Page 112 of Niccolo

“It’s only temporary.”

His voice turned bitter. “You know what’snottemporary? Having a spoiled fuck-up for a son. Christ, what a disappointmentheturned out to be.”

I just sipped at my lighter fluid so I didn’t have to answer.

Fausto didn’t like my silence. I guess he took it as tacit agreement with what he’d said.

“Well?” he asked belligerently. “Don’t you have anything to say?”

I didn’t. Not anything that would keep me in his good graces, anyway –

So I dodged the question.

“WhereisAurelio?” I asked. “I haven’t seen him since we left.”

Fausto snorted contemptuously. “Who the fuck knows? Probably off in Modena, doing what he does best: whoring and drinking.”

It turned out to be a lot worse than that.

49

Two glasses of scotch did the trick. When I returned to my room, I fell asleep.

I woke up the next morning with a slight hangover –

And a palpable sense of alarm when I checked my phone and saw it was almost ten in the morning.

I reassured myself that if anything terrible had happened, someone would have banged on my door.

I dressed and went to the kitchen, where I found Fausto in considerably worse shape than me. He had changed into a new suit, but his face looked puffy, and his eyes were bloodshot as he sipped a cup of espresso.

“You’re just in time,” he said grimly. “Our assassin texted me not two minutes ago.”

He slid the phone over, and I saw an unknown number had sent him a message:

Last chance to call it off.

Fausto had texted back one word:

Proceed.

“What about the bank accounts?” I asked.

Fausto smiled. “My nephews will be paupers very soon.”

“So… what do we do now?”

“We wait.”

“Where’s Aurelio?” I asked.

“Fuck Aurelio,” he grunted.

A servant fixed us breakfast from supplies she’d picked up in Modena. I had tea and fresh fruit while Fausto ate an assortment of pastries.

I browsed on my phone while we waited. It seemed like hours.

“Does it normally take this long to kill someone?” I asked.

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