Page 23 of Niccolo (Mafia Kings #7)

W hen 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.

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. But that is 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 there was one 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…

Roberto, the accountant…

Lars, who was quite obviously a Swede.

All of them were conventionally handsome but unappealing to me.

That is, until I got to Niccolo.

He had a cunning look in his eyes –

And the impish grin of a trickster.

He was also very handsome.

Though they were nearly identical in facial features, his brother Roberto looked stiff and formal in his three-piece suits.

In contrast, Niccolo was very casual, which I liked. He had more of a ‘just rolled out of bed looking hot’ vibe.

I put that all out of my mind, though.

No use to dwell on the attractiveness of someone you had to kill.

So this is him.

My true opponent…

My REAL enemy.

“And you say Niccolo is the one we need to worry about?” I asked as I stared at the photograph.

“Primarily, although each has his own particular strengths,” Fausto said as he walked over to a table full of bottles and set out two glasses. “Care for a drink?”

“No.” I glanced over as he poured scotch into both glasses. “I told you, I don’t want one.”

“It’s not for you.”

Suddenly, the door to the study banged open.

I looked over in alarm as a man in his late 20s stormed into the study, slamming the door loudly behind him.

He was dressed in a designer suit and a black shirt. His long hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and his face – while handsome – was twisted with anger.

“You didn’t think to let me know she was here?” he snarled at Fausto.

“My son, Aurelio,” Fausto said with amused indifference to his son’s anger. “Aurelio, this is Sofia Toscani.”

Aurelio looked me up and down like he was inspecting something he might buy but didn’t particularly want.

“So you’re the new consigliere, ” he said in disgust.

“I am,” I replied coldly.

“And what great insights do you bring to the table?” he asked in a mocking voice.

“Well, for one, I can see you’re going to be one of our biggest liabilities,” I shot back.

Aurelio’s face turned red with rage. He bunched up his fists at his side –

But Fausto chuckled as he walked over to us.

“Now now, children, play nice,” he said as he extended one of the drinks to his son. “Here. You see? I knew you were coming. No need to alert you – you already know everything that’s going on in this house.”

I noticed how Fausto placated his son with flattery.

If he’d done that all his life, no wonder Aurelio was such a fucking brat.

Aurelio took the drink and slugged it back, then resumed staring at me hatefully. “She better be worth it.”

“She will be,” Fausto said reassuringly.

“What were you talking about when I walked in?”

Fausto looked at me as though inviting me to answer.

“Your nephews’ various strengths,” I said.

Aurelio snorted. “Being assholes – every single one of them.”

I wanted to say, Must be a family trait, but I kept that one to myself.

Fausto smiled. “Just because one detests one’s enemy, we mustn’t let that blind us to their abilities.”

Then he turned to me. “Dario is a born leader. The others follow him without question.”

“Little fan girls,” Aurelio scoffed.

Fausto gave his son some side-eye but continued. “Adriano’s weakness is his temper… but he’s absolutely fearless when he’s angry. And he’s angry all the time.”

I noticed Aurelio didn’t have anything to say to that.

“Massimo? His strength is his greatest asset. Plus, his easygoing nature makes him a team player. Valentino – ”

“Is stuck on himself,” Aurelio interjected. “Looks at his reflection every time he passes a mirror.”

I glanced at Aurelio’s carefully coifed ponytail and once again wondered if there was a family trait at play.

“Valentino’s strength is his youthful exuberance,” Fausto said. “He’s like an enthusiastic puppy dog – he wants to do anything the others are doing. He wants to prove himself.”

“Sounds like a weakness as well,” I said.

“Yes… but like Adriano, it’s a double-edged sword,” Fausto replied.

“Then there’s Roberto. He has the personality of vanilla ice cream – bland and unremarkable – but he truly is a wizard with numbers.

He eats, sleeps, and breathes spreadsheets.

He’s done wonders organizing the family’s finances, I have to admit.

“And finally… there’s Niccolo.”

I caught the look of fondness on Fausto’s face.

Aurelio seemed to notice it as well. His expression darkened, and he launched into a tirade.

“He’s a fucking prick,” Aurelio spat. “An arrogant, smug, self-satisfied piece of shit.”

“He’s also a brilliant strategist,” Fausto said sharply. “He notices things no one else does – and makes connections no one else does.”

It was the first time Fausto had come anywhere close to rebuking his son, who seemed slightly taken aback.

“You just say that because you trained him,” Aurelio complained bitterly.

“I take credit for molding him,” Fausto replied as he sat down behind the desk, “but Niccolo had natural talent from the beginning.”

Aurelio’s expression darkened even more.

I made note of the jealousy he exhibited towards Niccolo and wondered if it was mutual.

I doubted it. I bet that Niccolo rarely gave his cousin a second thought… which was probably part of what enraged Aurelio so much.

“Do you mind if I cut these up?” I asked Fausto as I held up the pictures.

“Do whatever you want with them.”

“Do you have any scissors and tape?”

Fausto rummaged through the desk drawers until he found what I wanted.

I began cutting out pictures of the nephews and Lars – full-scale body shots from head to toe, as long as they were only two to three inches high.

“What are you doing?” Aurelio asked, his curiosity overcoming his anger.

“You’ll see.”

Ignoring the pawns, I taped the pictures of the brothers to the major chess pieces.

Dario was the king…

Adriano and Massimo were rooks…

Roberto and Valentino were bishops…

And Lars was the queen.

“The consigliere’s supposed to be the don’s right-hand man,” Aurelio sneered.

“The queen is the most powerful piece on the board. The Swede fits that definition.”

“That’s cute. You made him a woman,” Aurelio said with a laugh –

Like it was an insult.

I ignored his misogyny. I already knew he was a fool; that much was obvious.

“It’s about capability, not gender,” I said neutrally.

“Interesting that you’ve made Lars the most dangerous piece,” Fausto said.

“No, I made him the most powerful… not the most dangerous.”

“Ah,” Fausto said, and smiled. He understood the distinction.

“Then what’s the most dangerous?” Aurelio asked, angry at being left in the dark.

“Depending on how you use it…”

I taped Niccolo’s picture to one of the two remaining pieces.

“…the knight.”

“The knight?!” Aurelio scoffed. “I don’t know much about chess, and even I know the queen and the rook are worth more than a knight!”

“That’s when you’re assigning points purely to tally who’s ahead. But for pure deviousness, the knight is the winner.”

I put Niccolo’s piece in the center of the board.

“The knight moves in an L shape – two squares in one direction, then another square to the left or the right. Both the queen and the knight can attack in eight different directions – but the knight is unique in that it can attack pieces not in its direct line of sight.”

I demonstrated by moving the knight in an L shape and landing on one square…

Then replacing it in the center and repeating the process seven more times in a clockwise pattern.

“The knight can’t go as far, though,” Aurelio said nastily. “The queen can go across the entire board.”

“Yes,” I admitted, “but if I want to mess with someone’s head, I’ll take deviousness over brute strength any day of the week.”

“Good – good,” Fausto said approvingly. He held his drink up in the air in a toast. “I can tell you’ll make an excellent consigliere.”

That just pissed off Aurelio even more.

“Then what about our side?” he complained. “They’ve got seven pieces, and we’ve only got three.”

“True.”

“If Father’s the king, and you’re the knight, I guess that makes me the queen,” he said smugly.

“I thought you didn’t want to be a woman,” I said.

Aurelio glowered at me. “Whatever. I’m the most powerful piece on our side, that’s for sure.”

Certainly the stupidest, I thought to myself.

“We should go about recruiting other pieces,” Fausto said.

I nodded. “That’s why I’d like to speak with the Turk.”