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Antonio smiles like a shark. “I might have let it slip to Andrei Sidorov that Gafur was overextended,” he says. “And of course, the Sidorov bratva didn’t become the juggernaut it is by passing up on the opportunity to prey on an injured opponent.”
Joao laughs out loud. “Nicely done,” he says appreciatively. “Sounds like I should cancel my Moscow hotel reservation. Pity. There’s a Mongolian restaurant on the outskirts of the city that’s rumored to serve an amazing noodle bowl.”
The padrino nods. “Cancel it for the moment,” he says. “I’ll let you know if things change.”
Officially, Joao is in charge of our smuggling operation. Unofficially, he’s Antonio’s assassin. He laughs often and spoils his cat. He’s a passionate foodie who spent a year in Japan learning how to make the perfect soy sauce or some such thing, and he’s never met a slice of cake he didn’t want to eat. But underneath that amiable mask, he’s a stone-cold killer.
Dante looks at his phone. “Are you concerned about this VDL thing?” He slides the device over to Antonio. “Sabrina Laurenti was killed yesterday while she was on holiday in Tunis. A car crash. The Tunisian authorities are calling it an accident.” The second-in-command takes in our mystified expressions. I’m not the only one who’s lost; judging from their blank faces, neither Leo nor Joao have any idea who Sabrina Laurenti is. “Sabrina is Vidone Laurenti’s daughter, his only child. And Vidone Laurenti is, of course, Il velo delle lacrime’s underboss.”
Ah. Il velo delle lacrime, or VDL, is a new-ish mafia organization in Sicily. They’re practically in Cosa Nostra’s backyard, but despite that, they’ve managed to thrive. Made up of former Cosa Nostra members, the outfit is growing rapidly, and so far, they’ve resisted every effort to crush them.
“Of course,” Joao says dryly. “How could I forget? Oh wait, I know why. Because a man can go crazy trying to keep track of what’s going on in Southern Italy.”
Antonio grins before his expression turns serious. “Interesting timing,” he says. “Sabrina Laurenti was engaged to the son of the pakhan of the Kutuzovo OPG. They’re a Russian outfit that operates out of St. Petersburg. It was a union that would have also made Vidone a shoo-in for the head role. Now, though—” He shrugs his shoulders. “It’s yet another internal power struggle in Palermo. I’m surprised Kutuzovo has time to flirt with Italy; I thought they needed all their resources to keep the Sidorov Bratva at bay. Keep an eye on it, Dante, just in case, but I’m not concerned. It’s got nothing to do with us.”
Once the meeting is done, I swing by Leo’s office. “Did you have to break both his hands?” I complain, sitting down and frowning at our enforcer. Granted, Leo had cause. Simon Groff, Alina’s former partner, touched Leo’s fiancée Rosa without her consent—but still. You try getting a man with two broken wrists to sign a contract.
“Yes,” Leo replies. “I absolutely did. How did you find out about that?”
“I went to see him on Saturday.”
He leans forward. “What did you do, Tomas?”
“What I always do,” I say with a shrug. “I offered a stick and a carrot. I told him if he set foot in Venice again, I would have him killed, and then I bought out his share in the gym.”
Leo shakes his head. “You paid his asking price? A million euros for a half-share in a small gym? Why?”
“A million two,” I correct. Two hundred thousand euros to fix the interior, and I have a sneaking suspicion it’s going to need more. “I don’t like rapists.” Simon Groff has a deeply unsavory history. It irritates me to leave a man like that alive, but unfortunately, Groff’s father is a politician in London, and killing Simon would bring more trouble than it’s worth. The best I could was get him out of town.
“Interesting woman,” I add.
“Who is?”
“Alina Zuccaro.” I take a sip of my coffee. “You’re looking a little shell-shocked, by the way.”
“Rosa and I have set a wedding date,” he responds. “October sixth. Clear your schedule.”
Leo looks remarkably content for a man who insists his marriage is just a business arrangement. But I’ve seen the way he looks at Rosa when he thinks no one is watching. There’s so much yearning there. So much want.
It reminds me of the way I used to look at my girlfriend. When Leo bought Rosa an expensive engagement ring, it felt like a kick from the past. I bought Estela Villegas a ring once, a yellow diamond surrounded by smaller white ones. When I got down on one knee, I was confident I knew what she was going to say.
She turned me down.
“You didn’t think this was serious, did you?” she asked me, her voice harsh and her eyes mocking. “I’m a mafia princess, Tomas, and you’re Alonzo’s favorite whipping boy. You didn’t really believe that I was serious about you?”
It’s taken me a long time to realize that I hadn’t been deluding myself. Estela had led me on. Deliberately, cruelly. Maybe she did it because her ego needed every man around her to fall in love with her, or maybe she enjoyed the chase. Either way, it doesn’t matter. She taught me a valuable lesson, and for that, I’ll always be grateful. Love clouds your thinking and affects your judgment.
Leo’s waiting for me to respond. “Congratulations.” I jot down the date in my calendar and then, as quickly as I can manage, leave. I head to the coffee machine to top up my mug, and Dante and Valentina are there, kissing like a couple of newlyweds, which, to be fair, they are. I look around and see Antonio on the phone, his expression tender, which means he’s talking to his wife, Lucia.
Married couples are everywhere. It’s an epidemic.
It’s a good thing I’ve sworn off relationships. Because my friends look really happy, and if I wasn’t determined to avoid love, I might start wanting it in my life again.
6
ALINA
Ishould have done an Internet search the moment Tomas Aguilar left my gym on Saturday, but in my defense, I was pretty flustered. But the moment my alarm goes off at six on Monday morning, I jump out of bed, make myself some coffee, and sit down in front of my laptop to google him.
