Page 49 of Her Dark Salvation

Vesuvio dominated the second half of the block, windows dark, red marquee dim and waiting for twilight. The high-end nightclub was a front for where I really made money with the property—illegal card games and professional sports betting. The same setup I’d create in the financial district.

I turned down the alley, climbed the back stairs to the second floor, and punched in the door code. Enzo stood behind the bar cleaning glasses, and the only other person on the floor was Luca. He sat at the bar with a glass of scotch.

I tugged off my gloves and tossed them on the bar.

“Hey, boss,” Enzo said and placed the pint glass he’d been drying on the shelf behind him.

“Enzo. Will you give us a minute?”

“Sure thing.” He walked out from behind the bar and down the hallway to the girls’ dressing room and lounge.

“Ciao, Luca.” I slapped him on the shoulder and rounded the end of the bar to pour myself a finger of whiskey. “È bello averti a casa, nipote.”

“Grazie, Marco.”

The high-backed stool next to Luca creaked under my weight. I pulled out two Nicaraguan cigars, and we went through the slow, methodical dance of retrieving our cutters and readying our smokes in the comfortable silence only possible with family.

The peaceful moment eased my worries. I needed him in Italy, but I wanted him in Boston. I might have called him nephew, but for all intents and purposes, Luca was my son, and when he was home, it was like a piece of my best friend was still with me.

Smoky cedar notes settled on my tongue, and I washed them down with a sip of whiskey. “How’s Gina?” I asked.

“Mamma Gina’s fine,” Luca said, and a heartfelt smile softened his mask.

Mamma Gina. He still called her that after all these years. Tony had called her Mamma Gina when Luca was little, as if the nickname could replace the mother he’d lost.

“She made lasagna and bought cannoli from Mike’s.”

“She still spoils you.”

He chuckled. “She does. I’m not complaining.”

The comfortable silence returned while we enjoyed our cigars and drinks, but it didn’t last long.

“That FBI agent was skulking around outside Terme when I stopped by yesterday,” Luca said.

“Agent Johnson.” I let out a tired sigh and closed my eyes. “Please tell me you didn’t engage.”

He snorted. “Non preoccuparti, zio. Didn’t have to. Siobhán came out and read him the riot act. Told him he was impeding business and if he didn’t leave, she’d call his supervisor.” He chuckled and shook his head.

“She’s got moxie, that one. Couldn’t find a better GM if I tried.”

Luca puffed on his cigar and gave me side-eye. I knew they didn’t get along, but when it came to business, they both had enough sense to keep things professional.

“He been coming around a lot, lately?” Luca asked into his drink.

“No more than usual, but I’m not surprised you saw him yesterday.” I blew out a mouthful of smoke. “Vinnie came to see me last week.”

Luca’s head snapped up.

“I know. I had the same reaction. I don’t remember the last time he came to Terme.”

Luca took a long drag off his cigar and swiveled his barstool to face me. “What did he want?”

“He wants to use Terme to expand his Source racket. Provide lodgings and meeting places for higher-end clients. Legitimize a portion of his income by laundering it through DEI. For a cut, of course.”

Luca shifted and cleared his throat, his eagerness unmistakable. He’d always wanted to involve himself with the Valenzanos, follow in his father’s footsteps out of some misguided sense of tribute or legacy. I thought he’d moved on. Apparently not.

“What did you say?” he asked.

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