“We grew up together,” I replied vaguely. “Family.”
After dinner and speeches, I headed to the bar for another sparkling water. Uncle Troy was holding court nearby, surrounded by admiring guests. He’d aged since I’d last seen him—more gray at his temples, deeper lines around his eyes—but his commanding presence remained unchanged. He spotted me as I turned to leave.
“Anahi, is that you?”
I forced a smile.
“Hello, Uncle Troy.”
“Well, look at you,” he said, eyes widening slightly as he took in my appearance. “You’re looking healthy. What are you doing these days? Your father mentioned something about government work.”
“Administrative position,” I said with practiced vagueness. “Nothing exciting.”
“Civil service has its merits,” he replied condescendingly. “Stability, benefits, reasonable hours. Not everyone is cut out for high-pressure careers.”
I bit back a retort about the pressure of tracking armed fugitives through abandoned buildings.
“It suits me.”
“Good, good,” he nodded, already losing interest. “Oh, there’s Senator Mitchell. Must say hello. Take care, Anahi.”
As he walked away, I noticed a man approaching him—a man whose face I recognized from case files. Anthony Visalo, the Castigleone family associate. My pulse quickened as they shook hands warmly and moved to a quieter corner of the ballroom, heads bent in conversation.
I casually repositioned myself within earshot, pretending to admire a flower arrangement.
“The waterfront project is proceeding as planned,” Uncle Troy was saying. “The zoning commission signed off last week.”
“Excellent,” Visalo replied. “Our friends are pleased. The financing structure is elegant. Speaking of which…”
Uncle Troy lowered his voice further.
“I’ve been hearing whispers about federal interest in development projects. Nothing specific, just rumblings.”
Visalo’s expression hardened.
“From your source?”
“Yes. They’re still in preliminary stages. But we should be careful. I’ve already started cleaning up the Brookline paperwork.”
“Smart man,” Visalo clapped him on the shoulder. “That’s why you’re so valuable to us.”
They moved away, merging into different groups of guests. I remained frozen, processing what I’d overheard. Federal interest could only mean the investigation I knew about. And “source” suggested Uncle Troy had inside information—a leak in law enforcement.
I needed to report this immediately, but doing so would reveal I’d been gathering intelligence at a family wedding. Before I could decide how to proceed, my mother found me.
“There you are, sweetheart. Come say hello to your aunts. They’ve been asking about you.”
The rest of the evening passed in a blur of superficial conversations and deflected questions about my life. I maintained my cover as an unimportant government clerk, all while my mind raced with the implications of what I’d overheard.
The following Monday, I requested another private meeting with Chief Reynolds.
“I have information pertinent to the Martinez investigation,” I said, closing her door.
I recounted the conversation I’d overheard, careful to present it as an accidental discovery at a family function rather than intentional surveillance. Reynolds’ expression grew increasingly grave.
“This confirms our suspicions about a potential leak,” she said. “We’ve been tracking unusual information patterns but haven’t identified the source.”
“What exactly is Uncle Troy suspected of?” I asked.
Reynolds hesitated, then apparently decided I’d earned some transparency.
“Your uncle’s development company appears to be laundering money for the Castigleone family. He purchases properties at inflated prices, renovates them with mob-controlled construction companies that overcharge and kick back percentages, then sells the properties to shell companies that the crime family controls.”
“And the inside source?”
“That’s our most urgent concern,” Reynolds said. “If someone’s feeding information to your uncle, it compromises the entire operation. We need to identify and neutralize that leak before proceeding further.”
She studied me thoughtfully.
“This puts you in an exceptionally difficult position, Bellini. You’ve done the right thing by reporting this information, but your family connection makes your continued involvement problematic.”
“I understand,” I said, though the conflict tore at me.
“For now, maintain complete separation from the case, but keep your eyes and ears open at any family functions. If you hear anything else, report directly to me.”
I nodded, accepting the compromise.
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