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“Uh, Mr. Moretti.” He set his cup down before glancing behind him, cautiously surveying their surroundings. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to speak to you,” Corrado said.
“How did you know where to find me?”
Corrado shook his head as he peered at the man. “You come here every morning for coffee, two creams but no sugar, and a wheat bagel with a bit of strawberry cream cheese before heading into the city for work.”
Shock registered on the man’s face. “How . . . ?”
“Oh, give me some credit, Senator. You think I don’t do my homework?”
Senator Cain Brolin hailed straight from New York City, born and raised near Hell’s Kitchen in Manhattan. He hung with the wrong crowd growing up, had befriended some unlikely men before running for office, and it was through those men that he had crossed Corrado’s path. He, along with another senator from Illinois, had been involved in a labor scheme years before with the New York and Chicago families, rigging bids on government construction sites so Mafia-controlled companies got the jobs for a hefty profit.
They still did it, as far as Corrado knew, but Salvatore had been cut out of the scheme long before, deemed too much of a risk.
A waitress walked up before Senator Brolin had a chance to respond, interrupting their conversation. “What can I get you, dear? Coffee?”
Corrado shook his head. “Just water. I—”
“He doesn’t drink coffee,” Senator Brolin said. “It upsets his stomach.”
Corrado stared at the man as the waitress walked away. “I see I’m not the only one who pays attention.”
“Of course not, Mr. Moretti.”
They were quiet until the waitress returned with Corrado’s water. The two men moved to a booth in the back, away from nosy ears and prying eyes.
“So what do you want?” Senator Brolin asked, picking at his bagel but eating none. “You aren’t a man who makes social visits.”
“True,” Corrado said. “And I don’t want something . . . I need something.”
“Look, if it’s about your pending case, I’ll tell you the same thing I told Dr. DeMarco. I can’t really—”
“It’s not about that,” Corrado cut him off, his eyes narrowing. “DeMarco? You spoke to Vincent about the RICO case?”
“Yes, a few weeks ago. He contacted me.”
“What did he want?”
“Uh, I don’t know, really. We didn’t get that far. He asked what kind of influence I had within the justice department, if any. I told him my hands were tied there and the conversation ended.”
That made absolutely no sense to Corrado but he shook it off, making a mental note to come back to it later. He didn’t have time to be concerned about what his brother-in-law was up to. There were more immediate things needing to be dealt with. “Well, like I said, this isn’t about that.”
“Then what’s it about?”
“There’s a new place in Connecticut Salvatore wants to do business with—Graves Resort & Casino. Guy named Samuel Graves owns it.”
“I know of it,” Senator Brolin said. “Graves grew up with the underboss of the Calabrese family. He’s a friend of mine. They both are, actually.”
“I figured that much. And the Calabrese family isn’t our biggest fan these days. The Amaro family, the Geneva family, sure . . . I still have connections. But the Calabrese family?” Corrado shook his head. Sal had offended them one too many times. “Without their approval, no deal.”
“What do you expect me to do?”
“I need you to get this partnership to go through.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Why?” Corrado scoffed, leaning back against the booth. “Because they’re going to push for this to happen one way or another, whether it is done amicably or otherwise. They’re already making plans to escalate the matter. And I’m sure I don’t have to tell you, Senator, what might happen if a war breaks out between New York and Chicago.”
