“Who is she?” he asks simply.
I can’t tell him who she really is.
“Angela,” I say, giving him her new fake name. “Showed up at the club pretending to be a model, but I talked to Nico and she wasn’t on the books.”
It’s only partially a lie. She is going by Angela, and I did talk to Nico—he just wasn’t sober enough to give me any information about the books even if I had asked.
He hums. “You don’t think she’s?—”
I shake my head. “I doubt it. Probably some groupie trying to put another notch on her bedpost.”
“I’m sure she could have gotten one.”
I bristle slightly at the idea of Sophia sleeping with anyone else.
“Yeah, well, I don’t like people showing up uninvited to the fights. Even groupies. I’ll interrogate her, and if everything’s on the up and up, I’ll let her go.”
That last part feels like a lie, but Diego doesn’t seem to notice anything amiss. He knows interrogations are less violent for women, so he doesn’t make a fuss.
He just nods. “Alright,Caputo. You make the rules. I just follow them.”
Thank Christ Diego is so loyal. He’s never questioned me, not once, and I’ve never been more grateful.
Because I need this. I’ve needed this for nearly three years.
“Let’s take her to the safe house.”
11
SOPHIA
When Luca’s man throws me into the Escalade, I instantly scramble to the door handles, but there are none.
Yelling in frustration, I scoot back and kick the partition. There’s not even glass there. It appears to be made out of something like steel. Maybe it’s bulletproof. This is clearly a custom-made vehicle, custom-made to kidnap people.
God, what was I thinking? Why did I do this? I should have listened to Scott. He said I needed backup and he was right. I was just so sure that Luca wouldn’t be there. He never showed up to Nico’s fights, according to the dossier.
Why had he been there? And how was I stupid enough to get caught?
I think I recognized the man who threw me into the backseat. Diego Conti.
Juvie record, small potatoes. Simple assault after getting in a fight at a basketball court, grand theft auto for joyriding.
Marine Corp, Green Beret. Two tours in Afghanistan and Iraq, respectively, in his youth. Honorable discharge but with a caveat, he was thrown in the brig two days after his last mission. Stayed there seventy-two hours.
Even the Chicago Police Department couldn’t get past the red tape to find out why, though.
I’d seen the military documents, mostly blacked out in the name of national security. The interviews with his former brothers in arms, short, stilted. I even remember some of what they said about him, all praise and hero worship.
The bravest man I ever knew.
A real pitbull.
Best soldier the Marine Corp ever had.
When asked about why Conti was thrown in the brig, they all said something similar.No comment.
But the military discharged him just shy of his end of service, so it was suspicious. Then Conti returned home…back to the fray. By then, Chicago was a cesspool of mobsters, having a resurgence as the last generation started to age out. He’s never been arrested, not since he returned, but that’s because he’s as slippery as an eel.
