“There’s surveillance here. Everything you just did was recorded. Let’s see what the police say.”
Tony burst out laughing.
“Surveillance? This street’s mine. One call and the footage is gone.”
He dialed.
“Yeah, it’s Tony. Wipe all tonight’s feeds on 18th Street.”
The woman draped on his arm smirked down at me.
“See? The evidence is gone. Go ahead, prove my man ran you over.”
She tossed her hair, sneering.
“We told you to take the payout. Instead you crossed Tony Moretti. Now look at you. Next time, open your eyes—his car isn’t one just anyone can touch.”
I’d grown up reckless, never knowing when to back down.
At eighteen, I became a psychopomp, dealing with death daily.
I’d never learned the rules of the living world—or how to bow my head.
All these years, Dad only taught me how to communicate with vengeful spirits. When it came to dealing with mobsters, I honestly had no idea how to handle them.
Tony Moretti mistook my silence for fear. He slapped me hard across the face.
“Don’t play dumb with me, kid. You were pretty cocky a minute ago, weren’t you?”
A woman leaning on his shoulder laughed.
“Babe, you don’t think this kid got knocked stupid when you hit him, do you?”