Page 111 of Privilege

He had to.

Taking a left at the end of the block, Renzo came up on a familiar pizzeria that he’d visited on a few occasions. Well, truthfully, he’d met people in the back to do an exchange, or whatever the case may be. But he’d heard enough to know the place was owned by a close friend of a Marcello Capo. The guy let the family use the back rooms as a storage, when needed, and have their meetings if something else couldn’t be worked out.

Bill was his name.

And because of his connections to the Marcello family, even if it was just through affiliation, Renzo assumed the guy either had information about the family, or he knew a way to get it. Which was exactly what Renzo needed today. Plus, if the guy had connections, he knew how this life worked. He likely wouldn’t be willing to call the cops if Renzo made a bit of a scene to get what he wanted.

Or if he made some threats …

Inside the pizza joint, Renzo found the place wasn’t very busy. He expected that given it was only a little past ten in the morning. Most people weren’t all that interested in pizza in the morning, anyway. Soon, he expected the business would fill with the afternoon rush, but for now, this emptiness worked in his favor which was exactly why he chose to show up at this time. He dropped Diego off with a lady from the first floor of their apartment building who he knew needed some extra cash as she’d lost her job when her employer found out she was expecting her first child, and headed out before he’d even eaten breakfast.

Bypassing the tables, and the one server who was filling a guy’s glass with water, Renzo headed for the kitchen area. No one even noticed him slipping into the back. He knew where to go to find the owner of the place, and it wasn’t at the front. Whenever he visited the pizzeria, the owner was either in the back chatting with people, or shouting orders in the kitchen.

“Hey, you can’t be in here!”

“Who the hell are you?”

Renzo ignored the two cooks wiping down the metal surfaces, and picked up his pace when one of them looked like they were going to come around the counter at him. They could fucking try it, and see how well it worked out for them.

By all means …

Siding his hand into the back of his jacket, Renzo palmed the butt of his gun as he entered the back hallway from the kitchen. He already had the gun out, and racked back when he found the owner of the joint sitting behind his desk in a cramped office. The place looked like a goddamn hurricane had blown through it what with the paperwork that was strewn everywhere. Renzo put his attention where it counted—on the man behind the desk.

“Bill, right?” Renzo asked.

The older, balding man with a middle far too round to be healthy glanced up from the phone in his hand. His eyes widened when they fell on the gun that was pointed directly at his face. Renzo had stared down the barrel of a gun more than once, and it was not a fun experience.

“R-Renzo?”

Renzo smiled a little. “Didn’t think you would even remember my name given the handful of times I’ve been around this place, but hey, it’s good that you know. I don’t mind my name being passed around when you get it right. I need information, and you’re the guy who can help me to get it.”

Bill blinked, and his gaze drifted from the gun to Renzo. His hand twitched, and inched slightly to the right. Renzo didn’t miss it, or what it might mean.

“Know that if you pull a weapon on me, I will paint your fucking office with your brain matter.” Renzo nodded at the picture on the desk that had been turned to face the doorway. It showcased an older woman with blonde hair, and a young man sitting next to her on a bench. “That your wife and son?”

He didn’t know.

He was just guessing.

Given the way Bill’s hands dropped to the top of the desk, fully in view, Renzo assumed he had hit the nail right on the head with whoever that was in the pictures.

“What do you want?” Bill demanded.

“I told you—information.”

“About what?”

“Not what, who. The Marcellos. More specifically, Lucian Marcello, or better yet, his daughter, Lucia. I need you to get me information. Where they are, or what they’re doing. I need you to find all that shit out, and get it back to me. Preferably without you running off at the mouth about what you’re doing for me. Because if you do, I keep this gun loaded, and ready. Do you get me?”

The man just blinked.

Like a fucking idiot.

“Do you have a death wish?” Bill asked. “You don’t go around asking about the Marcello family, Renzo. You certainly don’t go around asking about one of the three brothers, or one of their daughters. Not if you don’t want them asking why you’re asking.”

Renzo smiled again in that cold way of his. “Well, that’s the thing, isn’t it, Bill? By all appearances, it won’t be me asking anything about Lucian, or his daughter. It’ll be you. They’ll want to know why you are asking, and they’ll come here for that information. By then, I’ll already either have what I want, or be long fucking gone. So, I guess you’re left with a couple of options, aren’t you?”

The man behind the desk swallowed hard. “And what options are those?”