Page 21 of Niccolo (Mafia Kings #7)

I stared at him in shock.

“…nephews?” I finally managed to choke out.

“Correct.”

“I’m not going to help you kill children!” I said in horror.

Fausto scoffed. “The youngest is 21, soon to turn 22. Hardly a child.”

Oh.

That made sense, given Fausto’s age.

My shock at him wanting to kill his own family had short-circuited my ability to reason.

“Are they related to you by your brother or your sister?” I asked.

“My brother.”

“What about him? Are you going to kill him, too?”

Fausto smiled. “I already did.”

I sat there, stunned.

The fact that it was his brother…

And that he would so casually admit to his murder…

It sent a shiver down my spine.

“…why?”

“Why did I have him killed, or why do I want my nephews dead?”

“Both.”

Fausto stared at me grimly. “Do you know why I chose you, specifically?”

“No.”

“Not just because you’re a brilliant strategist… but because I thought you might understand.

“My brother was the head of our family. He attained that rank because he was born first. No other reason.

“Twenty-five years ago, I took the role of his consigliere . Do you know what that means?”

Consigliere literally meant ‘counselor’ –

But I knew from The Godfather that it was a lot more than that.

I remembered what Al Pacino said when he fired Robert Duvall:

You’re not a wartime consigliere.

“The strategist,” I answered. “The one who sees all the angles.”

“The one who sees all the angles,” Fausto said approvingly. “Exactly.

“For 25 years, I was consigliere for my brother Leonardo. I made a fair amount of money in that role, yes… but I was perpetually in his shadow. He owned the family’s property. He ran the business. He was the one everyone looked up to. And he never deserved any of it.

“I wouldn’t say Leonardo was stupid, exactly. He had a certain animal cunning to him, and he certainly had a way with people… they loved him for reasons I could never quite fathom. But he was no genius. He only achieved his position as don because he was born into it.

“More than anything, I wanted to set off on my own. To start a new family, with my son as my successor.

“But Leo refused my request, over and over.

“‘I need you too much,’” Fausto said in a whiny imitation. “‘You’re too important to me.’”

Then his face grew dark.

“Too important to let go… but not important to adequately reward me.

“Worst of all was watching my nephews grow up, secure in the knowledge that the family business would be passed on to them. My son would get nothing. My own flesh and blood would be relegated to a servant when he should have been a prince . All my work, all my sacrifice, would benefit a bunch of smug little shits, complacent in their mediocrity…”

Fausto’s face suddenly changed from angry to begrudging.

“Well… all except one of them. But he’s only as smart as he is because I trained him myself.”

“So you killed your own brother,” I said.

“Had him killed,” he corrected me, as though it was an important distinction.

Who knows? Maybe in the mafia, it was.

Men like Fausto probably didn’t get their hands dirty.

“Why didn’t you just quit?” I asked. “Why didn’t you tell your brother to go to hell and strike out on your own?”

Fausto gave an unpleasant laugh. “One does not simply ‘quit’ one’s family in the Cosa Nostra and strike out on one’s own. That’s a surefire way to meet an early demise.”

“So you’re from Sicily?”

“No, my grandfather was.”

“But I thought the Cosa Nostra was only in Sicily. And America, I guess.”

Fausto smiled. “There are a great many things the general public does not know about the Cosa Nostra, Ms. Toscani. The organization is far more widespread than generally believed.”

Huh.

“So the alternative to leaving was to kill your brother,” I said.

“You sound as if you’re judging me,” he said playfully.

“Ten million euros gets you analysis without judgment,” I replied, although that wasn’t entirely true. “Did you get what you wanted? Did you start a new family with your son as your heir?”

“I did, but I only secured half my brother’s empire when I split from my nephews. I want it all.”

“So the only alternative now is to kill your nephews.”

“Yes,” Fausto growled. “There is no other way – and they all must die. If even one of them is left alive, he’ll come after me and try to get revenge for the others.”

“Do they have to know it’s you who’s behind it? I mean – are you trying to send a message?”

“No. In fact, I would prefer it be done surreptitiously.”

In other words…

Have someone else do the dirty work.

There was one thing I didn’t understand, though.

“You’re a consigliere, or at least a former one . Why can’t you plan it all out?” I asked.

“Because a wise consigliere is there to see his don’s blind spots, and everyone has blind spots. I’ve grown accustomed to viewing things in a certain way. I need a fresh pair of eyes – someone who can identify my own blind spots and point out the flaws in my thinking.”

“It sounds like you were a blind spot for your brother.”

He smiled coldly. “So it would seem. There’s another reason, too. Remember the nephew I trained personally?”

“I remember.”

“Out of everyone in the family – other than me – he’s the smartest. I hate to say it, but he puts my own son to shame. I nicknamed him ‘Machiavelli’ as a child. The name fits more than you can imagine.

“But I might have taught him too well. I worry that if I’m the one who tries to organize this plan, he’ll somehow be able to deduce my moves and counteract me.

“I need someone completely different from me in style. I’m more cautious, so I need someone bold… somebody my nephew can’t predict. In short, that is why I need you.”

“Flattery won’t sway me,” I replied.

“I wouldn’t have expected it to,” he said, then smiled. “But I figured ten million euros might.”

I sat there thinking.

Since I had no qualms about eliminating a bunch of mafiosos, the money was reason enough to do it.

But in addition to that, I liked the idea of beating this ‘Machiavelli’ nephew.

If he really was as brilliant as Fausto made him sound, he would be a fun opponent.

And unlike the asshole Danish chess master I couldn’t touch… for now…

This was a man I could crush beneath my heel.

“Alright,” I agreed. “I’m in.”