“You’re right – I have no idea how you’re possibly going to survive.”
“I’m an addict, baby,” I said, and flashed her a smile –
Until I heard the sound of a car engine and loud Italian rap blasting outside.
I frowned and turned around.
A black Cadillac parked in front of the café. The music shut off when the driver killed the engine.
Despite Adriano assuring me Don Camerota wouldn’t hit back after Maurizio, I’d been on guard ever since.
I was also still wary that Emilia’s stalker might make another appearance – and this time with backup.
The Cadillac parked out front suggested I might be right…
Although it was confusing.
TheCosa Nostragenerally favored higher-end European cars: Mercedes and BMWs for foot soldiers, with sports cars and Bentleys for the top guys.
Cadillacs – while pricey because they were American imports – weren’t theCosa Nostra’sfavored mode of transportation.
But this car was definitely gangster material.
The shiny rims – the nearly opaque tinted windows –
I didn’t like it atall.
Emilia sensed my unease. “What’s wrong?”
“Kneel down and get behind the bar,” I whispered as I edged my hand towards my shoulder harness.
“What?” she asked breathlessly.
“Justdo it,”I whispered.
I heard her stoop down behind the counter.
The sedan’s passenger-side doors opened, front and back, and two men stepped out.
They were gangsters. I was sure of it –
But notCosa Nostra.
At least, nobody that would have been caught dead in Milan, Rome, Florence, or Venice.
They wore track suits – one bright red, the other navy blue.
They were probably in their early to mid-twenties, and heavily tatted – but not like Don Rosolini’s or Adriano’s tattoos. These guys looked like they’d gotten their shit at a bargain-basement parlor, or maybe in juvenile detention.
They were ugly as fuck, with Neanderthal brows and big, meaty faces. They both wore their hair close-cropped with carefully trimmed beards.
And both looked angry as hell.
One of them carried a brown paper bag in his arms – big enough for an armload of groceries – but I couldn’t see what was inside. He also walked with a pronounced limp.
Were these some random thugs that Maurizio had hired?
Were they here for revenge?
