Chapter 128
128
Idrove to Mensano alone, using Google Maps to guide me through the dark countryside.
Dario suggested having one of our foot soldiers drive the car, but I declined. If I got caught like in Lake Como, I didn’t want to drag anyone else down with me.
I took one of the bulletproof Mercedes. The man who oversaw the garage switched out the license plates with fakes so any eyewitnesses would identify the wrong car.
I was halfway to Mensano when I received a text from Niccolo.
Our guy says your friend is at a café on the way.
Single building on the south side of the road.
He says you’ll see the car out front – it’s the only one there.
As I approached my destination, I kept my eyes on the south side of the road.
Sure enough, a two-story building appeared out of the darkness a half mile from Mensano. It was made of stone and mortar, a rough-hewn structure at least two centuries old. I could tell it was a café because of the handful of tables and chairs on the patio. I assumed that the second story was the owners’ residence.
More importantly, only one car was parked outside in the gravel lot.
As I pulled in next to it, my headlights revealed it was a green Audi – just like the one in the picture on Niccolo’s phone.
I parked the Mercedes, got out, and put on a black trench coat and hat Niccolo had given me. It was cold enough that the clothes wouldn’t raise suspicion.
The trench coat covered my bulletproof vest in case Fumagalli was quick on the draw; the hat would partially conceal my features. Not perfectly – nothing could be done about my blond beard and hair – but at least the hat helped.
I put on a couple of disposable latex gloves. I wouldn’t leave any fingerprints, and my hands would test negative for gunshot residue if the cops came snooping.
I put the revolver I’d brought – a Ruger GP100 snub-nose.357 Magnum – into my trench coat pocket. We’d talked about which gun I should take, and there had been some discussion of using a Glock… but a Glock would eject the spent shell casings, and I didn’t want to have to pick them up afterwards. I definitely didn’t want to leave any behind for the cops to find. Dario assured me he had the cops in his pocket and that it wouldn’t be a problem, but I didn’t want to tempt fate. Lake Como and San Vittore had made me paranoid.
The Ruger was a revolver, which meant the shells would stay in the chamber after being fired. No need to pick them up afterwards.
I also considered using a suppressor, but that would add an extra six inches to the gun’s overall length – horrible for a quick draw. I didn’t want to have to enter the room with the gun already out; I wanted to be able to walk in, assess the situation, draw, shoot, and leave. The Ruger solved all of those problems.
Since there wouldn’t be a suppressor, it would be loud – but Dario and his brothers said it would scare people and make them look away.
I hoped they were right.
The café windows had lace curtains obscuring the view inside, but I could see the lighting was minimal. That meant it would be harder for witnesses to identify me – especially if I kept my hat down low.
Hopefully – since there was only one car in the parking lot – there wouldn’t be anybody but Fumagalli and maybe a waiter.
My feet crunched in the gravel as I walked towards the café door. My heart hammered in my chest.
The first time I’d met him, Aurelio had sneered that I’d done all my killing from a distance – but he hadn’t been wrong.
Ninety-five percent of my body count had come from sniper shots. Killing someone up close was nerve-wracking.
I pushed through the door and walked inside.
The space was dark – stone walls and exposed wooden rafters. A few recessed lights in the ceiling cast shadows. No one sat at any of the tables –
Except for my target.
Ten feet away from me, Fumagalli was shoveling food into his mouth. A napkin was tucked into the collar of his shirt.
His heavily-lidded eyes glanced up at me and he frowned. Maybe it was the hat; maybe it was because I was blond in a region of dark-haired people.
I didn’t wait to find out.
I just pulled my gun as I walked towards him.
He froze for half a second, a forkful of food in his mouth – and then he comically left the fork sticking out of his lips as he fumbled for his suit pocket.
Not fast enough.
BANG BANG BANG!
All three shots hit him dead in the chest. Blood spattered out of the exit wounds onto the stone wall behind him.
Blood meant he wasn’t wearing a bulletproof jacket.
Good. He was a dead man.
As though to confirm it, he slumped to the side and tumbled out of the chair to the stone floor. The light in his eyes was already gone as blood pooled beneath him on the floor.
Almost no noise had followed the gunshots… just the sound of him falling out of his chair.
Then, suddenly, there was a scream – high-pitched and feminine.
I looked over and saw a young woman, maybe 20 years old, at the far end of the room. She was wearing a simple white dress. She was very pretty – long brown hair, big eyes –
And she was staring right at me.
FUCK!
Someone else would have pointed the gun at her. There were three bullets left; easy enough to finish the job.
But everything inside me recoiled at the thought.
I DON’T HURT WOMEN OR CHILDREN.
So I stuffed the gun in my pocket and walked out the door.
Once outside in the cold night air, I bolted for the Mercedes. I threw my hat in the passenger seat as I got behind the wheel, cranked the engine, and threw the car into reverse. There were no other vehicles for miles around, so I roared backwards into the road, slammed the engine into drive, and sped off towards the mansion.
It took me about 60 seconds to calm down. Once my heart stopped racing, I pulled out my phone and called Niccolo’s cell.
Even though Dario was out of prison, the protocol was to always contact Niccolo. In case the police became involved, the consigliere was the last line of defense. A good consigliere would keep his don from being prosecuted; he would lie and say he had acted independently without his boss’s knowledge.
Niccolo answered on speakerphone. “Is it done p>
“Yes,” I answered.
There were shouts of celebration in the room.
“But,” I said.
“…I don’t like the sound of that,” Niccolo said darkly.
“But what?” Dario asked. “Are you hurt p>
“No.” I took a breath and exhaled. “There was a waitress, maybe 20 years old p>
Somebody cursed in the background. My money was on Adriano.
“Did she see you?” Dario asked calmly.
“Yes p>
“Did she get a good look p>
“I was wearing the hat, but… yeah. She looked right in my eyes p>
There was even more cursing in the background.
“Just get back here safely,” Dario said.
Then he hung up.
Following Adriano’s lead, I started to curse myself out, to beat myself up –
But I stopped.
I had one rule, and I’d followed it.
There was no way I was going to kill an innocent woman who just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
It was just bad fucking luck. Like getting stopped at Lake Como.
If I had to, I’d take the rap alone… go back to San Vittore, if that’s what it took…
But I wouldn’t apologize for what I’d done.
I had one rule, and I’d followed it.
Nothing else mattered.