No time to climb back up onto the roof, so I scoot behind the barrel and pray I’m not seen.
Two Amato associates walk round the barrel and I’m relieved when I’m not spotted. I’m just starting to relax when one of the two pauses.
“What is it?” the first guard asks.
The second guard points at something on the ground. I realize it’s my shadow—I’m partially blocking the light from a window behind me.
I get up to run but when they train their weapons on me I freeze and raise both hands.
One of the men says something on a radio and then they gather me up.
Soon I’m being escorted inside the main mansion. The guards lead me to an expansive chamber. I’d call it a living room, based on the expensive couches and tables arrayed about, but I’ve never seen one so massive.
I’m forced to my knees beside a man who’s seated in a power reclining armchair. LED lights run alongthe bottom. His back is to me while he watches TV on a seventy-two inch display. He holds a glass of whiskey in one hand, a remote the other.
“Giovanni…” one of my guards says.
That would be Angela’s father.
I’m doubly fucked now.
The seated man jerks the hand with the remote upward, as if to say “don’t interrupt me.”
Some Italian show is on, I don’t know which one. I don’t care. I just want to get out of here. I look around, searching for a way out, but in all the doorways an armed man stands, blocking any escape.
A commercial comes on and finally Giovanni lowers his hand. He turns to look at me and the guards. He’s middle age, with a salt and pepper beard, and steely eyes peering out from behind horn-rimmed glasses.
“We found this kid in the courtyard,” the guard says. He points to the pendant around my neck, which I had stupidly forgotten to tuck into my shirt. “He was wearing this.”
Giovanni’s eyes drop to my neck and his expression darkens. “Where did you get that?”
I don’t answer him.
He glances at one of his men. “Check on my daughter.”
The heavily mustached individual nods, then departs, taking the spiral stairs.
Giovanni turns back to me. “You better pray she’s all right.”
The mustached guard returns after a moment. “She’s safe in her room.”
Giovanni purses his lips and rocks back and forth for a moment, as if considering what to do.
His hand darts forward. His fingers wrap around the pendant at my throat and he pulls, hard. I flinch as the necklace digs into the nape of my neck before the clasp finally breaks. He holds up the pendant.
“You’re a thief,” he says flatly. “You dare steal from the Amato family?”
He has to know Angela gave it to me, but I bite back a response—I don’t want to get her in trouble.
“What’s the matter?” Giovanni presses. “You have no tongue? Someone has done me a favor then.”
The comment elicits laughter from the surrounding guards. I’ve heard he likes to cut out the tongues of people who cross him.
I remain silent. My nape throbs where the necklace cut into my flesh, and I feel hot blood seeping down.
Giovanni leans closer. “Wait a moment. I recognize you,cazzo. You’re the ferrier’s helper!” He pauses, his eyes sliding to the right as if sifting through memories. Then he looks at me again. “Massimo, is it?”
“No,” I lie. “I’ve never set foot on your property before.”
