tentazioni, senza onore. Let them come. They do not frighten me. I just wish I was there when they attacked you at the house.”
“Yeah,” Durante grunts. The big man’s eyebrows furrow. “The fucking nerve of that. Nario Sartori’s fucking house. They must be crazy.”
I fold my hands on the desk. “I assume there have been no more Italian-Irish alliances since Santo met his unfortunate end?”
Maury chuckles viciously. “The message was sent loud and clear, Carlo.”
“Good. And what about the Elephant? A man like him, his footstep should be large, easily spotted. Any luck?”
Durante shakes his head. “No. He’s a ghost. Might be worth asking the man downstairs.”
“We’ll do that.” Nario raises an eyebrow at me. Now? he’s asking.
I nod, waving a hand at Maury and Durante. “I want word the second one of our men steps out of line with the Irish.”
“Yes, sir.” Maury nods, rising to his feet.
“I’m real glad they didn’t kill you, Carlo,” Durante says as he stands. “That would’ve pissed me the hell off. And you, Nario.”
Once the lieutenants have left, Nario paces over to the window, looking down on the club. The place is nearly empty, and silent, since it’s only late afternoon. Two days have passed since Hazel and I played Scrabble, and each minute makes it seem more like a dream. I let myself go—again. I let myself get close to her. It’s getting harder not to.
“All this fighting,” Nario mutters. “And for what? Do they really think they can beat us?” He turns to me, his expression fierce. He traces his scar with his finger, eyes full of meaning. “Does he really think we’ve forgotten, Carlo? That fucking day. Doesn’t he know that we’ll all gladly give our lives to see him burn?”
I walk across the office and pat him on the back. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” I say. “Come on. Let’s go visit the prince.”
“I remember when you were the prince,” Nario says as we head down through the club toward the basement. “Your old man used to call you that all the time. It’s funny, isn’t it, that you were once a baby?”
I give him a nudge. “You’re getting sentimental. Get your head in the game, man.”
He grins. “You’re right. Thinking too much isn’t good for men like us.”
I couldn’t agree with that more, except that even now, walking down the corridor toward the big electronic doors, part of my mind is lingering on Hazel. It’s like there’s been a split in my psyche. She’s always there, running on a treadmill in my mind.
Benjamin is sitting on the couch, playing PlayStation. Nario aims his pistol at him.
“You know the drill,” he says.
Benjamin splays his hands against the wall and stands with his legs apart. I go over to him, patting him down thoroughly, and then take him by the collar and lead him into the cell room. The invisible wall partition closes behind us.
“You know why we’re here,” I tell him. “You knew it was going to come to this eventually.”
“Where’s your father, Benjamin?” Nario asks. “Carlo wants to ask you nicely; thinks we’ll get more out of you that way. Me, see, I’d rather tie a rope around your balls and hang you from the ceiling.”
“You really think I can tell you where Daddy is?” Benjamins says, his eyes flitting all around the room.
“Yes, Benjamin,” Nario answers firmly. “We really fucking do. How are you liking that sweater? Isn’t that a fine sweater, Carlo?”
“What is that, cashmere?” I grab the collar and rub the fabric between thumb and forefinger. I do not like the way he flinches, but then again, I liked the look on Giorgio’s widow’s face even less. “That’s a beautiful sweater, if you ask me. It’d be a shame to get blood all over it.”
“That it would,” Nario snarls.
But something odd happens to Benjamin then. It’s like a switch has been flipped in his mind. He stares down between his legs for a long time, shaking slightly.
Nario and I exchange glances but all my second can do is shrug. He’s as confused as I am.
When Benjamin finally looks up, he’s got a wide, liquid smile on his face. Constantly shifting, he looks like something out of a horror movie.
“You’re trying to trick me,” he says, sounding pleased about it. “You think I’m scared. You think a PlayStation and a sweater and some fucking ravioli has made me weak. Do you have any idea who I am? I am the Elephant’s son. I have