Page 28 of Niccolo (Mafia Kings #7)

I n addition, we found out Dario had proposed to Alessandra – and that she had accepted.

Which seemed absolutely insane to me. However, I’d more or less resigned myself to insanity the moment I started dealing with a bunch of squabbling killers.

Not only that, but the Genoans had cast in their lot with Dario because of Alessandra. Once they found out about their long-lost little lamb, they were more than happy to throw their support behind the new don’s regime.

So not only had we lost the Turk, but Dario had gained new allies.

Wonderful.

We licked our wounds for a day, then began discussing our next steps.

At least Fausto and I did. All Aurelio did was complain.

“Your plans are so incredibly amazing,” he sneered at one point. “You keep losing our people at an astounding rate.”

I was about to retort when Fausto intervened. “No, she lost a few puppets . As long as you and I are protected, I’m fine with that.”

Aurelio just scowled some more.

“If you were his consigliere,” I asked Fausto, “what would you advise Dario to do next?”

Fausto stroked his beard thoughtfully. “Probably consolidate his position and reassert his power in Florence. I would tell him to appoint one of his brothers as capo over the city.”

Capo literally meant ‘boss’ in Italian, but I had a feeling there were nuances involved when it came to the Cosa Nostra.

“What does ‘capo’ mean in this instance?”

“A capo regime is the boss of a territory who works for the don,” Fausto explained. “My guess is that the second-oldest brother, Adriano, will take over. I know Adriano. He’ll want to destroy the Agrellas, even though there’s no actual proof of their betrayal.”

“Speaking of proof, the Agrellas’ consiglieri – ”

“Bautiste.”

“So, Bautiste the consiglieri and Don whatsisname – ”

“Dominic Agrella.”

“Are they the only ones who know about your involvement with the Turk?”

“So far as I know.”

I looked at him in astonishment. “So far as you KNOW?”

“There are three brothers. Bautiste is very smart; Dominic less so. Their brother Carmine’s an idiot.

If Carmine knew about me, he’d have blabbed it all over Florence.

Dominic is the don, so Bautiste probably told him…

but I’ve suspected for years that Bautiste wants the top job. So who knows what he told Dominic.”

“What about that side deal you negotiated where the Agrellas get their own stable of corrupt judges?”

“Both Dominic and Bautiste know. Not Carmine.”

“So there are at least two people who know you were undercutting your brother for years – and now they know you betrayed your nephews, too.” I narrowed my eyes. “You know what they say about two people and a secret.”

Fausto grimaced. “The saying involves three people, but your point is taken.”

“What saying?” Aurelio asked.

“Three people can keep a secret if two of them are dead,” Fausto replied.

“Maybe we should make sure everyone is dead,” I suggested darkly.

“How?” Aurelio asked.

Fausto and I looked at each other, and I knew we had the exact same thought.

“The Sicilian gangster,” I said.

“Mezzasalma.” Fausto smiled. “Perhaps it’s time to see if we can work with him.”

Mezzasalma was quite a bit different from the Turk.

For one, he refused to come to Fausto’s mansion.

“A real Sicilian,” Fausto explained. “Completely paranoid and totally unwilling to cede a single advantage.”

“Which is smart,” I replied.

“Very smart,” Fausto agreed.

“But how do we know he won’t try to kill us?”

“He swore on the soul of his dead mother he wouldn’t.”

“Yeah, well, I know how binding those kinds of oaths are,” I said sarcastically.

Fausto laughed. “For men of honor – and Sicilians are men of honor – it is binding. However, I’ll still be bringing every last one of my foot soldiers.”

The meeting happened at midnight. The location wasn’t decided until the last minute – apparently so neither side could get there first and gain the upper hand.

Fausto haggled over the phone with Mezzasalma until both men agreed it would happen in the countryside, far away from any town.

We arrived two minutes before midnight: me, Fausto, and Aurelio in the chauffeured Rolls-Royce, along with every single one of Fausto’s foot soldiers in a fleet of black BMWs.

The meeting place was a field bordered by an olive grove. It was a new moon, so the field was nearly pitch black.

Fausto’s foot soldiers assembled behind their bulletproof cars, pistols and sniper rifles at the ready.

Fausto called out, “Signor Mezzasalma!”

A deep, gravelly voice shouted from amongst the olive trees a hundred feet away. “Meet me in the center of the field. Don’t bring any of your men.”

I looked at Fausto, my heart beating wildly. “Are we really going to go out there alone?”

“Yes, but my men will be covering us the entire time.”

“What about his men? Surely he didn’t come alone.”

“They’re probably hidden in the olive grove with a bunch of rifles aimed at us. So… no sudden moves, please.”

I stared at Fausto in shock.

“Time to earn your pay, consigliere,” he said with a smirk as he started out across the field.

Aurelio and I followed Fausto. I was absolutely terrified, sure that a bullet would paste my brains across the grass any second.

Out of the olive grove walked a tall figure in a black trench coat and a black hat. He could only be seen as a shadow moving against the deeper blackness behind him.

It was like watching a boogeyman approach me in a nightmare. I had to suppress my urge to run for my life.

When we got within 20 feet of each other, Mezzasalma growled, “That’s close enough.”

We all stopped.

Suddenly, Mezzasalma struck a match in his hands and brought it up to light a cigarette.

In the tiny flame, I could see his face –

And it was horrifying.

A mass of scars crisscrossed the right side of his face –

And his right eye was completely white, as though an injury had clouded over his iris and pupil.

He puffed on his cigarette, then dropped the match in the grass and ground it out beneath his heel.

“I said not to bring your men,” the Sicilian growled.

“This is my son, Aurelio,” Fausto said.

I glanced at Aurelio, who seemed to be almost as nervous as I was.

Fausto was the only one who seemed completely blasé about the Sicilian. Then again, he’d probably dealt with his share of scary motherfuckers over the years.

Fausto inclined his head towards me. “And my consigliere.”

The ghostly eye stared at me out of the darkness, lit dimly by the glow of the cigarette.

“A female consigliere,” Mezzasalma said contemptuously. “You certainly do things differently in Florence.”

I would have cut him down with a few choice words –

If I hadn’t been so frightened of him.

“We do,” Fausto agreed, ignoring the implied insult.

Mezzasalma pointed to the back of his own head as he looked at Aurelio’s ponytail. “Your boy looks like a woman, too.”

Aurelio’s brow creased with rage –

But he didn’t say anything, either.

“It’s the fashion these days,” Fausto said cheerfully. “Did you not bring your consigliere?”

“I don’t have one yet,” Mezzasalma said matter-of-factly. “Seeing as I’m not a don.”

“Well, perhaps we can change that,” Fausto replied. “I have a problem, and you may be just the man to solve it.”

Mezzasalma listened as Fausto talked about Dario, the brothers, and the Agrellas.

“So you want me to kill your nephews for you,” the Sicilian summed up.

“I do. But I need it done quietly.”

“And in return, I get Florence.”

“Yes.”

That was exactly the plan that Fausto and I had discussed.

“Unless the Agrellas are fools, they’ll never trust me,” Mezzasalma growled.

“I’ll give them assurances,” Fausto said. “They’ll believe me … especially if Aurelio goes with you to Florence to speak with them.”

Mezzasalma looked at Aurelio contemptuously, then turned back to Fausto. “Why not you?”

“I can’t be seen in Florence. I’m too well-known. Word would get back to my nephews, and I can’t have that.”

“What,” Mezzasalma sneered, “your son’s not well-known?”

“He is, but as you’ve remarked, he has a distinctive hairstyle. He’ll cut it before you go to meet the Agrellas.”

That had been something we’d all decided on, too.

Well… Fausto and I had decided on it.

Aurelio had bitched and outright refused. He’d only given in when Fausto threatened to sideline him entirely.

“Good,” Mezzasalma grunted. “They’re not going to take me seriously if I walk in with a finocchio.”

Aurelio looked like he was about to explode –

And yet, he stayed silent.

“You think you can handle the Agrellas and my nephews?” Fausto asked.

“Heh.” It sounded like a laugh, but was as monotone and gravelly as the rest of his speech. Then he said drily, “I don’t think it will be a problem.”

“Do you need weapons? Men?”

“No. All I need is an introduction to the Agrellas… and for you to get them to trust me.”

“Not a problem,” Fausto replied. “I’ll let you know as soon as I arrange the meeting.”

“You do that,” Mezzasalma said – and without any semblance of a farewell, turned and walked off into the darkness.

“Well… meeting adjourned,” Fausto said, and ushered us back towards the cars.

“Jesus,” I whispered under my breath.

“Indeed,” Fausto agreed. “Sort of like meeting the Grim Reaper, wasn’t it?”

“Fuck him,” Aurelio snarled. “I’ll bet he’s a fucking pussy.”

“Then you should’ve done something when he called you a finocchio,” I said with a barely suppressed smirk.

“Fuck YOU, too,” Aurelio whisper-shouted.

“No fighting in front of the Sicilians,” Fausto reprimanded him lightly.

I waited until we were safely inside the Rolls-Royce to say the next part. I didn’t think Mezzasalma was using long-range listening devices, but I didn’t want to take the chance of being overheard.

“You’re sure you’ll still be able to turn the rest of the Cosa Nostra against your nephews if Mezzasalma fails?” I asked Fausto.

“Absolutely,” he said confidently. “I know exactly whose ears to whisper into.”

It was a strategy we’d developed together. I’d asked Fausto if there was any way to cut the Rosolini brothers off from the rest of the Cosa Nostra – to completely isolate them.

Fausto was the one who came up with blaming the Agrellas’ deaths on his nephews.

Murdering business partners of two decades? A betrayal of that magnitude would make the other families turn on Dario immediately.

And, once isolated, he would be that much easier to pick off… even if Mezzasalma did fail.

I noticed that, unlike last time with the Turk, Aurelio didn’t treat the Mezzasalma’s success as a foregone conclusion.

Either he’d learned his lesson – which was unlikely – or he just hated the Sicilian for insulting him.

“You think Mezzasalma can succeed where the Turk couldn’t?” I asked.

Fausto chuckled. “If he can’t, then I doubt it can be done.”