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“How often?” I demand. “How often did you add this ‘special seasoning’?”
“Every other day,” the chef mumbles. “For about a month before… before Mr. Timpone passed.”
I feel sick to my stomach. Gino had been slowly poisoning his own father for weeks.
“You got any of this ‘seasoning’ left?” Romero asks.
The chef nods vigorously and hurries toward his spices, Romero following close behind. I watch as Romero pockets the small vial of powder, the chef’s hands shaking as he hands it over.
“Is that all of it?” I ask.
The chef nods frantically. “Y–Yes, that’s everything. Gino forgot to take it back after… after Mr. Timpone passed.”
I exchange a glance with Romero. Gino’s sloppiness might just be our lucky break.
“Listen carefully,” I say, stepping closer to the chef. He shrinks back against the refrigerator, his eyes wide with fear. “This conversation never happened. You never saw us. You know nothing about any special seasoning. Understood?”
The chef nods again, sweat beading on his forehead. “I understand. I won’t say a word, I swear.”
"Good," I growl. “Because if you do, you’ll have a lot more to worry about than just us. Gino isn’t known for his forgiveness.”
The chef’s face pales even further. “I… I get it. My lips are sealed.”
Romero steps forward, his voice a menacing whisper. “They'd better be. Because if we find out you’ve talked, we’ll make sure you never cook again. Got it?”
The chef looks like he might faint. “Got it. Please… just go. I won’t say anything.”
The smell of fear lingers in the air as we leave the kitchen, and I can’t shake the sick feeling in my gut. Gino’s own father. How could anyone do that?
Back in the car, Romero breaks the silence. “Jesus Christ, Boss. I knew Gino was a piece of shit, but this…”
I nod, my jaw clenched. “Yeah. This is a whole new level of fucked up.”
“What’s our next move?” Romero asks, his eyes meeting mine as Marco drives away.
I take a deep breath, my mind racing. “We need to get this powder analyzed. If it’s what we think it is, we’ve got Gino dead to rights.”
“And if it’s not?”
I shake my head. “It has to be. The chef’s story, the timing of Antoni’s death… it all fits.”
Romero nods, his face grim. “So we take this to the other Families? Show them what kind of monster Gino really is?”
“Not yet,” I say, my voice hard. “We need to be smart about this. If we move too fast, Gino might catch wind and disappear. Or worse, he might lash out.”
My mind flashes to Fee and Lou. No, we can’t risk Gino doing anything desperate.
“So, what’s the plan, Angelo?” Romero asks.
I pull out my phone, dialing Jimbo’s number. He answers on the second ring.
“What’s the word?”
“We’re moving forward,” I say, my voice low and steady. “Call Gino. Tell him I’m ready to give him whatever he wants.”
There’s a pause on the other end. “You sure about this?”
“Absolutely,” I reply, my jaw set. “Set up the meeting. Make it seem like I’m coming to surrender.”
