"He's in the city for the week. Staying at the Castellano Hotel under the name Romano. His lap dogs are with him, but I believe you’re equipped to handle a few dogs." Holloway picks up his drink again. "I trust this won't be a problem?"
"No."
"Excellent." He waves a hand in dismissal. "Report back when it's done."
I stand, button my jacket, and leave without another word.
The drive to the Castellano takes twenty minutes. I use the time to construct my approach. Aurelio Bonaccorso is an old dog. Older than most mafia Don’s make it to. He's survived attempts on his life, brokered deals that younger men couldn't manage, and built a reputation for being both ruthless and reasonable.
He'll understand a direct approach. No games. No threats that can't be backed up. Just information and consequences.
The hotel is boutique, expensive, the kind of place that values discretion over flash. I approach the front desk and give a name that opens doors in certain circles. Three minutes later, I'm in the elevator heading to the penthouse level.
Aurelio's security is good. Two men at the suite door, both armed, both paying attention. They check my credentials, pat me down, and only then knock to announce my arrival.
The man who answers isn't what I expected.
He's handsome in a sharp, Mediterranean way. White hair pushed back from his forehead, jaw that could cut glass, eyesso dark they're almost black. He's dressed casually—linen shirt, dark trousers—but there's nothing casual about the way he holds himself. This is a man who knows exactly how dangerous he is.
"Mr. Harrison." His accent is faint, mostly American with hints of something older underneath. He knows who I am. I don’t know if I should be flattered or concerned. "I wasn't expecting company."
"I won't take much of your time."
He studies me for a moment, then steps aside. "Come in."
The suite is tasteful. Neutral colors, quality furniture, a view of the city that probably costs more per night than most people make in a month. Aurelio moves to the bar, with slow steps, and pours two glasses of wine without asking if I want one.
"Please." He gestures to the sitting area. "I have a feeling this is going to be an interesting conversation."
I take the offered seat but not the wine. He shrugs and drinks from both glasses, proving they're not poisoned, then sets one in front of me anyway.
"You're here about Kreiss," he says.
No point in dancing. "Yes."
"I assumed someone would come eventually. Though I expected a bullet, not a conversation." His smile is all teeth. "Should I be flattered?"
"You should be careful. Werner Kreiss is connected to people who don't appreciate scrutiny."
"The Silent." He says it casually, like he's discussing the weather. "Yes, I'm aware."
"Then you're aware that continuing your investigation would be inadvisable."
"Inadvisable." He rolls the word around like he's tasting it. "That's an interesting choice. Not impossible. Not forbidden. Just... inadvisable."
"I'm not here to threaten you, Mr. Bonaccorso. I'm here to provide information. What you do with that information is your business."
"And what information is that?"
I lean forward slightly. "Kreiss handles money for the Custodians. Not one house. All of them. The transactions he facilitates have kept certain organizations operational for decades. If you pull at those threads, you won't just uncover financial crimes. You'll expose networks that have spent centuries learning how to protect themselves."
"And they'll come after me."
"They'll come after everyone you've ever loved. Your family. Dahlia. Your organization. The Castillo dispute will seem like a minor inconvenience by comparison."
Aurelio is quiet for a moment. His dark eyes assess me with an intelligence I can't help but respect.
"You're very good at this," he says finally. "The warning wrapped in concern. The threat that sounds like advice. I can see why they sent you."
