Page 61 of The Broker
Of all the— “Leo, you don’t work for me.”
“The padrino is incapacitated,” he replies. “Until he’s up and about, you’re in charge.”
“Antonio is in surgery. He’s not dead,” I say violently. Fuck. I don’t want this. Not this way. Antonio is my friend, damn it, and he’s going to make it. He has to.
Leo opens his mouth to protest, and I lift my hand. “Fine, I’m in charge. I don’t accept your resignation. Here’s my first order. Valentina and I are going to find Lucia and get her here. Can you protect Angelica while we do that?”
“You would trust me with her safety?”
“Yes, of course,” I say impatiently. This situation isn’t Leo’s fault. Antonio refused to move Lucia to Giudecca because he wanted her life to be as normal as possible. Leo’s been spread thin trying to secure multiple locations with limited resources. Something was bound to go wrong.
“Thank you, Dante,” he replies, looking like a man who expected to die and has been given a new lease on life. “I won’t let you down.”
I’ve been in a hospital twice in the last two weeks. The waiting, the uncertainty, the fear that my friend might not make it—I hate everything about it.
It’s a long night. But eventually, six harrowing hours later, the surgeon comes out and tells us Antonio will be okay.
After that, things just start falling into place.
Salvatore Verratti is arrested by the Direzione Investigativa Antimafia for tax fraud, racketeering, and the murder of his father. Evidently, Federico’s body was discovered outside their compound with multiple stab wounds. The tax fraud and racketeering charges don’t surprise me, but I didn’t think Salvatore was capable of killing Federico.
On a less pleasant note, I interrogate Marco while Antonio is recovering. Leo has stashed him in the attic of one of our safehouses. I walk in there with death in my heart. “Talk,” I say flatly.
“I’ve got nothing to say to you,” he spits defiantly. “Go to hell.”
I ignore his words. “I know you, Marco. You’re as dumb as a rock and have as much imagination. So let me paint you a picture. You shot the padrino; you’re going to die.”
I pull out my knife, and his eyes jump to it.
“I’m not going to kill you, of course. He’s going to want to do that himself.” I run my finger along the blade. “I’m afraid it’s going to hurt a lot.”
“Moretti’s going to torture me? He doesn’t have the stomach for it.”
“Is that what you think?” I shake my head. “Marco, Marco, Marco. You made a fatal mistake. You aimed your gun at Lucia, the woman the padrino loves. He’s not going to forgive that.” I bare my teeth in a vicious smile. “I’m afraid he’s going to make an example of you.”
Marco swallows. Sweat beads on his forehead. It’s finally sinking in.Good.
“Unless. . .”
He looks up. “Unless what?”
“Answer my questions, and I’ll ask the padrino to give you an easy death.” He hesitates, and I add, “This is a one-time offer. It expires in thirty seconds.”
“Fine,” he yells. “Fine, I’ll answer your goddamn questions.”
There’s only one thing I want to know. “Who sent you here?”
“Verratti.”
Damn it. Frustration fills me. “Which one? The father or the son?”
He scratches his ear nervously. “The son. Salvatore.”
“Are you lying to me, Marco?” I ask. “Because that would be a very bad idea.”
“I’m not, I’m not. It was just weird, that’s all. I was working in a restaurant in Lecce when, out of the blue, Salvatore Verratti texts and asks if I want to get even with Antonio.”
“He texted you? You didn’t talk to him?”