“What took you so long?” Carlo grumbled climbing in and adjusting the seat. “My flight landed over an hour ago.”
“I had to make a stop.” Lorenzo swerved into moving traffic and gunned the engine on the rental car. Ahead were the congested streets of box shaped cabs, business men travelling on vespas, and passenger vans. Navigating through it all required a bit of skill. The road soon narrowed into a two-lane highway, and he fell in line with the other slow moving travellers. His gaze flickered to the sinking sun near the mountains, and he grimaced. Carlo fired up a cigarillo and cracked the window to let the wind drag out the thick plume of smoke curling up out of his nostrils. For the first ten minutes neither of them spoke. They had a mission, and it would not end pretty. What was there to discuss? In fact, if they failed it could very well end with their lives. Don Bonaduce would not take kindly to them slipping into a village within his providence without his explicit approval. Especially considering that tonight they would cut the throat of a man who was under his protection.
“Tutto va bene,” Carlo slipped him a look dark with malevolence. “We will find the rat bastard and cut out his heart. Slow down.”
Lorenzo hadn’t realized he was riding the bumper of the produce truck in front of him. He loosened his grip on the steering wheel. His head pounded; his throat was dry. Carlo believed everything would work itself out. He did not. None of it would be fine if they failed. He couldn’t help but focus on the consequences. The death of Angelo Calderone will be the death of his secrets. Papa Tomosino died because of him. One fateful night of drinking he showed weakness and that bastard Giuseppe seized on it. Now he had everything he wanted within his grasp. Giovanni would give him the triangle, respect, power. His cousin would bring him back into his inner circle, and he’d damn well deserved it. Angelo Calderone stood between him and destiny.
“What’s the plan?” Carlo asked. “Do we even know where the bocchinaro is?”
“No. But I got a idea how to bring him to us.”
Carlo flicked a long ash out of the window then rolled it up. He wore an expensive gray tailored suit and platinum watch. He looked like he was heading to a wedding instead of someone’s funeral. Lorenzo shook his head at his friend’s flashy trends. He was quite handsome and many said they favored him more than he and Giovanni. Maybe that was because they understood each other in ways he and his cousin never could. Carlo opened his mouth to speak when Lorenzo’s surprise guest kicked and grunted. Carlo turned and glared at the back seat. “Who the fuck is in the boot?” he nearly snarled, referencing the trunk of the car.
“Bait. When you hunt a cocksucker you need the proper bait.”
Carlo chuckled. He relaxed in the seat and turned up the radio. Soon the cries for help were washed out by the music.
****
Mira smiled down at Eve. Her daughter slept mostly on her back with her arms flung open and legs spread. No matter how she arranged her, this was the position she found her in every morning. And after a bath and a good meal she had climbed into her lap and drifted to sleep without much protest. She seemed to be comfortable with her crib, especially when Mira added her teddy bears inside, and her light-up wand that sang ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star’ whenever she shook it.
The evening puppet show she and Catalina performed for Eve was a smash hit. Eve rolled on the floor laughing. She had never seen her baby girl so happy. Catalina relaxed, and they shared a bottle of wine while discussing her dilemma reasonably. They both agreed to set the argument regarding Franco’s sexuality aside. No matter how turbulent the lives of the Battaglia’s were she couldn’t deny that Eve flourished here.