Page 85 of Niccolo (Mafia Kings #7)

Niccolo

I thought my family’s situation was bad when I returned from Hong Kong.

It only got worse.

The day after my phone call with Sofia, Lars left for London to track down Rachel Bauer.

I strenuously objected –

But Dario overruled me.

My brother had always had a soft spot for Lars and his doomed love affair… his sola e unica, as Dario liked to call it.

In addition, I think Dario was still pissed at me for sleeping with Sofia in Hong Kong.

Thank God I didn’t tell him about the phone sex.

Either way, Lars left.

The very next day, he stopped answering his phone.

I knew he wouldn’t run off with Rachel, so either he’d been captured –

Or he was dead.

Dario refused to acknowledge the possibility.

I hated it, too, but I didn’t have any choice. I was the consigliere . It was my job to look at the world with clear eyes.

We were down three men.

Massimo was off God-knows-where…

Lars was either in London or a shallow grave…

And Roberto was in Hong Kong trying to sweet-talk a money launderer who wouldn’t help him in the slightest.

If those outcomes were the result of Sofia’s plan, then there was only one thing I could say:

Well played, consigliere.

I tried calling the Rome number –

But she didn’t answer, and she didn’t call me back.

Which irritated me.

It got to me.

Which I admired – because game respects game.

Even BETTER played, my dear.

Bravo.

And then, when things seemed bleakest…

An opportunity presented itself.

After the Agrellas’ deaths, practically the entire Cosa Nostra believed we were to blame.

Alessandra’s ancestral family, the Oldanis from Genoa, were on our side –

But everyone else thought we’d murdered our old business partners.

I was most concerned about the Five Families, who controlled Rome, Venice, Milan, Naples, and Sicily. They were the richest and most powerful families, and they held outsized influence on the Council that brokered truces within the Cosa Nostra.

And every single one of their consiglieres refused to answer my calls.

The tide finally turned when the Widow of Venice became an ally.

She knew Aurelio was behind the attack on her compound and that Massimo was putting his life on the line to protect her granddaughter Lucia.

Since the attack in Venice, I’d enlisted the Widow’s help to plead my case to the other four families.

But Rome, Milan, Naples, and Sicily all still stubbornly refused to respond to my calls.

I figured that Fausto had either bribed them or pulled the wool over their eyes.

Despite that, I continued to call every day, leaving messages on their voicemails –

Until one day, someone picked up.

It was the Sicilian consigliere, Eliseo Marconi.

Scratch that: it was the Sicilian consigliere’s phone…

But the gravelly voice that answered sounded nothing like Marconi.

“Hello.”

“Hello – is this Eliseo?” I asked, even though I knew it was not.

“No. He’s not available.”

“Who am I speaking with?”

“Who the fuck are you?”

Wonderful. I was dealing with a fuckin’ tough guy.

I didn’t want to say any words like ‘consigliere’ or ‘don.’ After all, what if the other person’s line was tapped, or I was speaking to a cop? So I kept it very vanilla.

“Niccolo Rosolini. I work for my brother, Dario Rosolini.”

“Ah. The Florentines. You’re the new consigliere.”

That response told me exactly who I was talking to.

Only someone highly placed in a Cosa Nostra family would know who I was.

Foot soldiers certainly wouldn’t. My brother’s ascension to don was too recent for his name to be widely recognized amongst the lower ranks, and I was virtually unknown.

The speaker knew I was the consigliere, and yet he was completely unconcerned.

Sicilians were a cold-blooded lot with brass balls… but a foot soldier would have immediately become respectful when he realized he was addressing a consigliere. So would a capo. Otherwise, it could mean a beating – or worse – if he made diplomatic trouble for his boss.

But this guy?

He knew who I was, and he didn’t give a fuck.

Which meant that if he wasn’t the consigliere…

He could only be one other person.

“Don Vicari, I presume,” I said respectfully. “My apologies – I thought I was calling your consigliere.”

“You were. Like I said, he’s not available.”

This was incredibly strange.

I’d been calling Marconi for days now with no reply.

And suddenly his boss picks up?

“I see,” I said, even though I didn’t see at all. “I wanted to let you know the truth about some recent events – ”

“What, the Agrellas?” Vicari scoffed. “Good riddance. If they let themselves get taken out that easily, they deserved it.”

…o-kaaaay…

“Regardless, we didn’t kill the Agrellas.”

“No? Who did?”

“A Sicilian named Mezzasalma.”

There was a short silence on the other end, followed by a grunt. “Hrm.”

Vicari didn’t sound shocked, exactly…

But he did sound the slightest bit surprised.

“I’m assuming you’re familiar with him?” I asked.

“Yes. He worked for me.”

It takes a lot to astound me.

Vicari admitting it, though, definitely astounded me.

It was as if someone hired a murderer to kill you and then confessed it right to your face.

“…is that so?” I asked, trying to keep a neutral tone.

“He was the capo of a bunch of towns in the south. I didn’t have anything to do with the Agrellas, though,” Vicari said. He sounded completely unconcerned whether I believed him or not. “Mezzasalma wanted to leave Sicily and branch out. I gave him my permission.”

“Even if ‘branching out’ might start a war with another family?”

“I doubt the Agrellas are going to start one any time soon,” he said with gallows humor.

“…true.”

I decided to not point out that Mezzasalma had started one with us – unfortunately for Mezzasalma.

“What the fuck do you want?” Vicari asked.

What did I want?

To tell this asshole where he could stick his attitude.

But he was a don –

And a Sicilian, at that.

There was nothing more dangerous than a Sicilian mafia don, so I kept my tone respectful.

“Mezzasalma wasn’t working alone,” I said. “My uncle Fausto helped him murder the Agrellas. And they both attempted to kill me and my brothers.”

“Really,” Vicari said, a tiny bit of disbelief in his voice. “Fausto did that.”

“Yes. Now we’re looking for allies to help us deal with my uncle.”

“And you want MY help,” Vicari said contemptuously, like he couldn’t believe I was asking.

“Yes.”

“You’ve got bigger problems. Once Mezzasalma gets ahold of you, you and your entire family are fucked.”

Okay, fuck this asshole.

“Mezzasalma’s dead,” I snarled.

“…really,” Vicari said, and for the first time, he sounded impressed.

“Yeah. REALLY.”

There was a long pause on the other end.

“Perhaps I misjudged you and your family. What exactly are you looking for?”

Not quite believing the turn our conversation had taken, I told him exactly what we needed.

Then he told me what he was looking for.

I knew no one else in my family would be happy to hear his offer…

But as far as I could see, it might be our only shot at staying alive.