Page 60 of Niccolo

I loathed both Fausto and his son…

But ten million euros was ten million euros, and I had dealt with assholes before.

Just not ones in the mafia.

We met with the Turk two days later.

He was around 45 years old, tall, and dressed in an expensive suit. His most interesting feature was a jagged scar that ran from his left ear to the corner of his mouth. It made him look even more dangerous than he already was.

While his men waited outside with Fausto’s foot soldiers, the four of us – the Turk, Fausto, Aurelio, and I – talked in the library.

The Turk spoke surprisingly good Italian, though with a heavy accent.

He struck me as a shrewd negotiator, but he also seemed like he was hiding something. What, I didn’t know.

Fausto and the Turk reached an agreement: for a 10% fee, the Turk could transport his wares across Fausto’s territory to the Agrellas in Florence. The fee included protection by Fausto’smen and ensured no entanglements with local law enforcement, whom Fausto controlled.

“Ten percent seems like a suspiciously good deal,” the Turk said, then smiled. “Not that I’m complaining.”

“Well… thereisa bit of a wrinkle,” Fausto replied. “My nephew controls the area surrounding Florence. You’ll have to cut a deal with him, as well.”

The Turk grimaced. “Dario Rosolini and his brothers.”

Fausto nodded. “You’ve done your homework.”

“I have. In addition to the Agrellas, I’ve spoken with nearly everyCosa Nostrafamily in Italy.”

“I see. Well, you’ll probably have to give Dario 10%, too, which is why I’m charging such a low price.”

“Ah, well… the price of business. Can you make the introduction for me?”

“I can,” Fausto said. “However…”

“What?” the Turk asked with a frown.

“There’s a bit of…tensionbetween me and my nephews. As I’m sure you know, their father – my brother – died about six months ago. After his death, I started my own family and took half of the territory. They still haven’t forgiven me for leaving them at a critical juncture.”

The Turk narrowed his eyes. “Is there bad blood between you?”

“Let’s just say there’s no love lost. And, to be quite honest, I don’t approve of Dario taking the helm. He’s not ready. After all, he just recently returned home after four years in prison.”

“I heard,” the Turk said. “San Vittore is a notorious hellhole. He must be quite a man to have survived.”

“Hrm,” Fausto grunted.

“No?”

“I fear that he went a bit…softin prison, and that’s how he survived. If you get my meaning.”

“Really,” the Turk said in disgust.

“I fear so. At least, that’s what my sources tell me.”

I kept my expression blank – a perfect poker face – but I was happy that Fausto was following the plan I had suggested.

Implying his nephew had been a prison bitch meant Dario was weak –

And thus an easy target.

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