26. Michelangelo

Penelope and I said goodbye at the town house. I’d insisted on it, knowing we’d both be emotional regardless of where we were. I wish I could tell her when we’d see each other again, but I had no idea. The thought it could be months wrenched my heart.

Once on the plane, I was grateful for the window seat I was assigned. While it was unlikely I’d sleep, I could feign it easier there than on the aisle.

I shut my eyes almost as soon as I was seated and thought about my conversation with my father. As would be expected, he’d started off hostile when he arrived at Pen’s town house. When I immediately apologized and explained in depth why, he relaxed and let his guard down. I shared about the work I’d done while in prison to let go of my resentment and how important it was for me to continue being mindful when those feelings crept in.

The thing I admired the most was he hadn’t blamed my mother. He’d explained years ago that he respected her wishes not to divulge he was my father and hadn’t brought it up again.

Lastly, we talked about the job I was doing for K19 Security Solutions. He admitted not being happy about it, but also said he understood why I felt I had to, particularly given Tara’s gallery had been affected.

“Until this is over, I cannot commit to anything in regard to Emsworth,” I said. “To be completely frank, I’m not sure how much of a commitment I can make once I return.”

He’d accepted that as well, asking only that I keep the lines of communication open.

As well as that went, I didn’t delude myself into thinking he wouldn’t be an asshole about it down the road or that he and I would ever have a close relationship. Clearing the air, though, had felt really good.

Proposing to Penelope and hearing her say she’d marry me, though, was the thing that kept me buoyed, hopeful, and determined to get in and out as quickly as I could.

Admittedly, knowing Typhon’s role with the Sicilians and that he’d go in with me offered some reassurance. Like with my father, I wasn’t naive enough to think it meant neither of us would be in danger. On the contrary, the more of us who infiltrated the crime syndicate, the greater the risk for discovery.

I’d read the briefs I received from Nemesis as they came in, but not in depth since my focus was solely on Penelope. And, since I was in the back row of first class with no one seated beside me, I took the opportunity to read them again.

There was nothing new in them in regard to the coalition’s primary investigation, and honestly, I knew far more about the environment I’d be walking into than Nemesis did. I still respected her as well as her expertise, but until you actually infiltrated or even worked with any of the mafia organizations as closely as I had, it was impossible to intuit how it would actually feel.

While Typhon hadn’t prepared briefs like Nemesis had, the information he sent over was helpful. The same don, Gerlando Battaglia, still led the Sicilian Syndicate. His consigliere was a man I had never met, but whose name I recognized. The underboss had been replaced, as had one of the four capos. Typhon hadn’t named the soldiers or associates, but I suspected there had been a high turnover with them, just given it appeared widely accepted that the Calabrians were now considered the more powerful of the two families.

For me, that meant the family would be anxious to reclaim as much territory as they could, as fast as they could. Forged art meant quick cash with less risk than moving drugs or weapons. I would guess the same would be true for human trafficking.

The quickest way to raise funds had always been and would always be extortion. The more money the organization needed, the higher the required payments for protection would be. The risk then was that the territory might turn to another syndicate willing to take less for protection. It was like any other competitive business environment, except with the mafia, instead of fired, the head of that region was killed.

I’d been in the presence of Don Battaglia only once, and while one of my objectives was to get as much dirt on his family as I could, I didn’t look forward to dealing with him.

It was said Battaglia had perfected what he called the Macellaio—translation butcher—Method.

After one crew member shot the victim, another quickly wrapped a towel around the bullet wound at the same time yet another stabbed the victim in the heart to stop blood flow.

The deceased would then be moved to a bathtub, where Battaglia, and later his henchmen, carved, sawed, and chopped the body up before it was packed into boxes and dumped.

After I’d heard the stories, I couldn’t help but picture him as the “butcher,” which made it hard to hide my fear, thus breaking the most important rule when dealing with anyone in the organization.

I eventually drifted to sleep, but woke with a start when I swore I heard the sound of a chain saw.

Upon landing at Heathrow,I received a message from Blackjack saying he was my transport to Shere. Once there, I’d be informed of the details of the next part of our journey to Italy.

We’d just gone through the compound’s gate when my mobile rang with a call from Typhon. “I planned my arrival so I’d get to Shere thirty minutes after you did. Get your meetings out of the way with Nemesis. Once you have, I’ll brief you, Tank, and Blackjack on what is going to happen instead.”

“Roger that,” I responded a second before the call ended.

“I got the same call,” said Blackjack, glancing over at me.

“How do you feel about it?”

He shrugged. “As far as I’m concerned, Typhon is the commander of this particular mission. I’ll follow Nem’s orders up until the two conflict. Not that different than any other op I’ve been a part of.”

“My experience is vastly different.” I turned and looked out the passenger window, fearing I was in way over my head.

“Listen, without you, this whole thing is a no-go. Sure, Typhon has his ins with the crime families, but you’re the rainmaker. They pay him money while you make it for them.”

I supposed he was right; however, I knew as well as anyone that my head was not as in the game as it should be.

As Blackjack said, Typhon was the commander of the mission, which Nemesis reinforced. It aggravated her annoyance that the man was thirty minutes late to the briefing she’d scheduled.

Whether Tank had received a call similar to the ones Blackjack and I had, I couldn’t say. However, none of the three of us confessed knowing when he planned to arrive.

When Typhon did show up, the first thing he did was ask Nem if she was finished. When she said she was, he requested Tank, Blackjack, and me to join him in the solarium.

The coalition commander’s mouth gaped. “Typhon, you cannot be serious.”

“I was unaware you wished to be included.”

Her face turned red, and she clenched her fists at her sides. “A moment, please.”

Rather than go into the solarium, she led him into the library and closed the door. When they came out a few minutes later, Typhon walked toward us while Nemesis went in the opposite direction.

“Let’s go,” he said, motioning us in the direction of the front door. I’d dropped my bag in the foyer when I came in, anticipating we’d fly out today. It appeared Tank and Blackjack had too.

“Hey, Typhon,” we heard Ares shout just as we were getting in the SUV.

Typhon, who got behind the wheel, ignored him.

“We’ll have plenty of time to chat on the plane. My brief was short, anyway. Brand, have you prepared anything?”

“Not formally.”

Typhon laughed. “My favorite kind. Informal, without all the bullshit.”

“Tank and Blackjack, as you read in my preliminary report, the two of you will act as my bodyguards and speak only when spoken to by me. Only Brand and I will interact directly with either family. If anyone interacts with you directly, look to me, and I’ll handle it. Otherwise, use regular secure communication channels. From this moment on, I am Benito Carpinelli, and he is Brando Ripa. Understood?”

Both men voiced their agreement.

“As far as your boss is concerned?—”

“You’re the boss for this mission,” Tank—the only man close in size to Typhon—interjected. “Ares is as clear on that as everyone else.”

Typhon glanced over at me and smirked. “Nem might not agree, but as you can tell, I don’t give a shit.”

I had no intention of getting mixed up in whatever disagreements the two had. I wasn’t a member of the coalition nor MI6. Once my job was complete, I was out. I’d made my wishes clear to Doc and Merrigan, adding that I would take on all assignments they gave me.

During the three-hour flight,I talked about my previous interactions with the Sicilian Syndicate as well as everything that had gone down with the Calabrians.

“My expectation when you have the goods on their rivals is Prince will do everything he can to get you to make rain for them,” said Typhon.

If my life depended on choosing one syndicate or another to become an official member of, I’d most likely choose death. If that wasn’t an option, I’d go with the Calabrians. Valerio Scaglione aka Prince seemed the lesser of two evils. He should’ve killed me for the scam I’d pulled on him, but he didn’t.

Gerlando Battaglia aka Macellaio would’ve chopped my body into pieces to be boxed up and sent to my family. Which is exactly what would happen to me if the Sicilian figured out I wasn’t an independent art forger anymore or that I was working with law enforcement.

“Gentlemen, please excuse us,” Typhon said to Tank and Blackjack. “Second thoughts?” he asked once they were near the rear of the private plane SIS had made available to us.

“I wouldn’t put it that way.”

He studied me but didn’t speak.

“The stakes are higher. Five years ago, I didn’t give a shit what happened to myself or anyone else. At least not until Tara got involved. Back then, it was all about destroying my father. If the same happened to me while I was at it, I told myself I didn’t care.”

“Now, there’s Penelope.”

“Not just her. I spent four years in prison, figuring out my shit. Growing up. Realizing I want a different kind of life. Yeah, one that includes love, but more than that. I want a sense of purpose.”

“Doc Butler gave it to you.”

“That’s right. And where am I? About to walk straight back into my old way of living. Except now, as I said, the stakes are higher. If Battaglia gets wind of who I am, I’m a dead man.”

“I won’t allow that to happen. Why do you think I stepped in?”

I cocked my head. “I have no bloody idea.”

“There is a fuck of a lot at stake here, Ripa. Your role amounts to a flea on a dog. If that flea messes up, the ramifications are farther reaching than you can imagine. I will not let you fail. I will not allow it.”

“Why risk it?” I asked.

“Time. You can get what we need to escalate the war between the syndicates more quickly than anyone else. Once their focus is on each other, we move in and finish them. Now, I ask you, can you come through for us?”

I thought about my answer before I gave it. It was Sundance’s voice I heard inside my head more than my own. “You did it before. Then it didn’t matter. Now, it does,” he’d say on days when he pushed me further than I thought I could go. “You can do this, Ripa,” he’d shout, and every time, I did.

“Yes. I can.”

He nodded. “I knew it. I just needed you to.”

When we departedthe plane and walked across the tarmac to a waiting SUV, I was surprised to see a man I knew. Although I shouldn’t have been. I’d heard Maximo De Rossi was promoted to the head of the Italian Civil Aviation Authority. He probably had access to private plane passenger manifests.

“Welcome home,” he said, meeting Typhon and me midway.

“Maximo, it’s great to see you. This is an associate of mine, Benito Carpinelli.”

“Ciao,”Typhon said in a perfect Italian accent.

Max’s eyes scrunched as they shook hands as though he was trying to place him. “You’re back for good?” he turned to me and asked.

“I am,” I said, bowing slightly. “Although I expected to run into you in Florence or Milan. Not Tropea.”

“I get around, you know?” He put his hand on my shoulder. “Brand and I spent many nights out—how do you say—carousing?”

I chuckled.

“I look forward to continuing our escapades. Perhaps Benito would like to join us?”

“Perhaps,” Typhon responded, looking beyond Maximo to a black SUV pulling up on the tarmac. “Our ride has arrived.”

“Off so soon? What a shame.”

“See you, Max.” I waved behind me as we walked to the waiting vehicle. Tank, who looked every bit the part of a bodyguard, got out and opened the back passenger door. I went around to the opposite side, and Blackjack did the same for me.

“Interesting guy,” Typhon commented as we drove out the gates of the airfield. He was studying something on his phone. “Is he connected to the Sicilians?”

“Not that I’m aware of. I met him in Florence one day when I was sitting at an outdoor table, sketching.”

“Purely coincidental?”

“That’s right,” I responded, wondering if it actually had been. “He didn’t give me the impression he was connected to any of the families.”

“A person doesn’t get a job like the one he has without mob connections.”

He made a good point.

My first challengecame the next morning, when I found myself face-to-face with Macellaio.

“The maestro returns,” he sneered more than said.

The feeling of dread that had been building over the course of the last few weeks became almost debilitating. My gut told me that, somehow, this man would be responsible for my demise.