Williams
“I don’t know who you people are,” the woman said, meeting my eyes. “But this is Italy. There’s a way we do things here that I know does not work like it does in America. There is an order to things. This ship belongs to Malone.”
I shook my head. “No, there has to be some sort of mistake.”
“This ship belongs to Malone,” she repeated. “He is the don of Rome, and I work here.” She tapped the table. “If Malone knows I’m helping you figure things out with this ship, he will kill me. And I don’t want to die.” She raised her hands again, gesturing and speaking in a mix of Italian and English. “Malone runs this. I cannot go against what the big boss favors. If you want to go up against him, you’re going to have to take it up with him by yourself. I cannot help you.”
Then she looked a
