Page 63 of Inferno

His eyes, almost as blue as my own, almost looking right through me, with a tailored navy suit and slick black hair.

He looks every part the Italian mob boss.

“Mr. Quinn. Pleasure.” He extends his hand as he stands, and I offer a strong handshake in return.

“Take a seat, we have a lot to discuss and little time.” His Italian accent, like Romeo’s, comes through.

I sit opposite him and notice the pile of paperwork on the wooden table.

He looks around and laughs.

“Good venue, right?” He holds up his hands.

I chuckle.

“Different, I have to say.”

He nods.

“Different throws people off,” he says almost seriously and slides a piece of paper towards me.

I look down and frown as I stare at what appears to be a rundown factory behind huge iron gates.

“Tell me what you see, Declan.”

I look up at him, hiding my confusion.

“A factory.”

“Hmm.”

He hands over the next piece of paper, a bird’s-eye view of the factory.

“And now?”

I study it for a moment.

“A fuck lot of woodland, a mansion, and the same factory,” I say, placing the paper on top of the other.

Another piece is handed to me. Words cover this sheet. I scan it quickly, my eyes stopping on the word “chocolate”.

“Anything interesting?” he asks, continuing to read as I get to the interesting bit, profit reports from before it closed.

“A chocolate factory with a very decent turnover.”

Enzo interlocks his hands, placing his elbows on the desk, his Rolex shining in the light.

“Now, I’ve seen the books for the Quinn Distillery. You boys know how to run a factory, or should I say, use one to your advantage. Correct?”

“Of course. It’s our bread and butter.”

We grew up running around that damn place, no matter how dangerous Mom warned us it was. It fascinated us.

Little did we realize at the time, it would become our laundering empire.

“Whiskey is a little different than chocolate.”

Enzo shrugs.

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