68. Max
MAX
Solitary confinement was kind of nice.
Quiet. Isolating, sure, but probably a lot better than sleeping in those miniscule bunks.
The worst part was wondering how Cas and the rest of the guys were doing.
And Leona. Always worrying about Leona.
Before they’d thrown us all into our individual confinement cells, the guards had beaten Ryuji up pretty badly, but last I’d seen, he was smiling through a bloody nose and hawking frothy, red spit at their feet.
Cas ended up with a black eye. I had another round of bruised ribs that ached with every movement, especially on the hard-as-fuck cot.
I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned my head back on the small cot with its threadbare pillow.
How was she? Was she okay? Had she made it to Fallon?
Part of me wished she’d stay with Byrne, away from all this.
But I knew her better than that. She would follow our plan. She’d do what we asked of her. I feared it wouldn’t be enough.
The metal door to my cell groaned open. I lifted my head, blinking in surprise when I saw two people waiting there.
The man held up a badge. “Max Volpe.”
I sat up. “Who the fuck are you?”
He tucked the badge away with a snort. “Special Agent Jack Greer.”
Next to him, his partner gave me a curt nod. “Special Agent Farrah Badawi.”
Those were the two agents who had tracked Leona down. They were the ones who had interrogated her, offering to let her go if she testified against me.
“What the fuck do you want?”
One guard pushed them both to the side. “Get up, Volpe. You’re coming with us.”
I stood carefully, keeping my eyes on the gun and handcuffs on each of the Special Agents’ belts.
“We just want to talk,” Badawi said.
“What for?” I asked.
“Come see,” Greer said, leaning against the wall. “You’ll want to hear this.”
I gestured toward the door. “Lead the way.”
The interview room was just a little warmer than the solitary cell.
Just a little.
“Mr. Volpe,” Badawi said as she sat down opposite me. She set a manila folder on the table. “Over the last five years, we’ve been building a case against you. As the Head of the Five Families, we believed you to be responsible for running the Italian mafia in New York City.”
Okay, we were jumping right into it then. I opened my mouth to deny, but Badawi held up a hand to cut me off.
“Before you say anything, it has come to our attention that you have not been the Head of the Five Families. In fact, you’ve been getting your orders from someone else. Someone at the top of the food chain.”
I blinked, watching as she pulled a photo from the folder. She slid it across the table to me. I stared at the man; the recognition was instant.
“Piero Greco,” she said. “The man in charge. The one who has given all the orders safely from his home in Italy. For decades.”
I did everything in my power to keep my mask in place.
Greer leaned forward in his chair, watching me like a hawk. “Is that true? Has he been your boss?”
I looked up at Badawi—at the furrow of her eyebrows. They almost looked…pleading.
I flicked the photo back at them and sat back in my chair, trying to look as casual as possible while I tried to play catch-up with whatever Badawi thought she was doing. “What if he were?”
“Then Greco would be the man at the center of our case,” Badawi said. “Not you.”
I had to forcefully contain the smile hiding behind my lips. They were trying to pin this on Greco. Leona and Badawi must have come up with this after Obi and I told her we had to take out two birds with one stone. This was the plan.
If Greco took the fall, they could get free.
Obi and I had talked about pieces on a chessboard plenty of times. We’d talked about removing all pieces from the board in order to let the Queen have an opening. We’d talked through the strategy.
But we never talked about those first few pieces of the Queen’s Gambit strategy. The sacrificial pawns. The ones who started it all.
We couldn’t win this war without sacrificing a few of our pieces.
My heart pounded in my chest while my head spun. Leona probably thought she could pin this on Greco—and if she was working with Badawi to do that, Badawi would know that this case wasn’t going away without someone serving time in prison.
Cold spread through my limbs. Leona would want to take the fall. Leona would want to be the one to get us free, while taking the jail time for herself.
I would not let that happen.
I was supposed to be the sacrificial pawn. This was how I could prove to her—to all of them—that I meant what I said about being part of this family. I swore to her, on my knees, that I’d earn my redemption. This was how.
“If this were the case, what would you need from me to prove it?”
“Your sworn testimony as to his orders, the connections between him and mafia members, and the scope of his racketeering,” she answered.
“And what do I get in return?” I leaned back in my chair, eyeing them both. “Immunity?”
“Fuck, no,” Greer said with a choked laugh. “No fucking way—”
“Greer,” Badawi interrupted. “Why don’t you go grab some water? I can tell Mr. Volpe is thirsty.”
Greer leveled his eyes at her. “What do you think you’re doing, Farrah?”
I coughed into my hand. “No, please, Special Agent. I am really thirsty. I think I’d talk a lot better if I had a cup of water.”
Greer huffed and stood, muttering about how he always had to be the errand boy. When the door shut behind him, I immediately turned to Badawi.
“She wants to take the fall, doesn’t she?” My eyes flicked across her face, trying to read her. “You’ve spoken to her.”
Badawi gave me a tight nod. “She’s insisting, but with the amount of evidence we have against you, this is the better play. I figured we needed to speak. I’m taking a gamble being here, Volpe. What do you want to do?”
Luciano had already been snitching about me. If Leona tried to spin the narrative and take the fall, it was way less believable.
But if I testified against Greco?
Now that was testimony that would stick.
“Your testimony would make it clear who was involved,” Badawi said carefully. “And who wasn’t involved. I just want to make sure our case puts the right people in prison.”
There it was.
That was all I needed.
“Okay.” I sat back in the chair just as Greer came back into the room. He sassily put a cup of water in front of me. I left it untouched. “I’ll testify.”
Greer sat back in his chair with a snort. “Oh, yeah? That easily?”
Badawi pulled out a small recording device and turned it on. She gave me a nod.
“You’re correct,” I said loudly so the recorder could pick it up.
“Piero Greco is the true Head of the mafia, and I’ve been reporting to him for years.
He’s behind the gun smuggling, the illegal gambling, and the drug production.
Luciano Vero was reporting to him as well, same with Giuseppe Sandrini. ”
I left out Leona and Enzo Rossi.
The corner of Badawi’s mouth perked up while she scribbled a note into a notebook.
“What about Leona Vero?” Greer asked, drumming his fingers on the table. “We have plenty of evidence to suggest she’s walking in her father’s footsteps.”
I shook my head. “No, Leona was always kept out of the Family. The only thing she’s involved in is the legitimate construction business, Vero Construction, Inc.”
“We’ve interviewed Miss Vero ourselves,” Badawi said. “She’s mentioned before that she had no idea what her father was doing. She’s also said that you weren’t involved, either.”
“Leona has always been well-intentioned,” I hedged. “Her father and I hid everything we were doing from her, including the knowledge that Greco was in charge behind the scenes.”
“Do you have any evidence of this?” Greer asked. “How do we know you’re not just selling him out to save your own skin?”
A smile pulled at my lips.
Luciano had tried to fuck me over, but he’d actually done all of us a massive favor.
Years and years of records detailing the smuggling operations between Italy and New York.
Decades of constant communication with the Camorra.
Combined, all of it could prove that Greco had been in charge the entire time—through the tainted drugs, to the trafficking, to the smuggling.
I doubted even Greco knew the lengths to the data Luciano had collected.
“I do. In fact, I have boxes of it.”