Ever since I can remember, my dad has been a criminal working for the Italian mafia. I’ve kept my distance, living with my mom, who divorced him years ago. But my dad has been reaching out to me recently; I’m uneasy with his overtures.

I’m meeting him tonight. I thought I’d give him a chance to be a father. He wants to explain things, he says. I fear he wants to recruit me. I have skills, but I don’t want to use them for crime.

He is at my door. I let him in, noticing a van across the street.

He appears nervous. I give him a beer. I take one as well. He starts telling me he isn’t a criminal or in a gang; that life is behind him. I ask why.

“I’m an informant,” he says quietly.

I check what is happening outside, intuitively anticipating someone getting out of the van and coming to my door. I rush back to my dad, who is suddenly cocking a handgun.

“Run to the bedroom-I’ll handle this!” So I retreat.

I hear voices and gunshots, and the sound of stuff being broken. I say a prayer then call 911.

The ambulance picks up at least 3 bodies, including my dad. I give my statement to the detective, who confirms my dad’s story.