He ignored what I said and straightened in his chair.
“One of the perks of my job—no meetings.”
“What do you call this?”
I shrugged. “If you break open a bottle of scotch, I’d call it lunch.”
His lips didn’t smirk, but his eyes filled with mirth at the suggestion. He left his chair, grabbed one of the bottles from his private bar, and then poured two glasses.
“Here we go.”
He came to me and handed me a glass before he dropped into the other chair, wearing a dark-blue suit and a black tie, a black Patek watch on his wrist. He crossed his leg on the opposite knee, his pant leg rising up to reveal the black sock underneath. The youngest Italian president to ever hold office, he was somewhere around my age. The previous legislation required the candidate to be at least fifty years old, but after enough money and lobbying were thrown at the problem, that rule was amended.
I clinked my glass against his before we both took a drink. “How’s the family?”
“Pissed that I don’t come home enough.”
“Tuscany is just a short flight away, especially in a private plane.”
“Unlike everyone else in this world, I don’t have the luxury of working from home.” He took another drink before he looked at me. “Not when my citizens are disappearing off the streets and their body parts are being harvested from operating tables.”
“I knew this was coming.”
“You said this would be handled by now.”
“I’m working on it.”
“Are you? Were you working on it during your trip to Taormina?”
No, I was busy getting hooked on the best pussy I’d ever had. “Rocco had it covered.”
“Did he? Because I’ve seen no progress.”
“Crow, I’ll handle it, okay? Vladimir knows I’m onto him, so he’s changed his tactics. He laid low when I was right on top of him because he’s smart. But he’s started up again, which means he’s probably changed his mode of operations. I have Rocco tapping into health networks and evaluating names on the transplant lists to see if we can get information that way.”
Crow looked away and took a drink.
“Have I ever failed you before?”
Too stubborn to concede, he ignored me. “I spoke with Prime Minister Foster this morning. He provided some intel from MI6. There are whispers of a terrorist act here, Paris, or London. Don’t know when or where or how.”
“Well, that’s helpful.”
“You keep your arms guys on a tight leash.”
“A leash so short it chokes them a little.”
He took another drink of his scotch before he set it on the table between us. Tall, slender, and ripped like a soccer player, he was the most popular president Italy had ever had. Not just because he was young and intelligent, but because women described him as a beautiful man. He was well spoken and articulate, but he also didn’t settle for less than the best. He was passionate about the security and well-being of his country. I liked him a hell of a lot more than his predecessor. He accepted my position without reproach, understood the criminal underworld like he was already well acquainted with it. “I’ve dispatched our military to our most congested posts throughout the city. In case something happens, we need some kind of backup.”
“And you need to send a message that you know what’s coming.”
“Exactly.”
Roberto dropped me off outside, and I entered the bar, American alternative rock music playing overhead, every chair and table occupied. I found Rocco seated at a table for four, his back turned and propped against the brick wall as he watched the TV in the corner that showed a replay of the football game that had happened earlier that afternoon.
I dropped into the chair across from him, and he ignored me.
But the waitress didn’t, and she came over in a flash. “Hey, Con. What are you in the mood for?”
