“Well,” Leon gives Dante a firm look, “that won’t be a problem now, will it?”
It’s Dante’s laugh that breaks the tension. “Not even remotely, boss.”
3
DANTE
I’m going to murder Rocco Moretti.
It’s actually a very easy decision for me to make. Which I find somewhat surprising considering he’s been my friend, boss, and then companion in crime since I moved to New York five years ago.
The least he could do is actually be here for the meeting instead of spilling my secrets to Teo Vitale, of all people.
I pace up and down the corridor outside Leon’s office, waiting for the door to open and to be summoned inside to plead my case.
Not that I’d need to if Rocco hadn’t gone and opened his fat mouth.
Settling down isn’t exactly my forte. Or desire. Or anything that I think I want for myself. I’d been traveling aimlessly for years before I met Rocco one fateful night in South Africa.
Somehow, I’d come away from that meeting with the worst hangover of my life and a job offer from the Brooklyn mafia.I was offered a job that required me to travel and never settle down and use my very specific skills to bend the law in my hands. I’d never looked back.
Until thirty minutes ago. When I was brutally reminded of what I’d see if I did, in fact, look back.
Emilia-Romagna.
Specifically the town of Montecroce. With its idyllic Italian cobblestone streets overshadowed by the loomingCastello di Ferro—the constant towering reminder of the family that rules Modena and its provinces.
Castello di Ferro,the Iron Castle. Home to the Grasso di Ferro (of Italian mafia fame), led by the fearsome matriarch Evelina Grasso herself.
Mia madre.
I’ve not spoken to my mother in five years.
I have no intention of breaking the habit now.
“Dante,” Leon barks, drawing me away from my internal torment and toward his beckoning hand.
I follow him into his office and immediately begin making my case.
“There are a hundred other places we could take her,” I say without preamble. “I have connections all over South Africa. Greece is nice this time of year. I could even take her up to Canada and keep her with the Sicilians for a while.”
Leon-ever-suffering-Natali looks at me as if he’s ready to go straight to blows with me.
I take a step back automatically and begin answering myself on his behalf. “Of course, the Cartel knows about our connections to South Africa and the Sicilians. And the Greeks are incapable of keeping information to themselves.”
Leon begins to massage his temples.
I don’t stop. “It needs to be somewhere secure, somewhere they won’t think to look. Europe is a big place. Give me twenty-four hours, and I’ll find something else.”
“We don’t have time for this,” Leon barks through my barrage of pleading like a freight train. “I need Carmen on the next plane out of JFK, and you are going to make that happen and keep her secure until I need her again.”
The problem with this is that, yes, I know a lot of people. I know a lot of people with places that could secure a perpetual flight risk (and sacrificial virgin, apparently).
But none would be prepared to take me in immediately and not ask questions.
And the war between the Prince’s Guild and the Cartel has been going on far too long for us to be able to afford fucking this up.
I sit down on a seat and help myself to the decanter of whiskey Leon has lying on the table next to it.
