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Vitari huffed. “Davis was close with Giancarlo, and I know everyone is smiling and shaking my hand, Sal, but I’m not a fool. Half of them want me gone. Most probably think I killed my father?—”
“Did you?” He looked up, eyes too glassy for reasonable conversation.
“Come on, fra.” The fact he’d asked tripped Vitari’s thoughts. Sal knew him better than that. “You know I didn’t.”
“It’s just the only living witness is a damned priest who’ll say and do anything for you, so I’m just saying… You’re right, half of them think you killed Giancarlo and they got good reason to. You and your papa, you were always at each other’s throats.”
“And you and Toni aren’t?” Fuck this. What had gotten into Sal? “Do you think I killed him?”
“I’ve seen what he’s done to you, shunned you, threatened you, I’m just… I’d have wanted to kill him. Shit, everyone wanted a shot at Giancarlo. It’s more likely you killed him, is all I’m saying.”
“Neo fucking killed him in front of me. I had the blood splatter on my face, Sal. You fucking saw that. How the fuck do his brains get on my face if I shot him? Fucking tell me that!” Vitari panted, only now realizing he’d been yelling.
Sal’s expression softened but that chaotic, drunken gleam still shone in his eyes. “God damn it, Angel, I’m telling you how it is. I can’t make him see you like I see you, I just can’t.”
Vitari waited a few beats, letting his words settle. “Make who see me?”
“What?”
“You said you can’t make him see me. Who, Sal?”
“You know who.” He slumped forward, elbows on his knees.
“Your father. Toni. He’s giving you shit? Is that what this is?”
“Same old shit, fra. Same old shit.”
“What’s he saying? Huh? Did he invite Father Davis?”
Sal snorted, dumped his glass to the side, and got to his feet. “Papa hates that fucker, hates all priests, especially yours.”
“Toni hates Francis?” That didn’t make any sense; they’d never met before yesterday. Francis had never crossed Little Toni’s path. They had nothing to do with each other.
“You should have let him go, fra,” Sal said, wringing the words out, as though they hurt to say.
“Let who go, what are you talking about?”
“The priest, the fucking priest!” Sal snapped. “You couldn’t let it go, could you? You had to keep chasing him down!”
What the fuck—where was all this coming from now? “Sal, Jesus. Your papa has a problem with Francis, fine. But now is not the time?—”
Sal grabbed his gun from under the shirt and pointed its silenced muzzle at Vitari.
Vitari stumbled back a step, raised his hands, and glared past the gun at Sal’s twitching, snarling face. “Sal?”
“I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry.” Sal pushed forward.
Vitari stumbled back another step. “Sal, wait. Whatever this is?—”
“I have to—I have to.”
Sal didn’t look like the friend he’d known for years. He looked… scared. “Sal, stop. This isn’t you, I know that. Put the gun down.”
His mouth twitched, but his aim steadied. “Where’s the flash drive?”
“The… what?” Vitari’s thoughts stumbled. Had Sal lost his mind?
“The USB drive. I saw it at the villa after you killed Giancarlo, but it’s not there. We searched the place, floor to ceiling, and it’s not fucking there! So where’s the drive?”
