Criminal Pleasures by Darien Cox Page A

laundering, assault and attempted murder. He was found guilty and imprisoned. Shortly after he was locked up, both the judge who sentenced him and the officer who arrested him were killed. One of the murderers was caught and confessed the hits were ordered by Patrick Quinn, Paul’s brother.”
    Marc took a sip of beer and set it down. He finally looked at Brendan. “Patrick Quinn went underground after that, no one could find him. Until about six months ago when an undercover informant in Providence heard a rumor that he was operating there on the down low, illegal gambling and money laundering. And that every so often he would step out of hiding and pay a visit to one of his gambling partners: Vincent DiPietro. Otherwise known as Poppy.”
    Brendan raised his eyebrows, but said nothing. He swallowed a huge gulp of beer and waited for Marc to continue.
    “This man, Patrick Quinn, ordered the deaths of a judge and a cop, everyone in Boston wanted to get their hands on him. It was determined that the only chance of finding him was through Bibeta’s Garden, Poppy DiPietro’s establishment, and rumored base for his illegal gambling activities.”
    He paused, watching Brendan.
    “Okay,” Brendan said. “So they’re fixing more than meatballs at Bibeta’s. Go on.”
     “Poppy DiPietro has four brothers. One of them, Bernard, is still living in Italy. Bernard’s hated his brother Poppy for years, and is convinced he had a good friend killed when they were in their twenties, and made it look like an accident. He’s never outright accused Poppy, but he’s been stewing on a grudge for decades, so agreed to cooperate with the authorities. He and Poppy lost touch over the years. Bernard married, and has eleven grandchildren. But Poppy’s never met them, or Bernard’s wife and children. They haven’t spoken since Poppy moved to America decades back. But Bernard agreed to contact Poppy, and say that one of his grandsons was heading to America to marry a young woman. And that he might be stopping by to say hello to the family.” Marc shrugged. “And that’s how Marcello DiPietro was created.”
    “And that’s where you come in,” Brendan said.
    He nodded. “I spent time in Italy years back, I speak fluent Italian. I’m close enough to the right age and I have the right look.”
    “And Danielle? Your fiancée?”
    “She’s a cop. We needed a reason for Marcello to be in the United States, so it looked legitimate, and not like he was there to simply worm his way into the DiPietro family. So Danielle posed as my American fiancée. The immigration papers were filed, birth certificate, and backstory. And with the call from Bernard, there was no reason for Poppy to doubt that I was his legitimate grandnephew. He’d always wanted a son, there are no boys in his family. He was thrilled to meet me.”
    Brendan looked down, shaking his head.
    “You all right?” Marc asked.
    Brendan laughed. “No.”
    “Brendan, I—”
    “Just...finish your story.”
    Marc was silent a moment. He took another long sip of his beer. “The first time I made contact I was with Danielle. We stopped by the restaurant on the pretense that I only wanted to meet and greet my American relatives. But with Danielle’s help, we made it known that I couldn’t work until the fiancé visa was cleared. And that it was a strain on us financially. Poppy offered to let me work at the restaurant, under the table. I was family, after all.”
    Brendan let out a long breath. “Wow.”
    He nodded. “I’d been there for almost three months when I met you that night. Outside the restaurant. In all that time I was there, I’d seen no sign of Patrick Quinn. I bused tables, I bartended, I got to know the family. But it seemed futile. I was frustrated. I was sick to death of being Marcello DiPietro. I had no idea when I was gonna get pulled out of there, or if I’d have to go through with a fake marriage and stay on for who knows how long. Months.