Page 8 of Mafia Star

It hurts Matteo just like me since we were both close to Luigi. He speaks to the room, saying what we’re all wondering.

“Why?”

Carmine releases an aggravated breath as he scrolls something on his computer before looking at Matteo.

“We don’t know for sure, but it looks like NYPD is pressuring him to squeal about everything for immunity when the feds come after him for what happened in Kansas.”

It’s my turn to speak up again.

“Kansas? We haven’t done anything there in ages except for the shit that just happened with Enzo. They can’t possibly have figured out our involvement yet. The Rizzos wouldn’t turn anything over. They’d take care of Luigi themselves if they were butt hurt about what Enzo did.”

That was only a couple weeks ago. Enzo had an unexpected trip there while he and Chelle were still dating. We had some issues with the Chicago Cosa Nostra that spilled over to the Kansas City Cosa Nostra. Both the Rizzos and the Grassos— the ones in Chicago —both know— with absolute certainty —that nothing happens east of the Mississippi without our permission. And anyone who meddles, no matter where they’re from, is dealt with swiftly and permanently.

Carmine scowls at his computer as he speaks, eyes still on his screen.

“That’s what I’m still trying to figure out. Beside this threat against him— one we haven’t substantiated —there’s nothing to make us think he’d turn. He’s never given us a reason to think he’s anything but loyal. He’s almost died several times to protect us. Is he tired of the risk? Did he get a better offer?”

I shake my head.

“They’ve arrested him before. He’s done time, and he’s never given up shit. He went away for five years for that robbery Pauly did.”

That was a fuck storm. They didn’t like each other to begin with, and the evidence rightly pointed toward Pauly. But Luigi was in the wrong place at the wrong time when they did the bust. But he didn’t turn on Pauly then. He knew the code. He accepted the prison time rather than narc on any of us. He knew doing anything else was a death sentence. I can’t imagine how he thinks anyone— including the feds —can protect him from us.

Luca looks at Papa then Uncle Salvatore before he speaks.

“Can we get that cop to wear a wire for us? We need to hear what Luigi is saying for ourselves. We need to know for certain. I don’t want to lose a good man because someone’s fucking him— and us —over.”

Enzo’s our accountant and usually runs the numbers to tell us how much we should spend on something like that. He keeps track of our bribes and the protection money businesses pay us. But he’s away right now, so it falls to me.

“Hunter has been on our payroll for two years. I say we offer him ten grand to wear the wire.”

Luca looks over at me.

“On top of the ten he’s already getting every month? That’s only one month’s extra pay. Do you think he’s going to demand more than that for a special job?”

“If he doesn’t want me to put a gun to his head, he’ll take whatever the fuck I offer him.”

I shrug. He’s a single beat cop with no real family. He has some connections within the force— his nose up his captain’s ass —but he’s nothing special. He wouldn’t be that missed. It’s what got our attention in the first place.

“What’s burrowed up your ass?”

Gabriele leans over to whisper none too quietly. I didn’t think I was being testy, but maybe I am. I want this meeting over with. I have other things to think about. Someone else to think about. I need to exorcise Beth from my brain. Best way to do that is to head back to my club tomorrow and spend the night fucking any other woman until I’m too exhausted to stand or sit. Even as I think that I know it’s bullshit. I want her.

“Nothing. I just think he isn’t worth more than ten grand. I’d rather pay him nothing at all and just make him do it, but I know we need to keep him happy.”

Luca shakes his head.

“I say fifteen.”

“For a wire? No. It’s not like we’re asking him to plant evidence or kill someone. Ten tops.”

I dig my heels in. Enzo would make the same argument. The man parts with a penny like Cheron, the mythical Greek guy who ferried people over the River Styx. You’d have to pry it out of his cold, dead hands. But his strict accounting has made us prosper tenfold since the day he took over from Old Man Guglielmo. The guy was eighty-five when he finally handed over the ledgers to Enzo, who already had a master’s in finance and his CPA license. Enzo quietly fixed the man’s mistakes for four years until Uncle Salvatore eventually couldn’t overlook them. He gave the guy a healthy pension and sent him to live on the Jersey Shore.

I don’t need my baby brother coming home and blaming me for us overspending. I won’t hear the fucking end of it. He’s not a nag, but he is precise. He also gets what the going rate for shit is. He won’t undercut the other syndicates with open contract men. But he also won’t overpay for nothing. He doesn’t waste money, and he won’t set a precedent we don’t want to pay later.

Gabriele offers his idea, and I like it.

“Why don’t we tell him he’s going to do whatever the hell we want. If he’s smart, he does. If he isn’t, we offer him the ten thousand. If he wants more, we make him do this last job for us.”

---