Page 79 of Niccolo

Aurelio just grumbled.

I assumed he was pissed Fausto had told me first. On top of that, I’d understood the genius of the plan without needing an explanation… unlike him.

Fausto frowned at his son, then turned back to me. “We have to get her here as soon as possible so we can confirm her identity.”

“If it’s not her, what then?” I asked.

“Then we’ll still have an eminently qualified assassin.”

“You think she’ll take the job?”

He laughed. “She kills for money. Ofcourseshe’ll take the job.”

“If it really is Rachel Bauer, she’s former MI6,” I pointed out. “She might have some sort of scruples about who she’ll go after.”

“We’ll stress that he’s mafia.”

“What areyouin this scenario, then?”

“Why, a simple importer/exporter,” Fausto said innocently, “who’s being horrendously abused by an evilmafioso.”

Then he broke out in a delighted cackle.

“An importer/exporter is what you toldmewhen we first met,” I reminded him, “and I saw right through it.”

“I told you we were going to killmafiosos,andyoutook the job, didn’t you?” he replied with a self-satisfied smile.

I had to admit, he was right.

Whatever qualms this Rachel Bauer might have…

She could probably be persuaded to overlook them.

“Whoever this bitch is,” Aurelio said smugly, “she can’t hold a candle to my Wagner guys.”

I looked at him in disgust.

Fausto simply smiled. “We shall see.”

“By the way, you need to get a haircut,” Aurelio said to me. He had cut off his own ponytail weeks before, during the whole Mezzasalma fiasco.

“Why?” I asked in surprise. I thought he meant I needed it for meeting Rachel. I didn’t realize there was some mafia code concerning haircuts when hiring an assassin.

“For Adriano’s wedding,” he said contemptuously. “Duh.”

“I don’t need to get a haircut for a goddamn wedding,” I snapped.

“If you want people to believe you’re my date, you will.” Aurelio snorted. “Not that a haircut isnearlyenough.”

“Fuck you.”

I turned to Fausto to protest, but the older man said, “It’s not a bad idea. I’ll have my men take you to Florence. While you’re there, get a nice dress. We need you looking your best.”

“For your son?” I sneered.

“For camouflage,” Fausto replied with a smile.

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