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Marco shook his head. “There’s nothing useful there. He was too smart to use it for anything other than to send pictures of his dick to various women.”
I considered this. “What about his suppliers? Maybe they’ve dealt with the old man in Nino’s absence.”
“They would work through Giacomo, the younger son, no?”
“I don’t think so,” I said. “I get the sense the family doesn’t think much of Giacomo. Nino called his brother stupid. Irresponsible. Buscetta no doubt feels the same.”
“Do we know who they use?” Fausto asked, meaning who supplied the Buscettas with their product.
There weren’t a plethora of suppliers to choose from. And when Fausto took the drug trade away from the Cosa Nostra, the Sicilians had been forced to get creative. Just as I had over the last few years.
Marco answered first. “It’s not our people.”
“No, but I’m pretty sure I know who it is,” I said. “If not, I can quickly find out.”
“Good.” My father retook his seat, settling in. “Once we know, we’ll send in a team to take him out.”
And start a war in the process?
I thought of Frankie and the kids upstairs. Zia. Zio Marco and his family. I didn’t want this to become Fausto’s problem. It was mine.
This had to be handled quickly and quietly.
“No, I’ll go. I can find Buscetta and kill him. No one will ever know I’m there.”
Fausto and Marco exchanged a long glance. There was a silent communication happening between them, one born of their long standing relationship. Finally, Fausto said, “Absolutely not.”
“Rav,” Marco said, his voice soft but admonishing. “You have to let the boy be who he is.”
“No, I have to keep him safe.”
Alessio’s words from that night in the park came back to me.
“My only purpose in life is to keep you safe.”
A rush of fresh misery went through me, one that shredded my insides. I wasn’t weak. I didn’t need protection. I had survived for four years on my own.
I didn’t need anyone ever again.
My tone was sharp as I said, “I don’t need you to protect me. I’m fine on my own.”
Fausto folded his hands and rested his forefingers against his lips. He did this when he needed to break bad news and was thinking of how best to phrase it.
But I didn’t want to hear it. I blurted, “I’m going. I’ll deal with Buscetta. It’s exactly what you would’ve done at my age.”
“He’s right,” Marco said when Fausto remained quiet.
My father didn’t like this. He scowled first at Marco, then at me. “I would have listened to my elders and taken their advice into consideration.”
Possibly. But Fausto wouldn’t have stopped there. I knew how he’d earned the nickname Il Diavolo. “And then you would’ve gone to Palermo, hunted down Buscetta, and sliced him to ribbons.”
Zio Marco’s lips twitched, but he remained silent.
“Take Benito,” Fausto growled. “Do not go alone.”
I waved this off with one hand. “If I have to go into the mountains, it’ll be easier if I’m by myself. Less chance of being discovered that way. I’m not bringing anyone else.”
Fausto drummed his fingers on the desk. “If I tell you no, you are going to disobey me and go anyway.”
