Chapter 7: The Shore House

Valerio didn't say a word on the terrace.

He thanked the capo, walked him back inside, and kissed four aunts goodbye at the door.

Only when the last car pulled out of the gate did he turn around.

"Three people saw that contract," he said. "You. Me. Him."

"And Paola."

"Paola would cut off her own hand."

"Then let's be sure," I said. "Before anyone does anything."

He looked at me for a long time in the empty hall.

"How?"

"He's coming Wednesday to prep me for June. Leave me alone with him for ten minutes."

Whitman arrived on Wednesday at four with his briefcase and a new tie.

He shook Valerio's hand in the front hall.

He didn't shake mine.

We sat at the long table. Valerio at the end, me across from Whitman, the bodyguard by the door.

Whitman ran through the questions the judge would ask.

Where does Tito sleep? Who drives him? What do you feed him? Have you ever been treated for mental illness?

He asked that one twice, slowly, smiling.

"Say no," he told me. "Fiorella can't get the records. Doctor-patient privilege. Just say no and stay calm."

"That's lying under oath."

"That's surviving a hearing, Jo. Leave the law to the lawyers."

Valerio's phone buzzed. It was Paola, from the next room, on cue.

"I have to take this," he said, and went out.

The door closed behind him.

Whitman leaned back in his chair and let the smile go.

Without it his face looked tired and mean.

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