Page 53 of The Don’s Omega

“How?”

“I have a man inside the Lucchese bookkeeping operation.”

“Of course you do,” Carlo’s voice is droll. “Who is he?”

I shrug. “He’s a low-level accountant named Dario. He’s been feeding me information for years in exchange for the continued health of his gambling-addicted brother.”

“Oh, I know Dario.”

I frown. “How is it you know everyone?”

“I’m a charming guy.” There’s a smile in Carlo’s voice. “People gravitate to me, boss.”

“I’ll bet Bruna doesn’t think you’re so charming after tonight.”

“Not true. We parted on almost good terms. I gave him a bottle of really expensive whiskey when I left his house.”

I laugh. “You think that’ll make up for putting electrodes on his nipples?”

“Come on, I didn’t do that. I was nice. I only used the threat of a lighter to his balls. He crumbled surprisingly fast.”

I shake my head, smiling. “You’re a sick fuck. No wonder we’re best friends.”

He chuckles. “You want me to come with you to visit Dario?”

“No, Dario won’t be a problem. He’s afraid of me which makes him eager to please. He understands what happens if he doesn’t tell me what I need to know.”

“Okay, well, call me if you need me. I’ll be at home watching porn.”

“You’re a class act, Carlo.” I hang up.

I drive to Dario’s place for my impromptu visit. His office sits at the far end of a tired strip mall between a nail salon and a shop that repairs cracked phone screens. The parking lot is patched asphalt with weeds pushing up through the cracks.

I pick the lock on the front door of the building, and when I slip into his shabby office, I find Dario behind a desk buried in receipts and manila folders. He’s scowling at his calculator and muttering to himself.

“Hello, Dario.”

When he looks up and sees me his face loses what little color it has. “Mr. Foschini.” He swallows loudly.

Dario is a large man, soft around the middle, with thinning hair plastered to his forehead by sweat. The office is cool enough as the air conditioner rattles in the window, but perspiration darkens the collar of his shirt. He tries to stand too quickly and knocks one knee against the underside of the desk. A cup of pens tips over but he catches it against his stomach before it hits the floor.

“Sorry to just drop in on you after hours without warning,” I say, not sounding the least bit sorry. “But I need some information only you can give me.”

“Me?”

Yes, you.”

“Oh, well, I… I was just about to head out. M… my wife will kill me if I don’t get home in time for dinner—”

“How’s your brother?” I interrupt, closing the door behind me. His eyes nervously track the movement.

“F… fine.” He shifts uneasily. “I mean, good, in fact. He’s… he’s staying away from the tables.”

A lie, most likely. But I don’t give a fuck as long as his debts remain manageable and Dario remains useful.

“This shouldn’t take too long.” I sit in the small chair in front of his desk, crossing my legs. “I need you to find a payment for me.”

“Yes. Of course.” His chair squeaks as he lowers himself back into the seat. “From whom?”