I retrieve a cigarette from inside my coat.
"Come back in ten minutes," I tell him.
My reputation precedes me. Even though he's not supposed to leave his post for security reasons, he nods and steps into the elevator.
I put the cigarette back in my pocket. I don't smoke, but I needed an excuse to be here.
Now that I'm alone, I quickly scan the surroundings. The rooftop gives me a 360-degree view of Monaco. I can see the entire country—from the opulent buildings to the ancient mountains.
It's breathtaking, but I'm not here for the sights.
I check for any listening devices in the vicinity before making a call from my burner phone.
He picks up on the first ring.
"Dante." His low voice makes my spine straighten.
"Buonasera, Don Savastano," I say.
"How are you?" he asks in Italian.
There's no sense of urgency in his voice. There never is. Raffaele talks like we're two old friends sitting down for coffee on a Sunday afternoon. But in reality, my boss is in an American maximum-security prison with a double life sentence. He's no ordinary prisoner, though.
Even incarcerated, he still holds power. His personal cell phone is one of the many things the prison guards overlook.
People think I'm in charge of the Camorra mafia. But in reality, Raffaele has always called all the shots. I'm just his favorite puppet.
"I'm fine," I say, clearing my throat. "I'm in Monaco for the auction, as you already know."
"I hear you're turning heads tonight. Everyone wants a piece of you, huh?" I can hear the smirk in his voice.
This man has eyes and ears everywhere. And there's nothing in this world he loves more than gossip.
I remain quiet because I don’t wish to go over this with him again.
"It's because you're handsome and wealthy," he declares. "It makes you the most desirable man in every room."
"It also makes for the most awkward conversations," I mutter.
"You're in demand, Dante," he says. "That's a good thing."
He means that it's good for business. It's the Italian mafia way. Marriages are nothing more than political alliances.
“It won’t be the worst thing in the world for you to marry a nice mafia princess,” he says. “I don’t get why you keep turning down every proposal.”
“I just don’t have the time for a marriage right now,” I say.
“It’s starting to look bad,” the Don says. “You’ve turned down so many women that people are starting to talk.”
He lets the words hang over my head.
“They’re starting to question your appetite,” he continues. “I’m very open-minded about all sexual preferences, but I can’t say the same about everyone else we associate with.”
“I’m a straight man,” I say. “I just don’t have any interest in spoiled trust fund babies.”
“Shame,” he says. “We’ll revisit this later, but the reason I called you now is because I need you to leave the building. Immediately."
“What, why?”
