Mafia Kings: Dario: Chapter 38

After the meeting, everyone was supposed to have lunch together – but no one could be bothered to keep up the charade of ‘one big happy family.’

Fausto said his goodbyes and promised to pass on any information that came his way. Aurelio just ignored us and got back in the Rolls Royce with his father.

As they drove away, Alessandra looked at me with wide eyes. “Was that… normal?”

I smiled grimly. “Things were different when my father was alive.”

“Although Aurelio was always a little prick,” Adriano said.

“More like a gigantic asshole who has a little prick,” Valentino muttered.

As we made our way to the patio for lunch, Niccolo asked Alessandra, “What did you think?”

“I don’t trust either of them.” She suddenly looked nervous, like she was afraid she shouldn’t have said it out loud. “…not to insult your uncle or cousin…”

“Insult away,” I said. “They did their fair share of insulting us.”

“Why don’t you trust them?” Niccolo asked her.

“Well… I’ve seen a lot of people pass through my father’s café. Most have been pleasant, but there are always difficult customers. Aurelio reminds me of the ones who are never satisfied. They walk in the door angry, and nothing you can say or do will win them over. They’re looking for a fight. And Fausto is like the overly friendly man who acts like your best friend to your face, but then you find all the packets of sugar and honey are missing after he’s gone. And he usually shortchanges you on the bill, as well.”

Niccolo burst out laughing, then turned to me. “I don’t think she could have described either of them more perfectly.”

“True,” I agreed.

Alessandra blushed and smiled at the praise.

“I want to discuss something with Dario for a moment,” Niccolo told her. “Go join the others for lunch, and we’ll be there in just a moment.”

She nodded, gave me a smile, and walked off towards the patio.

“What is it?” I asked.

“News came in about that priest and the lowlife at the church,” Niccolo said. “I literally got a text at the end of the meeting.”

“And?”

“Connections to the Oldani family,” Niccolo said.

The Oldanis were the most powerful crime family in Genoa, 150 miles from Florence. They had also employed Umberto Fumagalli, the man Lars had gunned down in Alessandra’s café.

“The timing’s suspicious,” I muttered, “coming right after Fausto’s speech about ‘find out who’s behind it all.’”

“Normally I would say yes, but the tip came from an old friend who wormed his way into Interpol,” Niccolo said. “Not even Fausto knows about him.”

“So the Genoans are after our territory…”

“The first wolves to show up after Papa’s death, it seems.”

“It still doesn’t explain why their lieutenant was at the café that night. Have you spoken to Alessandra’s father since then?”

Niccolo nodded. “I’ve called the café twice. He still swears he knows nothing.”

“So either it really was a coincidence…”

“…or the old man’s holding out,” Niccolo finished. “And his secrets are worse than letting his daughter be held captive.”

I shook my head. “What a mess.”

“You should have gotten the truth out of him before you started sleeping with his daughter. Now you’re emotionally involved.”

I scowled at him. “Watch yourself, consigliere.”

“I don’t want to say ‘I told you so’ – but I told you so. I don’t think we’ll be beating the truth out of him now.” Niccolo smirked. “After all, Alessandra might object.”

I just glared at him as we joined the others for lunch.