to a room in the building. Second floor. He’d meet us there in a minute.
One of the guards opened the door for us before we were even there. It could only be opened from the inside, and when the door closed, it shut flush with the wall. Unless someone opened it, it didn’t exist.
We were led to a floor with less people. A more exclusive area. The music was subdued. The furniture was richer. The men sitting around smoked expensive cigars and drank fine liquor. I recognized a few famous athletes and some politicians.
The guard opened a door off a hallway, and Rocco Fausti stood at the one-way mirrored wall, looking out over the dance floor.
“Take your seats, gentlemen,” he said. “My fratello will be here shortly.”
We were offered cigars and an assortment of liquor that back in the day would have only been offered to dignitaries and gentlemen of substance.
I declined the drink but accepted the cigar. The three of us took seats on regal chairs at a table fit for a king. The guard delivered the cigars and the drinks Calcedonio and Nunzio had ordered. He set down a bottle of Amaro and a chilled cup for me.
Yeah, Macchiavello was fucking with me.
I’d drink to that. I was fucking with him, too. I raised my glass and grinned. Saluti, motherfucker. Then I downed the drink.
My eyes met Rocco’s when I set the glass down. He was eyeing me through the mirror. I wasn’t looking away. We’d stare at each other until the world fucking ended.
The door opened and Tito Sala walked in, breaking the reflection into three.
“Why this place?” Tito was complaining. “Every time I come here, two women decide to make me into a Tito sandwich, nephew!”
Romeo’s laughter was raspy. “That is because you are an old gangster. An original.” He squeezed Tito on the shoulder. “The donne see a man dressed as nice as you. Such style.” He whistled. “They all want a piece of you.”
Tito fixed his collar. “I do have a certain charm,” he said. Then he cleared his throat. “That is beside the point! It is late and I have other obligations.”
“Such as staying at home with zia and watching I Love Lucy reruns?” Romeo laughed again and took a seat closer to where Rocco would sit. Even though we were tight, he still had a side. I had my family, and he had his.
Tito slapped him behind his head. “I will be watching when you are my age from above, and I will be laughing.” He gave a fake laugh. “I outmatch all of you in energy now, and I was born long before all of you ragazzi knew how to use a pot!”
He took a seat in the middle of the table—the old gangster would be judge and jury for this sit-down.
He fixed his glasses and then looked at the three of us. “Ragazzi.” Boys. He nodded. “Do you have anything to add to this conversation?”
“Tito.” I nodded back and lifted my hands. “Not at the moment.”
“Bene,” he said. “Let’s get started.”
Rocco looked at this watch, and at the same time, Guido Fausti came in the room. Once he took his seat, the meeting would begin.
Our formations were the same. Rocco on one side—a man on each side of him. I was at the other—a man on each side of me. Tito sat in the middle.
“Let us be sure the reason for this meeting is clear before we get started,” Tito said, sitting forward some, steepling his fingers. “Corrado, you requested this sit-down tonight because you feel as if Rocco has disrespected you.”
“He has,” I said, keeping my eyes on the accused. “Rocco sent my man here—” I nodded toward Nunzio “—away when my wife was out to eat with friends and family at Macchiavello’s. My men are never alone with my wife. My rules.” I tapped on the table once. “So tell me this. Is Rocco Fausti above the rules I set for my own family? And this is not even business. This is personal. My wife is my wife.” I touched my chest.
I didn’t bring the issue up with her because she hadn’t mentioned it. It ate at me like fucking acid that she hadn’t, but my real problem was with him. I knew that look in his eye because I had seen it before. When Rocco Fausti wanted a woman, he made it his mission to have her.
He had women all over the world and one at home.