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He’s also been in bed with the Mancino family for almost a decade. One of our more secret, under-the-table connections.
You can imagine how pleased I am that Grimaldi’s agreed to host Giorgio for a celebratory luncheon today. He sent the invite at my behest (unbeknownst to Giorgio). I can’t say I blame him—if I’d spent months in jail, I’d probably stuff myself with Grimaldi’s, too.
Giorgio arrives with a handful of guys. Grimaldi’s shut the place down for him. Once again, at my behest. The less witnesses the better. To Giorgio, it’s simply Grimaldi giving him the star treatment. All the privacy and dedicated attention a guy like him could want at a time where he’s a lightning rod for the press; they’ve been running story after story about his overturned conviction.
He’s seated at what Grimaldi considers the VIP table. Right in the corner of the restaurant, normally offering privacy, but far enough away from the exits that a hasty escape is damn near impossible. He drops into his chair, a satisfied smirk on his pasty face, as though he deserves to sit at a table among black-and-white photos of greats like Sinatra and Sammy Davis Jr. Both of whom once dined at Grimaldi’s many years ago.
Giorgio is a hanger-on—his older brother Hector’s shorter, rattier, less competent spare in case things ever go south. But nobody really respects Giorgio. Not even his crew.
The guy most likely behind Delphine’s attack. He’d threatened her openly yesterday in court.
Grimaldi’s staff serves them. The large table is covered with an obscene amount of food. Any Italian dish you’d ever want to eat. Giorgio’s not the biggest guy, more skinny-fat munchkin than anything, but hegorges. His men too.
They drink like fishes. The restaurant fills up with cigar smoke and the echo of their cocky laughter.
One of the servers checks the locks at the front. The others vacate the premises as directed. Nobody but his crew and mine should be on the property for what’s about to happen next.
“You promise,” Grimaldi says when he sees me on his way out the back. “Everything returned to its original condition?”
“Spotless. You won’t notice a thing out of place.”
He nods, satisfied with my reassurance. We’ve always paid him well. Even Lucius has utilized his services from time to time.
Giorgio is shoveling a forkful of linguine into his mouth the moment we close in. We appear like a cloak of darkness, descending upon the dining room without an opening for them to react. One second, everything’s festive and the moment’s bright.
The next second, shit couldn’t look bleaker. Black as coal.
His fork clatters, slipping from his fingers and hits the table. His mouth stays ajar. If possible, he pales. As it turns out, there’s a shade lighter than white—translucent.
For their part, his men whip around in their chairs and attempt to defend themselves. It’s no use, though. We’ve got the jump on them, our weapons loaded and ready. If they move one more inch, we’ll be putting bullets in their brains.
I walk up to his table and calmly take the empty chair across from his. “Hello, Giorgio. How’s lunch?”
His pale face flushes red. “You motherfucking cocksucker—”
“Careful, Giorgio. I’m in no mood for a temper tantrum. I’d love an excuse to blow your face off.”
“You wouldn’t dare. You wouldn’t risk retaliation from our family.”
The twitch returns in my left cheek. Damn near invisible. “You sure about that? I don’t have much to lose—your family dead or mine. Blood is blood. It’s all the same to me.”
Giorgio shares a couple glances with his men. Some of them shift in their chairs and a few look like they might lose their lunch if this goes any further. Just moments ago they were deep in their celebration. Now it’s clear this is no friendly situation. Death is on the table.
“I’ll keep it short and to the point,” I say. “Have you or have you not been targeting ADA Adams?”
“You mean princess? The one with the nice ass and all that mouth?” He bares his teeth in a nasty grimace.
I nod at Fabio to my left. He squeezes his trigger and shoots the guy next to Giorgio dead. He face plants into his half eaten plate of lasagna. Some of the blood splatters on Giorgio and he jerks in his chair at the sudden action.
“Fuck!” he yells. “You think you’re tough, huh? Gunning us down like this? You think you’ll get your answer?”
My glare turns murderous, my pulse spiking. “You’ll answer if you expect to keep breathing. Have you or have you not been targeting her?”
“This about the overturned verdict? It was easy spooking her. Real fun too.”
“Your last chance to stop playing dumb,” I say slowly, my voice scarily calm. “ADA Adams has been attacked. She’s had her home broken into. You’ve made several open threats to her. Have you been behind what’s happening?”
He reclines in his chair, his mouth lax as though amused. “If I wanted to hurt the chick, I would’ve done it myself. More fun that way.Capeesh?”
