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“I did knock,” the man smirks. “But you weren’t here to let me in, were you?”
“Jesus Christ,” Antony mutters, rubbing his hand over his face. “Look at you, getting crumbs all over my damn couch. I swear to God, Marco, if I find one single greasy fingerprint, you are buying me a new one, you understand?”
“God, calm down. You’re so uptight!” Unhurried, Marco picks up the bowl and puts it on the table in front of him, then stands. He turns to face both of us and gives me a charming grin that emphasizes his family resemblance to Antony. “How can you handle being around this guy? You could get a diamond from shoving a lump of coal up his ass.”
“Jesus, Marco. Language,” Antony groans. “Porca miseria…”
Antony’s brother extends his hand to me. “I’m Antony’s much better-looking brother. And you must be Serafina Mucci.”
I laugh. “I am. Pleased to meet you.”
“You sure you don’t want to trade up a model?” He jerks a thumb at Antony. “This one’s not nearly as much fun as I am.”
“‘Fun,’” Antony repeats sardonically, putting the word in air quotes. “This is what he calls it.Fun.”
I give Marco a smile. “I’m good, thanks.” It’s amusing to watch the two of them banter back and forth, but I don’t know them well enough to participate. I don’t want to give either of them the impression that I’d mock Antony. He has his quirks, but the truth is, I’m growing to appreciate them. Even find them endearing.
“So, why the hell are you actually here, Marco?” Antony asks impatiently. “Besides eating all my snacks and ruining my couch and my coffee table?”
Marco’s grin fades a little. “I, uh, wanted to talk to you about this business with…” His eyes cut to me.
I bite my lip, studying him. “The business about my father? Is that what you’re trying to say?”
Marco doesn’t answer, but his meaning is clear. Antony gives him a brief nod. “You got any info? Sera’s involved, Marco. She’s the one holding down the Mucci fort right now. You can talk in front of her.”
Marco looks dubious. But Antony, surprisingly, takes a seat on the couch and motions for both of us to sit down. “Go on, spill. What’d you find out?”
I perch on a seat across from Antony. Marco flops down on the couch beside him. He starts to put his feet back up on the coffee table, but at Antony’s stern stare, he lowers them again. “That’s just it. I’ve been talking to our informants. Trying to get information. Nobody seems to know anything.”
Antony spits out a curse. “How the hell is this possible? We’ve got eyes and ears all over this city! Over a week, and we’ve got no more intel than we started with.”
The two of them argue back and forth for a few minutes. I sit back, listening to them and contemplating the whole situation and thinking about my conversation with Stan. And about what Giovanni said earlier today.
“Can I ask a question?” I say, interrupting them.
The two men stop and look at me. It’s almost like they forgot I was here.
“Sure, sweetheart. Go ahead,” Antony prompts me.
“What if this was just… a warning shot?” I venture, repeating Stan’s words. “It just seems to me that if someone wanted to kill my father, there are far better places to try to do it than his own home, surrounded by his men. What if trying to figure out who would want to kill him isn’t the real question? What if it was an attempt to provoke my father to move in a particular direction? To make a particular decision, without actually killing him?”
“Shit. Yeah. This is a good point.” Marco stares off into space, considering. “You may have something there, Sera.”
Antony leans forward, steepling his hands. “Maybe. But if that’s the case, I don’t know if that gets us any further in terms of trying to figure out what the hell is going on. And who the hell is behind it. What would this person want to try to push Carmine Mucci into doing?”
I certainly don’t know. And from the looks on the brothers’ faces, they don’t either.
Marco eventually gets up, saying he’s going to call Matteo to check up on any new developments at the safe house. Antony tells him to let him know immediately if there’s anything to report.
“Good to meet you, Sera,” Marco says before he leaves. “Nice to finally get to talk to the girl who’s been taking up all of Antony’s time and attention. I gotta say, you might even manage to tame this one.”
“Goodbye, Marco,” Antony barks. Marco just laughs and exits the penthouse.
When Marco is gone, Antony turns to me. “You hungry? It’s about dinner time. I can make us some food.”
“You?” I say, astonished. Then I realize there isn’t any staff here. “The famous Antony D’Agostino can cook?”
“Better than you, probably,” he shoots back, lifting his chin. “Come on. I’ll open a bottle of wine and take out some of my Sicilian pesto from the freezer. My ma’s recipe. Not as good as fresh, but it’ll do.”
