I took a deep breath and got as far as “Sir, I can’t—” before Tino waved his hand.
“Do not fight me on this, Luciano. Samuel Fuscone asked it of me the day I made him Underboss, and I could not refuse him his one request. So: Joseph will be part of your crew; Samuel will be happy with his position; and you will run a tight ship with these men of yours. Yes?”
I struggled to keep my thoughts private, but Tino guessed them all the same.
“You think I am doing these things to make your life difficult, Luciano?”
“Of course not, Don Morelli.”
His face darkened. “I’ve given you so much over these last few months. You begged for the life of the Irish boy, and I let him live. You wanted to move up in the Family, and I made you Capo. Now you come to me so late to talk about your crew, you toss your head when I ask you to do me one small favor? You should have been able to tell me which men you wanted as soon as I made you Capo, and then we would not be where we are.” Tino slapped his hand down on his desk. “What are you doing with yourself, wasting time in bed with your new husband, eh? What’s happened to that brain of yours?”
I hated to admit it, but the old man was right. I’ve been distracted by Finch, which is why I’ve been limiting my contact with him. I should have had a crew list ready to go, I should have been thinking about all these things. I contemplated that, staring at my shoes on the richly-woven rug in Tino’s study, and then I apologized unreservedly.
He waved it off. “I don’t want your sorries, I want your actions. Don’t disappoint me, Luciano. I see potential in you, but you squander it by thinking only one move ahead. When you were a child I told you about our forebears, those great Roman generals, emperors, princes. They were men who planned three, five, ten moves ahead; they had contingencies for every occasion. I stocked your library with their books for a reason. Sharpen your mind again, run your crew, and—” He leaned forward in his chair. “Don’t slip up again, or I might be forced to review this arrangement we have with the Donovans. If that kid is making you stupid—”
“Not at all, Don Morelli,” I said smoothly.
But my heart was just about choking me.
I told Finch he would stay alive until the Boss ordered otherwise, but I never really thought Tino would order him killed. Not after saving him once; not after Donovan started playing the game again.
But Tino is right. I need to plan for every contingency.
So after our meeting concluded I took a walk in Central Park and I asked myself: what would I do if Tino ordered me to kill Finch?
I’ve taken Tino’s advice and read again about the Caesars, the military commanders, the strategists of ancient times. And then I’ve looked through a range of other books—how to succeed in business, how to influence, how to negotiate.
Most importantly, I gathered my new crew together and we’ve run a few jobs. Nothing too challenging, just to make sure the wheels turn as they’re supposed to. Frank is my operational lead, and he’s happy with that. The men are working well together, all except for Joey Fuscone, who clearly hates me even more now.
I can’t blame him. He was expecting to get moved up to Capo himself when Sam made Underboss. But Joey’s still a grunt, still doing as he’s told, and even worse for him, I’m his superior. I’ll be keeping a close eye on him, and I’ll assume he feeds everything back to his uncle. I’ll also instruct my brand new 2IC to keep Joey blind.
In fact, I’m trying to persuade Vince Catalano from another Morelli crew to be my 2IC right now in my study.
The good thing about living in this townhouse is that I can invite people over without being worried what they’ll think of my place. Before Finch, which seems a million years ago now, I had a tiny one-bedroom place in a shitty part of town, but close enough to Manhattan that I could get there fast when I needed to run a job for Fuscone. I never let anyone come over, and not just for security reasons. The railroad apartment I made Finch stay in those first days we got back from the honeymoon was actually a step up for me, apart from the décor.
But now I can greet my men from behind my desk in my own study, just like Tino does. I can bask in the look on Catalano’s face when he walks in the door, shown up by one of the guards. I want to poach Catalano from another crew, and I can see he’s tempted, but something’s holding him back.
“I know what the problem is,” I tell him bluntly. “You think working my crew puts a target on your back. You also think people are gonna call you queer, because you work for one.”
He shrugs.
“Let me explain this in terms you’ll understand.” As Capo, I get to allocate what split my crew get from our jobs. Fuscone always kept the lion’s share for himself, of course, but I want to make sure my men know I’m looking out for them. When Catalano hears my proposal for his split, he’s suddenly a lot more receptive to my ideas.
“Think it over tonight,” I say, walking him down the stairs. I clap his back and see him out, and when I turn back around I see Finch leaning over the balustrade at the top of the stairs, watching. Listening.
Naked.
I knew I heard quick footsteps along the hallway just before Catalano and I left the study.
“You should be in bed,” I say, turning off the light in the entrance. I walk
