“Ready for your first day, signora?” Sam asked politely as he hit the button for the underground garage.
Golia braced himself against the back wall, eyes glaring at the closing doors.
I flicked a quick glance over my power suit, loving the way the white tailored slacks draped over my legs. “I’m ready.”
“Um, forgive me for mentioning it,” Sam hedged as the elevator slid open. Golia barreled out, swinging his thick head from side to side, assessing for a threat. “But you know where you’re going, right?”
Golia looked over his shoulder and grunted.
Sam nodded and ushered me out.
“Right.” I stepped out of the lift with my head held high. “Why do you ask?”
His face darkened with a blush. “I’m no expert. Don’t mind me.”
The silent guard ambled to a blacked-out SUV, but Sam led me to a sleek, navy blue sedan.
“No, tell me,” I insisted.
Sam only shook his head. “It’s nothing.”
Genuinely curious, I peppered him with questions, but he merely opened the car door. As I slid inside, I realized with a blinding rush of clarity that all these cars must belong to Vincenzo. The building was his, therefore the garage and the vehicles must be too.
When the guard slid behind the wheel, I changed the topic. “Who owns these cars?”
“Signor Messina,” he answered, confirming my suspicion. His meaty arms flexed as he adjusted the seat and mirrors.
“Alright, riddle me this: if the Morelli Famiglia is a non-ostentatious organization trying to stay under the radar, how is it that Vincenzo has so much money?” I pressed.
The guard squirmed as he slid the car out of the parking space. Golia’s blacked out SUV moved in front of us, and another boxed us in from behind.
Great.My commute just upgraded to include a small army.
“Signor Messina is a very affluent businessman.”
“What does that mean?” I pushed.
Sam looked like he would rather eat a box of nails. “No one knows how he did it, but when he came back from upstate, he built his own empire when he wasn’t working directly for the don.”
“How?” I leaned back, crossing my arms over my chest.
“Signora,” the guard groaned.
I didn’t let up. It was good practice, plus I was enjoying putting pressure on someone who looked like they could snap me like a toothpick.
“He either had capital, or he had friends with capital,” I hedged. “Who does he spend his time with in New York?”
The guard ground his teeth and turned up the radio. The news station crackled through the cab, the broadcaster prattling about the rain.
“What does your don think of his success?” I asked over the volume.
Sam pretended not to hear me.
“How long have you worked for Vincenzo?” I tapped my index finger against my arm. “Has your loyalty to the famiglia ever been questioned for prioritizing Messina’s needs, like guarding me, over more important work?”
“Basta!” the guard choked. “Signora, per favore. Abbi pietà!”
“Alright, I’ll have mercy, but answer one question,” I insisted.
