Page 60 of Roberto

I blinked in shock, then sighed wearily. “Fausto.”

“Yes. It was the same with every other person on your list. One got hit by a bus, one was found dead by carbon monoxide poisoning in her running car, another overdosed on prescription pills – all within 12 hours of the wire transfers.”

“Goddamn it.”

“My sentiments exactly. I’m guessing our dear uncle threatened their spouses and children to get them to comply, then killed them before they could have a change of heart and rat him out.”

My stomach churned with nausea.

Fausto had them murderedafterthey’d complied with his demands. And they’d probably only cooperated in the first place to save the lives of their families.

We reallywereat war with the devil.

“Speaking of Fausto, anything new?”

“No. Lars has us on lockdown, though. Everybody’s holed up in rooms with no windows, 24 hours a day.”

“Good.”

“Good?!”

“I want all of you to be safe.”

“Yes, well, at THIS rate, Fausto won’t need assassins to kill us – boredom will do the job. I know you didn’t call me just to chat, so what’s up?”

“I need you to overnight a case of our 2008 Brunello di Montalcino to the address I’m about to text you.”

I had to pay my debt to Chef Silvestri. After all, he had been an integral part of what had turned out to be an unforgettable night.

After the sobering news about the people Fausto had killed, though, most of the joy had gone out of my little gesture.

“What?!”Niccolo exclaimed.“That’s expensive wine, isn’t it?!”

“Somewhat.”

‘Somewhat’ was an understatement. A case was 12 bottles, and each bottle went for over a thousand euros on the open market. Restaurants often sold them for 2000 or more.

“What the fuck are you doing over there?!”

“Just have the winery overnight it, alright?”

“Sure, sure,”he said sarcastically.“Not like I have anything ELSE to do, like avoid attempts on my life.”

“Fausto didn’t make an attempt onyourlife, just Dario and Massimo’s,” I pointed out. “Plus, you said you were going to die of boredom. This’ll give you something to – ”

“Just text me the fucking address.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,”he grumbled, then grew softer.“Take care of yourself.”

“I will. You too.”

“Alright. Talk to you later.”

After texting Silvestri’s name and the restaurant’s address to Niccolo, I watched a second movie on demand:Margin Call,another film about the 2008 financial crisis. More cinematic comfort food.

I liked movies about finance, and there weren’t that many, so I was stuck watching the same ones repeatedly.

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