Page 194 of Niccolo

Once the floodgates were open, he didn’t stop. He told me everything.

Many of the men had families they had to leave behind in Tuscany.

“But Fausto won’t even let us call them,” Dante complained. “We can’t even turn our phones on! He says they could be traced, and no one can know where we are.”

I frowned as I thought of something –

Then filed it away for later.

“And the money’s not as good as it used to be,” Dante continued. “When Don Leonardo was alive, we were paid well. When we cast our lots in with Fausto, he promised to pay us 5% more – and he did at first. But after a couple of months, we took a 20% cut because business was bad. ‘Just till it gets better,’ he promised – but itnevergets better. Meanwhile, he’s driving around in a Rolls-Royce, but none of us have gotten paid since we left Tuscany.”

I believed him.

I also knew it was only because Fausto was a fucking asshole. He’d just stolen 28 million euros from Niccolo and his brothers. He’d certainly had the cash to bribe Lau with a million euros, give Zollner a half million deposit, and wire a million to me in Macau.

If Fausto wanted to pay his men, he could have easily done it. But he was pinching pennies with them the same way he’d tried with me.

“He’ll pay you,” I said.

He’s a fool if he doesn’t.

“When?” Dante asked bitterly.

“I’ll speak to him about it.”

Dante looked at me in alarm. “No!”

“I’ll keep your name out of it,” I promised.

“No – just – don’t bring it up at all.”

“But – ”

“You swore on your mother’s life this would stay between you and me,” he said, a note of desperation in his voice.

“Okay – okay,” I relented.

Dante looked relieved.

“He going to pay you,” I promised. “Hewill.”

“…yeah,” Dante said in a bitter voice like he would believe it when he saw it.

Then he threw down his cigarette, ground it out under his heel, and walked away.

I walked back inside the house and searched until I found Fausto in his bedroom.

“I just talked to one of the foot soldiers who said you won’t let them call anybody,” I said.

“Who said that?” Fausto asked in irritation.

“I don’t know, some guy just mentioned it in passing,” I lied. “He said it was because the phone could be traced.”

“It could. Potentially.”

“But you’re usingyourphone. And Niccolo hasyournumber – so why isn’t he trackingyou?”

Fausto smirked. “Because I have various counter-measures in place. I make calls over the Wi-Fi network here, which is connected to a VPN, and I route them through a service I payfor in Rome. Anyone trying to trace the call will think we’re 300 miles away.”

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