That’s how it is supposed to work. You pay that fee. And in turn, you are protected if anything goes wrong.”

“Mr. Costa,” I said, pulling my hair off my neck to show him the scar there. “This is what you get from the Polat family. We didn’t need protection from the neighborhood. We needed protection from them.”

To that, Lorenzo exhaled hard.

“Okay,” he said, nodding. “What do you think about you getting the whole of the restaurant business, and letting my Family take over the other business. Wait,” he cut me off as my lips parted to object.

“Trust me when I say I will go over the current… arrangements. And I will make them more fair. No one should be struggling to make ends meet to pay for protection. That’s not how it is supposed to work.”

“How is it worth it to you if that isn’t how it works?” I blurted out, and he seemed pleased by the fact that I wasn’t cowering and agreeing without asking questions.

“Because it’s not often that I need to have one of my men do actual protection work. And even when I do, it doesn’t cost me much. But it does save the business owner a lot of time and money. But if they get held up, they know for damn sure that we are getting them that money back. Or if someone breaks their window or tries to attack their employees, we will handle that. It’s fair, Ezmeray. And I will make it fair for all the Polat… clients.”