1
WOLFE
I drove through the quiet streets of Palermo sometime between two and three in the morning, dried blood still on my hands because I hadn’t had time to scrub it off. I turned down a side street and then another, pulling up to the large wall with a black gate.
A small slab of steel slid open to reveal a pair of dark eyes. They looked at me for a millisecond before it quickly shut again.
“You know it’s me, asshole.”
The large gate opened inward, and I drove into the open courtyard where other cars and motorbikes were parked. I left the car there and hopped out.
Matteo, the guy who checked the peephole, walked up to me with a cigar in his mouth. His eyes were on myhands, which were still covered in blood. He wordlessly reached into his back pocket and grabbed a cloth, tossing it at me. “It went alright?”
I caught it then grabbed a bottle of whiskey from one of the nearby crates and poured it over my hands before I started to scrub my skin. “It always goes alright.”
“You sure about that?”
I swiped the cloth underneath my fingernails to catch the drops that had spread. “It’s not my blood, is it?” When my hands were clean, I tossed the cloth back at his chest, and he caught it.
“Don Russo is waiting for you inside.”
I headed to the double doors, flanked by several guards, and then entered the three-story villa hidden in plain sight in this coastal city of Sicily. I exchanged head tilts with some of the men as I headed to Don Russo’s office on the second floor. I had to cross the seven-thousand-square-foot villa, make my way up a marble staircase, and then I ended up in his office.
The other guys were already there, Uncle Marco and Costa, and a few of the others.
Don Russo was in the middle of a heated conversation with Uncle Marco, but he dropped the discussion the second I stepped inside. “You handled Raphael?”
“Yep.” My knuckles were bruised, and the barrel of my gun was empty.
Don Russo took my word for it and moved on. “It’s come to my attention that Celso is making a lot of money. Hand-over-fist kind of money. ThePolizialook the other way without a bribe, so that’s even more money in their pockets.” He leaned against the desk, his arms crossed over his chest. “I think it’s time we get in on the action. You know…” He cocked his head to one side and then to the other. “Get in on the action.” He wore gray slacks and a button-up, collared white shirt, dressed for business meetings with suits rather than the streets. He was about to leave his fifties and step into his sixties, but he was still sharp as a tack.
“What kind of action are we talking about, Don?” I was the only one brave enough to ask, or they all already knew the plan.
“Prostitution,” he said, his dark Italian eyes on me.
“Prostitution?” I asked blankly. “We’re American pimps now?”
“We would hand the specifics to a different crew so we can keep our focus on our existing accounts,” Don Russo said with patience. “It won’t interfere with our normal affairs.”
I thought it was beneath us, but I knew I shouldn’t resist him too much in front of the others. Could give him an earful when it was just the two of us with a couple glasses of wine—or preferably whiskey.
When I had nothing else to say, Don Russo turned his attention to Uncle Marco. “We get the girls from Armando from the mainland. We can get them to the docks and bypass customs, as with everything else.”
My eyebrows immediately furrowed in confusion. “Get the girls from Armando?”
Uncle Marco took over. “We purchased them from the Skull King. Wasn’t cheap, but they’re broken in, so there won’t be much resistance.”
Now my eyes flicked from Don Russo to Uncle Marco and then back again. I wasn’t sure how much time passed, maybe a few seconds, but the shock made it feel like minutes. I wasn’t shocked or disturbed by much, but this was despicable. “You’re serious right now?” My eyes were on Don Russo, the man responsible for every decision made by Cosa Nostra. “We’re traffickers now? That’s not who we are.”
Uncle Marco shook his head slightly so I would quiet down.
I ignored him. “That’s not who we are.” I focused on Don Russo. “I’m not saying we’re saints by any means, but westick to our side of the street and let everyone else pass without interference. We may be criminals, but we’re decent ones. When did that change?”
“Wolfe—”
My eyes flicked back to Uncle Marco. “Does it look like I’m speaking to you?” I snapped.
Uncle Marco stared me down like he wanted to slice a knife down my cheek.
