He instilled in me everything it took to be a king in a ruthless kingdom full of traitors and misfits.
He also instilled in me what it took to love and respect my wife without speaking a word to me. He loved my mamma and made an example of what it meant to be a real man. The Faustis only enhanced what had already been rooted deep inside of me.
We both stopped short when we found the man we came to see. He sat at his desk, on the phone, oblivious to the old woman behind him holding a music wire between her hands. She was dressed in all black, and she was about to put it over his head and around his neck—to pull from behind.
Tommaso was a man who’d been friends with my great-grandfather. They had bonded over a dish he had in his restaurant. My great-grandfather said he could write a poem about it, that was how good it was. My family did something for his once upon a time, and ever since then, we came here when we wanted a private place to dine.
It was off the beaten path and inconspicuous.
Tommaso must have noticed the look on our faces. Right before the woman got the wire over his head, he stood up, scaring her. She yelled at him in Sicilian, waving her hands. He yelled back, waving his hands.
He shook his head at us when she left. Sticking a thumb toward the door she went out of, he said, “My wife’s mamma! She has decided she wants to kill me before she dies. It has come to her,suddenly,that I have not been a good enough husband over the years.”
“Careful, Tommaso,” my old man said. “She had a good grip on that wire.”
“Madonna!” he said. “If she ever truly gets to me, I will be done!” He picked up the wire she dropped and stuck it in a drawer filled with hundreds of them. “You need the place?”
My old man nodded. “We’ll lock up after we leave.” His eyes were a vivid blue, and they turned hard. “Same deal as always. You’ll be compensated for your time.”
He waved this off. “It’s been a while, but I have not forgotten. You have keys?”
My old man dangled a set.
“We have not changed the locks since the last time. You are good.” Tommaso stood. “We will bring out food and drinks. We will go after.”
“Grazie.”
We took a seat at the table, joining the conversation while Tommaso and his wife filled the table with food and drink. He was sweating, though, jumpy from the wire incident. Poor bastard lived with the old woman, too. He probably never got a moment’s peace.
Laughter echoed around the table while we finished our food. My old man stood and went to the bathroom while we finished up. His eyes met mine, and I knew he was going to check the place out. Make sure it wasn’t bugged or that no one was hiding in the pantry. Doubtful, though, because Tommaso never knew when we’d be coming. We just showed up, and it had been years since the last time. Still. Never leave a stone unturned.
The conversation began when my old man came back. He nodded, and Vincenzo opened the backpack he’d brought along. He pulled out long envelopes and set them in the center of the table. Rocco leaned forward and emptied their contents.
Pictures.
They started going around the table. I’d seen Arsenius Bykov before, but these pictures were more recent. He was getting inside of an armored car, his wife behind him. He’d bulked up since the last pictures I’d seen of him.
The last pictures I’d seen of Livia were from when she was young. After she left the family that had fostered her, as soon as she could, she basically disappeared. Or she thought she did. We always had a relative idea of where she was.
I found more than traces of the Faustis in her looks. Mia had told me that Livia wanted to wash her blood clean of them. Must have been hell for her whenever she looked in the mirror, seeing the very thing she hated staring back at her.
My jaw tightened at the sight of Mia atS’envoyer en l’air. Someone had taken photos of her without her knowledge. Her body was pointed in one direction, but her hand was being tugged on. The pictures played out in order. Elio Ascari’s hands on what belonged to me.
“Those were found in Elio Ascari’s place,” Vincenzo said, sitting back, lighting a cigarette. “Envelope was open. Pictures scattered on his table.”
“He didn’t take them,” I said. It wasn’t from his vantage point. “These had to be taken without Mia knowing. She would have noticed a camera.”
Vincenzo lifted his lighter and pressed something on the side. It made a lowclickingnoise. “Smile, Pretty Boy,” he said, showing a row of bright white, perfect teeth.
I flicked him the bird. He took the picture with his lighter and then capped it. He wasn’t usually so genial toward his trainees, but I had special privileges. “Like” was too strong of a word. He tolerated me. For that, I was able to flick him the bird without him trying to chop my finger off and stick it down my throat.
“It makes sense that Livia took them,” Guido said. “She did not tell Arsenii that Mia was in the club. If she would have—” He shrugged, not having to say another word. That night would have gone a lot differently. “She must have given these to him after.”
“That must have gone down well,” I said.
Guido shrugged. “From what sources tell us, he’s obsessed with her. Will give her anything she wants.”
“And whatever her mother wants—”
