“Mio Dio.” I made the sign of the cross, reaching in my pocket for my rosary, bringing it out.
Her breathing picked up when she saw it. It was as if she was looking at a ghost, or something she had seen before, and it made her anxious.
“Vittorio,” I whispered, clutching the beads. “His throat.”
She nodded. “Arturo—that other man—did that to him because he refused to kill me.”
“If you are Corrado Palermo’s daughter…” I could not even finish.
Mari nodded. “That’s right. Corrado—your Corrado—is my brother. Uncle Tito told me. He thought I had a right to know. It’s been tense between him and Amadeo ever since.”
My heart pumped so hard that the blood gushed out of my finger. “We need to talk,” I said.
“Desperately.” She lifted a finger. “But first. You need to cover that up. I don’t feel so well.” Then she passed out.
30
Corrado
It didn’t matter what time of the day I went to Macchiavello’s, or how late I showed up at The Club, that Machiavellian motherfucker always seemed ready for me.
I’d get the best table in either place.
I was used to that, but when he did it, I knew he did it to fuck with me.
The music pounded in The Club. The lights swirled. Every night was ladies’ night. There were five women for every guy. I’d already identified a few men in my family with theirgoomahs. It was no surprise. It had some of the best alcohol in the city and some of the most expensive talent on the stage.
However. I set my cup of Amaro down, my eyes rising to the second floor, where I knew he was watching me. Even though he reserved the best tables on this level for me, he never invited me into the hidden world he created above.
This time I didn’t come to wait for Mac Macchiavello to make an appearance. I came because I wanted to meet with Rocco Fausti.
It usually took a while to arrange a meeting with one of them, but since he requested a meeting with my wife, alone, I knew he was in town.
I set my glass down harder than intended.
Calcedonio looked at me but said nothing. Nunzio took the bottle and poured himself another glass. He came instead of Adriano, who had vertigo and kept running into walls when he moved too fast. There was no such thing as a sick day in this life, but what good was a man who’d shoot left when he had to shoot right?
From my visits, I’d learned that the Faustis frequented Macchiavello’s and The Club, so I knew they were familiar with Mac Macchiavello. That meant he meant something to them. Time was precious to the higher-ups in Faustifamiglia. They only spent it on people they thought worthy.
It was Romeo Fausti who agreed to set up a sit-down between his brother and me. The thing about the Faustis, though, was that someone higher had to sit in. That high up, it was usually an uncle or an older cousin.
The Faustis had a different setup than we did. Even if we had men who were blood-related in each family, our families were not all related. The higher a man went up in the Faustifamiglia, the most likely they were to be blood-related.
They were the secret society of secret societies.
We had the commission. The entire world had them.
Another man had tried to be the middle guy back in the day, between them and us, but that guy didn’t last long.
In all truth, the Faustis never messed around with the families unless there was a problem that couldn’t be solved by the commission. They were an honorable bunch of men, bred to live and die by their family motto—my word is as good as my blood. Truth meant something to them.
It was hard to come by these days, that kind of honor, but their family still proved it could work. That was the old way I wanted to bring back.The golden age. The Faustis had never left it. Though, in fairness, they never had the scrutiny we had either, as far as the government.
That being said, I requested Romeo bring someone who outranked Rocco to the sit-down. Romeo was younger. Brando was older, but he was in and out of the life. I could never get a good read on that fucking guy, but as long as he was decent to me, I’d show him the same respect.
Romeo said he had someone and it wouldn’t be a problem, though.
A bunch of women walked up to our booth. Calcedonio looked each girl up and down, his eyes hungry. Nunzio looked at them but then poured himself another drink.
