I reminded him, “You yourself seemed concerned.”

He nodded, and replied, “I have done some investigative work on Anthony Bellarosa’s criminal enterprises over the years, and while I’ve never had direct contact with him, I have had direct contact with a number of his associates, and also a number of people who I believe were victimized by him and his organization.” He added, “And I’ve spoken to a number of my colleagues who have had direct contact with Bellarosa, and the picture that emerges is of a man who is violent, but careful.”

I offered my opinion and said, “I think he’s a hothead, so he won’t always be so careful about what he does.”

He nodded, then informed us, “Anthony Bellarosa represents the new, middle-class, suburban Mafia. These men are third- and fourth-generation Italian-Americans, and some of them are not even a hundred percent Italian, and many of them are marrying non-Italians, as did Anthony Bellarosa. So, what I’m saying is that the stereotype does not always fit, and the level of violence is down, but it’s there under the surface, and it’s always an option with these people.” He added, “Especially when it’s personal.”

I understood all of that, and I thought again of Anthony as a young tiger cub, three or four generations removed from the wild, apparently domesticated, but still reacting to some primitive instincts when he smelled blood. I said to Mancuso, “The police said they don’t have a rap sheet on him.”

Mr. Mancuso replied, “We think he’s had at least fourteen people beaten, but we can’t connect him, directly or through contract, to any homicides.”

Recalling some Mafia lore, I inquired, “So, he hasn’t made his bones?”

Mr. Mancuso replied, “I’m sure he has, or he wouldn’t be where he is in the organization, but it’s never come to our attention, and he doesn’t make a habit of it.”

Susan said, “I think I missed something. About the bones.”

I left it to Mr. Mancuso to explain, “That means to personally commit a murder. As opposed to contracting for a murder.”

Susan said, “Sorry I asked.”

Felix Mancuso drew a notebook out of his pocket and said to us, “I’d like each of you, in any order you wish, to tell me anything you may not have said in your statement to the police.” He instructed us, “What you tell me can be opinions, impressions, and feelings, in addition to observations and details that may not have seemed important to you, but which may mean something to me in a larger context, or could become important later.”

That seemed to give me a lot more latitude than I’d had with the police, and it opened the possibilities of having a little fun with my descriptions of Sunday at the Bellarosas’. On the other hand, this was a serious matter, plus I didn’t want Mr. Mancuso to get the idea that I thought his paesanos were unintentionally funny. Susan suggested that I go first, so I began at the beginning with the knock on my door, and Mr. Anthony Bellarosa crossing my threshold.

I concluded with, “Anthony was on a mission, which was to recruit me, so he brought up the subject of Susan to use later as a bargaining chip.” I added, “The deal was always going to be that she stayed alive as long as I worked for him.”

Mr. Mancuso didn’t comment on that and said, “Please proceed.”

So I poured more coffee and continued the story of John and Anthony, going next to the dinner at Wong Lee’s, meeting Tony, formerly known as Anthony, and relating my phone conversation with Anna, and even repeating Anthony’s jokes about Mom, which caused Mr. Mancuso to smile, perhaps remembering his own mother.

I went on to Anthony’s rudeness to the Chinese waitress, to give everyone a less amusing image of Anthony Bellarosa. I continued on to the rest of the conversation with Anthony, about his father, and related matters, and I concluded with my abrupt and angry departure. I asked Mr. Mancuso, “Am I giving you too much information?”

He assured me, “There is no such thing as too much information when you’re in the information business.” He further informed me, “We build personality profiles on these people, and anyone, like yourself, who has had intimate contact with a person such as this can provide valuable insight into how they think, act, talk, and react.”

“Okay.” So, I told him Anthony’s jokes about Chinese women, but he didn’t smile. Neither did Susan, who said, “Disgusting.”

That may have crossed the too-much-information line, so I moved on to the details of my chance encounter with Anthony on Grace Lane, and my ride to Oyster Bay. I kept the narrative honest, and as Mancuso had suggested, I editorialized now and then.

Mr. Mancuso nodded a few times and raised his eyebrows at appropriate points in my story to show me he disapproved of my possible interest in being Anthony’s consigliere, notwithstanding my prior explanation about my concern for Susan. Now and then, he jotted a note.

When I finished with the Oyster Bay episode, Susan commented, “Well, he certainly picked the right person to tell him when his head was getting too big.”

That was supposed to be funny, so I chuckled, and even Mr. Mancuso smiled. I suggested, however, “Why don’t we leave the opinions to me, darling, until it’s your turn?”

Mr. Mancuso urged me to continue, and I picked up the narrative on Sunday morning, and my visit to Susan, to establish the time frame when we’d reconciled. I laid it on a little thick here, mentioning Susan’s remorse for what she’d done, and assuring Mr. Mancuso that Susan, like Mary Magdalene, had achieved an understanding of her sins, leading to her full redemption and possible sainthood.

Well, I didn’t really go that far, but I wanted Mr. Mancuso to understand that Susan Sutter, sitting here now, was not the same fallen woman she’d been ten years ago, and that she was worth saving. Felix Mancuso needed to put aside any subconscious thoughts he might be harboring about the wages of sin being death, or that if something happened to Susan, she had it coming. Special Agent Mancuso was a professional, but he was also a man who had been deeply shocked and professionally wounded by what happened ten years ago. Nevertheless, he’d do his job, but he’d do it even better if he believed he was on the side of the angels.

He interrupted my canonization of Susan and said, “If I may be personal… I’m not following how you reconciled so quickly after a ten-year separation.”

Well, Susan Stanhope Sutter is one of the great lays of my life. No – the greatest.

“Mr. Sutter?”

“Well… it was as though this dam had burst, letting loose a decade of anger, hurt, disappointment, betrayal, and stubbornness. And after that flood subsided, what was left was a deep, placid lake of… well, love.”

I thought I heard Susan groan, but Mr. Mancuso nodded and said, “Please continue.”

I recounted my drive to Alhambra, including Bell Security Service at the gate, and my meeting Megan Bellarosa, and my reunion with Anna. It was here that I could get into trouble with Mr. Mancuso if I made fun of an Italian mother, so I downplayed Anna’s bossiness toward her son, and I emphasized her positive qualities of love, warmth, hospitality, and good cheer. I concluded that segment of the story with, “I wish I had a mother like that.” I realized that I wasn’t being totally insincere, so it came out all right, and Mr. Mancuso smiled.

I was doing pretty good so far, having gotten past the tricky stuff about Anthony and me talking about a new career for me, and from here on, the story put me in a favorable light, but more importantly, I was leading up to the barely concealed threats on Susan’s life.

I informed Mr. Mancuso, “Salvatore D’Alessio, a.k.a Sally Da-da, was on the back patio with his wife, Marie.”

Mr. Mancuso didn’t seem to react to that, so I inquired, “Are you watching his house?”

Mancuso said, “That was in your statement to the police. Please continue.”