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“I don’t think we need more ammunition at the moment,” Nino says. “The last shipment came in two weeks ago.”
“It wasn’t about the orders. He wanted to let me know that he’d heard Fitzgerald had ordered a shitload of weapons from Dushku.”
“The Bratva won’t like that,” Arturo says. “Not after what happened four years ago between them and the Irish. If Petrov hears Dushku is selling to the Irish on the side, he won’t be happy.”
I lean back in my chair, debating whether to give Petrov a call. “The more important thing right now is what the Irish may be planning to do with all those weapons. Bogdan figures they aren’t for resale.”
“You think they’re prepping to attack us?” Arturo asks. “They don’t have enough men to inflict any serious damage.”
“Well, I don’t want any kind of damage at all, Arturo,” I say and turn to Nino. “Double the security on all locations. I want two additional soldiers with each transport. Tell the men to expect trouble. Any suspicious activity needs to be reported immediately. And put a tail on Fitzgerald. On his second-in-command, Deegan, as well.”
“All right.” He nods.
“Where are we on locating the second snitch?”
“He’s lying low. There haven’t been any leaks since we dealt with Octavio.”
My phone vibrates on the desk with an incoming message from Ada. I instructed her to report to me every two hours on what Milene is doing. The message says my wife is currently in the bathroom, trying to give the cat a bath because the idiotic thing spent the night sleeping in the flowerpot.
“How many people knew where that takeover was happening when the DEA showed up?” I ask as I lower the phone back onto the desk.
“Around twenty,” Nino says.
“And how many of them have been with us for less than two years?”
He thinks about it for a moment. “Nine. Why?”
“They weren’t around when we made an example of the last person who blabbed about our business. If they had been, going to the authorities wouldn’t even have crossed their minds,” I say. “Split those nine into two groups and send them somewhere. Make it known that someone from Cosa Nostra will be meeting with Mendoza in person, but provide a different location for each group. Then, we wait to see where the cops show up.”
“What will we do when we catch the snitch?”
“We’ll have a little demonstration,” I say.
* * *
I planned to have lunch with Rocco and the construction site’s manager, but that’s been canceled at the last moment, so I leave my tenth-floor office and take the elevator up to the penthouse. I told Ada to prepare lunch for just Milene today, but she usually makes far more food than necessary, and I’m already agitated about the fact I haven’t seen her since yesterday evening. When I get to the dining area, I find the table set for one, but instead of eating there, Milene is sitting at the breakfast bar with her phone leaning against a water bottle, watching a video.
“Is there something wrong with the table?” I ask.
“Nope.” She shakes her head and stuffs a bite of lasagna into her mouth without raising her eyes off the phone.
“So why are you eating lunch here?”
“We were always forced to eat lunch at the dining table back home, even when we were eating alone. I have trauma.”
I take a plate out of the cupboard, head over to the dining room table and grab some food from the serving tray, then sit down on the barstool opposite Milene. She looks up at me but quickly switches her attention back to the phone. Apparently, we’ll be ignoring what happened on the couch from last night.
“I found a how-to video on setting up a charity.” She points her fork toward the phone. “It seems like too much bureaucracy for my taste. Isn’t there anything else I could do?”
“You don’t have to do anything.”
She lowers her fork and shoots me an exasperated look. “I told you, I can’t sit here all day.”
“If it’ll make you feel better, I can call some of my men, so you can insert IV needles and such.”
“Ha ha.” She rolls her eyes. “I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
