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“Benito! Welcome, my friend,” said the don, who was seated at a table in the back left corner, but stood. “Brando, we meet again.” He motioned to where he’d been seated. “Please join me.”
I took a seat at one of the places where wine was already poured and raised my glass when the don did.
“Benito tells me you need my help. I find I’m somewhat surprised, given I understand you went back to work for another syndicate.”
I looked over at Typhon, who nodded.
“I’m not here on behalf of the Sicilians.”
The don raised a brow.
“Someone very important to me has been kidnapped. I need help finding her.”
He sat back in his chair. “I see. And what do I get in return? What is your area of expertise, I wonder. Let me think.” He drummed his fingers on the table. “Ah, yes, I recall. Art forgery, wasn’t it?”
“I have something else you might find of more interest.”
He looked from me to Typhon, then back again. “Go on.”
“It doesn’t relate solely to art. It would be a means to put the Sicilian Syndicate out of business.”
He raised a brow a second time. “I’m listening.”
“First, I need your word you’ll help me.”
He nodded and put his hand on his heart. “You have it.”
“I also need your word that once I’ve given you what you need to take them down, you will not only help with what I’ve already asked of you, but you will allow me to leave Italy with your assurance that no one from your organization—yourself as well—will come after me or my family, or ever attempt to make contact with me again.”
“Again, you have my word.”
It didn’t take me very long to lay everything out, including where the stolen masterpieces were being kept, where the forgeries were being produced, and my belief that Gerlando Battaglia had leveraged both to fund other syndicate enterprises. I also told him what I knew about an investigation into the recent sale of forgeries from a singular auction house and the plan to raid the locations mentioned.
“And if the stolen artwork was no longer there?” Scaglione asked.
“The investigation would continue under the assumption the pieces were relocated prior to the raid,” I assured him.
“By the Sicilians.”
“That’s correct.”
“Who is this person who is so important to you?”
“My fiancée.”
“Who do you believe kidnapped her?”
“De Rossi,” Typhon answered.
The don motioned with his hand, and an armed man appeared. His Italian wasn’t difficult to translate since it was only two words. “Find him.” He looked back at me, then at Typhon. “He’s a marked man. Not by me. The Sicilians issued the order.”
“Do you know why?” I asked.
“The forgers are also marked.”
My eyes opened wide. “The grandfather and grandson?”
Scaglione nodded. “With your return, they became redundant, and they know too much. Maximo sought their protection.”