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His nickname is less dangerous than it sounds. He earned it as a young man because of his ability to make spirits disappear instantly when on the piss.

“Craig,” I give him a curt nod.

“Giovanna Marino. Always a pleasure, mate.” His voice gives no indication of sarcasm, but it is difficult to believe his statement is sincere since I have clocked him in the nose at least twice in the past decade. It’s fair to say he has never been a big fan of mine.

“Ah, young Massimo. Enjoying being home, mate?” he says.

“S’all good,” Massi mumbles through a mouthful of dessert.

Craig takes a seat at the table and the three men order themselves food and drink. Naturally, The Exorcist orders a double whiskey, shoots it down in one, and exchanges the empty glass for the second double whiskey that Sarah was practised enough to bring along with her.

“Where’s our new Don?” Baz Rossi barks, sipping his Chianti pretentiously. He always drinks Italian reds in public, but everyone knows he goes through a box ofToohey’s Newa week at home.

“Elio is a busy man.” I wave my arm dismissively. “What do you need? Anything I can help with?”

“Busy like a dog in heat,” Baz hisses under his breath and I’m not sure if he intended me to hear him or not.

“All right, Hannibal Lector. With all that hissing you’ll be ordering liver and fava beans to go with your Chianti next,” I raise my tiny espresso cup to him in a toast, but mySilence of the Lambsreference has gone right over his head.

It hasn’t bypassed Massi though and he almost coughs up a lung cackling. We’ve always said Baz Rossi looks like Hannibal.

“You better make sure he marries Paul’s girl,” Baz warns us and glares at our laughter. “It’s only right that we have some Rossi heirs.”

“Hey now,” Fat Tony interjects in his characteristically amicable way. “Come on Baz, we were all at the engagement party. No need to be issuing threats and whatnot.”

Baz expands his glare to include Fat Tony in its range. He is a grumpy bloke at the best of times, but it’s like someone pissed in his cornies today.

“Yeah well, Sandy knows the deal,” he harrumphs cryptically. But I’m not playing his games so I ignore it.

“Anyway, anything to report?” My voice is serious and flat.

“Your cousin, the one who owns that little bar down at The Rocks. She was visited last week by some gentlemen wearing patches.” Leaning back in his chair, The Exorcist regards me dispassionately.

“Fucksake,” Massimo mutters and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’ll look into what happened there.”

“Seems like the bikies are becoming more active. Bolder,” I add.

“It’s a splinter group. Some young guys. Ned is getting old and they don’t like how tame Satan’s Sons have become. From what I hear they’re guns for hire now. Mercenaries,” The Exorcist stares pointedly at Baz as he concludes his statement.

We know Ned has been having trouble with his nephew, Billy the Kid, so this is not exactly news, but the feeling that some codified and less-than-friendly communication is being passed between Baz and The Exorcist makes me uncomfortable.

I shrug as if I am barely interested. “That’s Ned’s problem. What use would anyone in theFamigliahave for mercenaries?”

The silence that follows is heavy with unspoken information. Baz squirms under The Exorcist’s unwavering glare. He looks away only to indicate to Sarah that he would like another double.

“Mercenaries are for people who don’t have friends,” Massimo breaks the silence.

“Speaking of people without friends, have any of you heard from Stefan Rossi?” Now is as good a time as any to fish for information on the sneaky bastard.

“He is my cousin,” Baz spits the words out like venom. “Of course I have.”

“Second cousin,” corrects The Exorcist. “And you should be careful, it is impossible to wash off the slime that guy leaves wherever he goes.”

Lines are being drawn at the table as plain as day. Baz has clearly been entertaining Stefan’s ambitions, The Exorcist seems to see this as a betrayal of our trust, and Fat Tony is doing a great impression of Switzerland.

The rest of the conversation is a continuation of sharing tidbits of intel while dancing around the topic of Stefan Rossi. By the time the three capos are standing up to leave, I am well and truly ready for bed.

The meeting has been depressingly unfruitful and has done nothing to quell the growing resentment from people like Baz that Elio is so missing in action.