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Single building on the south side of the road.
He says you’ll see the car out front – it’s the only one there.
As I approached my destination, I kept my eyes on the south side of the road.
Sure enough, a two-story building appeared out of the darkness a half mile from Mensano. It was made of stone and mortar, a rough-hewn structure at least two centuries old. I could tell it was a café because of the handful of tables and chairs on the patio. I assumed that the second story was the owners’ residence.
More importantly, only one car was parked outside in the gravel lot.
As I pulled in next to it, my headlights revealed it was a green Audi – just like the one in the picture on Niccolo’s phone.
I parked the Mercedes, got out, and put on a black trench coat and hat Niccolo had given me. It was cold enough that the clothes wouldn’t raise suspicion.
The trench coat covered my bulletproof vest in case Fumagalli was quick on the draw; the hat would partially conceal my features. Not perfectly – nothing could be done about my blond beard and hair – but at least the hat helped.
I put on a couple of disposable latex gloves. I wouldn’t leave any fingerprints, and my hands would test negative for gunshot residue if the cops came snooping.
I put the revolver I’d brought – a Ruger GP100 snub-nose .357 Magnum – into my trench coat pocket. We’d talked about which gun I should take, and there had been some discussion of using a Glock… but a Glock would eject the spent shell casings, and I didn’t want to have to pick them up afterwards. I definitely didn’t want to leave any behind for the cops to find. Dario assured me he had the cops in his pocket and that it wouldn’t be a problem, but I didn’t want to tempt fate. Lake Como and San Vittore had made me paranoid.
The Ruger was a revolver, which meant the shells would stay in the chamber after being fired. No need to pick them up afterwards.
I also considered using a suppressor, but that would add an extra six inches to the gun’s overall length – horrible for a quick draw. I didn’t want to have to enter the room with the gun already out; I wanted to be able to walk in, assess the situation, draw, shoot, and leave. The Ruger solved all of those problems.
Since there wouldn’t be a suppressor, it would be loud – but Dario and his brothers said it would scare people and make them look away.
I hoped they were right.
The café windows had lace curtains obscuring the view inside, but I could see the lighting was minimal. That meant it would be harder for witnesses to identify me – especially if I kept my hat down low.
Hopefully – since there was only one car in the parking lot – there wouldn’t be anybody but Fumagalli and maybe a waiter.
My feet crunched in the gravel as I walked towards the café door. My heart hammered in my chest.
The first time I’d met him, Aurelio had sneered that I’d done all my killing from a distance – but he hadn’t been wrong.
Ninety-five percent of my body count had come from sniper shots. Killing someone up close was nerve-wracking.
I pushed through the door and walked inside.
The space was dark – stone walls and exposed wooden rafters. A few recessed lights in the ceiling cast shadows. No one sat at any of the tables –
Except for my target.
Ten feet away from me, Fumagalli was shoveling food into his mouth. A napkin was tucked into the collar of his shirt.
His heavily-lidded eyes glanced up at me and he frowned. Maybe it was the hat; maybe it was because I was blond in a region of dark-haired people.
I didn’t wait to find out.
I just pulled my gun as I walked towards him.
He froze for half a second, a forkful of food in his mouth – and then he comically left the fork sticking out of his lips as he fumbled for his suit pocket.
Not fast enough.
BANG BANG BANG!
All three shots hit him dead in the chest. Blood spattered out of the exit wounds onto the stone wall behind him.
