I click again, and the screen changes.
“This one looked like a vendor group at first. It had a tiny contract connected to maintenance supplies. Nothing large enough to flag. But it links to an insurance inquiry that came in two days after the casino attack. That inquiry links to aprivate risk assessment firm, which links to a holding company registered in Nevada.”
Antonio leans closer.
I continue.
“That holding company appears under three names. One dissolved. One active. One apparently dormant but still filing through the same accountant.”
I click, and a name appears.
Costa Meridian Holdings.
Giovanni’s expression changes first as the name registers.
“That’s Salvatore Costa’s business,” Giovanni says slowly.
A name they hadn’t heard in a long time, but one they knew well. Years back, even before Luca went to prison, the Costas were a rival family, nearly as powerful as the Contis.
Until my father took them down and absorbed their organization into his. Salvatore Costa lost everything in one fell swoop.
“You think Salvatore Costa is the one causing all this trouble?” Giovanni continues. “Threatening us?”
Papà’s face has gone hard.
Antonio frowns. “Last I heard, the Costas were doing well enough. Got themselves a line out west.”
“Not Salvatore Costa,” I say.
I click again.
A photograph appears. A younger man with dark hair and hard eyes appears in a clipping of a public charity event.
“His son. Rocco Costa.”
Roberto’s gaze snaps to me. “Salvatore’s son is running things? It would be big news if Salvatore passed it on.”
“He didn’t pass it on,” I say. “Not voluntarily anyway. Salvatore Costa died a year ago.”
That surprises them.
Even Papà.
His eyes narrow. “I would certainly have heard that.”
“Yes,” I say. “You should have.”
Antonio is already reaching for his phone, but Roberto says, “Wait.”
He looks at me, brows drawn. “Someone like Salvatore Costa dies and nobody hears about it?”
“Not if his son hides it very well,” I say. “See, after his organization went down, Salvatore got into the drug business. He was smaller than before, but desperate to keep the image of what he used to be. But he made a big mistake. He broke the one rule drug dealers live by.”
Antonio looks at me.
“Don’t sample the product,” he says.
“Exactly,” I confirm. “It took him down a very dark path. Addiction. Paranoia. Debt. Bad decisions. Last year, it ended him. Overdose, though Rocco paid enough to keep it under wraps.”
