Federico gave Valerio a pitying look. “I can’t afford to lose my own protection—and it won’t cover both of us.”
“Well, give me some idea of where to search!”
“Luca has agreements with other clans,” Federico said slowly. “But my brother is ambitious. Unsatisfied. Wants to rule. Always maneuvering and cutting, strategizing, undermining. He’s useful, so the other capos don’t attack directly, but they don’t like it. Don’t trust him. It would be better for them if someone else took his place.”
Valerio considered this. Had Federico taken something from Luca—something he could threaten to use against him?
“You offered something to a competitor!” Valerio realized with surprise.
The thin man raised a bushy eyebrow.
“A direct offer would mean war,” he said. “Then I’d be fucked. No. It’s only the threat of sending Luca’s information to his enemies. I check into an electronic program every week, and enter my password.If I don’t check in—if I’m drugged or dead—then the documents are sent. You see, it isn’t brotherly love that stops Luca killing me.”
Valerio laughed. He’d never taken Federico for a clever man. He’d always seemed to possess the sort of grasping desperation common to addicts, and Valerio assumed that the drugs had also done their share on Federico’s brain. Yet here was cunning and strategy that outstripped his own.
He clapped him on the arm. “I’ve underestimated you! Can you tell me about the information you have?”
Federico shook his head. “The more I say, the greater the risk.”
“I understand,” said Valerio. He rose to his feet. “Thank you for telling me.”
At the threshold, Valerio stopped and turned.
Federico had stayed where he was, staring blankly into the distance.
“Tell me about il Fantasma…the Ghost,” Valerio asked. “Who is he?”
Federico seemed to emerge slowly from his thoughts. “Never met him. He came to Luca after I left.”
“What do you know about him? Do you know his name?”
Federico clicked his tongue. “I know Luca doesn’t like him.”
“Why not?”
Shrug.
“Why keep him around if he doesn’t like him?” Valerio pressed.
Another shrug.
“He’s working as a go-between with Luca and Silvestri. Do you know why?”
“No—but you should stay away,” Federico warned. “From what I hear, he’s as psychopathic as my brother.”
—
Outside, it was pelting rain. Valerio hunted for cover to wait it out.
He was beginning to understand Federico better now, to appreciate the strength of mind and character that had gotten him free of Luca.
It had been a stormy winter night like this—nearly a decade ago—when he’d first met the old man. He hadn’t thought about it for a long time.
Valerio had been on his way home from work when the squall hit. Ducking into a doorway, he found it already occupied. The strange tall man exuded instability. Danger.
Federico had been tweaking—sweating, hands roving, and his voice had been rough: “You a cop?”
Rather than risk confrontation, Valerio stepped back into the rain.
