“Why?” she echoes with a small smile. “You seem to be working with one powerful mafia group. Andyet you’re in the home of another powerful mafia don. Help me understand that, Charlotte.”
“I have my own apartment.”
“That’s paid for by Lucio Mazzeo, am I right?”
I hesitate. “How do you know that?”
“We’re the FBI, Charlotte,” she says condescendingly. “We investigate.”
I shake my head. “I’m not involved in anything.”
She smiles. “You can understand why that’s hard for me to believe.”
I press my lips together. “I’d like a lawyer, please.”
“And you’ll get one,” she tells me. “But until he gets here… you don’t mind if I stay and chat, doyou?”
I do mind, in fact.
But I don’t think it would be helpful to say. I don’t want her thinking I have anything to hide.
So I ju
