Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 88182 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88182 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
“Any chance I can convince you to stay in the car?”
“None whatsoever.”
“Something bad might happen tonight.”
Her grip on my arm tightens. “I know, but I don’t care. We’re in this together now, and this is what you wanted, right?”
I nod. Fontana’s house. His home base, his actual address. I stared out the window the whole drive here, memorizing street signs. I keep running through the route in my head to make sure I won’t lose anything and I already dropped a location pin in my phone’s mapping software.
What I don’t understand is why he’s trusting me now.
Fontana himself answers the door. He seems like he’s in a good mood. He shakes my hand and welcomes us both warmly. His wife is a dour older woman but even she manages to seem engaged. The only surprise is Marco Carbone sitting in the dining room drinking wine with that default scowl.
“Please, sit and have something to eat. I’d say my wife slaved away for hours, but—“
“I made some phone calls and had it all delivered. I’d say that still counts as working hard.” She laughs at her own joke and fills her glass to the brim with prosecco.
“Mr. Spadaro. Mrs. Spadaro.” Carbone nods between us, not standing in greeting. “I’m glad you came.”
He says that last while staring right at Deanna.
A flare of anger slides into my guts but I force myself to ignore him. Fontana holds court, talking about the area mostly, complaining about property taxes and local school districts and politicians he doesn’t like. He moans about the postal system and says his neighbors are all idiots and thieves.
“I’ll be honest, after what happened at our last meeting, I didn’t expect to see you again so soon.” I do my best to stay relaxed but it isn’t easy. Fontana’s wife is chatting away at Deanna, acting like they’re best of friends.
Fontana waves that away. “In my business, these things happen.”
“Still, you’ve insulated yourself from all that.”
“Yes, it helps to be paranoid these days.” He says it slowly and carefully as he touches the rim of his glass. “Tell me something, Prime. You’ve been in our business a long time, haven’t you?”
“For most of my life.”
“How many old men do you know still doing what we do?”
“Not many,” I admit. “And even fewer of them stay sharp.”
“That’s the ticket there, isn’t it?” Fontana leans forward, talking softly. “Staying sharp. Our business is filled with sharks. Younger, hungrier, more violent sharks, and it feels like there are a thousand of them appearing every year. It’s a constant fight, keeping them from my door. Any number of upstarts would gladly cut my throat to take what’s mine, but I find the struggle is a part of the game. It keeps me on top, because the moment I get complacent, the moment I let it slip—“ He slides his dinner knife across his throat and makes a gagging sound.
“Darling!” His wife covers her mouth. “Don’t be so crude!”
Fontana howls with laughter. I do my best to grin along. Carbone shows no humor, the lizard.
“Actually, dear, would you mind giving us old men a moment to talk real numbers?”
“Not at all.” His wife stands and offers Deanna her hand. “Shall we ladies retreat?”
“Actually—“ Fontana waves his wife back. “The girl stays.”
His wife frowns but shrugs primly. “Well, I know where I’m not wanted.” She winks at Deanna and walks out. “See you boys—and girls—very soon!”
Silence falls over the table as Fontana refills his glass. I touch Deanna’s hand to steady her. Carbone eyes his fork as though it’s about to start singing and dancing. After an agonizing minute, Fontana settles himself and studies me.
“Sharks, Prime.” He thumps a hand on the table. “That’s what I was talking about. Sharks everywhere. Would you consider yourself a shark?”
“Back in the days, when I was younger, I would’ve said yes.”
“Not anymore?”
“No, Mr. Fontana. I’m not a shark anymore.”
“What are you, then?”
I consider lunging across the table. I think I could get my knife in his throat before Carbone could shoot me. The old bastard would die, but there’s no doubt I’d go with him, and no guarantee Deanna wouldn’t follow. That’s the only thing holding me back: I’m prepared to bleed for my revenge, but I’m not going to drag her to hell with me.
“I’m Prime, that’s all.”
Fontana’s chuckle is low and humorless. “No, I don’t think so. To me, you’re more like a snake.” He hisses, showing old teeth. “You’re a snake with wonderful real estate.”
“Are we discussing business now or are you naming everyone’s spirit animal?”
“Shut your mouth,” Carbone snaps.
Fontana acts as though his lieutenant didn’t interrupt. “I’ve looked everywhere in this city, under every rock, snooped on every low-level gangster and mighty kingpin, and do you know what I found? Your parking lots are some of the most efficient money-makers around. They launder, they help move goods, they facilitate meetings. They’re the perfect cover, and somehow, they’re under your control. It’s maddening, because I’m a shark too, Prime, and sharks must keep swimming to breathe. That’s always been my problem. If I let the outfit stagnate, bad things happen, and I much prefer my comforts these days.”