Fuscone growls an apology and Tino goes back to his meal, forking off another piece of hisosso bucoand savoring the flesh.
We all wait.
At last, Tino looks to the back of the room where his bodyguard Angelo Messina lurks. He gives a nod, and Angelo goes into the other room and comes back with Finch. The bag on Finch’s head turns this way and that as he tries to scope out the room even though he can’t see anything. It might even be funny, if I didn’t think I was likely to die in the next half hour or so.
I pull Finch to me by the other elbow and mutter, “Keep your mouth shut,” to him before I turn back to my Boss and say politely, “This is Howard Donovan Junior’s son, Howard Donovan the Third.”
“That’s a dead guy walking,” Fuscone mutters ominously.
“He seems very much alive to me,” Tino says. “Remove the hood, please.”
I do. Tino puts on his glasses and gives Finch an up-and-down stare. I pray to God that Finchwillkeep his smart mouth under control, but happily the imminent nature of his death finally seems to have got through to him.
Once he’s scoped out the Irish kid, the Boss closes his eyes for a moment and thinks. Then he looks over at me. “Would you care to explain why you did not carry out your orders?”
I hesitate without seeming to. Is it best to do this here, in the open, or behind closed doors? “Don Morelli, I beg your indulgence. Can we have a moment alone?”
“No, you fucking can’t!” Fuscone barks, just like I hoped he would, while I keep my smirk under control.
Tino’s glance is enough to shut Fuscone up, and then the aging head of the Morelli Family rises from his chair like it’s a throne. He flicks his head at me in acome ongesture. I let go of Finch’s arm to go after my Boss, but the kid makes a panicked noise and grabs at me.
“No,” I tell him calmly. “You stay here. Stay with Frank.”
That bronze skin of his has a decidedly greenish patina to it now. I wonder exactly how far into the drug hole this angel has crawled. But it’s the least of my concerns right now, as I follow Tino into the next room.
He’s sitting in a massive armchair, lighting an after-dinner cigar and pouring himself a cognac. “Don’t sit down,” he tells me, and that’s when I know I’m going to have to play this very carefully. “You have one minute to explain to me why you think you know better than Fuscone. He is my representative, is he not?” I nod my head. “Then explain, Luciano. Help me understand why you’ve shownmesuch disrespect by disobeying an order.”
I won’t go for the bait he’s swinging in front of me by arguing that it’s only Fuscone I’ve disrespected, and Fuscone’s a fool. He is, but that’s not news. He’s Tino’s lieutenant due to a complex web of Family traditions, favors and debts, and that’s that.
Besides, I have a much more compelling argument.
“I owe the Irish kid my life,” I say simply. “Many years ago he saved me, before you allowed me to join the Family. My brother can support my claim as well—you can ask Frank if you like. It was a debt that I could never repay…until now.”
Tino looks me up and down, rather like he stared at Finch. “Fuscone doesn’t like queers,” he says.
“There aren’t many in the Family who do,” I say neutrally.
Tino gives a slow nod. “You’ve always been straight with me, Luciano, if you’ll excuse the pun.” I give the polite, expected smile at the poor joke. “So now it’s time for me to be straight with you. I don’t like Fuscone’s idea to whack the Donovan kid and I don’t like that he didn’t come to me about it. We got rid of the Irish back in my day, whipped ’em hard and drove ’em back to Boston. But it’s never seemed a thing to gloat about, not to me. The Donovans were a hard family back then, but they’re soft now. Soft and rich. Old Howard, he’s always known the score, even if he snaps behind the muzzle from time to time. I don’t like the way Fuscone’s been pushing him; he’s gonna bleed that Irish bank dry if he’s not careful.”
I take in every word he’s saying, adding it to my internal database. I take it in like it’s Julius Caesar letting me in on his strategic decisions. Tino is a modern Emperor, after all. He’d cross the Rubicon as easy as he does the Hudson.
“But Fuscone is my man, and I don’t like to contradict him on this,” Tino says. “It makes him seem weak if I give in to his underling. Makesmeseem weak.”
I nod. “I understand,” is all I say, and I wait. I know Tino is testing me, somehow. But Tino is not only a clever man, he’s a fair one. I trust him—more than I trust most people, anyway.
Usually I’d have plans B, C and D in the back of my mind if Tino’s decision doesn’t go my way. But right now I only see one other way out of this if Tino doesn’t come down on my side, and it involves killing a lot of people.
The reality is, I’m fucked if this doesn’t go my way, so I really hope my faith in Tino has not been misplaced. But he surprises me then.
“Tell me, Luciano: if you were me, what would you do?”
“I would never presume to—”
“Of course not. But I’maskingyou to presume. I want to know what you think I should do.”
I cough, and ask if I can take a glass of water. Tino nods, amused, as though he knows I’m only trying to give myself time to think. He sends a plume of cigar smoke up while he waits.
“Fuscone isn’t really interested in the kid. He just wants to make sure the Donovans pay up. But the Donovan kid is worth more to us alive than dead,” I say carefully. “He’s the only male child Howard Donovan has. If we take out his son, Donovan could go two ways: he could fire up or he could break. Neither would be good for us. It could start another war with the Irish. Or if he flips and goes to the Feds…” I spread my hands. “On the other hand, it could destroy him completely, and his business suffers, and we’d still end up with nothing in that case.”
