Page 11 of The Broker
I should have guessed Dante wasn’t seeing someone seriously. He spends most of his hours making my life miserable—where would he have the time to date?
I harden my heart against the hope in Angelica’s voice. The saints preserve me from matchmaking children. “I’m not interested in Uncle Dante that way. Now, about the sleepover. If you don’t want to be there for any reason at all, you can call me, and I’ll come get you. Okay?”
Angelica gives me an exasperated look. “Mama, it’s Mabel. I’ll be fine. Stop worrying.”
7
DANTE
The moment Valentina says she’s going on a date, I freeze.
Of course. I’d almost forgotten. It’s the second Thursday of the month, the night she meets Enzo Peron at Casanova. All thoughts of Bergamo instantly flee from my brain, replaced by Valentina having an intimate dinner with Peron. Laughing with him.Touching him.
She asked me if she shouldn’t date because she’s a single mother. She has it so wrong—this has nothing to do with Angelica. Valentina shouldn’t date because the world is filled with assholes who don’t deserve her.
I head downstairs to grab some coffee. Silvio and Omar are in the break room. They take one look at my face and make themselves scarce. I make myself an espresso and head back to my office. It’s going to be busy for a while. The situation in Bergamo is a priority, but unfortunately, it doesn’t mean that the day-to-day job of running the Mafia goes away.
I turn on my computer and look at everything requiring my attention. Tomas wants my opinion on an investment opportunity before he takes it to Antonio. Joao needs more warehouse space. Leo’s informant in the Venice police is getting restless, and our security chief thinks we should remind him it’s a very bad idea to cross the mafia. In theory, Tomas, Joao, and Leo report to Antonio, not me. In practice, they run ideas by me before presenting them to the padrino.
I work my way through the list, but my mind is on the Verratti problem. It’s dark outside, and I’m deep in spreadsheets when Leo shows up. He lifts his hand to knock at the door, looking like he’s a lamb heading to slaughter. “Sorry to bother you,” he says. “I normally wouldn’t bother you today, but—”
I fix him with a glare. The security chief is a good friend, but he’s skating on very thin ice. “What is that supposed to mean, you normally wouldn’t bother me today?”
“Everyone knows to avoid you on the second Thursday of the month,” he replies. “You’re as grouchy as a bear. Anyway, Andreas just called me. He’s keeping an eye on Valentina tonight, but he’s run into a problem and wants your advice on what to do.”
It’s nothing urgent or life-threatening; otherwise, Leo and I wouldn’t be having this leisurely chat. “If he wanted my advice, why didn’t he call me?”
“Because he thinks you’re still mad at him about the Bergamo field op. He didn’t realize how irrational you are about Valentina.”
Andreas is right; I am still mad. “Irrational. Was that his choice of words or yours?” I ask, my voice frosty. “The entire op was a mistake, Leo. Someone with no combat experience has no business being in the field. Call it irrational if you want, but I don’t want my niece to grow up without her mother.”
“That’s all it is, huh?” Leo’s expression is a little too knowing. “Back to Andreas’s problem. You know Valentina is at Casanova tonight? Well, she just walked into the club, but she wasn’t alone.”
She’s never entered Casanova with Peron, not once in the last two years. She’s never left with him, either. What’s changed now? Something akin to panic fills me. Before I can open my mouth and demand that Leo stop beating around the bush, he adds, “Lucia Petrucci is with her.”
“Fuck.” Antonio is obsessed with Lucia. He’s not going to take this well. Not at all. I get to my feet. “The padrino will want to know. I’ll tell him.”
The moment I tell Antonio that his girlfriend is at a sex club, he tears out of there. I return to my office, shaking my head. It’s so easy for my friend. So uncomplicated. He likes this girl, and she likes him back. There’s no painful past gaping like a chasm between them. No searing guilt. No deep-seated trauma.
I pull up Tomas’s spreadsheet again, but my thoughts aren’t on his calculations. They’re on Valentina. Not on whatever she’s doing at Casanova—I’m not picturing Peron’s lips on her mouth, on her neck, kissing her fluttering pulse. I’m not imagining his hands roaming all over her curves, his fingers trailing through the turquoise strands of her hair.
No, that’s definitely not what I’m thinking about.
I’m thinking about the Bergamo hacker. Revenant.
Valentina might act with reckless disregard for her own safety, but she’s very, very good at what she does. Today’s demo chastened everyone, me included. She warned us before that threats are everywhere, but her dancing monkey brought it home.
On a hunch, I call my informant in Verratti’s organization. Giorgio Acerbi is one of Salvatore’s enforcers. His father worked for Salvatore’s father, and his grandfather worked for Massimo. He was loyal and dedicated.
Then Giorgio’s kid was born with a heart defect, and Salvatore decided to cheap out on medical care.
There’s nothing as desperate as a father with a child who needs to fly to the United States for expensive surgery. I saw my opening and paid for everything.
Giorgio picks up on the first ring. “It’s you,” he says. “What do you want?”
Interesting. The enforcer isn’t usually this terse. “A list of everyone working for Salvatore Verratti. Especially anyone hired within the last two years.”
“You think that’s easy?” Giorgio demands. “It’s not like there’s an HR department I can go to for this, you know. The list of employees is carefully guarded.”