Page 110 of Dark Breaker

“Do you have any lock pick tools?” I ask my driver.

“In the glove box,” Cateno replies.

“Good man.” I retrieve the tools. “I don’t suppose you have a bulletproof vest in the trunk?”

“Sorry, Boss,” he replies. “Want me to come?”

I consider for a moment. “No. Stay here and let me know if the cops arrive.”

He nods. “I’ll ring the buzzer.”

I head toward the main entrance and randomly press the apartment intercom buttons, avoiding Carlo’s suite. After a moment the door buzzes open. I love it when people don’t bother to check who’s at their door.

I don’t grab any of the flyers next to the mailbox, as Carlo would recognize me immediately if I allowed him to see me through the peephole. I head up to his suite and start working on the lock with my pick.

I’m through in under a minute and quietly shut the door behind me. A quick sweep of the rooms determines that Carlo isn’t there. Nor anyone else.

I try the home number I got from Achille’s phone to confirm he sent me to the right address. Sure enough, the old landline phone rings. Then I try dialing Carlo’s mobile again. Straight to voice mail.

I return to what I assume is his bedroom, judging from the athletic trophies on the shelves, and the posters of bodybuilders, musicians, and scantily-clad women peppering the walls.

I see a framed picture of him and Rosa on the nightstand. I pick it up. They’re standing on a beach… looks close to a port somewhere in Palermo. He’s got his arm around her possessively, and when I see the smug expression on his face, like he’s immensely pleased by the beautiful woman he’s got hanging from his side, I throw the picture at the floor and the glass shatters.

What the fuck is he doing with a picture of him and Rosa on his nightstand? The bastard apparently can’t understand the meaning of the words “I’m leaving you.”

I return my attention to the trophies atop the shelves behind me. There are more framed pictures there, not of her, but him. He’s kicking a soccer ball. Wind-surfing. And the next one is the only photo he’s not in… it depicts a quaint, two-story log cabin perched on a beach.

I remember then what Rosa told me at the restaurant about him.

Carlo used to talk about how he wanted to marry me. How he’d take me away to the little beach property he owns just outside San Vito Lo Capo. He used to show me pictures.

“San Vito Lo Capo?” There are no landmarks on the beach and sea behind the cabin. It could be anywhere. But that has to be the place.

I rip out my phone and dial Achille.

“Ciao,” he greets me. “Bolognetta’s Debt Consolidation. Achille speaking.”

“Tell me the address of the cabin you own in San Vito Lo Capo,” I order.

“Who is this?” he says.

“I paid you a visit earlier today,” I reply. “The man with the gun. Remember me?”

He doesn’t answer.

“I want the address of your beach cabin,” I repeat.

Still no answer. Apparently, when he doesn’t have a gun pointing at his head he’s not very cooperative.

“If you don’t answer me, I’ll come back there, tear off your fucking head, and shove it down your debt consolidating throat.”

I’m about to threaten his son next when he disconnects.

“A-hole.”

I head to the father’s room and rifle through the drawers until I find a land title for a beach cabin in San Vito Lo Capo.

It has an address.