Page 112 of Privilege

“Simple. One, you refuse and I kill you right here and now. I will move onto someone else to get the information I want. Or two, you start making some phone calls … or maybe you call some people in who are stupid enough that they won’t give a shit if you ask some questions. You make sure you’re careful, so the Marcellos don’t know it’s you asking about them and their business. Then, you pass the information off to me, and you can go back to yelling at your cooks, and getting paid dirty money to overlook the crates of cocaine they keep stashed in the back room.”

Renzo tipped his gun to the side a bit, amused at how Bill’s eyes followed the weapon carefully. “See, then if you’re careful, you won’t have them coming back on you. You can go back to what you were doing before like this never even happened. And I expect you to do that, because if you ever even breathe my name to someone, it won’t just be you I come back for, Bill.”

He glanced at the picture on the desk to make his point clear before adding, “I mean, it’s your choice. If you need a bit to think about it and choose, I apparently have all the time in the world. I don’t mind waiting.”

“You’re asking for trouble, Renzo.”

Not really.

This wasn’t trouble.

Trouble found him months ago.

Trouble’s name is Lucia.

And he loved her to fucking death.

• • •

Patience, as Renzo had come to learn over his lifetime, paid off for everyone who was willing to wait long enough to get what they wanted. It took Bill three entire days to come up with some kind of useable information for Renzo, but damn, when that information really came through, it couldn’t have been better.

Lucian Marcello apparently did most of his business in a restaurant he owned in upper Manhattan. Of course, Renzo wasn’t at all surprised that he’d never even heard of the business’s name before considering he probably couldn’t afford to fucking eat there, and the one time he’d made a trip into upper Manhattan was to do an exchange with a guy who was hanging out of the back of a high class bar. The alleyway smelled like shit, though.

He never forgot that.

Nonetheless, the information Bill got about Lucian’s favorite spot to dine, work, and basically do everything else while he was in the city meant the man spent a hell of a lot of time there. On weekends, his family tended to join him, as well.

It was a fucking long shot.

Renzo had no reason to believe that Lucia might be at the restaurant just because he knew her father was likely to be there. But he also wouldn’t ever know if he didn’t make his way over, and try to find out. Besides, he wasn’t really going there for Lucian. He was going there because he knew one way or the other, Lucia would find out he showed up, and asked about her.

That’s all he needed.

For her to know.

Renzo was going to pay the pizzeria owner back by literally never stepping foot near the guy’s business again. It was his guarantee. After all, hadn’t the guy done enough for him? He figured so.

As he came closer to the restaurant in question, Renzo pulled his phone out of his pocket, and checked the time. A little after eleven in the afternoon, which meant, no doubt … at least Lucian would be at the restaurant. But given it was the weekend, it was also very possible that the man’s family might be there, too.

Stuffing the phone back in its spot, he pulled the cigarette from behind his ear, and the lighter out of the breast pocket of his leather jacket. Lighting it up, he took a heavy drag as he came to stand just in front of the business. On one side, he noticed wide windows that showcased regular diners. On the other side of the gold-plated doors was a wall of mirrored glass—also windows, he knew, but he just couldn’t see inside.

Parked on the curb, still running, was a black Mercedes. Inside the driver’s seat, Renzo found a man chatting on his cell phone, and not paying him any mind, God knew he’d seen enough black cars with inconspicuous drivers dropping shit off to him over the years to know that was a Capo’s car.

Or … a Marcello.

Perfect.

The best way to get someone’s attention inside was to get the attention of whoever was watching the outside. Because that was the thing about these people … someone was always watching their backs. They didn’t get to the top alone.

Settling himself with a breath, because it was fucking now or never, he supposed, Renzo stepped up to the running vehicle, and leaned against the back. He didn’t do anything but stand there and smoke his cigarette. He didn’t even stare at the guy inside the car, or at the business in front of him.

Frankly, the ground seemed more interesting.

It took the guy inside the car all of two seconds to realize someone was touching the car. He got out with a scowl already in place, and looking like he was built to be a linebacker on a football field. That didn’t bother Renzo a bit, though. He’d figured out that the bigger someone was, the harder they fell when they came for him.

“Hey, move your fucking ass, cafone,” the guy barked.

Renzo passed him a dismissive look. “Lucian inside?”