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Up in my room, I shower and try to think of what I can do to make things better. I’m all out of ideas. Carlo would be the one to advise me. But I don’t know where I would stand with him now, and I’m afraid to find out.
As I’m letting my hair dry, I’m hollow and desperate for a friendly contact of any kind. I text Federico to ask him how the cruise is going. He’s probably on the other side of the world right now. Does that mean it’s early or late where he is?
There’s a knock on my door.
My heart jumps. My chest fills and swells. Hopeful, I start to rise. Then I hear Jago’s voice.
“The don wants to see you. In his study.” I hear her feet turn on the carpet outside. Then, as an afterthought, there’s a clear note of enjoyment in her voice as she adds, “Don’t keep him waiting.”
She almost purrs with satisfaction, the way I imagine she would sound if she had arranged my execution.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
When I get back downstairs, I’m still breathless and flustered, feeling like the bottom just fell out of my whole world. There’s no one to be seen, but I’m sure Jago is tucked out of sight somewhere. She’s probably rubbing her hands at the thought of me making the don angrier with every second that passes.
She’s probably found a spot in the dark where she can watch me.
I knock on the door. The growl I hear in answer is so feral and indistinct, I can’t be certain what it was. But I take a breath and step inside.
The room is bright with sleek, low profile up-market furnishings. It looks comfortable and spacious, but it’s more like a plush office in a corporate HQ than the den of a don. Maybe that’s how he wants to be seen. Less of the old-school muscle, more about modern finance.
At first I think I got the wrong place, and anyway, the room seems to be empty. Then I hear the don’s voice from a far, dark corner. “You took your time. Shut the door behind you.”
I can’t help my thoughts racing. Did Jago tell him about me and the boys? Did the boys tell him I asked about the houses? Or has he just brought me in here purely and simply because he hates me?
“So,” he barks as I walk towards him. He’s sitting behind a big, very plain wood desk. “How did you do it? Was there a lot of planning? Did your father put you up to it? Did he mastermind it? And,” he leans forward, “why? What were you going to do with her?”
“What?”
He hasn’t invited me to sit. There isn’t a chair in front of the desk. Does he expect me to stand, like a disgraced schoolgirl, hauled in front of the principal? I look around for a chair I can bring over, since he hasn’t had the courtesy to offer me one.
He barks, “Look at me when I’m talking to you.” The power of his voice, the sheer volume, is a physical shock.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I haven’t seen a chair that looks like I would be able to move it. Not without a struggle at least. It doesn’t seem like good strategy to be wrestling with his furniture and tiring myself out while he yells at me and verbally assaults me. I should at least stay nimble and agile on my feet.
“The raid on Bagniola’s ball. Why did you do it?”
“What? Me?” I blink and take a breath. “Did I just step through a looking glass? What are you talking about?”
“You planned it. Or you and your father did, I don’t know which.” His voice is loud and his eyes are narrow, but I don’t believe him. His anger feels faked. He’s putting on a performance, and he’s getting it all wrong. The don is not gifted in theatrical skill.
“Was that why he sent you here? To make sure it all went according to plan?”
“I chased them away. Me and Bruno.”
“That’s part of the bluff. I don’t know how, but you can be certain that I’m onto you.”
I can be certain that he’s out of his mind.
“And the Crespi thing. That was you, too.” Now that lands too close to home, and it shakes me inside but I take it with a straight face.
What is going on here? He blusters on. It’s terrifying and ridiculous at the same time. I think I might be sick. “Don’t try to deny it. It was obviously a professional-level hit. Probably ex-military or a government outfit. Did your daddy hire in a pro team from out of town? How much did you have to do with it? With the actual executions. Were you there?”
It’s obvious he knows less than nothing about it. But he’s making me jumpy. He’s way too near the truth for comfort. There’s no way to know if somebody fed him all this crap, or if he’s just making it up.
This obsession he seems to have with the Crespi’s thing being tied in to the raid, I wonder what that’s all about. I’m combing my brain for what I saw of the raid.
The team was well-equipped, but there was nothing else about their operation to suggest they were military trained. They weren’t even especially professional. Often as not, that kind of muscle action is cops moonlighting. If anything, those looked pretty haphazard, just like local some hoodlums out and loud, playing with the big boys’ toys.
