Page 157 of Marcello

The room was completely for show. Back when he was alive, Aristide Caproni had wanted a library because it was something rich people were supposed to have. I doubted he’d ever read a single book in the room.

I doubted Cesare had ever read a single book in his life.

Lucrezia undoubtedly had, though. She was the one person in the family who was book-smart as well as street-smart.

When I walked into the library, all the top lieutenants were already assembled: Cicciobello, Toro, Ciro, Tiratore, and Mignolino.

The mood was tense. Even normally lighthearted Cicciobello looked stressed.

I nodded a greeting to everybody, and they all nodded back silently.

Thirty seconds later, Cesare and Lucrezia walked into the library. As always, Lucrezia wore a pair of designer sunglasses that completely hid her eyes.

She sat down behind the big mahogany desk in the center of the library. Cesare stood next to her.

“Romeo,” she said, “are the men ready?”

“Yes. We’ve practiced nonstop for the last eight months. They’re as ready as they’ll ever be.”

“Good. Then we’re doing it tonight.”

I stared at her. “Tonight?”

“Good, you can hear,” she said sarcastically, then continued talking to everyone else. “Luciano Amato has visited his mistress in Vomero five out of the last six Tuesdays, and we’re pretty sure he’ll do it again tonight.”

Vomero was one of the nicer neighborhoods in Naples. It was also where Luciano had stashed one of his three side pieces in a pricey apartment building.

Lucrezia continued. “As you know, I arranged for Toro’s girlfriend Carmela to move into the same building as Luciano’s mistress. We’ve had a team on standby in her apartment every Tuesday night, just in case. They’ve been practicing with you at the motel, so they’ll know exactly what to do.”

She pointed at Cicciobello. “I’m putting you in charge of the Posillipo team.”

Posillipo was an even more expensive neighborhood near the Bay where Luciano lived with his family.

“Kill the bodyguards,” Lucrezia ordered, “but don’t touch his wife or kids. Just tie them up – we need them for leverage over Luciano.”

Cicciobello nodded gravely. “Okay.”

“Tiratore,” Lucrezia said, “you ready to be our sniper?”

“Absolutely,” he replied.

“Good – we’ll need you at Don Amato’s compound. We have schematics for the grounds; memorize them. You’re going to need to take out at least half a dozen Cosa Nostra outside the house.”

At that point, she addressed the entire group. “We know what the outside of the house looks like, but we’re not entirely clear on the inside. For that, we need Luciano to draw us a map.”

She pulled out a manilla folder from a drawer and began to place computer-printed pictures on the desk. “Just to recap, these are the people we’re after.”

All the photos had been taken in public – most with a telephoto lens from an extreme distance.

I was reminded uncomfortably of the surveillance pictures Fausto had of my mother, sister, and brother.

In every single one of Lucrezia’s pictures, the subject was surrounded by at least half a dozen bodyguards in black suits and ties.

The first photo was of an old, short, balding man with a bad comb-over. His Armani suit was impeccably tailored, but it still couldn’t hide how fat he was.

“This is Don Amato, our primary target,” Lucrezia said as she pointed at the picture.

Next was a middle-aged woman in a designer clothing boutique. She had probably been a beauty in her youth, but that had been a while ago. She wore an expensive-looking dress and carried a Birkin bag.