Page 87 of Enzo
I didn’t have to wonder whether he would rat me out. Amadeo’s best and worst quality was his loyalty, and he was loyal to me above everyone else.
34
ENZO
This restaurant in the heart of Laayoune was a shithole, but the tourists flitting in and out afforded a degree of protection. They were attracted to its saloon-like ambience, which resembled something out of the Western movies my father used to watch. The ground floor was packed with red dirt and peanut shells and a long wooden bar stretched along the back wall. The upper floor had several rooms for rent with a wraparound balcony overlooking the restaurant. I imagined it offered a great vantage point when it got rowdy.
Once upon a time, it might have been a lovely place, but today, not so much.
I wasn’t stupid enough to think Atticus would come alone. I surveyed the bar about five feet away, but it seemed to have mostly drunk tourists there.
A part of me wished my brother was at my back, hiding in the shadows, because he was an excellent shot. Alas, I knew this was for the best. I would do it alone. It was the only way to protect him and the rest of my family if things went south. Although I hoped they wouldn’t. I was determined to see things through with Penelope.
“I’m starting to regret approaching you that night in Sicily,” Atticus retorted wryly. “It’s like you’ve been obsessed with me since.”
“That’s what happens when you threaten someone’s family,” I stated matter-of-factly. “You get extra—wanted or unwanted—attention.” He chuckled, but there was no amusement in that sound. “What’s your problem with the DiMauros anyhow?”
His expression darkened. “What makes you think there’s a problem?”
“You seem pretty focused on them,” I deadpanned.
“Luca took something—or rather someone—from me, so…” He trailed off, looking as if he were silently scolding himself for saying too much. “It’s sufficient to say that I don’t like him and I want him gone.”
“That won’t happen now that he’s part ofmyfamily.”
A waiter dressed in denim and leather boots appeared. “Here’s your beer. Can I bring you anything else?”
“This’ll do, thanks.” I fucking hated beer, but it would serve its purpose.
The waiter disappeared and I turned to Atticus, who raised his glass of whiskey.
I brought my own bottle to my lips, barely tasting its contents, when Atticus resumed our conversation. “So, what did you want again? Certainly you didn’t fly all the way here to discuss your in-laws.”
The old man had a death wish.
“I really hate repeating myself,” I said, tapping my fingers on the filthy table. “‘Due to your advanced age, I’ll oblige, but don’t push my buttons.”
“No buttons,” he muttered.
“I want in.”
“And if I refuse?”
“I’ll drop all the intel I’ve collected in a group chat comprised of every single criminal from here to Venezuela who wants you dead,” I drawled.
Atticus glared at me. He never expected I’d find the location of his precious setup, never mind demand to be let in on the business.
“The Omertà is against flesh trading, same with organ trafficking,” he said, his voice suspicious. “Are you telling me you’re willing to go against them?”
“Iamthe Omertà,” I stated coldly.
He sneered. “I’m just trying to envision how this would work. Are you telling me that your father-in-law, Dante Leone, Giovanni Agosti, and the Romeros are on board with your plans to adopt this side of the business into your territory? What about your father?”
“Don’t worry about affairs that don’t concern you. Now, what families and organizations are part of it, and is this your only location?”
I already knew everything about his operation, but I wanted to see if he’d lie. A test, if you will.
The table fell silent, and I motioned for him to start. “Any day now.”
