Hate is Thicker Than Blood by Brad Latham Page A

came last time —trolley, subway, cab?”
    “Yes,” she answered.
    “Do it again this time. Only more of it.”
    The restaurant was quiet and discreet, the booth they were seated in partly screened off from the rest of the room.
    “Any problems getting here?” he asked, drinking in the looks of her.
    “Only all the transportation” she laughed softly. “I think I even lost myself a time or two there.”
    He smiled. “You don’t think anyone followed you?”
    “I’m sure they didn’t,” she said firmly. “Now, why is it you wanted to speak to me?”
    “There’s new evidence in the case, Gina.”
    “I see.”
    “Your sister, Maria, was involved with another man.”
    “I don’t believe it.”
    “It’s true. A man named Red Agitino.”
    “Red!”
    “You know him?”
    “Sure. He’s from the neighborhood. Lived there before he got married, anyway. We use him sometimes as a mechanic.”
    “
Used
him.”
    “What do you mean?” Her eyes got big and worried, flashing their concern.
    “He’s dead, Gina. He died after confessing his affair with your sister.”
    She seemed to hunch up, as if trying to shield herself from anything else. “How did he die? Someone killed him?”
    “Your brother’s men.”
    “
Albert’s? What
men?” She seemed incredulous.
    “Gina, what do you know about your brother and brother-in-law?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “How do you think they make their living?”
    “Why—they’re businessmen.”
    “I’m afraid not, Gina. They’re … criminals.”
    “You’re crazy!” she cried, rising. “I’m not going to listen to any more of this!”
    “Please.” His hand encircled her wrist. “It’s important. I’m not lying to you.”
    She looked at him, and what she saw there convinced her. She sat back down.
    “My brother has a construction service,” she said simply. “Frankie leases vending machines.”
    “They’re fronts, Gina. They’re a way of laundering money. Albert and Frankie are both in the rackets—deep in. Haven’t you
     ever suspected?”
    Her eyes fell, and she toyed with the water glass before her. “Not really. Not to think about it. But now when you say it,”
     she looked at him, thick black lashes framing the large dark eyes, “suddenly little things that didn’t seem to make any sense—suddenly
     they begin to fit. What a fool I’ve been!” Her eyes filled with tears and she turned away.
    “I’m sorry I had to be the one to tell you.”
    “Don’t be. I’m glad I’ve been told.” She looked at him again. “I’m glad it was you who told me.”
    He didn’t want her to go back to Brooklyn. He wanted her to stay with him, always. Everything about her —everything—was right.
    “I think maybe this place was a mistake,” he told her. “I don’t imagine after all this, you’re very hungry.”
    “I
would
like to go,” she admitted. “This is too—public. For what we’re talking about.”
    “We could go to my place,” he suggested.
    She considered him, and finally shrugged. “All right.” She added, “I trust you.”
    She took his arm as they walked to the hotel, and her touch was light, but strong. He found himself wishing they were just
     a guy and girl out on a date, nothing on their minds but each other. It wasn’t right. She didn’t deserve to be dragged into
     this cesspool. “Maybe we’d better not,” he said.
    “What?”
    “Maybe I shouldn’t involve you in all this. I shouldn’t put you in jeopardy, I have no right to.”
    “
I
have a right,” she told him. “A right to know everything. It’s my family—my blood,” and they continued on.
    In his apartment he offered her a drink, which she refused, but she accepted a Coke instead. She looked very young, her eyes
     staring at him over the glass as she drank, very young and very innocent. And then she put down her drink, and asked, “Why
     did they kill Red? Why did my brother’s men kill Red?”
    “To salvage your family’s honor.”
    She