When I come downstairs, the first thing I see is Carlo Bianchi with his sleeves rolled up, helping to pile scrambled eggs into a metal basin for a buffet breakfast. He doesn’t look all that comfortable in the role, and when he glances up at the doorway and sees me, he splats a large spoonful of egg onto the floor instead.
“Hey!” Hudson says in alarm, jumping back. He presses his lips together tight and takes the serving spoon from Carlo. “Why don’t you take the silverware over to the buffet,” he suggests.
“S-sorry,” Carlo mutters, and scurries off to the cutlery drawer.
For a lawyer, I expected a better poker face. This could be a problem.
“If someone doesn’t get me some fucking coffee, I am going to die,” complains a loud voice. It’s Finch D’Amato, hunched over at the kitchen table to the side, head pillowed on his arms. “I will expireright hereat this table, and then you all will have to deal with my dead body.”
Carlo, who just crossed over to the buffet set against the full-length windows with a beach view, looks like he’s about to shit himself.
“Hudson,” I snap. “You looking after Mr. D’Amato, or what?”
Hudson, who is halfway across the room now with the tub of scrambled eggs, shoots me an irritated look. “Yes, Mr. Fontana, I sure am. Just give me a second, Mr. D,” he adds to Finch, using a much more polite and deferential tone.
At least it takes the attention off Carlo. I slide into a seat opposite Finch and say, “Hey.”
“Hey,” he grunts back, still in his arms. He looks up at me blearily. “Didn’t get much sleep. Luca kept me up late.”
“Okay,” I break in, before he can explain in detail. “Is he around? I need to talk to him.”
“He’s showering. He made me come down in case the guests arrived early. Frankly, I think he just wants to make an entrance. He likes to callmedramatic, but—”
“Guests?”
Hudson rushes over with a large mug of coffee for Finch, who finally sits up in his chair and grabs it eagerly. “Yeah. Luca invited over some of the—what is it you like to call them, Nick? The Gees and Cees.” He takes a long sip of the coffee, sighs, and stretches as though the caffeine is bringing him back to life. He’s dressed all in white linen, the picture of a Hamptons socialite, and despite his apparent exhaustion, I can see why Luca sent him down. Finch is, when he feels like it, an excellent host, used to these sorts of getaways. He’s the kind of guy who knows what to say in any circumstance.
Except maybe this one I’ve created.
“He’s invited the Giulianos to breakfast?” I repeat blankly.
“Some of them. And some of the Clemenzas.” Finch tilts his head, curious. “Problem, Nick?”
“Vitali okayed it?”
“Teo did his whole routine about it being a breach of security and then did what he was told. He’s out there at the front door waiting to escort them in after patting them down.” Finch looks completely awake now, and I don’t like the way he’s staring intently at me, like I’m a puzzle he’s trying to solve. “Why do you ask? I thought you were all friends after the meeting last night.”
“Friends with Gees and Cees? No way. But the enemy of my enemy, and all that shit.”
Finch takes another sip while I try like hell to keep my eyes off Carlo. He’s still fucking around at the buffet, clattering plates together. I watch Hudson in the kitchen instead, frantically flipping pancakes. “You don’t support Don Morelli’s strategy?” Finch asks, and my attention snaps back to him. He’s got that flat stony look in his eyes which reminds me he’s not just some tan twink with high society manners.
“Of course I support the Boss,” I say. “And whatever strategy he comes up with to get rid of the fucking Irish—sorry, I mean—”
“No need to apologize. We all want to cancel the Irish. At least, the bad ones. My sister, on the other hand…”
“The Donovans are solid,” I agree quickly. “Anyway. I’ll see if I can catch Luca upstairs.” I’m in the middle of standing when shouts and banging doors reverberate through the lower level.
“Oh, shit, they’reearly,” Hudson hisses.
Finch gives a bored glance toward the doorway. “Fuckinggreat.” He drinks some more coffee. Carlo and I are frozen in place, and I don’t dare look his way.
Down the hallway from the front door I can hear an argument and even the normally calm Vitali’s voice is raised higher than normal. Gio Carlucci comes jogging into view, pauses at the doorway to lean into the room, grasping each side of the door frame, looking only half as amused as he usually does. “Hey, so, we got a little problem here.” His eyes light on me and he looks reassured. “Hey, Mr. F, maybe you could take care of—”
Behind him, Big Gee, the Giuliano Boss, removes his hand from the doorframe and pushes his way into the room like the rude fucker he is. Louis Clemenza, smaller and much older, bustles in behind him. They’re both red in the face, and it’s not from catching too much sun yesterday. A few heavies follow them in, their personal bodyguards and a couple of Gee Capos, including Vinnie Frangello. Frangello looks a lot less friendly than he did last night.
“Where the hell is he?” Clemenza is shouting, and then he sees me. “You! Fontana! Where the fuck is my godson?”
They know.
