Juliet answers, “I’m just leaving, it appears the hotel’s wedding planner had some sort of accident and I’ve been assigned someone new. Her name is Gabriella Loren and she kind of reminds me of Sophia Loren with the way she speaks on the phone, so perfect and reserved. Same last name, go figure.”
“She was not that fancy,” Dante argues. “I heard her, and she sounds a bit bitchy, if you ask me. Good luck with that.”
“I know, I’m just saying,” Juliet emphasizes as she rolls her eyes.
“Oh, yeah, here is a business card for a florist. I already met with her and she’s wonderful.”
“We have a florist,” she replies but takes the card and looks at it. “PrendeFlorista.”
“Yes, but we need to fire the current florist and hire this particular florist,” Dante explains.
“Oh.” Her mouth shapes like the letter O as she gets my meaning. “Got it.”
Getting up from the chair, she gives Dante a kiss, long enough to remember, and murmurs, “Ciao,” as she walks away, leaving a trail of Coco Chanel perfume in her wake. Soft and subtle, just like her, until she has a strong opinion.
“Well, that’s step one, keep enemies closer,” I say with my hand up to my mouth to hide the words from Juliet.
“Let’s hope. But who could it be? Granted, Argon was a boss, but who else wanted to kill him? Who else could he have pissed off? The Tirads in Prato? I mean, they’re more involved in prostitution and drug trafficking. Maybe Argon had too many drugs to sell and crossed over into China Town? I hate to say it, brother, but that would be signing his own death warrant. That Chinaman is known as the Darkness of the Underworld,” Dante says, rubbing his chin, which has a bit of scruff on it, and posturing like George Clooney inOcean’s Eleven. It’s a habit he tends to do when he has a lot on his mind.
“Well, I need to get going,” Dante stands to leave. “I have appointments today. We’ll have to wait and see how the situation with Argon plays out. In the meantime, stay on top of that girl.” He heads to the door and pauses, “Don’t you need to make a pickup from Tommaso?”
“Yes, I’m going there now,” I reply, sounding like a child fed up with being treated like the baby in the family.
“Great, thanks.”
We leave together, but when we get to the street, we go in opposite directions.
By mid afternoon, I meet up with Tommaso at his warehouse on the outskirts of Florence, ironically in Prato. We have warehouses all over because it makes hiding things we don’t want to be found more conducive and property value mostly goes up, so it’s a win/win situation.
His warehouse is a huge building nestled in between warehouses owned by the Chinese. No one ever knows what goes on around here because all the loading doors are kept shut. The workers don’t show their faces and come and go at all hours of the night. It’s all very sketchy and suspicious.
As if we don’t do the same thing,I sigh.
I drive an older Mercedes, which is not uncommon around here, to avoid drawing attention from the polizia. If I was driving a Ferrari, they would pull me over and accuse me of going a few kilometers over the speed limit, just to make a spectacle and some money off a ticket.
I learned early on not to be flashy while I’m doing illegal shit. Back then, our hands were slapped if we were greedy about anything, because greed is what brings down every crime family in history. Look at Capone with his tax evasion.
It’s not just the criminals, some members of elite Florentine society have been caught embezzling funds with their creative accounting practices and even though they paid it back, they still served time in prison. With crime comes risk, but to be flashy or greedy is just asking to get caught.
When the economy is in the toilet and there’s no money in the bank, you still need to pay for your kid’s tuition, the country club and other expensive shit, so you find some shortcuts and cook the books. We don’t have those problems. Our business is recession proof. Everyone needs to feed their addictions.
“Tommaso.” We shake hands before walking into his back room.
“What’s new? I’m looking forward to the wedding, we’ll have a grand time, drinking for sure.” He pounds me on the back. I feel every bit of it because he’s a large man and still strong for his age. He knew my papa, so I’m guessing he’s in his sixties.
He’s not the brightest bulb in the box, but he gets shit done. That’s why he’s involved in operations we need carried out faithfully.
He’s trustworthy.
That’s another reason why my brothers are my confidants and no one else. Like the American band Bon Jovi, we stick together. None of their behind-the-scenes shit or drama reaches the public. That’s how Dante is with us. If we’re running an empire, then we’d better stick together and prove blood is everything.
Plus, we want to prove the naysayers wrong. They said three brothers are like three girls and we’d never get along because one of us would always be competing to be top dog. They expected an internal war after Dad died.
So far, it’s not been difficult proving them wrong. It helps that we all have different skill sets and jobs to do.
“Tommaso, you’ve got to look after your family and those daughters. Behave for Christ’s sake.” I tap him on the back twice.
“Hey, even the missus allows me to drink at weddings.” He smiles and shoves his hands in his pockets.