Of course I remember him. Along with the other bodyguards, he was omnipresent in the last few months of Nonno Lou’s life, a heavy shadow at my grandfather’s elbows. And after my grandfather was murdered, it came out that Scaglietti had been turned by the Morellis. He was in on it. He was there that very night, the only one of them to escape with his life, because he’d defected.
“You know what they say,” I continue. “If he’ll cheatwithyou, he’ll cheatonyou. You should keep an eye on him.”
I’m rambling because I’m trying to buy some time. I’m pretty sure Fontana is going to blow my brains out in a few seconds.
And even if those few seconds consist of being tied to a chair with vomit on my chin and the imaginary heat of another man’s hands still on my skin, I’d rather have those seconds than not.
“Yeah,” Nick sighs. “Between you and me, I don’t think he’ll last much longer. But the Boss wanted to give him a fair chance, on account of his service to the Family.” He leans in closer, gives me a critical look over. “Speaking of, better get you cleaned up before he gets here.”
Luca D’Amato is coming here? I guess he wants to watch me die with his own eyes.
Or by his own hand.
Fontana leaves me alone for a moment, walking off behind some shelves, and I hear a faucet turn squeakily, water running. I test my bonds, but the duct tape holds tight, and the chair doesn’t give an inch.
The fluorescent light above me flickers. Buzz, flicker, buzz. My newest captor returns with some damp paper towels and wipes off my face. I let him do it, watching him for weaknesses the whole time. There are none apparent. I could kick him, but it would be like kicking a tree; it would hurt me more than him.
“Here.” Fontana holds up an old mug to my lips. “Wash your mouth out, at least,” he says when I clamp my lips shut.
If I can believe what I heard when I was still half-drugged, Fontana wanted me conscious for what’s coming. That makes sense. If D’Amato is on his way here to end me, he’ll want to enjoy the kill. Want me fully awake and aware.
So I take a mouthful, swish it around my teeth, and spit it out. And when he offers it again, I drink it down. Cold as hell and tastes metallic, but it’sgood.
Outside, I hear a car pulling up, doors slamming.
“Okay,” Fontana says. “That’s him.”
I hear more than one pair of footsteps, but only one man appears out of the shadows. “Boss,” Fontana greets him respectfully, stepping aside and sweeping out an arm as if to present me to him. “This is Caligula Clemenza.”
Luca D’Amato is wearing Armani, and his black hair is neatly combed back. His shoes are gleaming, and the heavy signet ring of his Family, silver with a black stone, is on his finger. Rumor has it he wears it over his wedding ring. His most striking feature is his stare—the pale blue eyes that have always unnerved me. He turns them on me now, looking me over as though I’m a valuable new acquisition and he’s checking for scuff marks.
I’m getting very tired of being appraised by powerful men.
“He’s a little green around the gills,” D’Amato says.
“That was Scaglietti,” Fontana replies. “Jabbed the poor kid with one of his cocktails.”
Poor kid? Well, perhaps there’s something there I can exploit. Fontana seems to genuinely pity me.
“I specifically ordered—” D’Amato begins.
“I know, Boss,” Fontana murmurs. “I know. But the kid’s okay, and I’ll deal with Scaglietti.”
D’Amato comes a few steps closer to me. “Cut him free, Fontana.”
“Not a good idea, Boss.”
“Nick,” D’Amato says with soft amusement, “I can handle a kid.”
“You both keep calling me that,” I break in. My voice is still rough, but the ice is back in it. “But I’m not a kid.”
The smile Luca D’Amato gives me has no warmth to it. “No,” he says. “No, you aren’t. Go on, Nick. Cut off the tape and then give us some privacy.”
“He’ll run,” Fontana warns, even as he comes closer and takes out a switchblade.
“No, he won’t. Will you?”
I look into the face of theCapo dei Capi, the man who killed my grandfather, the Morelli Family Boss, and the current King of New York. “No,” I tell him. “I won’t run.”
