My dad raised his hand. “Calm down, son. We are well aware.”
I balked. “We?”
“Yes, we.”
The door opened, and I expected Antonio to walk in, but what do you know, it was the “favor” I had called.
“Hello, Dante.”
I smiled, knowing that along with him, my fucking victory walked in as well. “Castello Fattore.”
A grin tugged at the edges of his mouth. “I believe you’re in need of my help.”
“That’s the fucking understatement of the year.” I shook his hand before pulling my palm down my face. The relief I felt was indescribable. If anyone had the influence and the means to help me, it was Castello Fattore. He was the fucking mobster king of New York City. Those who thought they had the balls to go against him usually lost them. And having him as an ally meant mountains could be moved on your behalf. Having this man owe you a favor was like owning the key to Heaven.
My father stood. “Castello and his family arrived early this morning. It appears he has been in your debt.” He shot me a knowing look, but I pretended to not notice.
Castello walked closer while unbuttoning his suit jacket. “Indeed I am. Your son here is quite…resourceful, Lorenzo. And this has proved quite valuable to me and is also a give and take friendship I’d like to keep for a very long time.”
I saw the way my father looked at me with a giant question mark on his forehead. But the little fact that I supplied Castello with a very hard-to-get-your-hands-on anesthetic drug in order to torture one of his employees was not something my father needed to know.
Castello gave a slight nod, and I knew it would remain our secret. After all, it was something he needed to do to save the woman he loved—which was exactly what I was trying to do right now. Castello and I had what you would call a mutual understanding.
Castello took a seat. “As I’ve shared with your father earlier, I have managed to gather some useful information regarding the Mancusos. Information I’m sure would be quite valuable to your cause, Dante.”
“What kind of information?”
His lips curled upward. “Information which would give you exactly what you need.”
“And what’s that?”
His gaze remained etched on mine. “Time.”
Man, it was easy to see why he intimidated ninety-nine percent of the population. The man reeked of confidence, demanding everyone’s attention simply by walking into a fucking a room. He was a hard as fuck, ruthless Italian crime boss, and someone you didn’t want to fuck with. Ask the poor bastard who once was his head of security but ended up six feet under because Castello tortured him to death in the most horrific—or as Lucio would say, most beautiful—ways.
I sat, leaning forward with my elbows on my knees. “I’m listening.”
Castello folded his hands as he leisurely leaned back on the couch. “There’s a shipment coming in tonight at Boston Harbor.”
“What kind of shipment?”
Castello seemed amused. “Fruit.”
“Fruit?”
He nodded. “Pineapples from Brazil, to be exact.”
“I don’t think I understand.”
Castello rubbed his chin. “Apparently, the Mancusos have become increasingly creative with how they import their shipments of illegal narcotics.”
For an intelligent man, I felt really fucking stupid at this stage. “And the pineapples—”
“Basically, they are stuffing the pineapples with cocaine and heroin. They cut the tops off, hollow it out, and place the drugs inside before putting the top back on.”
And then the lightbulb went on.Click. “Ohhhhhhhh.”
My dad poured some bourbon into a glass and handed it to Castello. “This is why we couldn’t figure out how they were getting the drugs into the city without us knowing. Our contact at the harbor had no clue.”