He snorts and leans over to look at the chess pieces. “I smoothed them over by telling them we’d fix it.” With an apologetic glance at me, he adds, “I said I’d put my best man on it. I want you to look into it and see what you can find.”
Relief washes over me in a cold wave, drowning out the nausea in my belly and the suspicions in my mind. But it’s immediately followed by fresh unease. Now I’m supposed to investigate the death I caused myself? I could find a fall guy, sure, but I don’t work that way. That’s the Giuliano way of doing things, and I won’t stoop to their level.
“Boss,” I say heavily, invoking our professional relationship, because there’s no way he won’t twist me by appealing to our friendship if he can, “I’m running two territories, I’m settling a whole lot of business for you downtown, I’m—”
“I know you’ve got a lot on your plate. And I know it’s not fair to give you more just because you’re competent enough to get it done. But I don’t trust anyone else to not fuck this up. Who can I send? Vollero? He’s too close. Snapper’s no investigator, he’ll just beat in heads until someone tells him what he wants to hear, and that won’t help anything. We need Vitali for security and to second-guess the Irish when they come for us. I’m not sending Carlucci, because he’s the best guard Finch has right now. Anyone lower in the pecking order makes it seem like I’m not taking it seriously.” He spreads his hands. “It’s you, Nick. I’m sorry, because I know there’s bad blood there between you and the Giulianos. But my choices are thin on the ground.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“Sure, Boss. I’ll look after it for you.”
He smiles as though relieved, when he knows damn well I was always going to agree. I can’t be mad about it, either, because what he said is true. I’m the only one high up enough for the Commission members to accept, and no one else can be spared right now. The Irish threat is too imminent.
“I need the intel by next week,” he says casually, and doesn’t even bother to look apologetic about it this time. Just for a moment, I wonder which one of us might come out on top if I tried to strangle him then and there.
“Fine,” I grit out.
“Can you stay for dinner, Nick?” And just like that, we’re back to buddies. “Finch is making his pasta puttanesca.”
Finch D’Amato’s pasta puttanesca is actually really good, but I don’t want to leave Carlo alone. “Sorry. Not tonight. I have plans.”
“Who’s the lucky guy?”
I don’t even know how to respond to that, and I sit there with my mouth open too long to pretend it’s business instead of personal. “I… Just some guy. Nothing serious.”
“You know, you work too much. It’s not good for a man to be alone. Says so right there in the Bible.”
“I like to keep my mind on the job.”
“Even Angelo Messina changed his attitude, you know.”
And look where he is now, I want to say. Exiled from New York, on the run constantly, chasing any hint of gossip to find a Clemenza rat who skipped out on witness protection. At least the guy he’s chasingexists. “Well, I’m not Angelo Messina.”
“Do a good job on this Gatti business, and youcouldbe just like him.”
I look up sharply. “You mean…”
“I mean do a good job, Fontana. Prove to all those other Capos why I think you’re the best. Prove to me that I’m right.”
He’s definitely talking about making me Underboss. “I will,” I promise him. “I’ll prove it to you, Don Morelli.” Fuck it, I’ll figure something out. All the Commission wants is intel, and I can give them that, send them off looking in another direction. And then—maybe—Luca will finally make me Underboss.
His smile turns questioning. “You know…you don’t look as happy as I expected.”
I shake my head quickly, plaster a smile on my face. “Not at all, Boss. Nothing would make me happier, you know that.” But it’s a lie, somehow. I don’t know why, but the idea of making Underboss doesn’t fill me with the same fire and determination that it usually does. Maybe it’s been so long coming that I don’t want to count my chickens before they’ve hatched. Maybe I’m just tired after a long day.
Or maybe I’ve discovered something that would make me happier than being Underboss.
“I’d like to speak with Sophia Vicente,” I say, before that thought can take root. It’s a dangerous idea and one that I need to catch and destroy before it fucks up everything else.
“Sophia Vicente?” He considers it and then nods. “Seems like a good place to start. I’ll tell Vollero to send you her details.”
He walks me to the door but I pause before it, remembering Carlo’s question to me and my own response. Would Luca’s be the same? “Why do you do it?”
“Do what?” He stops with his hand on the doorknob.
“All this. This business.”
His smile is slow but wide. “For a long time, I just wanted the power—and the money. But that changed as I went along. I’ve discovered the pleasure of backing my own judgement. I like to be proved right. You understand?” He puts a hand on my shoulder and his smile drops as he gives me a serious look. “So prove me right, Fontana.”
