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One of Bobby’s union guys stands at the service entrance to the warehouse, pacing up and down, chain-smoking cigarettes.
“He’s a good kid,” Bobby says, gesturing at the union worker. “Girlfriend’s pregnant. Always shows up on time. Always covers for the other guys. His name’s Larry Mud.”
“Larry Mud?”
Bobby flashes a mouth of yellow teeth. “Larry Mud, I swear to God. He’s proud of that name too. Apparently, it’s a big deal where he comes from.”
I nod, studying the man, with his dark brown hair and his broad shoulders. I wonder if our son is going to look Lucy with her chocolate -brown hair, or if he’ll inherit my black hair instead… my hair that used to be black.
“We won’t let anything happen to him,” I say.
“You better not. Larry Mud can’t become mud.”
Finally, a sedan with tinted windows pulls up outside the warehouse. It drives up to Larry and stops just short, the windows so dark I can’t see inside.
The driver steps out, followed by three guys. They all look the same, with their suits and their slicked-back hair, but I recognize all of them.
They’re all Franco’s men.
Then Ottavio steps out.
“Franco’s consigliere is dealing drugs?” I murmur.
“Who said it was drugs?”
“They’re dealing drugs to the sailors and crews,” I snap. “It’s an old scam, a sideline I stopped when I took control. Don’t treat me like some green bastard, Bobby.”
He raises his hands. “Fair enough. Then yeah, Ottavio Berlusconi is dealing drugs. Can you fucking believe it?”
“No.”
Ottavio has an old-school reputation for honor and respect, and one of the biggest old-school rules is to stay out of drugs. My old man subscribed to it and so do I, so did Ottavio, it’s the way things should be, but with Franco at the helm, things have changed.
I bring my walkie to my face and press the button.
“Aldo, go. Capturing Ottavio is a priority.”
My men flow into action like this has all been rehearsed, emerging with their rifles raised, roaring at Franco’s men to put their weapons down. While they’re deciding whether or not to open fire, it’s too late.
The rifles are in their faces and my men are shoving them up against the car, handcuffing them.
I step from the car and walk away from the shipping container, toward the car and the men.
Aldo drags Ottavio by the arm to the front of the car. The older man stands straight, his lips stiff, with a hint of regret and shame in his eyes.
“I didn’t expect to see you here,” I tell him. “You’re not a lackey. You’re his goddamn consigliere. And he’s got you dealing drugs.”
Foolish people think this life is all about bullets and toughness, and there is some of that. But mostly it’s about playing people, about moving like an intelligent predator. It’s about knowing how to target somebody’s weaknesses and leverage them.
Muscles alone make quick corpses in this game.
He frowns and glances away. “I do what my boss requires of me.”
“Dealing drugs is a sideline. What does it bring in compared to the legitimate contracts?”
His frown deepens. I smirk, stepping forward and lowering my voice. “Franco’s losing his contracts. He’s become wild, incautious, and even if he can twist the arm of the union, he can’t twist the arm of every single supplier. So he’s fucked. Which means you’re fucked and his whole family is going to implode.”
“You expect me to answer that?” Ottavio snaps. “He’s my boss.”
“I respect loyalty,” I growl. “But Franco has turned into a mad dog. He insulted you at the fashion show. He heckled an innocent woman.”
Rage burns in my voice, the memory of my princess standing there in the outfit he stuffed her in. He had no right to twist her to his sick will like that… and yet if he hadn’t, I might never have met her and knew what a man like me is really capable of feeling.
She’s mine, mine, mine, and if Franco was here I’d stomp his face into the concrete for daring to bully her.
Ottavio flinches at my anger. Even Aldo leans back as if I might lash out wildly.
“I had no hand in that,” Ottavio says. “I swear to God, Luca. I pitied those poor girls. Franco is an embarrassment. If he knew that girl was – ah – an associate of yours…” He clears his throat, shaking his head. “I didn’t know. Please.”
I step forward and lay my hand on his arm. He flinches and gazes up at me, terror replacing his uncertainty.
“We need to take you as a hostage. You understand.”
Ottavio leans close, lowering his voice even more than mine already was. We’re whispering now, heard only by each other. “It won’t make any difference. He doesn’t value my life.”
“I value your life.”
He flinches. “What?”
“You’re reasonable, you’re level-headed, you don’t drink or do drugs. You’re a family man.”
