Tell me something I don’t know, asshole.
“The truth is that you don’t have enough money to be of interest to us,” he says thoughtfully. “No, I think perhaps a favor is best.”
“A favor,” I say flatly. What the hell kind of favor can I do for this guy?
He nods and uncrosses his legs to sit forward. “While most of my business is in Italy, I do have some interests here in America. Perhaps a day will come when I encounter a problem that can be resolved only by someone with your talents and status as a lawyer. Having you on standby to assist in resolving such a problem would be of value to me, Mr. Valenti.”
I can’t believe I’m entering into a negotiation with a mobster about how I might be of future service, but here I am. I set my glass aside. I’m starting to feel the booze and can’t afford impaired judgment while dealing with this man.
“A question?” I ask.
He nods.
“I know the Luciano family is mixed up in all this. I’m also at least somewhat aware of what their ‘business interests’ entail. To put it mildly, these are not people I wish to be associated with in any way, at any time.”
He listens with interest but doesn’t betray the slightest hint of what he might be thinking.
“How closely are you related to the Luciano family?” I ask.
The hint of a smile touches his lips while he considers his reply. “I’m not, Mr. Valenti. At least not directly.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I have no formal relationship with them.”
My skin crawls at the prospect of what this “favor” might entail. Defend some goombah in court against charges for crimes that harm innocent people? Murder? Human trafficking? Kidnapping? Prostitution? Drug dealing? I might be able to live with my conscience if I did some work for this guy that involved more or less legitimate business such as tax avoidance or financial fraud: white-collar crime in which people aren’t physically harmed. Yeah, I’m rationalizing—everything these people do hurts someone, somewhere, somehow. On the other hand, we’re negotiating for Brittany’s safety. Is there any depth to which I won’t sink to that end?
My eyes stray to my almost-empty glass. I force myself to look away. “I don’t suppose you can be more specific about this favor?”
He considers the question but doesn’t immediately reply.
“Perhaps we can negotiate some exclusions?” I ask hopefully.
“Let’s set that aside while I give it some thought,” he finally says as he sits back and casually recrosses his legs. “We should clarify our existing arrangements before we consider another.”
“How so?”
He looks me squarely in the eye. “There can be no ambiguity about the specific terms of any arrangements we may come to, Mr. Valenti. None. As I’m sure you can imagine, the consequences should you fail to deliver on a commitment will be unpleasant.”
Unpleasant? Loved ones maimed, kidnapped, or murdered? Maybe a limb lopped off? An acid bath? “Yeah, let’s be clear.”
“For two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, the contract that is currently on your father’s head will be canceled.”
The contract currently on his head? “That sounds considerably more limited than your promise to make the contract go away and to guarantee my father’s safety,” I counter. “Perhaps you can clarify your offer?”
“The brother of your father’s victim has contracted with the Lucianos to eliminate your father. That contract will be terminated.”
“That’s it?” I ask in stunned disbelief before a wave of outrage washes over me. “Leaving that Cosche piece of shit free to put out another contract or come after Papa himself?”
Giordano arches an eyebrow.
I think back on our conversation about the $250,000. “Fuck that. You promised that two hundred and fifty thousand dollars would guarantee my father’s safety, not buy him an extra few days or weeks and leave him looking over his shoulder every day.”
Giordano purses his lips thoughtfully, stares off into the fireplace for a long moment, and then nods. “I believe you are correct, Mr. Valenti. I can see how my words might be interpreted that way. My apologies for not being clear.”
I stare back at him and wait for more.
“I am a man of my word,” he adds. “We are agreed, then. You have my promise that the matter of your father’s safety will be resolved.”
“Good. Thank you,” I say as a wave of relief washes over me. As he dips his chin and nods, it occurs to me that I may have just issued a hit of my own. How do I feel about that? Not so good, even as I rationalize it as trading some nameless gangster’s life for Papa’s.
“There is more to this matter,” he continues.
I sigh. “What?”
“You’ll recall that our primary motivation in approaching you is to prompt an end to the interest your police have in our business.”
“I don’t see how accomplishing that is within my power.”
He smiles. “Oh, but I think it is. The inquiries through Interpol were in regard to your father’s problems from Orsomarso. If you pass the word to the police here that the danger to your father has been removed, there should be no reason for the American authorities to continue poking their noses into our affairs. Business can then return to normal.”
He makes it sound so simple. Maybe it is. “I can certainly pass that along.”
“I assume you will speak to your friend, Detective Plummer.”
Is there anything about my life this guy doesn’t know? It’s unnerving as hell to realize how closely these people have been watching me and how deeply they’ve probed into my life. He knows this, of course, and is using the knowledge to keep me off-balance. And compliant, I suppose. Well, he’s going to have to work a little harder to make me that malleable.
He leans forward and gives me a look signaling that I should listen very carefully to what follows. “It would be best not to
