Cheung cursed under his breath. There was no plausible way he could get an accurate shot. The call came too late in the morning for him to properly scope out a good location. The arch was at least forty feet high. It had been preserved and set on display in a roped off park like area that was center to several traffic ways. Many of the hotels or businesses nearby were only three stories high and each would expose him considerably. Cheung finally decided his best option would be along via dei Rettori at hotel Villa Traiano. He scaled the side of the building from the third story window with his sniper rifle strapped to his back. On the flat roof he set up his arsenal keeping low to the ground. The tripod and rifle were in position but the sun shone directly on him, and it meant his lens could cast a reflection. He had to make it quick to avoid being spotted. Cheung peered into the scope. Giovanni Battaglia was a tall broad shouldered man; he should be an easy target. The red crosshairs tracked the Battaglia’s as they parked and exited their vehicles. Giovanni, due to his height, was easily seen among the giants shadowing him. He wore a dark suit. He approached Bonaduce. Cheung fingered the trigger. Bonaduce said he’d draw Giovanni away from his men to give Cheung a clear shot. The chaos would be enough cover for him to slip away. All Cheung had to do was be sure not to miss.
“Giovanni, come va?” Bonaduce kissed Giovanni on the left then the right cheek.
“Non mi lamento.” Giovanni greeted Bonaduce in the familiar way. They had gathered before the roped off monument. The early hour left little traffic along via dei Rettori. Still Lorenzo and the others positioned themselves in a semi-circle, scanning the cars and the faces of Bonaduce’s men.
“Why don’t we go for a walk? Talk?” Bonaduce said.
“I’m not in the mood for a stroll this morning.”
Bonaduce touched his chest as if affected. “The bad blood for us has spilled. It’s time to start anew. Have I not shown this by travelling here to meet you? Here of all places.”
“You understood what Angelo and the Calderone’s did to my family. You inserted yourself in our affairs. I’m not inclined to forget this easily.”
A sharp flare of disapproval sparked in the old man’s eyes. The corner of his mouth twitched with anger. “How dare you speak to me this way? Your father…”
“Is dead. I came here to make it clear to you that the only peace between our families is the one of tolerance. I’ve tolerated you for two years. It would be wise for you to do the same.”
“Did you start the fire? Did you come into my backyard and kill Angelo Calderone?”
Giovanni didn’t bother to answer. His gaze remained trained on the man and his focus singularly.
“Careful son, you are crossing into territory the Cammora does not reach. The triangle isn’t yours yet.”
“It’s mine.” Giovanni shrugged, and then smirked. “It became mine when Angelo met justice.”