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Drago nods. “Closed-casket burial. Coffee?”
I nod at the coffee he’s already fixing. “He died of a heart attack, so why closed?”
“We have to ask Maria Capone.”
“Her mother could’ve done it,” I say, but realize my mistake the moment it comes out. I referred to Maria as Cristina’s mother, when I should’ve referred to her as Capone’s wife. This detail would be negligible to most, but Drago picks up on the smallest of details. In this case, I was thinking of Cristina.
Drago doesn’t react, but I’m sure he files my words into an archive in his mind for later use when he deems it necessary.
“Could’ve, but she and her daughter aren’t close. A lot of the plan depends on the daughter marrying Gio. It’s the perfect wealth scam. Transfer wealth to Gio and make him think he’s won, then marry off your daughter to the man with wealth, kill the man, and now you control both his and your own wealth.”
“But Gio never married Cristina Capone.”
“Yes, but Rocco doesn’t know that. The marriage looked legit. Another idea is if he knows you got in the way, all he had to do was eliminate you. Gio marries Cristina as planned.”
“We’ll find whoever did it,” I say.
“I know. But I want to make the calls from now on.” He hands me the cup of coffee and leans against the boarded-up wall that leads to the terrace.
He thinks I’m compromised because I mentioned Cristina by name. He’s a quick study, this man. It’s why I won’t let him retire.
I’m trying to think of places we could set up a base of operations, but I’m sure he’s already found options and is only waiting for me to hurry up and drink my coffee.
“Our doctors sent experimental salves that speed up the healing process,” he says.
“How?”
He raises an eyebrow. “How did they send it?”
“No, how does it work?”
“Connective tissue repair. It works like a glue until our body heals. They use it on the battlefield already.” During special ops, he means.
I sit up, stretch my upper body, and crack my neck a few times before attempting to stand.
Drago offers me a hand. I take it before applying pressure to my wounded leg. I try to walk and manage a few steps, then a few more.
“It’s still swollen,” I say.
“It’ll subside. You need another week of rest.”
I curse.
“No way around it, my friend.”
“Where do you want to set up base?” I ask.
“Gio’s.”
“Why not in the lion’s den?” I ask, meaning: why aren’t we setting up our base inside a Capone home? If that doesn’t draw him out, nothing will.
“Because you seem to have formed an attachment to Cristina Capone that can cost you your life. It’s why I need to call the shots.”
“My attachment is exactly what will end this coup.”
Drago purses his lips, thinking. “Are you sure?”
“Certain,” I lie. “Cristina Capone is a means to an end.”
