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My heart beats fast when he mentions Foster's name, but this is good. Time for us to air it all out. "I wanted to talk to you about some things too."
"He's a cop," he says, his voice quick and short. He checks all the corners of my room.
Is he crazy? "No, he's not. That's ridiculous."
"So don't talk to him, okay? Don't tell him anything."
"Anything about what?"
"Anything about me or Dad or our family, all right?" He points his finger at me and jabs the air. "He's a fucking pig, and he's using you to nail Dad."
"Nail Dad for what?"
"Nothin'."
"You look pretty upset over nothing." I sit at the edge of my bed and study Donnie. Greasy hair covers his eyes. His clothes are wrinkled. He's under some serious stress. "Is this about you being a bookie? Are you selling more than pot? Did you know Foster's been collecting money for Dad? Are you involved in that?"
His brow furrows and his chin juts forward. "See? He's a cop. He has you fishing for dirt."
"He doesn't have me doing anything. I've been attacked by Rocco twice since the fight, and I have a right to know what's going on."
He scrunches his brow. "I gave Rocco his money back."
"When? Because he came to my room saying you still owed him."
He shakes his head and paces the room. "It doesn't matter. You need to stay away from Foster. He's going to ruin everything."
"Ruin what?"
He doesn't answer and runs his hands through his hair.
"Is this about Ricky's death? And Mom's?"
His head snaps up and angry eyes lock on mine. "Shut up."
"Foster said I should ask more questions. I've been afraid to, but now I want to know the truth."
I haven't told anyone, but I've been doing research on my dad and his friends. I discovered Renzo's family is suspected of being part of the infamous Gambino crime family. I thought those old mobsters were all in prison, but I guess the tradition never faded on the streets of New York.
"You trying to tell me he's not a pig and he's saying you should ask more questions about your dead brother and mother? He's a cop or a spook."
"What's a spook?" I ask him.
"FBI," he says like I'm supposed to know all this lingo. Could Foster really be a cop or an FBI agent? I've spent so much time with him and Henry. There were no signs he was doing anything other than fighting and working for my dad. "Do you have any proof he's a cop?"
"I saw his badge," Donnie says, his voice cagey and unconvincing.
"Really? Show it to me." I hold out my hand and he stares at it.
"I don't have it with me!" He's getting angry at me, but he's saying some pretty absurd stuff with no proof. I'm catching him in a lie and he hates it.
"Well, show me a picture of Foster wearing a badge because I know him, and I know he doesn't have a badge."
Tap-tap-tap.
We both look toward the noise that came from my balcony door.
Tap-tap-tap.
