15. Chapter 9
Lorenzo
The Next Week
Father has barely been in the ground for a week and we’re already back to work. I don’t like it, but I know it’s what Father would want.
Until we rebuild Father’s house, Diamante operations are being run out of Giovanni’s place. Once he moves into Father’s house, we’ll move our headquarters back there, but for now, I’m stuck going there.
I have a little “home office” in his house where I can work, fully set up with the latest technology, all of it highly encrypted by the best black-market hackers on our payroll.
That little office is quickly bound to become one of my least favorite places on this planet, I decide after only a few days there. The office is as lifeless as it is cold, with an extra-powerful air conditioning vent pumping arctic air straight onto my desk like it’s got something to prove.
How nice.
I’ve noticed that people have all sorts of misconceptions about how the mafia works, while in reality it’s a lot like the business world.
We do many of our operations through legitimate-seeming shell companies, most of which are based along the water.
On paper, the Diamante Family isn’t a criminal syndicate so much as it’s a real estate dynasty that’s diversified a bit in recent years.
Most of the day-to-day work is honestly relatively boring, except that the things we’re dealing with, the “memos” that come across my desk, are often particularly brutal.
For instance, take what Carlo comes into my office to discuss, when I haven’t even finished my second cup of coffee.
“We’ve got to talk about the Hendricks matter,” he says, sliding a folder across my desk and sitting in the leather chair opposite me.
I take the folder and shift in my seat, trying to get away from the arctic blast. “What’s going on?”
Carlo folds his arms. I’ve known the consigliere since I was a baby, and to me he’ll always be Uncle Carlo, my best friend’s father, before he’s the senior counsel of our syndicate.
I can read his moods just about as well as I can read Pepe’s, and something’s been off with him since the fire.
I figure it’s probably just the signs of grief over losing my father—he and Massimo Diamante were as close as Pepe and I are. But maybe it’s something else.
I file that thought away for later—there are other things to worry about now. Like this Hendricks matter, whatever it is. Or the attractive firefighting twink in my apartment that I can’t stop thinking about.
“Hendricks Imports leases the warehouse on Terry Francois,” Carlo reminds me. “They’re three months behind on their rent.”
I glance through the folder. “Three months isn’t great, but it’s not unusual for them this time of year. Their cash flow is seasonal, right?”
“It is.” His voice lowers. “It’s not unusual. It’s the sort of thing that your father, may his soul find God, would’ve allowed with a warning.”
“I’m sensing a however.”
“However, your brother has already told Salvatore to look into it.” He hesitates. “And to rough up one of their accountants. Lives in an apartment by the docks. We keep close tabs on it.”
The coffee in my stomach sours. Salvatore is one of our most feared enforcers.
You don’t send Salvatore to ask questions nicely.
He’s a walking fist with two brain cells, one in his cock and one in his right hook.
If he’s going to deal with the Hendricks situation, it’s because someone isn’t going to walk away from that situation.
I close the folder. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Salvatore needs confirmation before he can act. From you.”
“Ah.” I pause, studying Carlo’s expression. He gives almost nothing away, but I know this man. I know what he values. I know what kind of organization we are, and what kind of organization he sometimes wants us to be. “What happens if that confirmation doesn’t get to Salvatore, somehow?”
Carlo shrugs. “There’s other things on his plate. He’ll go check those out, follow his other orders. He wouldn’t think to circle back until Giovanni mentions it again.”
I nod carefully. “I’ll have to think about whether or not to confirm this order for Salvatore. Understood?”
Carlo’s gaze flickers as he catches my meaning. “Understood. I’ll make sure to follow up with you…?”
“In a week.”
“Of course.”
An idea forms, and I know I can trust Carlo to understand what I want to do. “In the meantime, send one of our more discreet messengers to the Hendricks accountant. See if we can’t work something out that’s more…savory.”
I swear a flicker of appreciation flashes across Carlo’s face.
“Understood,” Carlo says. “Anything else?”
“No, that’ll be all.”
When he leaves my office, I pull out my phone and open the tracking app I installed.
I thought about slipping a tracker into Dashiell’s belongings, but decided that would be an invasion of his privacy in a way I couldn’t justify.
But I do have tracking on my car and on Wolfe, even though he’s normally with me.
According to the app, Wolfe has dropped Dashiell off at the fire station right on schedule, as he has every shift so far.
Every impulse I have tells me to go there, to make sure Dashiell’s okay on my own, but that’s not my job.
Wolfe can handle it. I wanted to make Wolfe stay there all day and keep an eye on Dashiell, but Wolfe very wisely reminded me that his job was to guard my body, not the body of my fake boyfriend.
Instead, I have an incognito car stationed across from the fire house, and some guys on my payroll who will stroll by every now and then to get a closer look at things. From what they’ve told me, everything is okay down there.
I just wish that made me feel better.