Page 48 of Niccolo (Mafia Kings #7)

Sofia

M odena was a small city two hours north of Florence.

To describe the place as ‘isolated’ was an understatement. There were no other houses within miles.

“I bought this a few years back in case I ever needed to lay low for a while,” Fausto explained.

At least the property was well-maintained. Someone local – a cleaning service, perhaps – had kept it clean and free of dust.

The house had a modern kitchen, a large living room, a parlor, and a dining room. Of the four large bedrooms, Fausto took the master, I got another, and a third was set aside for Aurelio whenever he decided to show up.

“Where are all the foot soldiers going to sleep?” I asked –

Then watched as men began pulling plastic-wrapped mattresses out of the attic and placing them on the floor of the living room.

“There’s an old saying in the mafia: ‘going to the mattresses,’” Fausto explained. “This is what it means. They’ll sleep in eight-hour shifts. A third of them will nap while the others patrol the property.”

By the time the men were finished, two dozen twin-size mattresses were scattered across the house’s common areas. It was impossible to walk anywhere without tripping over one of the plastic-wrapped beds.

As a result, the main house felt packed tight as a tin of sardines.

I hadn’t thought it possible…

But I missed the giant McMansion.

I tried to sleep that night but couldn’t.

Part of it was a new bed in a new place…

And the fear that every noise I heard was an assassin come to finish me off.

But mostly, my mind just wouldn’t shut off.

Over and over again, I returned to my talk with Niccolo at the wedding…

And realized it might be the last time I ever saw him.

You idiot, I berated myself. A man flirts with you, and now you’re second-guessing yourself?

I told myself my unease was because I’d met someone I was actively plotting to kill…

And that it would have been disquieting for anyone.

I reminded myself that he was a mafioso who had probably caused the deaths of countless innocents…

And that removing him and his brothers from the world would be a gift to humanity.

I completely skipped over the part about the attraction I still felt for him…

And the fact that another mafioso was paying me ten million euros for my supposed gift to humanity.

None of it helped me fall sleep.

Around 3 AM, I went to the kitchen to get something to eat.

Fausto was up, sitting at the island in the center. A glass and a half-empty decanter of scotch sat before him.

“Oh. You,” he muttered. “Come in.”

I walked over to a chair and pulled my robe tighter around my pajamas as I sat down.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked.

“No.”

“Neither could I. A lot’s riding on tomorrow.”

I nodded silently.

“Care for a drink, consigliere?” he asked.

“…why not.”

He got a second glass from a nearby cabinet, poured out a shot, and pushed it across the island towards me.

“So, when you went to the wedding… did you find that ‘intangible quality’ you were looking for?” he asked.

“I think so.”

“What is it?”

“Niccolo.”

Fausto smiled darkly. “Tell me why.”

“Well, your nephews have a lot of camaraderie, and Dario seems like a capable leader… but Niccolo provides the strategic underpinning of it all. He’s the one who deduced our involvement with the Turk and Mezzasalma.

He’s the one who took control of the meeting in the parlor and came up with a plan.

I know Dario had to agree to it… but I can’t shake the feeling that it was almost all Niccolo. ”

Fausto nodded. “I trained him well. Maybe too well.”

“Well… now you have me,” I said as I raised my glass in a toast.

He grunted, then clinked his glass against mine.

I took a sip and grimaced. I knew it was expensive and relatively smooth for scotch – but it still tasted like lighter fluid.

Fausto looked around the kitchen.

“When I planned all this years ago – taking back what should have rightfully been mine – I had all these beautiful dreams about what my life would be,” he said wryly. “None of them included hiding in a shack in the middle of nowhere.”

“It’s hardly a shack,” I said.

“Still the middle of nowhere, though.”

“It’s only temporary.”

His voice turned bitter. “You know what’s not temporary? Having a spoiled fuck-up for a son. Christ, what a disappointment he turned out to be.”

I just sipped at my lighter fluid so I didn’t have to answer.

Fausto didn’t like my silence. I guess he took it as tacit agreement with what he’d said.

“Well?” he asked belligerently. “Don’t you have anything to say?”

I didn’t. Not anything that would keep me in his good graces, anyway –

So I dodged the question.

“Where is Aurelio?” I asked. “I haven’t seen him since we left.”

Fausto snorted contemptuously. “Who the fuck knows? Probably off in Modena, doing what he does best: whoring and drinking.”

It turned out to be a lot worse than that.