Page 140 of The Beast Who Begged Me

But after Nick has signed us in and we walk into that main room, the clatter of dominoes stops. Two dozen heads swivel toward us.

It’s an awkward few seconds while we all pretend it’s not happening.

Over near the TVs playing horse racing there’s a white-haired, hawk-faced old man with a mustache so big I think it’s fake at first. He’s getting to his feet, and then he’s heading our way.

“Fontana!” He opens his arms, and Fontana steps into them without hesitation. There’s a lot of cheek-kissing and back-slapping, followed by the old man holding him at arm’s length to inspect him. “You never come to see me.”

“I’m here now, Uncle Iggy.”

“Because you want something.”

“Can’t I want to see you?”

Iggy scoffs. His gaze passes over me and settles on Caligula. “And you’ve brought the Little Emperor with you.”

“Caligula Clemenza,” Caligula says, offering his hand. “It’s good to meet you, Signor Barrano.”

Iggy takes his hand, looking at the ring. “Would you look at that,” he says. “Never thought I’d see the Clemenzas getting the band back together. Not while D’Amato’s on top.”

“Luca D’Amato has been a great friend to us,” Caligula says, dead straight.

Iggy laughs and beckons us toward a group of chairs. Fontana catches my eye before we sit down, reminding me of his warning. I lower myself into a seat that’s been shaped by someone else’s ass for the last thirty years and try to look respectful.

The room stinks of burned espresso. A young woman bends to speak to a man with a hearing aid, one hand resting on his shoulder. Another brings a tray of coffees through from the restaurant area, threading her way between canes and outstretched feet.

Iggy waves her over, and then we have coffee too. “Tino hated this place when I first brought him,” Iggy tells Fontana. “Said it was full of old men waiting to die. I told him, you look in the mirror lately?” Iggy laughs, then turns to Caligula. “I knew Tino before there even was a Morelli Family. Back when he was with the Vicarios. I kept that man out of trouble more times than I could count.” He launches off on a story about a card game, a disputed debt, and someone’s brother-in-law.

Fontana listens with patient attention. I watch a horse race on the nearest screen and try not to look at the clock beneath it.

Eventually, Iggy takes a break to sip his coffee and looks at Fontana. “So. What do you want?”

“A little history, Uncle.” Fontana sets down his cup. “Lou Clemenza. When he needed something done quietly, who did he use?”

“He had plenty of men.”

“Outside the Family,” I say. I keep my voice level with an effort. “Someone he could hire without his own people knowing.”

Iggy looks at me properly for the first time. “Orsini. I know who you are.” He leans back, rubbing a thumb along his mustache.

“A Giuliano,” I say. “That’s who we’re looking for.”

Iggy looks down at my hands, then back up at my face. “Ask Donnie,” he says at last. “Giuliano business is Giuliano business.”

He points across the room toward the chess tables. Fontana thanks him, listens to another complaint about how rarely he visits, and promises to bring Carlo next time.

Then we’re finally getting out of the fucking chairs.

“Word to the wise,” Fontana murmurs as we cross the lounge. “Whatever you ask in here, Luca hears about it.”

“That from experience?” I ask.

He gives a rueful smile, but doesn’t reply.

Donato Giuliano is sitting at a chessboard with nobody opposite him, a cut-glass tumbler beside his elbow. He’s wearing a cardigan, and he doesn’t look remotely troubled by what’s happening on the streets to his Family. And why should he? He was betrayed by his brother back in the day, ousted in a violent coup.

Reminds me of Seb and Big Gee, actually. Maybe that’s the curse of the Giulianos: brother against brother.

He moves a piece, studies the board from the other side, and takes a sip of his drink before acknowledging us. “Fontana. Where’s the boy who stole my shoes?”