Page 70 of She Belongs to Me

No one had laid claim and the story had quickly been shoved under twenty others in a week or less.

I’d kept looking, searching for any clue while attempting to figure out what to do with Alexandra. What I hadn’t done until later was think about the possibility I’d been the target. I’d been numb, barely able to function while remaining in Philadelphia. His murder had nearly broken me.

I thought about the year and of course my father had been in full control then, barely shifting into handling more legitimate business activities even though I’d encouraged him. There were records of business transactions, but nothing concrete like contracts and nondisclosure clauses. So much had still been done with a handshake. My father had been way behind the times.

Most of the men who’d worked for my father had either died or left the organization. Some hadn’t appreciated when I’d taken over. Who was left that I could talk to and consider them completely loyal?

My father’s old attorney. He’d retired a year before my father had died. He’d almost been like a godfather to us, a man who’d worked hard on his reputation and that of the Marciano business. The last I’d heard, he’d moved to the South of France, which didn’t seem like him in the least. He adored Italy and had spit on the French. Times and people changed.

Elio had also been almost ten years older than my father, which could mean he was no longer alive. Although he was a hard man, tougher than most. I had a feeling he was alive and kicking.

I had no way of knowing if he’d changed his once private phone number that very few people had. Given he still had his share of enemies, he would have been smart to abandon it and switch to another phone and number altogether. Along with another name.

Retired mafia men didn’t usually live to enjoy their retirement but for so long.

At least that had been the norm as little as twenty years before. I was shocked how far we’d come.

It took me almost thirty minutes, but I found his number. It wasn’t yet six in the morning, but the man should be up with the sun. Right?

I dialed the number, half expecting it to provide me with the typical ‘no longer in service’ announcement, but it started ringing, a gruff voice answering the phone.

“Sarà meglio che sia dannatamente bello.”

This better be damn good.

I laughed, although I doubted he could recognize me from that. “Nessun biglietto vincente della lotteria. Solo una chiamata da un vecchio amico.”

No winning lottery ticket. Just a call from an old friend.

He hesitated, grumbling under his breath. “Nico?”

“Yeah, Elio. It’s me. It’s been a long time, my friend.”

“How are you?”

“Not bad. You?” I was glad he’d switched to English since his Italian accent made it almost impossible to understand him. That and the years he’d indulged in cigars and liquor.

“Old age is kicking in. Why are you contacting me at six in the morning? I’m retired. I sleep late and play late.” He always did think of himself as a ladies’ man.

“I need a favor. I need to pick your brain.”

“On?”

“Contracts you were working on with my father years ago.”

He laughed. “My memory isn’t what it used to be, my friend.”

“It’s worth a try. Do you remember the year my buddy was killed?”

“And brought the baby into your life? That one I remember. Why are you looking at contracts from twenty-five years ago? You know your father wasn’t keen on them. I had to push him with every single new client.”

“I remember,” I huffed. “I never explored the possibility Greg’s assassination had been meant for me. I mean he stepped in front of me to hand me the baby seconds before he was shot. The trajectory indicated I would have been hit in the forehead.”

Instead of half the back of my friend’s head getting blown off.

I was shocked when he said nothing at first. Absolutely nothing.

“Why would you look into that shit now? What good is it going to do?” There was an edge to his voice, which was also surprising.