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"Isn't that one of Montegna's places?" Lorenzo asks, rolling up his sleeves. He looks like he wants a round with our prisoner, too.
I reach out to stop him, saying, "I think so, but let Zio work on him. I doubt whoever he was working with is going to head back to their meetup spot, but it's worth poking around."
Oz wags his finger at me. "I told you. Montegna's not wasting any time, Alessandro. This is why we should have way more guns on the street. We were unprepared for today."
"No," I counter. "You were unprepared. Lorenzo and I never travel light coming out here. I'm going to get some answers and make sure something like this doesn't happen again."
"Ah, fine. If this shit stain has anything else to say, I'll get word to you," Oz says, stepping into the empty pool, cracking his knuckles, and pulling something out of his pocket.
The closer Oz gets to the shooter, the less I want to hang around, but Billy regains consciousness.
"Wait a minute. You said—" Billy's words are muffled by whatever Oz shoves in his mouth.
Oz turns over his shoulder with a smile. "I'll work, then listen. Feel free to change and take one of my cars, Alessandro."
"Thanks, Zio."
Lorenzo and I leave the pool house through a flap because despite the place being in perfectly usable condition, Oz leaves the place tented like it's being fumigated. The reason is for scenarios like this.
"I don't think any of your uncle's stuff is going to fit ya." Lorenzo laughs as we walk around the house toward the garage.
"I'm just going to put my jacket on. I'll change when I'm sure we're done with our interrogations. There's no use getting blood all over new clothes."
There's a work truck in the garage for the landscapers to use, and at some point, we'll get a soldier to bring it back once we're done with it. The last thing I need is to be seen busting heads with Lorenzo behind the wheel and me soaked in Billy the shooter's blood. After draping large trash bags over the seats, we head off the property and toward the bridge. Yet something's bugging me about this entire morning.
"Ren, you think that guy is going to tell Oz anything?"
Lorenzo huffs out a breath. "I doubt it. He'll be lucky if your uncle puts him out of his misery. The quicker, the better. Why? What's up?"
I shrug. "Something about what he was saying when we were leaving. I'm probably being paranoid, but forget it. What are the odds that Montegna's number is still the same?"
"If he's the one behind this or the torched businesses, I don't think so. Why would he want anyone in La Familia keeping in touch? Why?"
"I'm thinking we should set up a meeting."
Lorenzo scoffs. "You think he's going to do that?"
"He will if he doesn't want me running loose all over the city."
To both of our surprise, Don Montegna is willing to take a meeting with me and decides that Kings is the best place for it. In his words, if I'm trying to pull anything, I'll be less likely to kill him at one of my client's most profitable establishments.
Don Montegna is short, sharply dressed in a pinstriped suit, and bald with a face that looks incapable of smiling. Even when he tries to look happy, the spacing between his yellow teeth, the hook at the end of his slender nose, and the odor of his cigars make him irritable to be around. The size of his gut gives him trouble as he slides into a booth at the back of Kings's dining room.
The server doesn't waste time bringing over my favorite bottle of Scotch. Lorenzo sits down in the booth beside us with his back to mine to make sure he's got my back.
I speak low before taking my seat, leaning down to talk in his ear. "Get ahold of Pop and make sure he's okay. We'll head out there next if we have to."
He nods, and I take a seat.
"So, Little Sandro De Luca is making quite the name for himself these days." Don Montegna's raspy voice most likely comes from the copious amounts of cigars he smokes. Either that or he uses gravel for mouthwash. I pour him a glass, which he readily takes and raises to me. "Salut."
"Salut," I return the toast.
"Why all the huffing and puffing and I'll blow your strip clubs down, Alessandro?" He asks, getting straight to the point.
"I can ask you the same thing. I've got a few birdies singing that you're torching businesses that belong to me and my wife's family."
He grins that toothy grin and leans back. "Yes, congratulations to you and your beautiful bride. It should have been a La Familia affair. But what's done is done. As far as your little businesses are concerned, no one does cocktails anymore. If any businesses burned, maybe you should check to see if someone else had their eye on them? You have the resources for that, I'm sure."
