“Good idea. But it doesn’t change the fact that someone else made an unsanctioned hit.”
“Hmm. It’s concerning, I see your point.”
If killing can be that easy and untraceable, I’m worried about Dante. I wish we could go back to just breaking kneecaps to send a message. Death is so — final.
“Do we need to take more precautions?”
“I’ve got some of the players under surveillance, so I’ll keep you posted.”
“Okay, I’ll touch base when I know more.”
“Buona notte, Marchello.”
“Ciao.”
Now I really need to be on my guard and not let anyone on the street know what I’m up to. I hate when we pretend nothing’s going on while constantly looking over our shoulders because we know something is amiss. My life is a contradiction in terms.
Just to be safe, I’m gonna follow Prende this week and make sure she’s not putting on an act. Can’t be too careful. We leave nothing up to chance, not in this business. It’s always better to be one step ahead. I flick off the TV and head to bed, but it’s a restless sleep.
I admit, I’m looking forward to seeing Prende as soon as I can and imagine her dark eyes and how her thick, curly hair would feel draped over me in the heat of passion.
As soon as I get up, I make an espresso with sugar. It helps me think as I stand in my closet staring at rows of custom suits and pressed shirts. I can’t make up my mind on what to wear but assume it’s business as usual.
Before I forget, I text Tommaso to set up a new location for tonight’s game. It’s not that difficult.
Don’t go cheap on the food or booze,I text him.
I got it.
Have Massimo put the tables up an hour before. I’ll text everyone to give them just enough time to get there.
I finish my espresso with sugar and pop it in the new dishwasher Juliet said I had to have, as it’s quiet. Whatever. You’d think she was going to be my wife or something.
It’s close to noon so I go back to my favorite sandwich shop and pick up two paninis before heading to the flower shop.
The place is crazy busy with people coming and going like a revolving door. It makes sense considering the funeral is tomorrow. I’m sure their entire ‘family’ is going to use her flower shop. Even if they don’t go to the service, all thefamigliahas to be represented.
A bell above the entrance rings as I swing the door open and then back up to allow a woman to exit.
Once inside, I make my way towards the counter where Prende and her friend are working and wait behind an older man, swiping his credit card in the machine. He says to Prende, “You shouldn’t be working today, dear.”
“It’s fine, really. Keeps me busy and my mind occupied,” Prende replies, and thanks him for his business and condolences.
“Ciao.” She gives me a reserved smile when she spots me.
“I hope you’re hungry, I know how much you love panini. Sorry, but I don’t have wine today. Do you have some water? Do you have time to take a break? Surely you need to rest. No?”
“Yes, she needs a break,” Mila answers for her with so much conviction, I can tell she will not take ‘no’ for an answer. It’s an order.
I’m used to those too.
“Okay.” Prende takes off her apron, grabs two waters from a cooler that’s also used for flower arrangements and points toward the small office in the back, just like yesterday.
“How are you?” I ask, following her.
“Fine. Busy.”
“Again, I’m sorry about your father. Can I help you in any way?”