If I had certainty around my father’s murder, I would have more options available to me. I could tell the Pacific Syndicate to go fuck themselves, that yes, I killed their men, and I’ll come for the rest of them, too. But I need to know my friends and enemies first, before I start throwing my weight around.
Jacopo looks frustrated, but raises his hands up. “I didn’t come here looking for a fight. I’m just telling you, PacSyn ain’t happy. Rumor is they even sent through thirty grand as a goodwill gesture to your dad—and nowthis.”
That explains the bank check I found near my father’s corpse the day of his murder. I’d been wondering about that. I can dispose of it with confidence now.
“They’re going to make some noise,” Jacopo finishes darkly.
“Let the dogs bark,” I tell him. “I’m only interested when they’re biting. Sit down.” I’m tired of looking up at him, getting an ache in my neck. I have a few bruises coming up from last night. It’s been a while since I was in the thick of it like that, in the trenches. I’d forgotten what the morning after feels like.
I also forgot that sense of invigoration that comes from a near escape.
“Coffee?” I ask him, stretching my arms above my head, relishing the burn in my muscles.
“I’ll take some.”
I nod at Wilson, who trots off. “What else?” I ask Jacopo, lowering my voice.
He shakes his head. “Nothing new about your dad. Whoever did this is either too scared to take credit, or too keen on living.”
“It’s unhealthy, this obsession some men have with staying alive.” Jacopo gives an appreciative smile, and I remember with a strange pang how close we used to be. How many inside jokes we used to share. I take another sip of coffee and let the bitter taste wash away memories. “I may have a new source of information,” I tell him. “If I get any tips out of him, I’ll let you know.”
“New source?”
“It may be nothing.” In fact, I’msureit will be nothing. Whoever this Teddy MacCallum is, there’s limited reason now to think he’s anything more than an obsessed fanboy. When I got bored of Julian’s ramblings last night, I looked over thisCute Crimswebsite in more depth. It told me a lot about Teddy, if he really does run it, and none of it flattering. But there are private, members-only message boards that I plan to have him open up for me.
At this point, with no clues at all to my father’s killer, I’m willing to entertain even the wildest internet conspiracy theories. There is no shortage of suspects, of course. The difficulty is finding a way for any of them to have killed my father and removed themselves, sight unseen. My father had no cameras within the house, except for in the cells below, but the grounds are full of them. I’ve looked over them myself already, made our security guards check them as well, minute by minute, and—
Nothing.
All in all, it seems much more likely to me that Julian is the killer. He wasinthe house already. He was standing over my father’s corpse. His hands were covered in blood.
And yet…
“How’s Julian?” Jacopo asks, predictably.
“Why the fuck do you care about thatstronzoso much?” I snap.
“You can’t keep him locked down there much longer.”
“I can do whatever the fuck I want. I could kill you, Jacopo, right there where you sit, if I felt like it.”
He just sighs and leans back in his chair to let Wilson, who has returned, set a cup of espresso in front of him. “Yeah,” he says, picking up the cup. “You could try.”
He sips his coffee, looking out over the grounds. From the back patio, we look out over the perfectly manicured lawn, green and lush in the morning sun. A wide path runs parallel to the house, leading either to the side of the property or to the hedge maze. It has been meticulously landscaped to create a calm, soothing atmosphere, but its magic does not work on me.
Here in the morning sunshine, my body pleasantly aching after a good night’s work, I should be happy. But the only man I can trust is a man that I hate, the same man who killed my lover, the same man I blame for my ravaged face.
And he has never paid the price for any of it. Not the price heshouldhave paid.
Jacopo, in that disconcerting way he has, seems to sense my thoughts, enough to remove himself from my vicinity. “If there’s nothing more, I’ll head out,” he says, and tips the rest of the coffee down his throat.
“If I get anything out of this source, I’ll pass it on.”
I hate him, but I trust him. Though not enough to explain who this source is. Jacopo has some irritating moral quirks, and I suspect he’d probably object to kidnapping. But I was raised in the old country, steeped deep in long traditions, and I understand better than he does what it takes to run a Family.
Once Jacopo is safely out of the way, and I’ve dealt with the usual administrative tasks of the morning—mail, mostly condolences; updates on various turf disagreements with other operations in the city; reports from each Capo about their territories—I check the video feed for the cells again on my phone. Julian is still asleep. But then, he spends most of his time in there asleep. I assume he’s saving up energy to dismember me when he gets out.
Teddy, though. Teddy is stirring. At last.
