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few still operating onthe San Francisco side. The port business had moved over to Oakland—where the bay was regularly dredged—and it was through other arrangements that the business kept going.
    The warehouse had been under investigation before. In the end, these investigations always faltered, but this one was being headed up by a woman from SI, a Chinese cop by the name of Leanora Chin. Dante knew her from his time on the force.
    The Lady in Blue, so called.
    This was how her fellow cops referred to her, on account, no matter the occasion, she always had the look of someone in uniform. She always wore the same blunt cut. Her clothes, it seemed, were always blue.
    â€œI didn’t start this mess,” Gary said. “I inherited it.”
    Inside the living room, smooth surfaces were everywhere, hard and sleek, Italian furniture, glass and gold leaf, all contemporary, expensive, colors bright and simple. There was a carton upturned on the glass table. A shattered bottle of wine. A broken vase on the floor.
    â€œViola had one of her fits,” he said.
    Dante knew about Viola’s fits. He had seen her once sweep a shelf of imported crystal from the display. He’d seen her go after Gary and rip his shirtfront with her long nails. He’d seen her inflamed, and he’d heard her wail. In the dining nook, a china plate lay shattered, a designer piece, some rococo nonsense, and there was a great red smear on the wall. Tomato sauce.
    Viola was a wild one, but Gary was no prince.
    â€œWhere is she?”
    â€œTahoe …” He pointed. “I’m not cleaning it up. It’s her mess.”
    â€œIs she coming back?”
    â€œShe always comes back,” he said ruefully.
    It was true: Viola always came back. Or she always had in the past. She liked the house with its big windows and her closet full of clothes and the jet-black Jaguar in the garage. Nonetheless, she was the third wife, and she had her reasons to explode. A slew of stepkids in and out. Gary mooning over his first wife, fighting with the second. Sleeping with Lola down at the warehouse, bending her over the big metal desk. Not to mention the money problems now, the whole thing a house of cards. With the Feds standing outside, ready to blow it all over.
    â€œShe’s talking to lawyers. She’s going to testify against me if I don’t give her everything I own.”
    â€œShe’ll calm down.”
    â€œShe’s jealous. She thinks there’s another woman.”
    â€œAnother one?”
    â€œIt was business, I tried to explain. With the woman—and her husband.” Gary smirked despite himself, forever proud of his dalliances, though his eyes held a self-conscious glimmer that Dante had seen often enough, along with a hint of fear. It could be difficult to tell when his cousin was lying.
    â€œWhat kind of business?”
    â€œThis is your fault, too,” Gary said.
    â€œI don’t have anything to do with the warehouse.”
    â€œNo, of course not. You’re too good for that.”
    By stipulation of the will, Dante remained half owner. He had given the day-to-day operations over to his cousin years ago, in return for a percentage. In actuality, the business had not turned a profit in years, at least not on paper, and the property was mortgaged beyond its value. Dante had put a second mortgage on the place out on Fresno, to help his cousin out, but that, too, was sliding toward arrears.
    â€œYou always thought you deserved it all,” Gary said. “But the truth is, you don’t deserve anything. I am not even blood. I never wanted it. They came over to Italy and dragged me here. They dressed me up.”
    Gary spread his arms wide in a beseeching gesture. Dante had seen the gesture before and he had heard the argument, too. His adopted cousin had used the argument ever since he was a kid, every time he got in over his head. If Salvatore and Regina Mancuso had left him