Another volley of fireworks exploded in the pitch-black sky, illuminating the jumble of multicoloured houses that climbed up the hillside of Positano. The boy band signed napkins and made eyes at waitresses. Across the pool, Bruno Valsi ruffled his son's hair and kissed him goodnight. His wife Gina, the boy's nanny and an armed bodyguard the size of a garage took him away. His father didn't even look back as he joined the other men filtering into the brightly lit hotel.
The private dining room of the eighteenth-century palazzo had been electronically swept and declared clean of any listening devices. Armed Camorristi stood at every doorway. More sat in cars on the driveway and approach roads, pistols and sandwiches on their laps.
Inside the elegant dining room, gang boss Fredo Finelli chimed a spoon against a crystal champagne glass. The table had been laid for fourteen people, the most trusted and highly rewarded of the Finelli Family. To Don Fredo's right sat Salvatore 'The Snake' Giacomo, a strongly built, grey-faced man in his late forties. A man who for more than two decades had been Fredo's Luogotenente, his fixer and personal bodyguard. No one was quite sure whether his nickname had come from his association with the clan and its distinctive viper tattoo, or because he once chose to slowly and sadistically strangle a victim using a length of metal chain. On Fredo's other flank was his consigliere, his business and legal adviser, Ricardo Mazerelli. The forty-eight-year-old lawyer had been a senior official in the city's mayoral office until he'd lost his job during a rare but successful police clampdown on local authority corruption.
'Gentlemen, please fill your glasses,' commanded Fredo, 'for tonight there is much toasting and much celebrating to be done.'
Bruno Valsi sat at the opposite end of the table. He studied the faces of his fellow Camorristi, wondering how they felt about his return.
'The first of my toasts,' continued Fredo, 'is to loyalty. My father once told me that friendship is like silver but loyalty is like gold, and the years have proved him right. Gentlemen, your loyalty to our Family and ours to each other is golden; please raise your glasses in honour of our collective loyalty. Salute!'
Across the white linen tabletop Valsi joined in the responding chorus and noticed Ricardo Mazerelli's piercing blue eyes looking him over, assessing him for future reference. They both nodded amiably at each other, but neither broke their gaze until Don Fredo spoke again.
'Five years ago, my son-in-law Bruno showed the depth of his loyalty. He made a personal sacrifice to protect me and to protect this Family. That sacrifice cost him half a decade of his life. Today, he is returned to us and tonight we recognize that sacrifice and we reward it. Bruno, please come here.' The old man extended his hands. Valsi rose from his seat and walked towards the top of the table. Clapping broke out and became hard and tribal, the crowd timing their slaps to match Valsi's steps, then accelerating the rhythm into a crescendo as he and Finelli warmly embraced each other.
Finelli patted down the applause. 'In recognition of his loyalty to all of us, I am pleased to announce that Bruno Valsi is now elevated to the rank of Capo Zona.'
Again the applause rang out, harder and warmer. But Valsi could see coldness in the eyes of a few of the older soldiers. Being made Capo Zona meant you had a specific geographic region to exploit. You could raise money for the Family and take a healthy share for yourself. It also meant being given the chance to assemble your own crew, a sort of family within the Family, and this was what worried the older Camorristi.
Don Fredo was also watching. His expert eyes examined the other Capi: Angelico d'Arezzo, Giotto Fiorentino and Ambrogio Rotoletti. They were impassive. Their hearts and minds still needed winning. They were older, much older than Valsi, but they would give him a chance, albeit a small one. Finelli broke from his assessment and addressed them alclass="underline" 'Bruno Valsi will take over the Family's eastern sector, the one richest in what we call our entertainment business. These are the responsibilities that were carried out by Pepe Capucci, before his heart attack last month. Bruno has been given the right to assemble his own crew and he has told me he will announce who they are within the next few days. So, my Uomini d'Onore, my dear gentlemen of honour, please raise your glasses and toast the successful future of my son-in-law, Bruno Valsi, this Family's youngest ever Capo Zona.'
Chairs slid back, the men rose and held their glasses high. 'Salute, Bruno!'
Don Fredo embraced Valsi again and then clapped him as the toast finished. As the smiling Capo returned to his seat, Don Fredo added one final footnote to his speech, something he hadn't previously discussed with Valsi in the drive from Poggioreale jail. 'Bruno, I have another gift for you; something to help you with your new business interests.'
Valsi's smile slid away. In his line of business there was no such thing as a pleasant surprise.
Don Fredo extended his right arm and put his hand on the shoulder of Sal the Snake. 'Salvatore, my personal friend and loyal Luogotenente, has generously volunteered to join you in your new business team. He will help you establish yourself. I know his special experience and skills will ensure everything goes according to both our plans.'
6
Carnegie Hall, New York City Luciano Creed was still smiling when he slipped into the Starbucks next door to Carnegie Hall. Jack King had grudgingly relented and agreed to see him again. One more meeting – tomorrow, for one hour max – then they'd be done. Well, Creed was certain Jack wouldn't be done so quickly. The Italian took a double espresso and sat in the window to drink it. He enjoyed staring out of the big glass pane, watching people flood by.
Not people, just women. Men were mere flotsam.
King had been right; you could never judge people from the measly ten per cent that they showed in public. It's the ninety per cent of ourselves that we keep hidden that is most interesting.
Creed liked the idea of comparing himself to an iceberg. Cool. Surprising. Powerful. It summed him up perfectly. He ran King's lecture over in his head. It had been worth travelling over for. Well worth meeting the great Jack King. What was it that he had said that had most impressed him?
Thought, Feeling, Action – the three things to concentrate on. Creed let the words swim in his head. He was acting like most everyone else in Star-bucks, just sitting there getting warm, hiding from the bitter blizzard blowing outside. But right now he was thinking about how you would abduct and kill a woman.
His eyes settled on a petite blonde who'd stopped in front of the window. She was trying to find a cellphone ringing in her purse. Nice face. Nice shape. Easy prey.
Her long blue coat was tightly tailored, hugging her waist and flowing fashionably down to knee-length black boots. He imagined her naked but with the boots still on, his hands around her slender hips as he pressed her against him. Skin on skin. Skin on leather.
He was sure she would have a small tight ass and firm legs. An ass he'd want to slowly explore with his tiny bony fingers. Legs he'd love to run his tongue up and down before unzipping those boots.
Taste. Touch. See. FEEL.
Creed was already feeling, feeling fully aroused. He had to shuffle positions on his window seat to shake off the fantasy.
Thought, feeling, ACTION.