Mercenary (Gangsters of New York #3) - Bella Di Corte Page 0,81

in life. So you’re also telling me he’d be smart in death.”

“Whatever you’re thinking, let it die, Corrado. Your grandfather wanted you to leave it alone. Why can’t you?”

“You know as well as I do that the Scarpones never belonged in this life. They were fucking brutal, but that’s all they were. They were left in power too long because the commission decided not to touch them. The commission voted against my grandfather when he wanted Arturo removed. The Scarpones made money but let their men starve. They put family second. They wanted all of the money for themselves and the bloodshed for everyone else.”

“I agree,” Uncle Carmine said. “But what’s done is done.” He rubbed his hands together, like he was wiping them clean. “The commission voted, and Emilio listened. What else can you do in this life, Corrado? Rules. Rules. Rules. Are like bones, capisci? You break them and you weaken this thing of ours.

“That’s why Vito is where he is. You’re no better than him, Corrado. No one is better in this life, only smarter. I knew your grandfather for years. I’ve known you your entire life. You’re cagey, just as good as the old timers, and you’re too smart to waste it all on a ghost.” He paused. “Off the record. A ghost who deserves revenge.”

“What’s so fucking special about this bum?” Why did everyone like the motherfucker?

“Other than he probably lived years as a ghost in his own town?”

Yeah, I’d give him that. If it were true, which I tended to believe, he had pulled off something massive.

I’d seen parts of the motherfucker twice. Once at The Club, when he opened the door for the girl Mariposa and her friend, Kelly’s wife, and I saw his hand. A wolf tattoo on it. He closed the door right after. I would have been stupid to believe he left it open for me. I was a smart man, so I didn’t even try.

As I was leaving his restaurant, and the fuckers tried to lay me out like they had my grandfather—poetic justice and all that shit—a shooter took out one of the guys who had aimed for me. Then all hell broke loose with my men.

I’d gotten a glimpse of the extra shooter, though. That Machiavellian motherfucker with the wolf tattoo on his hand again. The Scarpones had them. It was their thing.

A knock came at the door, and I told the men to come in. My underboss came in first, Calcedonio Badalamenti, followed by Adriano and Baggio. The rest filed in after.

“So I says, ‘He’s like a fucking dog! He comes when I call him,’ and the motherfucker says, ‘Prove it!’ First the thing with my ma and her cooking. Now this?” Baggio was saying.

“I bet Gilberts comes when you put food out. That’s why I’d come,” Adriano said as they all shook my hand and Uncle Carmine’s, and then took a seat.

“It’s more than that,” Baggio said. “I’m tellin’ ya. He’s a fuckin’ genius fish.”

“Yeah, but does he like worms or flakes better?” Adriano said.

This fucking guy. I had considered making him my underboss, but after spending time with him in Sicily, I decided on Calcedonio. He was less food-motivated and more money-minded. And he was respected, which also meant he was feared.

But fuck me, no one was better with a gun than Adriano Lima. The men respected him, too. He just had to quit his obsessive relationship with food. Some of the men had recently started calling him Adriano Lima Bean.

The men all quieted down as I became quiet. Then we got to business. We discussed small matters first.

“Sammy Bravata.” Sal said. “He got picked up on some charges.”

“Take care of his family while he’s in,” I said. “Keep an eye on his businesses until he gets out.”

A few more of these went around. Then we got to one of the main points.

“Vito,” I said to Calcedonio. “Where are we?”

“He can’t make a fucking move without us knowing about it. He’s hiding out with his current goomah.”

I sat back in the chair, steepled my fingers, and set them over my mouth. “Baggio,” I said.

He nodded. “You got it, boss.”

“Get with Calcedonio on his location. It’s not going to be as easy as you think, but since he’s alone now, we only need him.”

“I’ll have more than one plan in play, Don Corrado,” Baggio said.

I nodded.

This wasn’t going to be an ordinary hit. I wanted Vito’s head on a stick and scorpions stuck in his