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Heavy footsteps stomped down a set of stairs that I couldn’t see, hidden somewhere in the back, probably the kitchen. The restaurant was small, barely managing to feel intimate rather than cramped. Not a lot of room to maneuver if it came to a fight.
I didn’t dare roll my shoulders, but I mentally shrugged off my concerns. Mario would arrange a meeting with Elio, and that was final. I wouldn’t leave until I got what I wanted, and I wouldn’t die here today. Not when I had Ashlyn and Joseph waiting for me a few miles away.
Mario stepped into the dining room, momentarily silhouetted by the florescent light that flooded the kitchen. I blinked once, quickly adjusting my vision so I could get a good look at him. He was a balding, middle-aged man with a deeply lined, round face. The wrinkles around his eyes and mouth suggested frequent laughter, but at the moment, they were drawn in a craggy frown.
He stopped several feet away from me, lingering in the shadows as he crossed his arms over his chest and lifted his chin. “Who are you?”
“My name is Marco De Luca.” I continued to speak in Italian, knowing that America had smoothed the accent of my father’s native tongue. I had nothing to hide; I wasn’t a threat. “I’m here to request a meeting with Elio Amato.”
The young man hadn’t warranted this level of respect. I’d needed to intimidate him into opening the door. Mario required a different approach. He was the boss here. And even though his operation trafficking cocaine shipments through his restaurant for Amato was a tiny fraction of Elio’s wealth and influence, he was the key to reaching Elio in Naples.
Amato would be heavily guarded in his home base of San Luca, a remote town in Calabria. I didn’t have a hope of reaching him there. I wouldn’t get a single step into the town before I was killed by his associates.
Besides, it would be far more difficult to slip away from my family for long enough to get to Calabria. If I had a private jet, I could reach it in a couple hours. I didn’t have that resource, so I’d have to arrange a meet with Elio somewhere more central. I prayed that he’d be willing to come to some sort of compromise in location. If he agreed to meet with me at all.
“I have a proposal for Elio,” I continued when Mario simply glared at me, waiting for more information. “It involves his brother, Ciro.”
Mario’s bushy brows lifted, and he licked his lips, suddenly nervous. “I don’t have anything to do with Ciro.”
I nodded. “And I don’t want to have anything to do with him. Unfortunately, he’s causing problems for my family in Boston. I was hoping Elio might be willing to help us come to a more permanent solution.”
There, the death threat was on the table. That was sure to warrant Elio’s attention. All I could do was hope that there was enough ill will between the brothers that Elio would actually welcome Ciro’s demise. He’d chosen to exile him, not kill him. But if Ciro’s aggressive activities in Boston were disrupting their organization’s business, Elio might have a change of heart. Joseph’s father and Rafael had said that Ciro was shaking things up, throwing his weight around. That almost certainly meant he was fucking up their business. He probably saw it as a temporary wrinkle, but more powerful men like Elio would be losing money while he went on his little crusade to toughen up the mobsters in Boston.
Sweat beaded on Mario’s brow, and he swallowed hard. I allowed him a minute to consider my request. If Elio was taking a financial hit, Mario would be aware. He’d be feeling the pressure to increase his own profits to compensate and avoid Elio’s wrath. I was taking a gamble on that, but I understood enough about this criminal underworld to predict how the conflict would shake out.
My gamble paid off.
“I’ll have to talk to Mr. Amato,” Mario said, his voice hitching slightly on his boss’s name.
“Excellent,” I declared, but I didn’t allow any pleasure to enter my blank expression. I remained coldly professional. “I’ll be staying in Sorrento starting tonight. Contact me with a time and place.” I passed him a slip of paper with my number on it. “I can’t make travel arrangements to San Luca,” I added, my voice heavy with significance. “I hope Mr. Amato will be able to come to me. Maybe Sant’Agnello?” The tiny town was only a few minutes away from Sorrento, but significantly less crowded with tourists. I could separate this business from Ashlyn and Joseph without putting too much distance between us.
If Elio accepted my terms.
Mario mopped his brow. “I’ll ask Mr. Amato.”
I nodded my thanks. “You have my number.”
