Chapter Forty-Eight
Lucas
Two days later, at the agreed time, I walk into Luce Nera, a bar owned by the famiglia. Even though this is not my usual haunt I know this place well, and moreover, everyone here knows me. Why Niccolò Vitale would choose this place to meet me is beyond me.
I spot him immediately, sitting at the far wall and nursing a glass.
I walk up to his table and sit down opposite him, taking him in.
He looks younger than in the pictures Teo showed us.
But even sitting I can guess that he must be tall.
His suit jacket stretches over broad shoulders, hinting to someone exercising regularly.
His jaw is angular and clean-shaven, and his dark hair is tousled, giving him a boyish look.
Out of context he would look like the college star quarterback.
But his gray eyes are sharp as they look at me without fear.
He doesn’t flinch when I pull out my gun to lay it on the table with the nuzzle pointed toward him.
Nor does he seem bothered when the twenty other patrons in the bar imitate me and lay their guns on their table.
His lips curl upward as he takes an unhurried sip from his glass, and I am impressed by his self-control despite his young age.
He holds up his glass in greeting. “This is one hell of a good whiskey,” he drawls.
I don’t reply immediately. I watch him closely, automatically looking for the usual signs of weakness and desires that make people tick. But the fucker is good despite his youth, his face and demeanor are giving nothing away.
“You picked the wrong bar, kiddo,” I taunt after a long silence.
He smirks again and slowly shakes his head. “Nope, I’m exactly where I wanted to meet you. As for the other part, you’re barely a decade older than me…gramps.”
I scoff, amused. This kid has grit, I’ll give him that.
“What’s this about?” I ask without preamble.
His face sobers and he puts his glass down, still calm and unbothered. “It seems that we have a common…acquaintance. The kind that could become a problem if not taken care of.”
“And?” I ask, guessing immediately who he means.
“I think we can help each other.”
I narrow my eyes. “Why not reach out to the head of the famiglia, if an alliance is what you’re after?”
“Because”—he pins me with his gaze—“it seems that you have a personal stake in the matter.”
I watch him for several seconds and he stares right back, unafraid, but face open. I huff, pick up my gun, sliding it into my holster before leaning back in silence. The waiter hurriedly brings me my regular tumbler of whiskey, and I take a pensive sip, weighting my words.
“What exactly are you saying?” Let him reveal his cards first.
He shrugs. “Just what I know—our acquaintance wants something from this city, and it seems to be tied to a woman. A woman who incidentally is your wife.”
Chiara.
My grip tightens around the glass even if I force my face to remain impassible. “What does he want from her?”
Niccolò shakes his head. “This, I don’t know. He is keeping me away from business.”
“And yet, here you are,” I drawl.
“Yet, here I am,” he concedes.
“Why?”
He leans forward. “This seems big. Bigger than anything he has been involved with before. We can…help each other. It looks like we could agree on a common ground. You don’t have any interest in him taking your wife away, and I feel like I don’t either. It’s a win-win.”
My gut coils tight when I think about that fucker’s hands on Chiara. No way in hell will I let that happen. Niccolò has gotten my attention, all right.
“And let’s imagine, we find a common ground. How exactly do you picture this… partnership?” I ask.
He looks at me for a long beat. “What do you know about the Chicago Outfit?”
I tell him what Teo has revealed about his father’s death and his uncle taking over the lead a decade ago.
He seems impressed. “You’re well informed.”
I nod. “And if I had to take a wild guess, I would say that the kiddo is done hiding behind his playboy facade and wants to claim back his legacy. Am I right?”
Surprise fleets over his face but he hides it behind a smirk. “Right again. There seems to be nothing you don’t know.”
I shrug. “That’s what I would’ve done. Hiding, pretending, plotting, and when he has his focus elsewhere, pull the rug out from under him.”
His jaw grinds but he nods once.
“Let’s say I agree,” I go on. “What do I gain from this?”
“You’ll still have your wife, isn’t that incentive enough?”
I curse with a chuckle. Fucker’s too cocky. But he’s right.
“And,” he goes on, picking up his glass and lifting it to eye-level, “this stuff is really good. I want to partner up when things have smoothed over.”
He sure has an acquired taste for his age, I muse. We don’t really need to sell our whiskey as it comes from a tiny distillery in Tennessee, but somehow the kid has tugged at my brotherly side. I’m getting too soft, goddamnit.
“How?” I ask. This sole word carries all the weight of my decision.
“You stall things, make him run in circles. I need his attention here for a few days, a week tops.”
“And what will you do in the meantime?”
“I’ll get things ready. When he comes back, there will be a welcoming committee waiting.”
“You got enough guests on the list?”
He smirks again, but there is a cold glint in his eyes. “Don’t you worry about that, I might look like a slacker, but I assure you that I have been preparing for this party for a long time.”
I can’t help but be impressed. His demeanor is indeed different from the one of the spoiled kid Teo told us about.
“And to prove my good faith, I’ll give you some information,” he goes on. “The docks two days ago.”
I stiffen, hand twitching to take out my gun again. “How do you know about the docks?”
He shrugs. “People talk.”
I lean back, watching him intently for a beat. But his expression remains open, so I ask. “What about the docks?”
“It was him, I’ll bet my life on it.”
I clench my teeth. Careful now. “How do I know you didn’t do it to frame him?”
“Because”—his face darkens—“one man was likely shot in the knee, then in the head. That’s his signature. You will probably also find that they used ten-millimeter rounds imported from Europe. I’d bet my life on it.”
I tense, waiting for him to explain.
“It’ll be the same as the ammo used in the shooting where my father was killed. Ask your tech guy to retrieve the reports of the shooting scene in Chicago, you’ll know.”
Fuck. Is he saying what I think he’s saying?
As if reading my thoughts, he nods once, face darkening.
“I haven’t been able to locate his supplier,” he goes on. “But I heard you have a very skilled tech team. They might be able to trace the payments back to him.”
I stare at him in silence, filing the information away. I’ll have Matteo verify everything when I get back.
“What was the shipment transporting?”
He shakes his head. “He’s involved in a lot of things, arms, contraband, drugs, whatever pays. If I had to guess I’d say weapons, that’s his most lucrative business.”
“And what about Naples?” I ask, sliding the shipping manifest I found at the docks across the table. I know I’m taking a risk by showing him this, but I decide to trust my instinct.
He takes it and scans the page with a frown.
Then he shakes his head. “I’ve never heard him talk about Naples.
But then again, he was careful not to talk business when I was around.
He’s not that stupid, unfortunately. The only thing I know is that he’s obsessed with your docks.
He might be planning something, but that’s all I’ve got. ”
He returns the manifest and I put it back into my jacket pocket.
“And since you’re at it,” he goes on, “if you check the tabloids, you’ll see pictures of me in a very undignified state, confirming that I was indeed in Chicago last night.
” He smirks, and a flash of steel blazes behind his eyes.
I am impressed, he clearly knows what he is doing, maintaining a facade of debauchery while plotting to take down his uncle.
He could be dangerous someday. A fierce ally or a worthy opponent, it all depends on how things go from now on.
“Well kiddo,” I drawl, “looks like you’ve made yourself a new ally.”
I extend my hand and he takes it for a firm shake.
“But,” I say in a warning tone, “my boss and our enforcer get to be in the loop.”
He nods. “Didn’t expect less.”
Then he lifts his glass to his lips and drains it before setting it back down and standing up. I tense when his hand goes to his inner suit pocket, but he holds up the other hand to show he is not armed and slowly retrieves a Benjamin that he carelessly tosses on the table.
Then he nods at me once and turns to leave. “Keep the change, gramps,” he says over his shoulder and walks out the door.
After a stunned silence, I throw my head back and laugh out loud. Seems like I’ve grown fond of this cocky bastard.