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“Fearsome and quite dangerous.” Fausto smiled. “Don Vicari wanted him out of Sicily for a reason.”
Interesting.
“Let’s put him on the back burner for now,” I said. “But you never know; he might be useful.”
23
When we arrived at Fausto’s mansion, I was struck by how tacky it was.
Tuscany was a region of centuries-old buildings and timeless beauty.
In contrast, Fausto’s mansion was a monstrosity built sometime in the last 30 years, designed to flaunt the owner’s wealth.
Oversized columns that didn’t match the rest of the house…
Towers that seemed to spring up at random…
An aesthetic that seemed to be four different styles thrown together in a blender.
It basically screamed ‘1990s dot com millionaire’ before the bubble burst.
Fausto seemed to know what I was thinking.
“I bought it from an American music producer going through a divorce. Unfortunately, I had to take what was available after my dear brother’s unfortunate passing,” he said with a sardonic smile. “But once you help me get rid of my nephews, I can reclaim my family’s ancestral home.”
Several middle-aged men in black suits and ties stood out in front of the house. They were smoking and talking when we first pulled up, but they ground out their cigarettes and stood at attention by the time we got out of the Rolls-Royce.
Fausto completely ignored them as he ushered me into the front hall.
“How much do your employees know about your plans?” I asked in a low voice.
“Let’s wait until we’re in the study,” he replied.
We walked into a huge room with high ceilings and massive mahogany bookcases. The library was just as ostentatious as the rest of the house and just as fake. The books on the shelves were leather-bound, probably purchased around the time of the house, and looked like they had never been opened.
As soon as Fausto closed the doors to the study, he said, “My foot soldiers don’t know about my plans, and I’d like to keep it that way. All of them worked for my brother and have a certain fondness for my nephews.”
More than YOU have for them, apparently,I thought but held my tongue.
“While I’m sure of their loyalty to me, I’d rather not test it,” Fausto finished.
He led me to a large wooden desk that matched the bookcases. On it sat a marble chessboard with pieces cast in pewter.
“Is this for me?” I asked.
“Not specifically. It came with the house. Butthatis for you,” he said as he pointed at a manilla folder on the desk.
I opened it. Inside were a bunch of pictures – cellphone pictures printed out on photographic paper. They were mostly candid shots taken while the subject wasn’t looking, although therewasone mugshot of a handsome man staring darkly into the camera.
“Dario,” Fausto said. “My guess is you can identify the others simply by my previous descriptions.”
Indeed, I could.
Adriano, the angry one…
Massimo, the giant…
Valentino, the pretty boy…