Chapter 7

7

ROMEO

T he pitch-black BMW arrives as the big hand strikes ten o’clock, not a single second late.

I’m impressed. Dante Vitorri didn’t strike me as the perfectly punctual sort. But when a scrawny, gray-haired guy gets out of the driver’s seat and opens the back door, I realize I’m probably right about that.

“Mr. Whitaker,” he says while his beady eyes scan our surroundings. No doubt using my fake name to keep up appearances until we’re gone. “I hope you had a pleasant evening.”

“I did. Yes, thank you,” I say as I pass him to take my seat.

I don’t have to look over to see someone next to me. We’re brushing against each other, and like me, he’s one big fucker.

“Romeo Valesca.” His voice sinks my heart into my guts.

“Don Lione,” I gulp. “Where’s Dante?”

How crazy is it for me to think in the short time that’s passed, the poor bastard met an untimely end? You can never be too sure when dealing with these savages.

“I gave him the night off. It almost feels wrong depriving his wife and child of his presence on a Saturday night,” Don Lione says. A mighty human response that leaves me with more questions than answers. “And since he was going to deliver you to my doorstep anyway, why not skip the middleman?”

“Sensible.” What else can I say?

The driver returns to his seat, and we start moving.

“Did you get what I was looking for?” Don Lione hasn’t moved since I got in the car. He keeps his head pinned forward while his tone remains unnervingly monotonous.

Luckily for me, after my extended visit to the bathroom, I did manage to find someone interesting to talk to. Some chick with a name like Cherry or Candice, or some other shit with C, spent enough time at the bar to loosen her tongue. We spoke for about an hour before her husband stepped in to reprimand her for making him look bad.

“All signs point to Billy Mayfair using his company to funnel vast amounts of wealth out of the country. First thought was offshore accounts to dodge the taxman, but…” Drunk chick C knew a hell of a lot more than I bargained for. I noticed it the second I saw her. She drank with purpose, wanted to wipe the slate clean and start tomorrow with an empty, peaceful mind. “He’s using his wealth to fund his own expansion out of civilian life and into this twisted world of ours.”

“I’m impressed. If I may be candid, I didn’t have high hopes for tonight. I pegged you for another meathead bruiser, and I’m glad I was mistaken,” he says. I’m not sure if I should feel complimented or slapped in the face. “But you’re wrong. Mayfair has no interest in diving into the seedy underbelly. Not directly.”

I don’t respond immediately, and I’m glad I held my tongue when Don Lione talks again.

“Cocaine, methamphetamine, and psychotropics are deemed criminal. Pour them into a white plastic bottle and give them a fancy name? You’re considered a hero for delivering life-saving drugs to the masses.” In a flash, Don Lione’s monotonous tone drops, and passion floods his words. “Wanna know what the best part is?”

“I do.” Not.

I still can’t tell if I’ve done a good job or not. I’m not a puppy seeking affirmation from my master, but I sure as shit would like to know he isn’t about to put a bullet in my head.

“Mayfair Pharmaceuticals leads the pack in these experimental medications,” he says. “And I’d like to say it’s because he’s cutting into my profit margin that has me feeling this way, but if I’m honest, I think I’m growing sentimental with age.”

I feel set up. They know way more about this than I gathered, and racking my brain for answers to why is forming a migraine at the base of my skull. I want to be upset, but I’m not.

I just want to know why.

“Don Lione, don’t take this the wrong way, but I’ve gotta know.” I clear my throat nervously before I dare ask the question. “If you knew all this, why bother sending me in?”

“To test you.” He tilts his head toward me. “You squeezed blood from a stone to get a tiny fraction of what’s happening.”

Until now, I didn’t even know it was a drug company. I really did luck out with finding … Charlotte! That’s her name.

“And with it, you’ve proven your competence.” The Don sniffs. “But do you have what it takes to do what I actually need from you?”

I should thank him for sending me on this bullshit adventure. Had he not felt the need to test me, I’d have never met Jess. And where I feel a little silly for not realizing I was being played sooner, I owe Don Lione a great debt.

Maybe someday, I’ll tell him.

“Ready for anything, Don Lione.”

Not true, but I’d rather lie to his face and walk away safely than die on a hill of morals.

“I want you to destroy them.”