My brother Roberto fist-bumps me on the way out. He’s carrying the keys to the speedboat, along with a suitcase.
“Where you headed?” I ask him.
“Palermo,” he says. “Got a delivery.”
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” I say with a wink.
He smiles, darting toward the back. Before vanishing around the corner, he says: “Oh, Matteo’s looking for you.”
I find my brother Matteo in the family room, seated on the couch, with a laptop on the coffee table in front of him. Like all of us, he’s got a muscular build from years of training in the gym and boxing ring, and looks a little out of place typing on a computer. But all things technological are his specialty. He glances up when I enter, and his long, dark curls tumble about his face.
“Got trouble with Santo again,” Matteo says.
I feel a rising surge of anger. “What now?”
“He’s decided to have a little chat with the police,” Matteo finishes.
I stare at him a moment. “Anyone already in our pocket?”
Matteo shakes his head. “No. The cops called earlier, looking for you. I told them you weren’t home. They want you to drop by the station.”
Fuck.
“What do you want to do?” Matteo presses.
I glance at the Rolex watch on my wrist. “And I was just starting to grow attached to it.”
“I meant with Santo?” Matteo asks.
I purse my lips. “It seems we’re not getting through to him.”
“No,” Matteo agrees. He pauses, then: “I’ll take the boat with Roberto to the mainland and discharge him from the hospital. We’ll give him a little shake from the rooftop. He pisses his pants, agrees to throw the next race and keep quiet, we both go home happy.”
I nod. “Seems fair. I’ll handle the police.”
I call Roberto and tell him to turn the speedboat around.
“Can’t wait until we own our own horses, and a racetrack,” Matteo says when I hang up. “Then we can have our own races, and vet our own jockeys like the other big families.”
I nod. “Be patient, brother. One day we’ll own this whole island.”
* * *
I leave the police station,my wrist fifteen thousand Euros lighter. Detective Lombardo, the man in charge of the case, agreed to dismiss Santo’s claims as baseless in exchange for the watch. Santo would receive a disappointing call from the detective later, either before or after Matteo dangled him from the hospital rooftop. Santo, seeing how futile his resistance really was, along with the consequences of said resistance, would fall into line. They always did.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I slide it out and glance at the caller. When I see it’s Matteo, I accept.
“How did it go?” I ask, eager to get this one behind me.
“We dropped him.” Matteo’s voice comes in shocked gasps.
I pause, feeling my heart sink to my stomach. “What are you talking about? Speak to me man, what did you do?”
“We fucking dropped him!” Matteo repeats over the line. “He fell! He’s dead.”
3
Massimo
