Page 110 of Single Malt Drama

Marco

That old saying,“Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer,” played through my mind. The trouble was, I didn’t know which category to place my new brother-in-law. Regardless of what I called him, I had to convince a man I didn’t know, or particularly like, to accompany me to the convent without telling him where we were going or why.

Giancarlo picked up on the first ring. “Pronto.”

“How’s Nico?” I’d planned to introduce myself, fill him in on the bare-bones basics, and say whatever I needed to in order to convince him to come with me. However, my mind went blank the second he answered the phone.

“Marco?” He spoke in a hushed tone.

“Yes. I should have led with that. How is my wife?”

“Worried.” He sighed. “She asked me to get a message to you.”

“Tell me in person.” I had one shot to get this right and no clue how to appeal to him, other than to use Nico as an excuse. “I need to meet with you here in Comiso.”

“It’s a five-hour drive, and we are both expected in Palermo in the morning.”

The tiny town tested my rusty knowledge of Sicilian geography, but we could reach Riesi from the villa in about an hour. We’d arrive at the convent late, but nuns didn’t exactly keep visiting hours. Did they? “Giancarlo, it’s urgent. Drive to Comiso. We’ll fly to Palermo together in the morning before the ceremony.”

“What is this about?” Skepticism dripped from every word.

“Nicolina, of course.” I searched for something more to say. Some nugget of inspiration to lock him into coming. “She’s the wife of a capo now. I need to understand how your father runs his household, so I know how to structure my staff. I want her to be comfortable.”

Shit that sounded lame. Might as well throw out a net while I’m drifting aimlessly.“Since she’s going to be a mother.”

“You love her.” He made the statement into a question.

Come on man, give me something. He hadn’t corrected me, but he hadn’t confirmed Nico’s pregnancy either. “I do.”

“Good. Because if you hurt her, I’ll cut your balls off and feed them to my dogs.”

I grinned because that sounded like something my brothers and I would say if we had a sister. “You’ll come?”

“Yes, but I’m not driving. Meet me at the airport in Comiso.”

“Call me from the plane with your ETA.”

“This sounds like a load of horse shit, but I’ll be there.”

“Alone.”

“Now you’re starting to piss me off.” He laughed. “Yeah, alone.”

Never in my wildest dreams did I think I would call Giancarlo a friend, but stranger things had happened. Hell, they’d happened today.

I arrived at the airport in time to watch the Lazio jet touch down. It struck me as odd they owned a newer, and much splashier, plane than we did. Considering Marchionni businesses had laundered Pietro Lazio’s money for the previous two decades, I thought I had a handle on his net worth—it seemed I was wrong.

The doors opened and Giancarlo stepped out onto the stairs. He looked so different without his security team and expensive suit, I barely recognized him. Once again, I felt as if I’d entered the Twilight Zone. The guy I’d either feared or disliked my entire life seemed like a normal dude.

Holding my arms out wide, I walked toward him. “Welcome to Comiso.”

He glanced around as if waiting for my guards to appear out of thin air. “You got me here, now what?”

“Now we take a ride. I have an errand to run. We can talk on the way.” I motioned to the armored SUV.

He gave me a hard look, strode around the vehicle, and climbed into the front seat.

I understood his nervousness. I’d probably act a little squirrelly if the Italian leather loafer was on the other foot. Sliding behind the driver’s seat, I said, “How was your flight?”

---