Vittore sat back in his chair. ‘Surely you’re not suggesting there was something suspicious about this man’s death?’ he asked.
‘I’m not suggesting anything. I’m stating a fact. Simon Collins wouldn’t kill himself. Now on to Daisy, and you showing up with your boys when she goes to her ex-husband’s place to pay her respects, trying to frighten her – I’m really upset about this, Mr Danieri, very upset.’
‘Oh, you are?’ said Vittore.
Kit nodded. ‘I am. OK, so I may have stepped on your toes a little-’
‘A little?’ Vittore was smiling. ‘No. A lot. You offended me deeply, Mr Miller, turning up at my brother’s funeral like you did.’
‘I realize that. But we’re both reasonable men, business men. Let’s cool this down a bit, eh?’
‘Cool it down? When you behave as you do, when the rumours on the street are so strong about who was behind my beloved brother’s death? Have you heard those rumours, Mr Miller?’
Kit shook his head. ‘Tito had plenty of enemies.’
‘Yeah. He did. You were one of them, you made that obvious. So now I’m wondering, were you the one who took Tito from us, his family?’
‘Tito’s gone,’ said Kit. ‘My ex-brother-in-law is gone. These are sad times for both our families. But if that’s your view, then maybe we can say that we’re even. That enough’s enough.’
This time it was Vittore’s turn to shake his head. ‘No, Mr Miller.’
Kit stared at him. ‘No?’
‘Let’s wrap this up, shall we?’ Vittore stood up and leaned both hands, palms down, on the desk’s tooled leather surface. His eyes gleamed with fury and the thin veneer of civility dropped away like a discarded mask. ‘You shitting me, coming here? You think I give a fuck about anything you and your tribe are going through? My family concerns me. Mine. And you’ve insulted them and maybe worse, who knows? What I do know is that you’re a dead man walking.’
Kit stood up too. He leaned in on the other side of the desk. Smiled thinly.
‘I’m trying to be the bigger man here,’ he said.
‘You? You fucking schifoso!’ yelled Vittore suddenly. ‘Get the fuck out of my club!’
‘Yeah. I will,’ said Kit, and snatched up the letter-opener and thumped it down, skewering Vittore’s hand to the desk.
55
‘Leave the bottle,’ Bianca told the barman over the heavy thrum of the music in Vito’s. Her friend Shula, who she’d known since school, was there with her at the bar for another night of fun, drink and dance. She was going to enjoy herself tonight if it bloody well killed her.
The barman poured champagne into two flutes, and left the bottle just like Bianca said. Shula was looking around, spying out the eye candy. Bianca couldn’t bring herself to bother. She grabbed the flute and drank down the bubbly, then poured another.
‘Steady with that,’ shouted Shula, leaning forward to make herself heard. ‘We got all night.’
Oh, and why didn’t that prospect fill her with excitement like it used to? Now the thought of an all-nighter was utterly bloody tedious and pointless.
Stop it, you miserable bitch, Bianca told herself sternly. Enjoy yourself.
She was determined to do that. She would do that.
‘Jesus, what happened to him?’ asked Shula, pointing out Donato further down the bar.
Bianca looked. All the boys called him Pizza Face now, and word was that Fabio had given him both a bad limp and a face-full of cigarette burns when he’d been stupid enough to bring him bad news. Nevertheless, gang loyalty ran deep. Donato was still here, still serving the family.
‘Dunno,’ she said, uninterested.
‘Dance?’ suggested Shula.
‘Not yet,’ said Bianca, and caught the exasperation in Shula’s eyes. She knew she was being a pain in the arse, but somehow she couldn’t seem to stop. She downed the second glass of champagne. It didn’t cheer her up, though. She poured another and brought it to her lips.
Then she froze.
There was a commotion on the stairs near the far end of the bar. Men were coming down, practically wrestling each other down the stairs – a big chunky blond bloke and Jay, her brother’s right-hand man, shouting and screaming, and…
‘Hey! Watch it!’ said Shula as Bianca’s hand twitched in shock, spilling champagne over Shula’s lap.
It was Tony Mobley. Jay had managed to grab him halfway down the stairs and they were yelling at each other. The blond one ran up a couple of steps and punched Jay in the head. Jay fell, and then Tony and the blond came on down and walked through the surging unconcerned crowds to the front of the club.
Bianca jumped to her feet. ‘Tony!’ she shouted.
He walked on; didn’t hear her.
‘Fuck’s sake…’ Bianca was hurrying after the two men now, going out to the front of the club, looking at the doormen. Damn it, he was gone.
‘Well, that was bloody clever,’ said Rob as he and Kit hurried back to the car. ‘Talk, you said. Cool things down, you said.’
‘Shut up,’ said Kit. All right, he’d lost it. He knew he’d lost it, he didn’t need that pointing out to him. But there was something about that ugly, self-satisfied smirk on Vittore’s face that had made him want to wipe it off.
Well, he’d done that.
Not very bloody clever at all. Rob was right.
Instead of rejoining Shula at the bar, Bianca made her way up to the office. Inside she found a scene of chaos: Vittore was behind the desk, his face ashen, clutching a bloody handkerchief to his left hand. He was cursing in Italian. Pizza-faced Donato had come up to see what was occurring, and Jay was standing over Vittore, saying they’d better get him to the hospital, get that cleaned up.
‘What’s going on?’ she asked. ‘What happened to your hand?’
‘Fucker Miller put the paper knife through it,’ said Vittore, grimacing with pain.
Bianca’s mouth was working but no sound was coming out. She looked at the newspaper on the desk, the paper knife, the smear of blood there. Then she thought, Tony was up here.
‘I saw two men go through the bar. Jay came down the stairs with them. I think I know one of them, Tony Mobley…’
‘You’re mistaken,’ said Vittore through clenched teeth. He staggered to his feet, cradling his injured hand. ‘Kit Miller was here with one of his crew.’
Bianca frowned. This was bad news. Tony could be one of Kit Miller’s mob. This was terrible news.
‘That big blond guy, that’s Kit Miller?’ she asked.
Jay was staring at her. ‘No. Miller’s the dark one.’ He shifted his attention back to his boss. ‘Come on, let’s get you sorted out,’ he said.
They pushed past Bianca. She stood there in the office after they’d gone, frozen and filled with horror and not wanting to believe it as the truth hit her like a runaway truck.
Miller’s the dark one.
But she’d seen Tony Mobley. She hadn’t been mistaken. That was him.
Only it wasn’t him. He must have lied to her, given her a false name. Because he was Kit Miller. Her family’s arch enemy.
He was the one who had turned up at Tito’s funeral, after she’d gone home, and laughed at her beloved brother’s death. A lot of people were saying he was the one who killed Tito in the first place.
Bianca felt the strength go out of her legs. She slumped forward, supporting herself against the desk. The world was spinning and her head hummed with the shock of it. She couldn’t begin to believe it, but… if Tony was Kit Miller, had he targeted her deliberately? Had this all been part of his feud with her family, that he would screw the sister, maybe laugh about it among his friends, tell them he had fucked Bianca Danieri, fed her all sorts of bullshit, given her a false name, fooled her completely?