Open for us. Establish a Bonaccorso presence in Philadelphia. Territory. Operations. Collections, distribution, whatever Leone needs run on the eastern seaboard outside the compound's immediate radius. It's the question he asked weeks ago in a different form. Are we expanding into Philly? The answer then was maybe.
"Yes," I say.
"Good. I'll send Claudio back to set up the security infrastructure. Same structure as the compound, just smaller."
"How small?"
"Start with collections and enforcement, build from there. Delvecchio's your first asset. Petrone might be useful if he can keep his mouth shut. The restaurant is your front."
"The restaurant isn't mine."
"It could be. Danny's been looking to sell for two years. Matteo pulled the records. The building is worth less than the liquor license. Buy it. Run it clean. Use it as a base."
Buy the restaurant. The restaurant where Grace works. The restaurant where I sat at table four and ordered the branzino and learned her name and fell in love with her between the pork shoulder and the coffee.
"I'll talk to her," I say.
"Talk to her." There's something in Leone's voice I don't hear often. Amusement. The Don of the Bonaccorso family is amused that his enforcer needs to check with his girlfriend before buying a restaurant.
"One more thing," Leone says, the amusement gone. "Danila."
"What about him?"
"You've been working with a Bratva operative for months. He's fed you intelligence. That intelligence was useful. It saved the girl's life. But I need to know where the line is."
"The line."
"Between what Danila gives you and what you give me. You said weeks ago you would disclose everything and haven’t. I let it go because the priority was Grace. The priority has shifted. I'm building operations in Philadelphia, and Bratva activity on the eastern seaboard is relevant to my business."
I lean against the wall outside the restaurant. Through the window, Grace is laughing at something a woman said. Her whole face is open, eyes narrow, mouth wide. The laugh I kept. The laugh I hear in my sleep.
"Danila is my brother," I say. "Not by blood. Not by family. By years of keeping each other alive. I won't betray his confidence."
"I'm not asking you to betray him."
"Then what are you asking?"
"I'm asking if there's a channel. Between us and the Bratva. Formal or informal. Something that lets both sides communicate without compromising either side's operations."
A channel. Leone doesn't want Danila's secrets. He wants a relationship. The Bonaccorsos and the Bratva, operating in the same geography, aware of each other's movements, coordinating when it serves both parties. Not an alliance, but a communication line. The kind of arrangement that prevents wars and creates opportunities.
"I can ask," I say. "Danila has the authority to establish a contact channel. His rank in the Bratva gives him operational discretion, but he won't do it as a favor to me. He'll do it if there's mutual benefit."
"There's mutual benefit. The Silent's supply chain is collapsing. The Bratva built that supply chain. They're going to need new revenue streams. We're expanding into their geography. We can either compete or cooperate."
"I'll talk to him."
"Tonight?"
"He's coming for dinner."
"Good." Leone pauses. "And Carmelo, if Danila shares something that threatens the family, I need to hear it."
"If it threatens the family, you'll hear it. You have my word."
"That's enough."
The call ends and I stand on the sidewalk, looking through the window. Grace is at the bar, leaning across to tell the new bartender something, her hand on the bar top, her finger tapping the wood twice. She catches me watching from outside and her mouth curves up on one side and she holds the expression for two seconds before turning back to work.
