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Tommaso said he would be at a private booth on the top level of the club, so I head up the stairs to the VIP area to escape from the dizzy, unwashed woo girls and the ticking time bombs of alcoholic men that they brought with them. Some of them leer at me from behind their swirling, watery vision, but as long as nobody from the wrong side of town recognizes me, I can handle being stared at by idiots in a club.
It’s not any cleaner, but at least there aren’t as many people up here. I’m careful not to let anything touch the white suit that I’m wearing, which was also a bold and poor choice on my part. Fortunately, I’m able to spot him thirty feet away, where he’s flirting awkwardly with the bottle girl.
“Hi, just a bottle of Bombay Sapphire for me. Thanks, sweetie,” I say as I approach the table, handing the girl a wad of cash that I haven’t counted and don’t care to. I’ve learned that if you’re extra nice to the staff at a sleazy club, they’ll usually let you get away with shit that the more corporate places would throw you out for, like cutting lines on the tables and snorting them.
“You look like you’ve been walking through a haunted house,” Tommaso remarks as he stands up to shake my hand.
“This place would be better served if it were a haunted house. Jesus, Tommaso, how did you decide that coming here was a good idea?” I ask, trying to neutralize the disgust in my voice and failing spectacularly.
Tommaso gestures around the VIP area. “Because nobody here is going to pay any attention to our meeting at all. Everyone is too wrapped up in their own shit to notice us. Do you think this is the kind of place people come to celebrate? No, they’re all drowning themselves in vodka and MDMA.”
I glance around, and he’s more or less correct. Everybody that I see is either slumped over or snorting line after line of what they presume to be coke.
“Alright, I guess I can take your word for it. So, what do you have for me?” I ask, sitting back in the booth as I attempt to touch it as little as possible.
“So, the bad news is that Enzo is being deported from Germany back to Italy, and his bond hearing will more than likely result in his imprisonment. He’s a flight risk, obviously,” Tommaso begins, throwing back the last of a tumbler of bourbon he’d been working on since I arrived.
“Okay, do you have any idea who the informant is?” I ask as I feel the burn of righteous anger forming in my chest.
“I’m not sure if it’s a good idea to tell you, Marcello,” he replies, sitting up straight to look me in the eyes as my stare grows more intense.
I sit back out of frustration, my shoulders slamming into a part of the booth’s wooden frame. It hurts, but I’m not about to let Tommaso see me flinch. “What the fuck does that mean? You’re telling me youknowwho got my brother thrown in prison, and you’re keeping it from me on purpose?”
“I’m hesitating for your own good. You and I both know your intentions, and I’m worried that you’ll let your anger get the better of you. This is your brother, I get it, but you need to be careful,” he replies as the bottle girl approaches with my gin and two glasses.
“Sorry about the wait on that,” she stammers as she sets down the bottle and glasses.
I shrug. “It’s fine. I didn’t really come here to drink anyway,” I reply, eyeing her up and down. I want her to feel my eyes on her.
She blushes hard. “I mean, I really love Bombay Sapphire. Could I join you two?” she asks cheekily.
Damn it.
I pour myself a drink, making sure to keep my body language closed to her. “Oh, we’re actually having a meeting, sweetheart. I’m certain it would bore you to death.”
Her big blue eyes fall a bit in disappointment, but she nods and steps away. I sigh heavily, taking a long sip before I’m inevitably pulled into an argument with my closest advisor.
“Listen, I know you. You’re always out for revenge, and this time, your emotions are involved. I know that you feel the need to punish everyone for every wrongdoing against you, but this could actually get you killed. You aren’t thinking straight,” Tommaso continues.
We both glance at a group of college-age girls, who stumble past us as they head for the stairs.
“I just want to know his name, that’s all,” I say after a brief hesitation.
“To what end? Why do you need to know his name right now? At least give it a day or two so you can recalibrate,” he replies as he pours himself a drink in the other glass.
I roll my eyes. “You’re acting like my reaction would be irrational.”
“I didn’t say it would be. But you live by your own rules, always, and sooner or later, it’s going to catch up with you. I don’t want it to be now.”
I allow his words to sink in for a moment. He’s right, I’ve been evading the law since I was sixteen, and I’ve become a master of my craft. They’ve tried time and time again to pin me for crimes I committed, but I was always able to save my own ass. Murder is no different, and I’d say that I’m even better at covering my tracks when I need to kill someone.
“If I tell you the name, you need to at least promise me that you’ll think this through before you act on it. Okay? Can you do that? That’s all I’m asking for,” he says with a note of desperation in his voice.
This conversation is exhausting. I hate the way that Tommaso treats me like a loose cannon, even if he’s right.
“Okay, fine. I’ll give it three days, but if I still feel like I have to fuck this guy up, I’m going to do it. That’s my side of the agreement. Now, what’s this motherfucker’s name?”
“His name is Franco Di Angelo. He’s under police protection right now, so he’ll be even more difficult for you to access. He’s not just some guy; he’s an informant. You need to exercise some restraint, or you’re going to prison or getting killed,” he replies, pulling up a photo on his phone and sliding it over to me.
