“No, what happened? Was Dante with you?’
“Yes,” he whispers in my ear.
“Why the whisper? Is the room bugged?”
“One can never be sure; it’s swept once a week.”
“Oh,” I speak louder, “what happened?”
“We returned the book, that’s all you need to know.”
19
Marchello
“It’s nothing for you to worry over, we’re fine. You have to know your place.” I wince.
Shit.Did I just say that out loud? It’s late, the last thing I want to deal with is a talkative wife who won’t keep her nose out of mafia business.
“Pfft. Don’t start with that. I’m not going to let you, or anyone tell me what to do ever again.”
Fuck, what did I just do?
“Prende, it’s two in the morning. Let’s go to bed.”
“Fine, we’ll talk tomorrow.”
I strip and throw my t-shirt in the hamper before sliding under the covers to lay next to her warm body. I roll onto my back and place one hand behind my head as if I’m laying in the grass, staring up at the stars on a beautiful summer night.
Prende has her back to me, but our toes touch, so I know our situation is redeemable.
If my mind wasn’t still racing from earlier, I’d pull her panties off and fuck her. One of the best benefits of being married to Prende, she’s always up for sex and I no longer have to rub one out.
Before we met with the Albanians tonight, Dante and I went over the names on the list I have from the hotel registry of the ski lodge where Argon and Prende stayed the night he was murdered. We came across the name Federico Gambino.
“Fuck, what’s the under boss to the Don of the Sicilian mob doing that far north?” he asks out loud and doesn’t really expect an answer.
This is why he’s the Don.
“Maybe he needed a cooler vacation too and there’s nothing to say he can’t,” I reply.
It’s now apparently to Dante and I that we don’t get out enough to be in the loop of the other families as much as we probably should. Or have more feet on the ground collecting valuable information
Since he was there the night Argon was murdered, he’s a suspect. What baffles us is the name Ngnazio Gambino.
“That must be his wife,” Dante surmises.
It’s logical. We don’t have a lot of information about the Sicilian mob. I mean, back in the day, maybe. But now families go to extreme lengths to keep their families’ a secret. And they are in Sicily. The freaking boot of Italy. It’s a different world down there.
“We could send Riccardo on a recon mission to get more intel, but it’s dangerous,” Dante peruses more names.
We both know that asking questions in Sicily is likely to get you whacked before you can say “Ciao”. Besides, after a few judges presiding over mob trials were blown to bits a few years ago, everyone on the island knows better than to rat out anyone. The Sicilians all know where their best change of survival lays even if it leaves us I in the cold.
My guess, lips will be sealed there for another ten fucking years. Christ, they are ruthless bastards. Dante fold the paper and puts it away. We continue on to meet up with the head of the Albanian mafia, Fitore Toska, and Besnik. It never hurts to play it extra safe.
Fitore Toska is the head as in the top of the Albanian mob who happened to be in from Albania or, he came in just for this. We arranged for a meet where we can have our Sharpe shooters in place in case of an issue and we’re sure he’s done the same.
There is no honor among thieves, there are temporary moments where we play nice but it would be irresponsible to leave our backs exposed, Especially with something of such great value.