Chapter 8
Ringo
After dropping Ellie off at the bar, I drove downtown.
The Conti business, running under the simplified initials of CCI, occupied the fifteenth floor of an office building near the river.
It had eight conference rooms, two co-working open spaces divided by a common area that was more lounge than office, and a reception atrium that resembled a spa, not a business.
Those couches looked comfortable.
It was a front, plain and simple.
I needed to talk to Mario about this. He’d been here a month ago and probably figured out exactly how to fix the structure and money flow before he even met with Adelmo.
Heck, he should be here. Not me. This wasn’t my forte. I’d been groomed for messier battlefields than boardrooms. I requested a conference space for the call, and was led to a private room.
“Mario, how’s the honeymoon?”
“Too short. I’m in Milan.”
He sounded stressed. “The penthouse?” His father’s place was conveniently situated near all the movers and shakers of the region, which suited his role as Italy’s trade minister just fine. But it held bad memories for both Allie and Mario.
“Much to my bride’s dismay.”
He almost died there the last time they visited. “Is Loppa with you?”
“Firenze. No one is trying to kill me today. You’re in Chicago.”
Ha ha. He was never going to let me live that down. “I’m at CCI.”
“I know.”
Wait, I hadn’t given him any information about my plans. Don Manca trusted me to work it on my time table, and Ellie was at the bar. Unless she talked to her sister, no one knew. “Did Ellie call her sister?”
“No, a gentleman named Alfonzo Messina-Conti reached out to my father when you checked in.”
“They do know I’m here.” Fuckers. I’d been led around by a junior VP, from marketing no less, just to add insult to the diversion.
“Are you endearing yourself to the natives?”
That was one way to put it. “I haven’t killed anyone yet, if that’s what you’re asking.
I just might, though. These dilettantes wouldn’t understand a threat if I gift-wrapped it.
Adelmo’s operation is a front for laundering.
It’s only saving grace is that it’s got a nice view of the river. ” No wonder he was losing money.
“What about the shipyards?”
“Rail yards. Most of the product comes through by train or trucks, not boats. The Great Lakes cargo ships are only ten percent of the business.”
“Any routes that reach international ports?”
“Plenty. There are locks and canals that offer a water route to the Gulf via the Mississippi River. Land routes to Canada or Mexico, the trains, and air freight.”
And that gave Mario all the information he needed to pressure the players who controlled points north, south, east, and west. Plus, line up a real meeting for me. It took him an hour.
It was held at an empty restaurant just west of Halsted.
Four members of the Conti organization’s faction met me there. None of them were closer than fourth, maybe fifth cousin to me. The question was, had they gotten the memo about their newest family member?
“Mr. Devlin. It isn’t often we have a member of the Left Hand in Chicago, yet this is now two months in a row. Is there a problem?” Their leader’s tone insinuated the problem was solely ours, not his.
I’d done my homework. Every man present hid behind legitimate businesses.
Two of the men were so clean, I doubted they even knew what their leader meant about the Left Hand.
It was a polite term for assassins. Don Manca’s specialty even though the family controlled almost all of Sardinia’s smuggling, kidnapping, finance, and extortion interests.
The real claim to fame for the family was its ability to send a person anywhere in the world to eliminate problems.
These boys would be shaking in their boots if they weren’t so clueless.
“You should have received word that Don Conti passed, but if you haven’t, I can offer you my condolences in person. Had any of you met him?” I tossed the question out casually, as if seeking commiseration.
Only their leader nodded.
“But you all knew his late son, Adelmo.” They had to. He would have needed each of them to coordinate the consortium in order to send their tributes back to Don Conti.
Nods passed through like a ripple.
Their mouthpiece, Alfonzo—the Conti-Messina man, spoke. “Did you know Adelmo, perhaps… meet him before he died?”
That was a loaded question. One I respected their mouthpiece for asking. “My brother did.”
A man in the back cleared his throat. “Excuse me, when you say, brother—” He was probably wondering if there was yet another heir in line for the minor fortune in the trust.
“My adopted brother, Mario Valentini. Apologies. I never got a chance to meet my late half-brother.”
There. If they hadn’t gotten the memo, it was just served with all the grace of a bomb detonating. Which was how it was received. The farthest two looked highly uncomfortable. The nearest two schooled their expressions, but were fighting their instincts to wage war.
“Listen, I’m new to my role in the Conti Family. And because of that, I’m not going to use it as an anvil over your heads. What I really want to know is how do you think you’re going to stay in business losing a minimum of 400k a year?”
“Profits have been down since the pandemic,” Alfonzo argued.
“The tariffs have been eating into our margins,” another added.
A number of excuses were tossed out. But none were the ones I wanted to hear. I stared at Alfonzo. “You’re related to both the Conti family, and two other rather large families here, correct?”
He nodded.
“And you’re in a unique position, as I am, to hear the rumors of the family’s demise, no?”
If the temperature of the room was cold before, it was downright icy now. If I wasn’t as accomplished of an assassin, and wasn’t at the peak of my skills, I’d be nervous. But I knew I could take these four, both waiters, the five busboys, and the restaurant manager out before breaking a sweat.
Okay, I might sweat. But it would be a small thing.
“Rumors are rumors for a reason.”
Ah. Not a denial, and definitely not an endorsement.
“I’ll bite. I heard another rumor. That the daughter was here last month, and she arranged for her brother’s death.
” I paused and snapped my fingers as if in afterthought.
“Wait, that wasn’t a rumor, I was with Don Conti when he found this out.
What I want to know from your mouths, is one thing.
Did my half-sister speak with any of you? ”
There was a threat under my tone. One that came naturally.
Until about a week or more ago, I never knew that it sounded just like my biological father’s voice.
Now that I did, a part of me rallied against it.
That emotion wasn’t welcome here. I needed to channel Don Conti as quickly and as ruthlessly as possible to avoid losing control.
One wrong move and I’d be a target. If I wasn’t one already.
“She avoided most of us.”
Most. Not all. Alfonzo’s shadow spilled secrets too easily.
I let him continue selling his companions’ souls to the Devil.
He indicated the mouthpiece. “Of course, Alfonzo here was not included. If word got out to the other families that Dianora wasn’t loyal, they’d send in their vultures to pick the bones. She talked to me, but as the eldest of the family, not as someone disloyal.”
He looked at the others before continuing. “Listen, I’m progressive, right? But if Don Conti wanted his daughter running the show, he’d’ve made that happen, tradition or not. He knew she was a loose cannon. She couldn’t be trusted.”
The rest nodded.
I picked out the most hesitant one in the back. “You, what did she say to you?”
“She had problems with how Adelmo coddled his employees.”
So did I, but I wouldn’t use the word, coddle. I’d use the word waste.
“And you?” I asked the other. His name was Vincent Grasso, or Vincenzo as Don Manca referred to him.
He wasn’t a Conti by name, but he was the next closest relation here.
He was also connected to the D’Antonio faction through his sister’s marriage.
The leader of that group clawed his way to the top of the game just a few years back.
The Left Hand had vested interest in their business, which meant I’d need to watch this one carefully.
He shifted in place. “She didn’t talk to me directly. I’ve got crews, you know?”
No, I didn’t. But knowing that he did raised my estimation of his business acumen.
“And one of them raised a flag to me.”
I glanced at the others to see if that was news to them. It likely wasn’t by their stoic expressions.
“Dianora was planning the hit.” But not going through proper channels.
Everyone knew this, after the fact. But Vincent dug his grave by admitting it out loud.
If this were any other family, this man would be dead already. All of these men would be dead for the simple fact that they didn’t escalate their insights to the top. You don’t keep secrets like that from family.
I chose my words carefully and drenched them in retrained violence. “Why wasn’t someone from my adopted family’s faction contacted? Mario was here. Convenient. Yet you let Don Conti think it was him.”
Their faces paled.
“It was supposed to be internal. A… misunderstanding. One using a disposable resource,” Vincent said.
That’s one way to describe Johnny Porciello. Not a word I’d ever use for Mario.
These men were fools. No wonder the Conti family was in decline. “How many of your men were involved?”
That’s where he clammed up. Which was even more stupid. Protecting them would get him killed. “I want to talk to them.”
“Talk? Are you sure that translated correctly?”
I glared at him. “Invite yourself to that meeting if you want to know exactly how it translates.”