Page 49 of Niccolo

“Why did I have him killed, or why do I want my nephews dead?”

“Both.”

Fausto stared at me grimly. “Do you know why I chose you, specifically?”

“No.”

“Not just because you’re a brilliant strategist… but because I thought you mightunderstand.

“My brother was the head of our family. He attained that rank because he was born first. No other reason.

“Twenty-five years ago, I took the role of hisconsigliere. Do you know what that means?”

Consigliereliterally meant ‘counselor’ –

But I knew fromThe Godfatherthat it was a lot more than that.

I remembered what Al Pacino said when he fired Robert Duvall:

You’re not a wartime consigliere.

“The strategist,” I answered. “The one who sees all the angles.”

“The one who sees all the angles,” Fausto said approvingly. “Exactly.

“For 25 years, I wasconsiglierefor my brother Leonardo. I made a fair amount of money in that role, yes… but I was perpetually in his shadow.Heowned the family’s property.Heran the business.Hewasthe one everyone looked up to. And he never deservedanyof it.

“I wouldn’t say Leonardo wasstupid,exactly. He had a certain animal cunning to him, and he certainly had a way with people… they loved him for reasons I could never quite fathom. But he was no genius. He only achieved his position as don because he wasborninto it.

“More than anything, I wanted to set off on my own. To start anewfamily, with my son as my successor.

“But Leo refused my request, over and over.

“‘I need you too much,’” Fausto said in a whiny imitation. “‘You’re too important to me.’”

Then his face grew dark.

“Too important to let go… but not important to adequately reward me.

“Worst of all was watching my nephews grow up, secure in the knowledge that the family business would be passed on tothem.My son would get nothing. My own flesh and blood would be relegated to aservantwhen he should have been aprince. All my work, all my sacrifice, would benefit a bunch of smug little shits, complacent in their mediocrity…”

Fausto’s face suddenly changed from angry to begrudging.

“Well… all except one of them. But he’s only as smart as he is because I trained him myself.”

“So you killed your own brother,” I said.

“Had him killed,” he corrected me, as though it was an important distinction.

Who knows? Maybe in the mafia, it was.

Men like Fausto probably didn’t get their hands dirty.

“Why didn’t you just quit?” I asked. “Why didn’t you tell your brother to go to hell and strike out on your own?”

Fausto gave an unpleasant laugh. “One does not simply ‘quit’one’s family in theCosa Nostraand strike out on one’s own. That’s a surefire way to meet an early demise.”

“So you’re from Sicily?”

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