turn in his chair to address my second-in-command. “How’s that for a fucking plan?”
Durante is the biggest of us, with a soft, doughy face that doesn’t match his hard eyes and his giant body. His voice is deep and his words come slow. “He might have a point. Why did we bring the Italians here if not to wage war?”
Maury nods. He’s an albino with discomfiting red eyes. He speaks with a heavy Italian accent, since he lived in Rome until a few years ago. He’s even smaller than Santo. “Soldiers need war. Or else they will find … other distractions.”
“The Albino is right,” Santo says. “War, boss, that’s what we need. A bloody, down-and-dirty fight.”
I sip my whiskey as the men turn to me, awaiting any further discussion. My father taught me how to hold council. The best leaders always let their men vent before they offer up their own instructions. A man can seem like he knows twice as much if he speaks half as often.
“Fergal Sweeney,” Durante mutters, popping his meaty knuckles. “The Elephant never forgets. I’ve always found that nickname slightly ludicrous. Who in our business does forget?”
Nario makes a grunting noise that might be a laugh. We share a look and I know he sees the anger that flares through me like wildfire even if none of the others do.
I remember the day Sweeney tore my life to pieces so vividly it could be playing out in the ornate golden mirror that overlooks us all. But I shut my mind to it.
“He won’t forget my Wesson in his nut sack, I promise you that,” Santo growls. “Let me have ’em, boss, you’ll see.”
I take a small sip of whiskey and lean forward. “I would like to hear what Nario thinks.”
My lieutenant pushes back from his place and walks over to the table. He stands with his hands behind him, far too thin, as though the weight of his responsibility is gnawing at his bones. I must let Mother cook him a meal soon.
“We have to be strategic,” he says. “It’s true that sending a message is important, but we must choose the right message. All-out war is not good for business. How loyal will our soldiers be if half our businesses are destroyed?”
“Have you given any more thought to what we discussed last night?” I ask him. I see the lieutenants exchanging looks and ignore it.
“I have,” he says.
“And is it possible?”
He nods. “It is, but risky.”
“Risk, I can accept. Certain failure, I can’t.”
“What is this?” Santo scowls. “I don’t much like being kept in the dark.”
Nario raises an eyebrow at me, asking for permission. I can see the Albino and Durante are curious, too. I pick up my whiskey glass and gesture with it, indicating that Nario should not tell them. The fewer people who know about this, the better, at least until it’s too late to change anything.
“All will be revealed soon,” Nario says, with a rare smile.
“How fucking mysterious,” Santo sighs.
I sip my whiskey, enjoying the scorching down my throat as I think about what Nario can’t say.
We’re going to kidnap Benjamin Sweeney, the Irish prince. Fergal’s son.
Part of being the don is being seen enjoying the harem and the club and the pleasures that come along with it. The decadence, so to speak. It gives the men permission to do the same.
The dance floor is a wide-open expanse with stages arranged all around, women dancing in bikinis, pumping their hips in the flashing strobe lights. Nario is the only one who doesn’t partake, since he is the rare mobster who is both married and also devoted to his wife. Durante, Santo, and the Albino need no encouragement. They quickly wrap their arms around harem girls and disappear into various booths and shadowy alcoves.
Nario and I sit in the booth at the back of the room. It is raised on a dais so that we can overlook the dance floor. The music is quieter up here because the walls are soundproofed, though the door is open so some noise still filters through.
“It’s a good night for business,” Nario says, indicating the floor, packed ass to ass with people.
“You always have your head in the right place.” I smile.
“Business, money, staying alive. These seem like smart preoccupations to me. Do you need me for the night, Carlo? I promised Sil and the children I would try to check in.”
“No. Go, be with your family. Say hello to Sil for me.”