Page 109 of The Beast Who Begged Me

“I could help when you find him. You know I could.” His voice catches, but he pushes through it. “He was trying to hold onto me when they took him, and I…”

“There were too many of them,” I say. “Quit blaming yourself. It doesn’t help anything.”

“I want to be there when you find him,” he insists.

I glance at Fontana, who looks back without offering me a fucking thing. Caligula put Benedetti with the cars, and I agreed. But if Sammy’s hurt, I’ll need someone who can stay with him while I deal with whatever’s standing in our way. Someone Sammy trusts.

“You stay close,” I say at last. “You do what I tell you, when I tell you. If I say stop, you fucking stop.”

Benedetti nods at once. “I will. Just let me come.”

I hold his gaze in the mirror for another moment. Then I push the bag of sandwiches Rosa sent with me over the seat. “Eat something. Sammy needs you sharper than this.”

I’ve been taking lessons from my golden-tongued snake; I know Sammy’s name is the only thing that’ll make the tailor’s grandson obey without arguing. He peels the paper back and takes a bite, ripping it out like he’d rather sink his teeth into a Russian throat. Gallo takes one too, and I hand one to Fontana, and for a while all four of us sit there chewing, watching that damn door.

Caligula is fine. So is Sammy. I won’t think otherwise.

They’re waiting in the Obelisk, and very soon I’ll have them both wrapped up in my arms as I drag them out.

And then I’m killing Daniel King.

Fontana and I have been talking on and off since we parked. Mostly about the operation, because that gives us something useful to say. But there’s something else I’ve wanted to ask him since Rossi squealed about it: a possible identity for the hitman who killed my father.

Fontana’s not a Gee these days, hasn’t been for decades. But maybe he heard something back then. I need my head somewhere other than Caligula for one fucking minute, so I keep my eyes on the Obelisk door and ask.

“When you were still with the Gees, did you ever hear anything about Lou Clemenza using Giuliano talent for his dirty work? Someone he used when he didn’t want Clemenza fingerprints on the job?”

In the back seat, Gallo stops shifting about. Benedetti goes still, sandwich forgotten in his hand.

“I’m not your guy for that intel,” Fontana says at last. “I never heard anything like that. Not even as a barroom story.”

I nod, though there’s nothing satisfying in his response. I didn’t expect Fontana to hand me an answer…but part of me hoped, anyway.

Fontana shifts in his seat with a sigh. “I know someone who might know something, though. If you want, I could probably set up a meeting. Maybe. I gotta be honest, I’m not sure how our relationship is these days. But if Lou ever hired a Giuliano to do work off the clock, this guy would know.”

He keeps his eyes on the alley, giving me room to decide, which is one of the things I unwillingly like about him. He’s a Morelli now, all the way down to the bone, but I was wrong about him being a turncoat. And I believe everything he told me about how the Giulianos treated him.

“I’d appreciate that,” I say at last.

“Okay, then,” Fontana says. “Long as we get outta tonight alive.”

Vitali checks in again. Then the others. The last scraps of sandwich go back into the bag, and Benedetti starts picking at a water bottle label while I check the receiver.

It still picks up Caligula’s beacon. It hasn’t moved for hours. King could have him sitting in a room, waiting for a chance to reach Sammy. I’ve been telling myself that for long enough now.

“Same from everyone?” Fontana asks.

“Same.”

He looks at the receiver, then back at the entrance. “No staff. No customers. Nothing coming in or out. That signal’s the only thing here behaving the way we expected.”

I look at the time. Two hours and thirty minutes.

Half an hour short.

Caligula trusted me to make this call. If I’m wrong, I’ll answer for it. But I’m not ignoring everything else because one fucking light is still on.

“We’re going in,” I tell Fontana.