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“We don’t know. It’s come from the same address as last time. Louis mentioned he’d looked into it when Gio had received his. It’s some PO Box.”
“It has to belong to somebody.”
“The name’s an alias. We haven’t been able to find out who he is.”
“You haven’t been trying hard enough. Figure it out!” I bark. I tear up the card and toss the pieces into the air. They float like confetti. Fozzi picks them up once they touch the ground.
Giovanni was receiving strange messages before his death. He wasn’t the only one. Someone has been sending anonymous warnings to high-ranking members in the family. I’d received one weeks ago predicting revenge on us. I brushed it off, figuring it was some stupid practical joke. When I heard about the motorcyclist shooting at my brother on the street, I’d wondered if the situations were connected.
When Claro received one, I knew it was. Someone somewhere was targeting us. Giovanni was the first in their line of sight. I’d reached out to my brother for that reason. I’d gone to Portofino with some of my men to combat what Claro and I believed was a very real threat. Only moments after arriving, my brother’s yacht blew up.
I stride toward my desk, mulling over the situation, overwhelmed by the urge for my next hit. If I’m going to catch the piece of shit targeting our family, I need to be on my best game. I need more. I pick up my rolled up Ben Franklin note and suck up the last of the line.
My nose tingles. I wipe it impatiently with the sleeve of my shirt, the rest of me running hot. If the month on the calendar didn’t say December, I’d swear it was July.
“I want to know who it is. Who is it threatening our family? Find out,” I command. “Get me a name. Get me a face. You have forty-eight hours. I’ve got too much shit on my plate to let some anonymous piece of shit threaten me. He’ll go down with the rest of them.”
