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“I don’t. Not for sure. But I know that the don was having meets with Crespi, and I suspected he had a plan to take Crespi’s patch and cut Don Benedetti out.”
Taking this in, the last piece of that puzzle drops into place for me. I tell him, “Daddy thought Crespi was lying about his take and not paying his dues, that’s true. He was out of line on the business, too. The clubs and rooms he ran on Wood Street, he was bringing the wrong kind of trade.”
“What do you mean?” Alessio asks, “What is the wrong kind of trade?”
“The kind that will bring state law and the feds in force on all our heads. Trafficking. Juvenile protection. And all the rest.”
Bruno’s head shakes. “People bend rules. It’s how it is.”
“I’m not talking about bending rules, Bruno. I’m talking about really sick trade. Business none of us want to be around.”
“Okay,” Carlo says, “I can see why Don Benedetti wanted to act. But why hit the son, too?”
“He didn’t want to see reason.”
Alessio looks skeptical. “Your daddy sent a hit team to negotiate?”
“No,” I look at all three of them.
“He sent me.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
Bruno whistles. “Fuck. Seriously, girl.”
Alessio’s head shakes. “We need to give this some consideration.”
They don’t believe me. It’s obvious that they don’t.
Bruno’s head tilts. “So, the reason we can trust you is because you decapitated the Crespi family single-handedly?”
Carlo lifts an eyebrow. “No, if we can trust her, the reason is that she told us.”
Bruno nods. “If we can trust her. Still, it should be easy enough to get the truth of that one way or the other.”
My eyes go to Bruno and I ask, “How’s that?”
Alessio supplies the answer. “The don wants us to pay a visit to Armando Crespi this afternoon.”
“What for? He still works for the Benedetti’s.”
What Alessio says should surprise me. But it doesn’t. “The don wants the tribute just the same.”
I shrug. “Well, you can tell Armando from me, he’s free to pay both tastes up if he wants, but it doesn’t reduce his debt to the Benedetti family.”
Bruno says, “You’re supposed to be one of us now.”
“Oh, yeah? Where’s my engagement ring? When’s the wedding? And who am I engaged to marry?”
Maybe Armando Crespi will tell them what happened when they ask him. If they ask him. But it’s more likely he’ll tell them it was a crack team of Navy Seals who came in tanks wearing body armor. Anything rather than admit that one small girl took out both the heads of his family. After all, how would that leave him looking, other than vulnerable?
There’s not much hope left for me. I played and lost. So close, yet so very far away.
Thinking of a meeting at their house of horrors doesn’t fill me with joy or optimism, either.
Maybe it’s just me, but however warm it is in the high vaulted rooms of this house, it always seems like there’s a chill in the air and, whatever time of day it is, it always feels like the depth of a gloomy night.
I was told to arrive at six, and it’s a quarter of when I climb the stone steps and knock anxiously on the huge wood doors. To my surprise, the door moves. It’s not locked.
