We don’t discuss the findings until we’re back at Uncle Al’s. His housekeeper takes Bianca off to clean up, I assume, and the rest of us head into his office space downstairs. When we’re all seated around the table with the consigliere, Al speaks up.
“What information did you get from the late Luciani?” he asks, crossing himself.
I wait for Il Diavolo to speak, but he gestures a giant hand at the me, his other mitt holding a towel to his side. “It’s your moment, rookie,” he says. “Tell him.”
I clear my throat, not wanting to deliver this news and unable to keep from wondering if this is a shoot-the-messenger situation, and Il Diavolo knows it and doesn’t want to be the one to tell Al that his beloved grandson conspired to have him killed.
“He said Little Al tipped him off,” I say quietly.
Uncle Al doesn’t even bat an eye.
“I’m sorry, sir,” I add.
“Were you aware of this?” he asks.
My blood runs cold. I’m Little Al’s partner. Of course scrutiny falls on me. “No, sir.”
“Then don’t apologize. He set up the meeting and wasn’t there when shots were fired. You joined at the last minute and took a hit for me.” He studies me a second, then tips his chin. “I’m going to let you deal with him.”
I nod, gulping down the protest. It’s one thing to shoot the bastard who tried to have me killed and set up my wife’s family, trying to pit us against each other. Luciani’s another family. Little Al is a Valenti. And not only is he family, he’s my partner. Sure, he’s kind of a tool, but we’ve worked as a team for the past three months, since my first day on the job. It might as well have been my whole life. I’ve grown, learned, and hardened to become a man who gets shit done, who does what he needs to survive. A lot of it is thanks to Little Al.
He taught me well.
So I use what he taught me. I give the only answer that lets me live another day, go home to my empty apartment, and try to be a better man tomorrow. “Yes, sir,” I say.
“He’s not answering his phone,” the consigliere says with a frown. “I’ll try his old lady.”
One of the men at the table grunts. “You think someone tipped him off?”
“We didn’t leave anyone alive to tip him off,” says Joey One-Eye.
“Did anyone take Bianca’s phone?” I ask.
There’s a long moment of tense silence while the consigliere calls Mrs. De Luca. After a brief conversation, he hangs up and shakes his head. “She says he left early this morning and she hasn’t heard from him since.”
“Son of a bitch,” Uncle Al curses quietly. “He was here for some of the planning to take down Luciani. He must have known he’d talk, and he ran like the coward he is.”
“He’ll be lying low, waiting to see if we succeeded,” the consigliere says.
“Need me to find him?” asks Il Diavolo, his voice a low rumble.
“We’ll find him, alright,” Al says, grimacing. “He’s a threat that needs to be eliminated.”
As we leave the room after a few more minutes of discussion, Al lingers, putting a hand on my shoulder to keep me after everyone leaves. “Brother killing brother is just another day in the Life,” he says. “You seemed a little shaken in there. It’s just business, son.”
“I know.”
“Good,” he says. “You’ve had enough excitement for tonight. Go home to your wife.”
“Thank you,” I say, just managing not to stammer. He doesn’t know she left. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not.
Al gives me a long, shrewd look. “Is that going better?”
I hesitate, and then, because he’s the only person I can talk to about this, I stay a minute longer. “Can I ask your advice about something?”
“Sure,” he says. “Does this need a drink?”
He pours a couple glasses of whiskey from a decanter on the liquor cart in the corner.