My Tragic Mafia Life | ✔️

49

Upstairs they were brought to an office with an array of computers covering only one wall. Josephine hadn't seen these models in years, let alone decades. There were no windows which made the interior seem more cramped than it actually was. There were a litter of seats meant for around eight or nine workers to inspect all areas of the shops lined with the monitors.

The old man took a seat in a black chair, still coated with lines of sweat, and hoovered his fingers over the keyboard. He was trying hard not to shake. "What do you need to see?"

Dante pulled open a chair for himself and the rest did the same. Josephine's chest tightened when she realized there was no other side than the one besides him. Perfect.

"I need recordings from a year ago. Around February." Dante's eyes studied the monitors more closely as they hummed to life.

The monitors covered everything there was to see. From the outside poring to the dusty corners within and then back out onto the streets of Jubilee Lane. It was probably to hold another eye over drug deals and their addicted clients, Josephine noted. She couldn't lie to herself and called it smart. If a client during a deal double-crossed them or scammed them, the Russos had evidence. They could retaliate. She didn't think it would end in a law-suit. No, here they paid with blood.

The old man turned. "Sir, we don't keep all of the recordings. After a while they get taken down and get stored somewhere else. I have some from a year ago, but we don't have everything—"

Dante's eyes snapped. Pure ice. "Tuesday, February 16. Give me what you have."

The old man returned to his screens in shame. Josephine knew Dante would just order Camillo for the rest. In person, or through a message, that she couldn't tell. She wondered if Camillo had made any effort to reach out to Dante himself. To build more of a base for his so-called alliance that he was so desperately invested towards.

"There he is," Beatriz said, they all gazed at the spot she was pointing towards where an all-too-familiar redhead boy was standing outside. Fiddling on his phone.

"Play the recording," Dante ordered and the old man painfully nodded far too many times before doing exactly that.

Luca wandered around the streets, every so often checking his phone. He'd loiter one way then change his direction and go the other. He paced for a solid twenty minutes before a man appeared a few blocks away. The visitor was too far out and grainy from the shop's cameras to see who it was, but the old man tried his best to focus in. Relieved, Luca approached the old with a grand hug before running along to go someplace else. A shop—and the screen turned black.

"Where's the rest?" Houston asked. He had been shaking his leg since he entered the room and took a seat, every so often peering at Isla's face then peering away. Josephine briskly rolled her eyes. He had chosen to distance himself as much as possible, but then was googling at Isla every second that he could. Men.

The old man shook his head. He said something she couldn't quite understand but inferred it had to do with the stored old recordings not being available to him. She must have been correct because Dante told him to go along with whatever he had.

The footage cut to hours later where Luca was leaving the store, content with the same man. He turned, shook hands, and they departed on their ways.

"That's it?" Isla inquired softly. The old man gloomily nodded.

"What's the shop they went into?" Dante demanded, his eyes scanning the scenery. They finished their business late at night. A check to the clock suggested ten or eleven, but it was hard to follow Luca's trail because of the onslaught of people celebrating the festival dressed in green-feathered hats, purple masks, and gold chains.