Page 110 of Niccolo

Dario gave me a grim look.

I raised my hands in surrender. “IF I get the chance to engage her again, I’ll let my brain guide me – not my balls.”

“And if she can’t be turned?” he asked.

I clenched my jaw.

As the family’sconsigliere,there was only one answer, and we both knew it.

“Then I’ll kill her myself,” I said softly.

48

Sofia

Modena was a small city two hours north of Florence.

The farmhouse was another 30 minutes past that, out in the country. It was a stone building, at least a hundred years old, with a dozen rooms. There was a massive barn out back, as well as a smaller cottage that was originally built for servants.

To describe the place as ‘isolated’ was an understatement. There were no other houses within miles.

“I bought this a few years back in case I ever needed to lay low for a while,” Fausto explained.

At least the property was well-maintained. Someone local – a cleaning service, perhaps – had kept it clean and free of dust.

The house had a modern kitchen, a large living room, a parlor, and a dining room. Of the four large bedrooms, Fausto took the master, I got another, and a third was set aside for Aurelio whenever he decided to show up.

“Where are all the foot soldiers going to sleep?” I asked –

Then watched as men began pulling plastic-wrapped mattresses out of the attic and placing them on the floor of the living room.

“There’s an old saying in the mafia: ‘going to the mattresses,’” Fausto explained. “This is what it means. They’ll sleep in eight-hour shifts. A third of them will nap while the others patrol the property.”

By the time the men were finished, two dozen twin-size mattresses were scattered across the house’s common areas. It was impossible to walk anywhere without tripping over one of the plastic-wrapped beds.

As a result, the main house felt packed tight as a tin of sardines.

I hadn’t thought it possible…

But I missed the giant McMansion.

I tried to sleep that night but couldn’t.

Part of it was a new bed in a new place…

And the fear that every noise I heard was an assassin come to finish me off.

But mostly, my mind just wouldn’t shut off.

Over and over again, I returned to my talk with Niccolo at the wedding…

And realized it might be the last time I ever saw him.

You idiot,I berated myself.A man flirts with you, and now you’re second-guessing yourself?

I told myself my unease was because I’d met someone I was actively plotting to kill…

And that it would have been disquieting foranyone.

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