Mafia Chic by Erica Orloff

idea how stubborn the Marcellos can be when we’re fucked with, and let’s not forget the fact that I’m fifty percent Gallo. Besides, Tony is bound to come here soon, too. He and Uncle Lou know we went to that restaurant. They’ll find us, and they won’t be happy.”
    “See…your family does have all the fun. Now I’m fighting the fed-people.”
    “Feds. Just feds, Di.”
    “Feds, then. Is this an appropriate outfit for this sort of thing?” She looked down at her Jimmy Choo shoes and mini-dress. She wore a heavy velvet wrap around her shoulders.
    “Well…it’s not quite Pussy Galore, if that’s what you’re asking, but my God, if Tony sees you in that, watch out.”
    “Smashing!” She beamed. “All right, then, I’m off to the front of the van.”
    I leaned back against the rear doors of the van, making a mental note of the license plate to give to my cousin Tony.
    “Damn!” Di shouted from the front of the van.
    “What?” I shouted back.
    “These feds of yours now owe me a four-hundred-dollar pair of shoes, Teddi! I broke my heel climbing up on the bumper. I could scream blue murder!”
    And maybe it was the wine, but as I walked around the front of the van, I noticed that Lady Di was not sprawled back against the windshield, but had plastered herself, face front, to the windshield so that her breasts were smashed flat against the glass, creating a lot of cleavage. Those G-men were surely happy fellows.
    I walked back to my post and leaned against the doors. “We have all night, assholes!” I shouted.
    Finally, minutes later, my teeth chattering from the night wind, I heard the sound of the van doors being unlocked. I stepped back and out emerged the very handsome agent we’d seen at dinner. I found myself suddenly unable to think of anything to say, but luckily for me, he stuck out his hand and smiled.
    “You got us.”
    I stared at his hand, certain I should refuse to shake it on principle, but next thing I knew, my palm was pressed against his palm.
    “Mark Petrocelli.”
    “Teddi Gallo. But you already know that.”
    “Look…” He grinned with a crooked smile. “I think we all got off on the wrong foot here.”
    “You’re tailing me. There is no right foot. What you’re doing is just as wrong as whatever it is you think my family has done.”
    “Now, Teddi, you strike me as a very intelligent woman.” He spoke soothingly. “You don’t really think that, do you?”
    “All I know is this little cat-and-mouse game you’re playing here is bullshit. You and your friends need to leave my family alone. And now you’ve sunk to spying on me and my roommate. You want to tell me why?”
    “Like I said, you’re very intelligent. You’ll figure it out. In fact, I bet you already know. Or if you don’t, Diana Kent, who at this moment is freezing her ass off on the hood of our van, does.”
    “Diana!” Something about Agent Petrocelli unnerved me. I had forgotten about poor Di and her broken Jimmy Choos. “Di! You can come down now.”
    “Right-o!” she called out. “I’m coming.”
    Turning back to the agent, his hair trimmed to regulation-perfection, I snapped, “Why don’t you go follow around the members of the Gambino crew? They’re into a lot more shit than my family.”
    “What makes you think we’re not tailing them, too?”
    “Listen…I don’t know what you think Diana and I know, but whatever it is, we don’t.”
    Lady Di came limping around the corner of the van, halfhopping on one foot and holding out a very broken shoe. “You!” she seethed at the agent, “stop stalking Teddi. And you owe me for the price of my shoes. Who can I send the bill to?”
    He smirked. It wasn’t only his grin that was crooked—he had a very deep dimple in one cheek, and no dimple on the other side. Yet, this made him look boyish, despite his build and demeanor. “I don’t know if Uncle Sam is going to buy you new shoes, Diana.”
    “And how do you know my name?” she