Page 44 of Wrong Pawn. Right Capo.

Two raps at my door knock me out of my thoughts. I make my way back to my seat. It feels satisfying to finally take my place as Don in my own estate—the compound I’ve secretly been building for years.

“Enter,” I say as I sit. The door swings open and Francesco marches in, files in hand.

“Capo, abbiamo trovato informazioni su Valente ma… (Boss, we’ve found information on Valente but…)” He sets the bulky file on the desk before me.

“Ma (But)?”

“La sua sicurezza è piuttosto impressionante e i suoi movimenti sono calcolati al secondo (His security detail is quite impressive and his movements are tightly calculated). Potremmo avere problemi ad avvicinarlo (We may have a problem getting close to him).”

“We do not need any more problems, Francesco,” I grit out.

Francesco stiffens but doesn’t say anything. I steeple my fingers on the table, wheels spinning in my head.

His extremely tight security detail tells me he’s either hiding something or scared of something.

Grabbing the file, I flip it open and scan through it, my fingers tightening on the edge of the papers.

“Cosa hai su chi gli è vicino (What do you have on his loved ones)?” I ask without lifting my head.

“Ha due figli (He has two sons). Il più giovane è pesantemente sorvegliato notte e giorno, mentre il maggiore studia in Corea del Sud (The youngest is heavily guarded day and night, while the older one is studying in South Korea).”

My gaze snaps up to him. “Corea del Sud (South Korea)?”

Francesco nods. If Valente is sending his oldest son that far, then he’s definitely living in fear.

“Quindi non ci sono parenti (So there are no other relatives)? Madre, padre, amante (Mother, father, mistress)?”

Francesco shakes his head. “No, Capo.”

I grind my teeth. There has to be some fucking leverage.

“Who handles his deals?”

“Top officials like his second-in-command and head of logistics run all important errands and attend all meetings on his behalf. Valente himself is hardly ever spotted outside his villa in North Shore.”

“I wonder what he’s so afraid of?” Francesco adds.

I shake my head. “Not what. Who?”

A Don has many enemies, I know. But this pattern of paranoia can only mean he’s crossed some seriously dangerous people.

“Getting to his loved ones is pointless. We go for him.” My fingers are flipping through the file frantically now.

Francesco lifts his eyes to mine, then shrugs. “It’s dangerous, but not impossible.”

“You’ve stated here that he leaves his villa every Thursday to visit a Buddhist temple in Manhattan.”

The bastard’s religious. Interesting.

“Do we make the move on him while he’s here in Manhattan?” Francesco asks.

I shake my head. “I don’t want him going missing on my home turf. We’ll take him when he crosses over to Queens. Find out how much security escorts him to the temple. I need every single piece of intel.”

Francesco nods. “Sì, Capo (Yes, Boss).”

I drop the file, my fingers now itching to spill blood. We will catch him unaware, and he’ll answer every single question.

“By the way,” I ask the one question I’ve tried to suppress since yesterday. “Come sta Elena (How’s Elena)?” I’d asked him to follow Elena and give me updates while I returned here.