“Or hell,” Carrera added.
She swatted his arm. “All my boys are good.”
Carrera wondered what his grandmother would say if she knew what her “good boys” did in their free time.
Once inside, Luciano kissed their grandmother on both cheeks, then brought them into his kitchen. He opened a fifty-five-year-old luxury brandy, poured a little into three snifters and handed them out. “Alla famiglia.”
They tapped glasses and sipped. The delicious liquor awaked Carrera’s taste buds. He savored the drink before swallowing it down, feeling the warmth all the way to his stomach.
“Delicious,” G-ma said. “Let’s talk business.”
Together, they made their way to his home office. There, she settled into one of two guest chairs across from his massive desk. Rather than sit, Carrera stood behind the second chair.
“What can I do for my G-ma?” Luciano asked.
“I need to confirm you made the changes to my estate,” she said.
“Of course.”
“Show me.”
Luciano walked over to the bookcase, tapped a button hidden under a shelf. The door swung sideways, he stepped into a room. A moment later, he returned with a bound leather notebook. Back at his desk, he sat in the guest chair next to her, opened the notebook, pulled out several sheets of paper, and handed them to her.
She grew quiet as she read through all of them. When finished, she kissed his cheek. “I had another dream I went to be with the Lord.”
Carrera’s stomach dropped. He and Luciano exchanged glances.
“Have you been going to mass every day again?” Luciano asked.
“Just a few times a week,” she replied. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“This has happened before,” Luciano said. “You’re gonna live a long, long time, Elsa Santini.”
“I hope so. Someone has to keep an eye on you boys.” A sadness fell over her. “Luciano, I made lasagna. Come back with Carrera and me for supper.”
“Save me a piece,” Luciano replied. “I’ll swing by tomorrow for breakfast.”
Her jutting eyebrows wrinkled her forehead. “Breakfast?”
“My stomach doesn’t know the diff,” he replied before turning toward Carrera. “We need to talk. Can you find time in the next few days?”
“Who the hell knows.”
“He had to fire Jazz,” G-ma shared.
Luciano walked them out. “I’ll be in touch.”
The drive home was quiet. Back at G-ma’s house, she heated the lasagna, they ate at the kitchen table.
“This has gotta be your best,” he said.
“I’m glad you like it.” Her gaze lingered on his face. “I have a question and I need an honest answer. I always come to you for the truth, Carrera.”
He nodded, his mouth filled with delicious seasoned meat, homemade red sauce, a blend of cheeses, and thick lasagna noodles. He swallowed it down.
“Is Luciano an assassin?”
His brain stuttered to a stop. Unsure how to proceed, he studied her face. If he lied, she’d know. But he would never break the vow he made.
