Page 29 of Mafia Kings: Dario

Roberto spoke up. “So you see, we’re trying to ascertain if Umberto Fumagalli – the man from last night – knew your father, and why Fumagalli would be interested in him… or whether it reallywasjust a coincidence that he walked into your café. Tell me – how long has your father had the business?”

“For as long as I can remember – at least since I was a baby.”

“And how did he buy it? Do you know?”

“I don’t…”

“How many customers did you have per day, would you say?”

I frowned. “What?”

Niccolo sighed. “Roberto is the head of business interests for the family. This is his great joy in life, asking nitpicky financial things. Humor him, if you will.”

What came next was a strange barrage of questions: how much money we made in an average month. What our expenses were. If there was a mortgage on the property. Who our suppliers were for coffee and food. (A tiny market in Mensano.) If there were other members of the staff besides me and my father. (There weren’t.) How much of our business was locals and how much was tourists.

Finally Niccolo waved off his brother. “Enough, WarrenBuffett – your questions are boring poor Alessandra to death!”

“Whatever, Machiavelli.”

Niccolo stood up abruptly. “Let me take you on a tour of the property,bella,before Roberto begins his stultifying line of questioning again. Hurry – I can see him breaking out the spreadsheets!”

Niccolo whisked me away from the table.

“I can’t abide when he does that,” he grumbled, then added facetiously, “Roberto doesn’t seem to realize that not everyone shares his passion for accounting.”

“Why did he call you Machiavelli?”

“Ah – it’s a joke about my first name. You’re familiar with the Renaissance philosopher Niccolo Machiavelli, author of the political treatiseThe Prince?”he asked as we entered the house and began to wind through the hallways.

“Yes, of course.”

Machiavelli was known for his amoral advice to rulers: manipulate and lie in order to keep control over their subjects.

“Yes, well, all my brothers love to call me ‘Machiavelli.’ It used to annoy me – but if you’re going to be aconsigliere, there are worse nicknames to have.”

“You and Robert look very much alike. Are you twins?”

“Yes, we are – but fraternal, not identical. ThankGodI don’t have an exact copy of his genes. The man has boring financial statements written into his DNA.”

“There’s something I don’t understand…”

“Oh? And what is that?”

“You keep talking about your family and brothers… but Lars doesn’t look like any of you.”

Niccolo laughed. “Well, that would be because he’s not related to us by blood.”

“Does he work for you?”

“It’s more than that. When Dario went off to prison, those wolves I spoke of? They tried to make sure my brotherdiedin there, on more than one occasion. Lars was his best friend ‘on the inside,’ as they say, and saved Dario’s life on two separate occasions. Lars finished his sentence six months ago, and Dario sent him to us to give him a job. He’s actually become a seventh member of our family. He got to be around our father before he died, and Papa loved him as a son for saving Dario’s life. Ever since everything went to shit, Lars has become our most trusted ally.”

I frowned. “Even more than your uncle?”

Niccolo smiled wryly. “Do youseemy uncle anywhere nearby?”

“Ah. Do you have any sisters?”

“No, alas. Mama had six boys. She always wanted a little girl, but she died when I was 18. Dario’s the oldest, then Adriano, followed by Roberto and me, then Massimo. Valentino’s the baby and a spoiled rotten little brat. But with a face like his, he gets anything he wants from the ladies.”

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