Neither of them was willing to start. Burim had been shocked to get Ristani’s call. He had been in his car, driving back to Weehawken from South Jersey where he’d concluded his business early. Ristani’s question had shaken him so much he nearly rear-ended the truck in front of him. “Pia Grazdani?” he’d repeated out loud, and he thought of his wife, not his daughter. He remembered her fiery personality, the fights, how Pia stayed out all night to party, leaving him alone with the baby. His sudden fury meant he wasn’t listening properly to what Berti was asking him.

“She’s about twenty-five,” Berti had said. “Apparently quite beautiful. Burim, shit, can you hear me?” The connection had not been good, going in and out. It was at that point that Burim realized Berti wasn’t talking about his late wife, but rather about his daughter, Afrodita Pia Grazdani.

Buda cleared his throat. “Berti told me you recognize the name Pia Grazdani. Is there any relation?”

“I remember her by a different name,” Burim said. “Afrodita, which is what I called her. Her middle name was Pia, like her mother. She was my daughter.”

Afrodita. The kid had been a pain in the ass almost as much as the mother since she’d inherited her mother’s personality. Drilon had been the only one who got along with her. A miserable little thing, very demanding at a time when Burim had been too busy trying to make the grade in the Rudaj organization. He’d had no time for a kid. After she’d been taken away by city services, Burim told himself that he’d go and get her back when he was legal in the country, but when he got his green card, he decided he was happier as a man without the burden of responsibility. Then he had to drop out of sight as Burim Graziani and he never got around to establishing his new identity beyond getting a driver’s license in case there was ever a traffic stop. He imagined he’d now have to explain all this to Berti Ristani, something that was a bigger issue to him than the fate of his daughter.

“So you think this girl might be your daughter?” Buda asked, not wanting to believe this was happening.

“It’s possible, for sure. It’s hardly a common name, and the age is about right, mid-to-late twenties.” Try as he might, Burim couldn’t remember Afrodita’s birthday—neither the day nor the year.

“What’s the story with the change of the family name?”

Burim related that issue. Since Buda, like all Albanian mafia, knew the details of the Rudaj debacle, he understood. When the FBI came bursting in, lots of people had to go underground.

“So you lost touch with your daughter a long time ago?”

“Yes, you know how it is in this business.”