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Like so many other times in my life, I was endlessly grateful for the tribe. We’d always done our best to be there when one of us was in need. I couldn’t remember a time it had been me. Now, though, it was, and they jumped in to wrap me in all the love I needed until Brand returned.
26
MICHELANGELO
Penelope and I said goodbye at the town house. I’d insisted on it, knowing we’d both be emotional regardless of where we were. I wish I could tell her when we’d see each other again, but I had no idea. The thought it could be months wrenched my heart.
Once on the plane, I was grateful for the window seat I was assigned. While it was unlikely I’d sleep, I could feign it easier there than on the aisle.
I shut my eyes almost as soon as I was seated and thought about my conversation with my father. As would be expected, he’d started off hostile when he arrived at Pen’s town house. When I immediately apologized and explained in depth why, he relaxed and let his guard down. I shared about the work I’d done while in prison to let go of my resentment and how important it was for me to continue being mindful when those feelings crept in.
The thing I admired the most was he hadn’t blamed my mother. He’d explained years ago that he respected her wishes not to divulge he was my father and hadn’t brought it up again.
Lastly, we talked about the job I was doing for K19 Security Solutions. He admitted not being happy about it, but also said he understood why I felt I had to, particularly given Tara’s gallery had been affected.
“Until this is over, I cannot commit to anything in regard to Emsworth,” I said. “To be completely frank, I’m not sure how much of a commitment I can make once I return.”
He’d accepted that as well, asking only that I keep the lines of communication open.
As well as that went, I didn’t delude myself into thinking he wouldn’t be an asshole about it down the road or that he and I would ever have a close relationship. Clearing the air, though, had felt really good.
Proposing to Penelope and hearing her say she’d marry me, though, was the thing that kept me buoyed, hopeful, and determined to get in and out as quickly as I could.
Admittedly, knowing Typhon’s role with the Sicilians and that he’d go in with me offered some reassurance. Like with my father, I wasn’t naive enough to think it meant neither of us would be in danger. On the contrary, the more of us who infiltrated the crime syndicate, the greater the risk for discovery.
I’d read the briefs I received from Nemesis as they came in, but not in depth since my focus was solely on Penelope. And, since I was in the back row of first class with no one seated beside me, I took the opportunity to read them again.
There was nothing new in them in regard to the coalition’s primary investigation, and honestly, I knew far more about the environment I’d be walking into than Nemesis did. I still respected her as well as her expertise, but until you actually infiltrated or even worked with any of the mafia organizations as closely as I had, it was impossible to intuit how it would actually feel.
While Typhon hadn’t prepared briefs like Nemesis had, the information he sent over was helpful. The same don, Gerlando Battaglia, still led the Sicilian Syndicate. His consigliere was a man I had never met, but whose name I recognized. The underboss had been replaced, as had one of the four capos. Typhon hadn’t named the soldiers or associates, but I suspected there had been a high turnover with them, just given it appeared widely accepted that the Calabrians were now considered the more powerful of the two families.
For me, that meant the family would be anxious to reclaim as much territory as they could, as fast as they could. Forged art meant quick cash with less risk than moving drugs or weapons. I would guess the same would be true for human trafficking.
The quickest way to raise funds had always been and would always be extortion. The more money the organization needed, the higher the required payments for protection would be. The risk then was that the territory might turn to another syndicate willing to take less for protection. It was like any other competitive business environment, except with the mafia, instead of fired, the head of that region was killed.
I’d been in the presence of Don Battaglia only once, and while one of my objectives was to get as much dirt on his family as I could, I didn’t look forward to dealing with him.
It was said Battaglia had perfected what he called the Macellaio—translation butcher—Method.
After one crew member shot the victim, another quickly wrapped a towel around the bullet wound at the same time yet another stabbed the victim in the heart to stop blood flow.
The deceased would then be moved to a bathtub, where Battaglia, and later his henchmen, carved, sawed, and chopped the body up before it was packed into boxes and dumped.
After I’d heard the stories, I couldn’t help but picture him as the “butcher,” which made it hard to hide my fear, thus breaking the most important rule when dealing with anyone in the organization.
I eventually drifted to sleep, but woke with a start when I swore I heard the sound of a chain saw.
Upon landing at Heathrow, I received a message from Blackjack saying he was my transport to Shere. Once there, I’d be informed of the details of the next part of our journey to Italy.
We’d just gone through the compound’s gate when my mobile rang with a call from Typhon. “I planned my arrival so I’d get to Shere thirty minutes after you did. Get your meetings out of the way with Nemesis. Once you have, I’ll brief you, Tank, and Blackjack on what is going to happen instead.”
“Roger that,” I responded a second before the call ended.
“I got the same call,” said Blackjack, glancing over at me.
“How do you feel about it?”
He shrugged. “As far as I’m concerned, Typhon is the commander of this particular mission. I’ll follow Nem’s orders up until the two conflict. Not that different than any other op I’ve been a part of.”