“Don’t say it.”
I waved him off. “Is our Nonno going to be there?”
“Nope.” Vinny’s eyes held sorrow, I wasn’t sure if it was authentic or not, but it worked to pull on my heartstrings. “He’s not doing well.”
“Damn.”
“He’s been asking about you.”
“Me? Really?” Would he even know who I was at this point?
“He wants to know when you’re going to deliver the Vanetti guy.”
I huffed out a breath. “Shut up, Vin.” I didn’t want to sound paranoid, but I doubted his place had been swept since the last meeting. Tonight’s location would be secured and we’d be able to talk freely, but right now, who knows who could be in the bushes across the street with a high-powered omni-directional microphone.
“I’m just saying, the old man is as impatient as ever.”
“He’s going to have to get in line.”
We chatted about nothing until it was almost ten.
“Let’s go.” Vinny stood up and grabbed his keys. “I’ll drive.”
“I’m not getting in that death trap, Vin.” I shook my head. “Even if you didn’t have it painted like the orphaned bastard of a banana and an eggplant.”
“You’re killing me, Jules.” Vinny frowned. “Relax. We’re taking the black on black, and the windows are bulletproof.”
Twelve minutes later, one of my brother’s soldiers directed Vinny where to park. Vinny, being a proud Italian, wanted to argue with the guy.
“I need to be up—”
“Shut up, Vin.” I hit him in the shoulder. “If you say another word, I’m going to key your yellow and purple monstrosity.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“I would.”
“It’s a freaking Ferrari Portofino, Jules.”
Vinny, in spite of his protesting, parked the Mercedes where he’d been told. He got out, muttering protests the whole way. “It’s customized. It’s not banana and eggplant. It’sGiallo Modena—that’s official Ferrari gold. And the purple isViolaHong Kong. There’s not another car like this in New York or even, probably, America.”
“Vinny, that’s not the flex you think it is.” I laughed as we walked towards the house. “Look at these cars—black, white, a couple reds, maybe one or two with some tasteful pearl. You see any jackasses rolling up in banana-mobiles out here? Do you, Vin?”
“You wound me.” Vinny put his hand on his heart. “I may never recover.”
A heavily armed soldato stepped out from behind the shrubbery. I hadn’t seen him until the last second. “Go on through, Donna Julia.”
“What am I, huh?” Vinny asked. “Chopped liver?”
The soldier stepped aside and pointed towards the house with his free hand. “You’re with the donna—you’re good.”
I picked up my step, shaking my head at Vinny, who was trying to catch up. “You take this stuff too seriously.”
“I deserve more respect.”
“Respect is earned, cousin.”
A rough voice spoke from the shadows. “That’s right, it is.” Silvio flicked his cigarette before stepping into the light. He looked me over and pointed at Vinny. “I see you’re still favoring wet-behind-the-ears boys, Jules.”
