Meloni’s short laugh rattles his throat but doesn’t reach his eyes. “I can’t afford to eat here.”
“I’m surprised your business interests don’t pay more.” I tilt my head and nod at the watch on his wrist under his wrinkled suit jacket. “I would’ve thought corruption pays at a premium.”
A vein in his balding head pulses as his mouth sets into a thin line. The Preda bought and paid for Meloni. He’s their lapdog who sniffs around for information to feed them and looks the other way in their territories.
Intimidation works on weaker men, not me.
He casts a shrewd glance. “Would you know about the murder that took place two nights ago?”
“Why would I?”
His jaw agitates his unkempt beard, in need of another barber. He lifts a paperweight from my desk. “Nicholas Spinelli died from a high-caliber round to the head. No casings retrieved or fingerprints.”
I play along. “Sounds like you’re looking for a sniper.”
“Or a drone with the capability to carry out hits,” Meloni counters. “You have drones, Bennici.”
“I do.”
“You studied engineering.”
I sag in my seat and yawn. “Public knowledge and not a crime. Unless you plan on having me sent to prison for earning my degrees in case the fishing industry was unsuccessful.”
The tips of Meloni’s ears redden. “I’m not an idiot.”Sure about that?“Your toys were out during your little trip earlier this month.”
“Ah. Did Tino send you? Or was it Peppe, Luca, or Olindo? Kinda hard to keep up with who’s on my dick.” My smirk dissolves into a glare. “Check my compliance with the aviation authority. My transmission data will show I haven’t flown my drones for some time.”
The guidance chip Andrea and I created for our unregistered drones serves as both protection and a means to carry outtargeted attacks when necessary. Meloni will never find the ones he’s looking for, no matter how much he huffs and abuses his authority.
He leans over my desk. At best, he reaches my collar when wearing the lifts he adds to his shoes. “I know you killed Spinelli,” he sneers.
“I find it interesting you came to my restaurant to talk to me about a dead man with ties to the Preda and a migrant smuggling ring your department conveniently overlooked.” I stand and button my suit jacket. “Thousands taken—forty at a time between Turkey, Tunisia, and Egypt—funneling into your backyard, and you’re asking me about drones?”
Spinelli died feet away from a known Preda operation that controls agencies transferring smugglers’ transport funds. They earn eighty thousand euros per trip and weren’t too happy about the hit that uncovered their trafficking ring.
Meloni clears his throat. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Bennici. All of your success will disappear if you aren’t careful.”
I grin. “Your arms don’t reach high enough to come at me. I have multiple businesses to run. Now get the fuck out before I help escort you off my premises.”
Cagacazzo.
I’m scanning new distribution contracts when my phone rings. I cut my eyes toward my desk drawer buzzing to life and rub my temples. My men know to go to Luiggi when Andrea and I are at one of our businesses.
“Boss,” Luiggi says. “We’ve got a problem.”
“Explain to me again what happened.” The weight of my rings keeps my hand pressed to my desk and not reaching through the phone to strangle my third-in-command.
Surveillance video of Bianca running into my underground garage replays on my computer. Her chest heaves as she scans my private collection of luxury vehicles, searching for the keys.
Luiggi clears his throat on the other end of the line. “Scemo—“
“Scemo,” I repeat, slower, my eyes on Bianca running toward the Lamborghini Sian my cousin gifted me years ago. Her fingerprints decorate the custom paint job as she pats the car down like it’s under arrest. She glances at the garage entrance before banging on the car window. The driver’s side door finally swings open after her shout for it to “turn on.”
“He removed her ankle restraint after she complained about pain,” Luiggi explains about Bianca playing Scemo.
I huff. The strongest of my men would buckle from those pouty lips and soulful eyes. Bianca is striking, beauty and temptation delicately carved into honey-brown skin beneath a crown of braids. I purposely confined her to that room so no one would fall victim to her pleading gaze or the lull of her voice. It’s why I forced myself to stay away all day.
“And?” The line is silent.
