Chapter 6
CALIGULA
The last thing in the world I want to do right now is have a heart-to-heart with Luca D’Amato’s flashy husband, but I can’t think of a way to turn him down.
So I dutifully follow Finch D’Amato into a side room, filled with two desks and dusty desktop computers that look like they were abandoned decades ago.
Finch wrinkles his nose at the dust on the seats.
“These are Cucinelli,” he says, sighing at his pants.
“So I guess we’ll just stand, huh?” He smiles at me again, and his eyes seem greener in this light.
“I saw you at the opera that night,” he goes on.
“The night you were attacked. So you’re the asshole who stole my Vanquish II, huh? ”
I almost smile. It’s pleasing to know I denied this man something he wanted. “Lorenzo Benedetti is very fond of me.”
“He must be. I told him I’m trying to move Luca away from his total devotion to Armani, introduce him to new wonders. But my husband is a stubborn man.”
“Lorenzo understood the true value of that fabric—which is probably why he gave it to me instead of your husband.”
“You run out of insults yet? Because I wanna talk for reals.”
“What do you want?” I ask flatly.
“Well, here’s the thing, Cal.” The theatrical manner falls away from him. “You might think you’ve got that beast out there on a leash, but he’s got more fight in him than you realize.”
“Dami has been nothing but kind and considerate to me.”
“Uh-huh,” Finch snorts. “Look, you’re determined to leave with him—God knows why, but that’s your business.
I just want to make sure you have a Get Out of Jail Free card if you need it.
” He slides a hand into his pocket and I take a cautious step back, but he pulls out a phone rather than a weapon. “Here.”
“If you think I’m going to let your husband track my every move—”
“I know you’re going to leave it off most of the time.
Maybe even switch out the SIM, and that’s up to you.
But I want you to text me at least once every twenty-four hours and tell me you’re alive.
My private line is the only contact in there, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t share it around.
You know how bad the telemarketers are getting these days. ”
“Why would I text you?” I ask.
“You caught a tiger by the tail, kid, and you might get your head bitten off if you’re not careful.” Finch D’Amato has always had a party boy reputation, but there’s none of that in his manner now. He’s all business.
“And how will you even know it’s me?”
“Oh, believe me. I’ll know.”
I don’t like his sardonic tone. “Your husband murdered my grandfather during peace talks,” I say coldly. “So you’ll forgive me if I don’t like the idea of being besties with either of you.”
“You’ve got a real bee in your bonnet over that, don’t you?
They weren’t peace talks, Cal, whatever your gramps might’ve told you.
The New York Commission had already gotten together and decided he had to go.
He was a loose cannon, and he was liable to go off at the wrong time.
When he came to dinner that night, it wasn’t to negotiate.
It was a diplomatic way to accept his resignation.
The whole Commission had agreed to it. He had agreed to it.
And right in the middle of things, he tried to kill Luca. ”
I scoff, as though the very idea is ridiculous.
The truth is, it was obvious Nonno Lou was bullshitting when he announced he was going to talk peace over dinner with Don Morelli.
The Commission’s decision had been unanimous, and we all knew about it.
Even me—because when he first heard the news, Nonno Lou was so angry about it that I heard him clear on the other side of the townhouse.
But Mafia politics are delicate. And I have to play for the team I’m on. “I don’t believe you,” I tell Finch. “And I see no reason to trust you enough to take this phone. For all I know, it’s bugged.”
“Then get your boyfriend to debug it,” he says impatiently. “And think about what I’m offering. You aren’t a stupid person, so why are you making stupid decisions?”
Of course I’m going to take the damn phone. I’m not stupid. But I also want to save face while doing it, and I’m not going to let the D’Amatos think I’m an easy target. “I have no reason at all to trust you and your husband. Give me one good reason, and I’ll take the phone.”
Finch stares at me for a moment. “You are an aggravating little shit, you know that?”
“I’ve been informed,” I tell him coolly. “Can you give me a reason or not?”
This time when Finch D’Amato smiles, it has none of the charm it previously had.
“You said my husband’s word was worthless,” he points out.
“But perhaps you’ll take mine, if I prove to you that I’m telling the truth.
So I’ll tell you a truth that no one else knows, Caligula Clemenza.
” He crooks his finger, motioning me closer, and I lean in despite myself.
Even with his mouth right next to my ear, he drops his voice.
“Luca didn’t kill your gramps. I did.” I jerk back involuntarily, but he grabs me by the arm, keeping me where I am.
“Your grandfather tried to kill my husband, so I emptied a clip into him. And I’d do it again, Cal.
I’ll do it to you, too, if you try to come for Luca. ”
He lets go of my arm and I pull away, staring at him, seeing nothing but truth in his face. But…why? Why tell me at all?
“Now you know you can trust me to keep my word,” Finch says calmly. “So be smart. Take the phone.”
There are so many implications to what he’s told me that I’m still turning them over in my mind, and I don’t have it in me right now to be outraged at his confession. I grab the phone from his hand. “And if I spill your secret?”
He grins. “Who’s gonna believe little old me killed the big bad Lou Clemenza?”
He has a point. And I’d rather not tarnish my grandfather’s reputation any more than he tarnished it himself. “Any other wisdom you feel inspired to impart?”
“Yeah,” he says. “Don’t forget Loverboy has two chains around his neck, and you’re not holding one of them.”
I understand his meaning. The Giuliano Boss holds the end of that other chain. It’s not a comforting thought.
“Come on, then,” Finch says, when I don’t respond. “Time to hand you over to your fate. Unless you’ve had a change of heart? No? Oh well. I’ve done all I can.”
“Wait,” I blurt out, as he makes for the door. He turns back, eyebrows raised. “Do you know who’s been killing off my Family?”
He shakes his head slowly. “Luca is on it, though.”
“And he’s done such a marvelous job so far,” I say before I can stop myself.
But Finch just smirks. “You got some big brass balls on you, Cal,” he says, before opening the door and stepping out. “Maybe tuck ’em away tight for now, though. You still need to learn a few tricks.”
I follow him back to the main warehouse. When I see D’Amato again, I look at him differently. Not at the man who killed my grandfather, but at the man whose husband did it for him. Whose husband would do it again without a moment’s hesitation, not for power, but for love.
I’m not sure which of the two of them is more frightening.
Conversations have been going on without us. “…don’t need a fuckin’ escort. I’ll call my driver,” Damiano is growling.
But Luca D’Amato is immovable. “Fontana will take you,” he says with the kind of finality that suggests he’s already said it several times.
“I can’t wait to get home,” I chirp to Damiano, just to see him try not to glare at me.
But Finch, for all the issues I now have with him, had a point. So I give a quick tug on that choke chain, just to show Damiano Orsini that things have changed.
“But of course,” I gush, “I’m incredibly grateful to Don Morelli and his husband for the friendship they’ve shown me. We’re going to keep in touch, Finch and I.” I hold up the phone. “Won’t that be fun, Dami?”
Damiano’s eyes go to Finch, who grins at him. “He’s a big fan of Kismet,” he says. “And I’ve seen you there, too. Maybe you can have a date night there sometime.”
“Jesus Christ, are we done here?” Big Gee breaks in. The disgust on his face is clear. For all Dami’s posturing about my grandfather’s homophobia, it’s not as though his own Boss is thrilled about it, either.
But Big Gee has seen the look on D’Amato’s face, and is backtracking. “Uh, no offense intended, only I got shit to do this morning, and I—”
“Don’t forget to text me, Cal!” Finch trills. “I want all the gossip.”
If there’s one thing I hate, it’s being forced to take help I didn’t ask for. And taking it from the man who claims he murdered my grandfather is its own special hell.
But I want to stay alive.
“I won’t forget, Finch. Thank you so much—for everything.” I give him a smile as fake as his own.
“See ya,” Damiano says gruffly, his hand sliding up my spine to wrap around the back of my neck. I can’t suppress a shiver. His fingers tighten, but only a little; I turn as his hand guides me, let him walk me out of the warehouse and into the gray dawn.
As we leave, I hear Big Gee saying, “While I got you here, D’Amato, I should tell you about a snafu we had with the Russians…all under control, but just a heads-up, you know…”
So Dami came clean to his Boss about Grisha. Interesting.
The daylight outside is thin and flat, the sky low enough to touch, and the cold wind is bracing.
I shiver again, from cold this time, and Damiano pulls me closer as though to keep me warm.
To anyone watching, it might look like tenderness.
It isn’t. He’s just worried I’m going to bolt.
I couldn’t even if I wanted to; there are at least four more Morellis waiting out here: Nick Fontana and the three who kidnapped me.
So I don’t pull away from the man who is determined to kill me. In fact, I snuggle in closer, just to annoy him, as he walks me over to where Fontana is waiting by a silver Mercedes.
“One of you will ride in back,” he says. “Who’s it gonna be?”
After a long few seconds, Damiano pushes me forward. “Him.”
Fontana nods at me. “I’ll get Vicente to keep you company.” He raises a hand toward the three Morellis who kidnapped me, and the sole woman breaks away from them. “In the back,” he tells her.
She opens the back door and looks at me expectantly. I slide in, then move over to sit behind the driver. She gets in next to me, and I see the gun holstered at her side as she does. It’s on the opposite side to me, so I couldn’t grab it easily even if I wanted to.
“How about you drive, Orsini?” Fontana says from outside. “Since you know the way.”
Fontana is not going to let Dami have the advantage of free hands. I can’t blame him for his caution.
Damiano doesn’t reply, just gets into the driver’s side and starts the car. He settles back, adjusting the seat, and his eyes meet mine in the mirror.
I smile sweetly. “I just can’t wait to get home, Dami.”
“Yeah,” he growls. “Neither can I.”