Chapter 10: What He Found

Gaspare's POV

At four in the morning I stood in what was left of the port hall and counted my dead.

Eleven.

Nine of them were Ficarra's men from the north gate, shot by mine.

Two were waiters who had gone back for a tray.

I had cleared three hundred guests and had not cleared the waiters.

I put that on the list of things I would carry.

My consigliere stood beside me with his hat in his hands.

"Don Lanzetta. You should rest."

"Is the helicopter down?"

"It landed at Marseille an hour ago. The pilot says it flew empty."

"Empty."

"Yes, Don Lanzetta."

I turned and looked at him.

He was the oldest man I trusted, and he took half a step back.

"Where is my driver?"

They found him in the cold storage lot behind the port.

He sat on an oil drum with his hands between his knees, and when he saw me he stood so fast the drum rolled away.

"Tell me."

He told me.

He told me about the helicopter and the pilot, and the green dress in the red light.

He told me she had taken off her ring.

He took it from his pocket and held it out.

It lay in his palm, a thin gold band, worn smooth on one side where it had rubbed against her knuckle for nine years.

I took it.

It was still warm from his hand.

"She tore the passport," he said. "The one with the new name. She tore it in half and let the wind have it."

"And you let her walk."

"She drew a pistol on me, Don Lanzetta."

"The one I gave her."

"Yes."

"Did she point it well?"

He swallowed.

"Feet apart. Both hands."

I closed my fist around the ring.

I had taught her to stand like that three days ago, with my hands on her hips and my mind on nothing I could say aloud.

Keep reading free with an account. Start He Faked My Death, So I Let My Family Bury Me from Chapter 1, then sign up free to read the rest of this chapter.