Page 142 of The Beast Who Begged Me

“And you knew?”

“Afterward. Years after, when he told me himself. Lou made the arrangement with him directly.” Donnie studies my face. “It’s all a long time ago, Orsini. Better to leave it in the past.”

“Where is he, this Arturo Santi?”

“You think finding him will change anything?”

“Where?”

Donnie pushes his chair back. He gets to his feet, picks up his drink, and starts across the room. I stay where I am for a second, staring after him. Then Caligula rises beside me, and we follow.

Donnie leads us past a table where two men are playing cards, and stops beside a quiet corner by the window. An old man sits over a checkerboard, arranging the pieces in uneven rows. His opponent has moved away to talk to someone else.

“Artie,” Donnie says. “Some visitors to see you.”

The man doesn’t look up at first. He’s trying to pick up a checker from the board. His skin is paper-thin and spotted, the veins standing out.

“Iggy,” Donnie calls, already turning away. “You should’ve seen the game this boy just gave me.”

I barely hear him. Fontana goes with Donnie Gee, and then the old man finally lifts his head. His whole face changes. “Vin,” he says, delighted. “They told me you were dead.”

He holds out his hand, smiling at me, and I stare at it without moving.

“Sit down. Where’ve you been?” He gestures at the chair opposite him, then glances toward Caligula. “Cesar, too? You guys were always running around together. Good to see you’re still friends.”

I sit because my knees have started to feel weak. “Not Vin,” I tell him. “Damiano.”

“How is that boy? Big now, I bet.” He chuckles, nudging a checker toward me. “He used to follow you everywhere.”

I look down at the piece between us. I remember following my father through a room full of men, trying to keep up. “You worked for Lou Clemenza,” I say.

Santi’s smile fades. He looks toward the window, then down at the board. “Sometimes.”

I hear someone laughing near the chess tables. Donnie is back with Iggy, and the whole fucking world is carrying on while I sit across from the man who killed my father.

“Vincent Orsini,” I say. “That was the job.”

“Poor Vin. He was a good man. Didn’t deserve it.” He looks at me again, his eyes watering.

Caligula’s hand settles between my shoulders, rubbing slightly as if to soothe. I can’t take my eyes off Santi, who’s grieving my father with me as though we’ve met at his fucking funeral.

“You cut his throat.”

“Cesar had to be there,” he says. “Lou said to make sure he saw.”

The hand against my back goes still.

“You waited until they were together?” I prompt.

Santi nods, looking down at the checkers. “A message. For Cesar.”

“Tell me what happened.”

“They didn’t know I was there. They were talking in the kitchen. I came in the back door. Vin turned around…” He makes a quick movement with his hand, a slash. “I cut his throat. Cesar started shouting his name.”

The shouting. That’s what woke me.

I’m thirteen again, getting out of bed, going downstairs. There’s blood across the kitchen floor, more than I’ve ever seen, and my father is lying in it. Cesario Clemenza stands over him with a knife in his hand.