Chapter 8 Santino
I can still taste her.
It's been twelve hours since I kissed Liana in that parking lot, and I can still taste her. Feel her hands fisted in my shirt. Hear that little sound she made when I touched her.
This is a problem.
I'm sitting in the back room of a cafe in the old quarter, waiting for the Benedetti brothers to arrive. This meeting is important. The Benedettis control the northern shipping routes, and there's been tension over territory for months. One wrong word and this could turn into a war.
I need to be focused. Sharp. Instead, I pull out my phone and text her.
Me: Good morning.
I hit send and immediately regret it. What am I doing? I don't text women the morning after. I don't check in because I don't care. I stare at the screen. Waiting for the three dots that show she's typing.
Nothing.
"Boss." Bruno's voice pulls me back. "They're here."
I straighten. Push thoughts of Liana aside. Put the phone face-down on the table. This is business. This is what matters. The only thing that matters.
The Benedetti brothers enter. Cassio and Tullio. Both in their forties, both dangerous. Cassio does the talking. Tullio does the hurting.
"Marcello." Cassio takes a seat across from me. Tullio stands behind him, arms crossed. "Thank you for meeting with us."
"Of course." I gesture for coffee to be brought. "I believe we have matters to discuss."
"We do." Cassio accepts the espresso, takes a sip. "Your shipments have been coming through our routes."
"With the appropriate fees paid."
"The fees have increased,” he says.
"That wasn't our agreement," I say.
"Circumstances have changed." Cassio sets down his cup. "The port authority has been asking questions. We've had to pay more to keep them quiet. Those costs get passed on."
"How much more?"
"Twenty percent."
It's outrageous. He knows it. I know it. This is a test.
"Ten percent," I counter. "And only on the routes through Genoa. The rest stays at current rates."
"Fifteen percent. All routes."
Did my phone buzz? Focus. "Twelve. Genoa only."
Cassio studies me. Behind him, Tullio shifts slightly. His hand moves toward his jacket.
Bruno tenses beside me. Tommy, standing by the door, straightens. The room goes very quiet.
"Twelve percent then," Cassio says finally. "Genoa only." Tullio's hand drops.
"Pleasure doing business with you." I stand, extend my hand. Cassio shakes it.
The moment they leave, I grab my phone.
Nothing. No message.
"You okay, boss?" Bruno asks.
"Fine." I pocket the phone. "Make sure the accountant updates the contracts. I want everything documented."
"Already on it." Bruno studies me. "You seemed distracted in there."
I glare at him. He shuts up.
"What's next?" I ask.
"The docks. There's an issue with one of the shipments."
We drive to the port in Bruno's car. Tommy and Paulie follow in another. During the drive, I check my phone again. Still nothing from Liana. Maybe she's sleeping in. Or regretting last night.
I send another text.
Me: About last night. We should talk.
No response.
At the docks, our contact Roberto meets us near Warehouse Seven. He looks nervous. Never a good sign.
"What's the problem?" I ask.
"The shipment from Marseille." Roberto wipes sweat from his forehead. "Customs flagged it."
"Why?"
"They say the paperwork doesn't match the cargo."
Because it doesn't. The paperwork says electronics. The cargo is something else entirely.
"How much did you pay them?" I ask.
"The usual amount."
"Pay double."
"I tried. They're not taking it." Roberto's voice drops. "They brought in someone new. From Rome. He's not one of ours."
This is worse than I thought. "Where is he now?"
"Office block. Building Three."
I look at Bruno. He nods. We both know what needs to be done.
"Tommy, Paulie, stay with the shipment," I say. "Bruno, with me."
As we walk across the dock, Paulie calls out, "Hey boss, is it true?"
I turn. "Is what true?"
"That your girl jumped out of your car last night. On Via Dante."
I freeze. "How do you know about that?"
"Carlo's cousin saw the whole thing. Said you were chasing her down the street in a bad neighborhood." Paulie's grinning. "Is it true?"
Heat crawls up my neck. "That's none of your fucking business."
"So, it is true." Tommy's trying not to smile. "She really jumped out of a moving car."
"The car was barely moving."
"But she jumped out of it, right?” Tommy says.
"No big deal. She was overreacting. You know how women are."
"To what?" Paulie asks.
"Nothing important. Drop it."
"What the fuck did you do to make her jump out of a moving car?" Tommy asks.
"I didn't do anything. I was driving and she—" I stop. "This conversation is over. I don’t want to hear another fucking word about it."
"Boss, if word's spreading about this—" Bruno starts.
"I don't give a shit. I care about the customs situation. Let's go."
We walk to Building Three, but I can feel their eyes on my back. How many people saw? How many people are talking about Santino Marcello's fiancée jumping out of his car like a lunatic?
The customs official is young. Mid-thirties. Clean cut. That idealistic look people get when they think they can change the system.
"Mr. Marcello." He doesn't stand when we enter his office. "I've been expecting you."
I'm in a bad mood now. "I understand there's an issue with one of my shipments."
"There is. The paperwork is falsified."
"I'm sure it's just an error."
"I'm sure it's not." He leans forward. "I know what you are. What your family does. And I'm not interested in being part of it."
"That’s unfortunate,” I say. “Everyone has a price."
"Not me."
"Not yet." I stand. "Think about it. You have twenty-four hours."
"Or what?"
I don't answer and just leave. "Find out everything about that customs official,” I say to Tommy. “Family, debts, habits. Everything."
"And if he still won't play?"
"Then we make him disappear."
We return to the social club. Inside, Paulie's already there, and he's not subtle. "Back to the car thing," he says immediately. "Is she crazy or what?"
"She's not crazy."
"You're making excuses for her,” he says.
"Why does it matter to you?"
"It matters because someone saw it," Sal says. "And now everyone's talking about how the Marcello heir can't control his woman."
I stop. "She was scared because I was driving too fast. She reacted foolishly and jumped out when I wouldn’t stop. End of story."
Silence.
"You're going too soft on her," Sal says finally.
He's not wrong. I pull out my phone again. Open the message thread. My two texts are both read. She received them, read them and didn't respond. I stare at the screen, trying to think of what to say. Something casual. Something that doesn't sound desperate.
Me: Want to have dinner again? We can practice not fighting.
Send. Delivered. Read. No response.
I wait. Five minutes. Ten minutes.
Nothing.
"Boss, you're staring at your phone," Paulie says.
"I'm waiting for a response from her."
"Maybe she's busy," Tommy suggests.
"She read my messages. All three of them."
"Ouch." Paulie winces. "Three messages left on read. That's cold."
It is cold. It's also driving me insane.
"Maybe she regrets last night," Bruno says carefully. "Jumping out of the car."
"Or maybe she's playing games," Sal suggests. "Women do that. Make you sweat. See how interested you really are."
"Why would she play games? For what? We’re getting married. She doesn’t need to seduce me at this point. I’m already all in."
“You make a good point,” Sal says.
The afternoon passes. We deal with business. Bruno finds leverage on the customs official. His sister with the abusive boyfriend. I give him permission to handle it. Do the customs official a favor. Through it all, I check my phone. Nothing.
By evening, I'm in a foul mood. I've sent four texts. She's read all of them. She's responded to none of them.
"Just get it over with and call her like a normal person," Bruno suggests.
"I'm not calling her."
"Why not?"
"Because if she wanted to talk to me, she'd respond to my texts."
"You're just going to sit here staring at your phone?"
I'm saved from responding by my phone actually buzzing. I grab it so fast I nearly drop it. A message from Liana. Finally. I open it.
Liana: Sorry for the late response. Been thinking about last night.
That's it. That's the whole message.
I stare at it. What does that mean? Thinking about it how? Good thinking? Bad thinking? Regretful thinking?
The three dots appear. She's typing.
Then they disappear.
I'm going to lose my mind.
Finally, a new message comes through.
Liana: We need to talk.