Page 72 of Niccolo

“Time to earn your pay,consigliere,”he said with a smirk as he started out across the field.

Aurelio and I followed Fausto. I was absolutely terrified, sure that a bullet would paste my brains across the grass any second.

Out of the olive grove walked a tall figure in a black trench coat and a black hat. He could only be seen as a shadow moving against the deeper blackness behind him.

It was like watching a boogeyman approach me in a nightmare. I had to suppress my urge to run for my life.

When we got within 20 feet of each other, Mezzasalma growled, “That’s close enough.”

We all stopped.

Suddenly, Mezzasalma struck a match in his hands and brought it up to light a cigarette.

In the tiny flame, I could see his face –

And it was horrifying.

A mass of scars crisscrossed the right side of his face –

And his right eye was completely white, as though an injury had clouded over his iris and pupil.

He puffed on his cigarette, then dropped the match in the grass and ground it out beneath his heel.

“I said not to bring your men,” the Sicilian growled.

“This is my son, Aurelio,” Fausto said.

I glanced at Aurelio, who seemed to be almost as nervous as I was.

Fausto was the only one who seemed completely blasé about the Sicilian. Then again, he’d probably dealt with his share of scary motherfuckers over the years.

Fausto inclined his head towards me. “And myconsigliere.”

The ghostly eye stared at me out of the darkness, lit dimly by the glow of the cigarette.

“A femaleconsigliere,”Mezzasalma said contemptuously. “You certainly do things differently in Florence.”

I would have cut him down with a few choice words –

IfI hadn’t been so frightened of him.

“We do,” Fausto agreed, ignoring the implied insult.

Mezzasalma pointed to the back of his own head as he looked at Aurelio’s ponytail. “Your boy looks like a woman, too.”

Aurelio’s brow creased with rage –

But he didn’t say anything, either.

“It’s the fashion these days,” Fausto said cheerfully. “Did you not bring yourconsigliere?”

“I don’t have one yet,” Mezzasalma said matter-of-factly. “Seeing as I’m not a don.”

“Well, perhaps we can change that,” Fausto replied. “I have a problem, and you may be just the man to solve it.”

Mezzasalma listened as Fausto talked about Dario, the brothers, and the Agrellas.

“So you want me to kill your nephews for you,” the Sicilian summed up.

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