Besides, I have a much more compelling argument.
“I owe the Irish kid my life,” I say simply. “Many years ago he saved me, before you allowed me to join the Family. My brother can support my claim as well—you can ask Frank if you like. It was a debt that I could never repay…until now.”
Tino looks me up and down, rather like he stared at Finch. “Fuscone doesn’t like queers,” he says.
“There aren’t many in the Family who do,” I say neutrally.
Tino gives a slow nod. “You’ve always been straight with me, Luciano, if you’ll excuse the pun.” I give the polite, expected smile at the poor joke. “So now it’s time for me to be straight with you. I don’t like Fuscone’s idea to whack the Donovan kid and I don’t like that he didn’t come to me about it. We got rid of the Irish back in my day, whipped ’em hard and drove ’em back to Boston. But it’s never seemed a thing to gloat about, not to me. The Donovans were a hard family back then, but they’re soft now. Soft and rich. Old Howard, he’s always known the score, even if he snaps behind the muzzle from time to time. I don’t like the way Fuscone’s been pushing him; he’s gonna bleed that Irish bank dry if he’s not careful.”
I take in every word he’s saying, adding it to my internal database. I take it in like it’s Julius Caesar letting me in on his strategic decisions. Tino is a modern Emperor, after all. He’d cross the Rubicon as easy as he does the Hudson.
“But Fuscone is my man, and I don’t like to contradict him on this,” Tino says. “It makes him seem weak if I give in to his underling. Makes me seem weak.”
I nod. “I understand,” is all I say, and I wait. I know Tino is testing me, somehow. But Tino is not only a clever man, he’s a fair one. I trust him—more than I trust most people, anyway.
Usually I’d have plans B, C and D in the back of my mind if Tino’s decision doesn’t go my way. But right now I only see one other way out of this if Tino doesn’t come down on my side, and it involves killing a lot of people.
The reality is, I’m fucked if this doesn’t go my way, so I really hope my faith in Tino has not been misplaced. But he surprises me then.
“Tell me, Luciano: if you were me, what would you do?”
“I would never presume to—”
“Of course not. But I’m asking you to presume. I want to know what you think I should do.”
I cough, and ask if I can take a glass of water. Tino nods, amused, as though he knows I’m only trying to give myself time to think. He sends a plume of cigar smoke up while he waits.
“Fuscone isn’t really interested in the kid. He just wants to make sure the Donovans pay up. But the Donovan kid is worth more to us alive than dead,” I say carefully. “He’s the only male child Howard Donovan has. If we take out his son, Donovan could go two ways: he could fire up or he could break. Neither would be good for us. It could start another war with the Irish. Or if he flips and goes to the Feds…” I spread my hands. “On the other hand, it could destroy him completely, and his business suffers, and we’d still end up with nothing in that case.”
“So? What do we do?”
I note the “we,” and feel my heart beat a little faster. “We keep the kid,” I say confidently. “In the old days, medieval times, a royal hostage ensured one House would not rise against another. It was a political move, keeping the kids of royalty. We could keep the Donovan kid as leverage over his father.”
“Keep him, eh? Hand him over to Sam Fuscone as a prisoner?”
Shit. “Of course not,” I say quickly. “We treat him well and keep him happy; his father sees it, he’s more likely to go along with what we want him to do.”
Tino gives me a smile then, a slow, face-expanding smile, and wags a finger at me. “See?” he asks of no one in particular. “Y’see? I knew you had it in you. I always said you were a smart one. Luciano, my boy, I like your idea. Only, you’re talking about a political hostage. I’ll go you one better.”
I follow Tino back into the room where they’re all waiting. Finch looks more like a defenseless baby bird than ever, blinking nervously, breathing hard. He’s sweating and sickly-looking—he’s coming down, hard. Frank is letting Finch lean on him, half holding the kid up. Fuscone and his nephew are stewing and muttering in the other corner. Angelo, who has the face of a fashion model and the heart of a warrior, is reading a magazine over by the window, supremely unconcerned. That’s the kind of man I want protecting me when I’m king.
Still, Finch’s drug situation is one we will have to address, assuming Fuscone doesn’t just shoot us all after Tino announces his decision.
One part of me is appalled by Tino’s malicious sense of humor. The other part is interested to see how everyone will react. It’ll be a test of character, if nothing else.
Tino doesn’t sit back down; he leans against the table, looking at us all as we line up again in front of him. I make sure to have Finch in between me and Frank. I just hope his crash doesn’t make him mouthy again.
“Listen up,” Tino says unnecessarily. It’s so quiet in the room I can hear Finch’s harsh, uneven breathing. “This is how it’s gonna be. The Donovan kid stays alive.” Fuscone
